by Lucy Wadham
Babette was puzzled by Liliane���s determination to ask nothing of Coco.
���Your husband is one of the richest men on the island and you live in that black housecoat and won���t even get your yard tarmacked. You could at least ask him for a new pair of slippers.���
���What would I do with a new pair of slippers?��� she answered.
Nathalie���s voice echoed in the hall. She could hear Raymond Battesti, too, and thanked heaven Coco had gone. One day he would have to accept that Nathalie would leave. She was a good girl, only a little stubborn. In this she was like her father. Liliane heard Nathalie���s laughter and their footsteps on the stairs. They were going up to her room. Liliane glanced up at the ceiling then went back to her work.
Of course the Aron woman was going wild. Take a woman���s child from her and she���ll lose her mind. Liliane had lost hers long ago. What was left of her former self was a perfect imitation. Another burst of her daughter���s laughter came through the ceiling. Liliane did not talk to Nathalie about her brother. She believed that her daughter should not be made aware of her pain. Her life must be kept as light and free as that laughter.
Nathalie did not even know that in two weeks her brother R��my would be thirty. It was twelve years since Liliane had seen her son. He lived in Paris with a wife and two children whom she had never met. Other islanders back from the mainland had told her that he worked for the Central Post Office; otherwise she would never have known. She once sent Betty to see him while she was on her trip to the International Manicure Fair. Betty had telephoned him and they had met for a drink in a caf�� near his work. Betty had always liked R��my. When she came home, all she could talk about was how surprised she was by the photo of his wife. She had expected her to be much prettier.
���What about the children?��� Liliane had asked.
���He showed me pictures,��� Betty said. ���He���s got two. A boy and a girl.���
���What are their names? How old are they?���
���I don���t know their names. Oh, they must be about three and one. One of them was a baby. The other one was on a swing.��� Then, seeing Liliane���s disappointment, she said, ���They were very sweet-looking. I think they looked like R��my.���
Liliane could hear Raymond���s tennis shoes squeaking on the flagstones. They were coming into the kitchen. She took off her gloves and threw them into the sink. She hurriedly replaced the fly curtain. As they came in she was sniffing her hands, which smelled of bleach.
Nathalie smiled at her mother.
���Has he gone?���
Liliane nodded. Nathalie went straight to the fridge. Raymond hung in the doorway.
���Hello, Raymond. Come in.���
���Hello, Madame Santini.���
He was a handsome boy but he looked ill. His skin was very pale and he had purple shadows under his eyes.
���Are you hungry, Raymond?���
���No thank you, Madame Santini.���
���Liliane.���
���Liliane,��� he repeated.
He smiled at her, a sweet smile. He was a gentle boy, always had been. She watched him fold his thin body into Coco���s chair. She looked at Raymond���s bony chest, livid against the scarlet of his tracksuit top, which he wore unzipped to the navel.
���Will you have a Coke?��� she asked.
���Yes, please.���
Nathalie stood behind the open door of the fridge, gulping from a bottle of strawberry-flavoured yogurt. When she had finished she brought Raymond the Coke. The way she set it in front of him with a glass chosen from the cupboard and inspected for cleanliness spoke to Liliane of how she felt about him.
���I���m going to see what the wind has done to my vegetables,��� she told them, and left the room.
The wall had protected her garden. She walked along the narrow paths, muttering, letting the wind carry off her prayer. ���Keep her a child. She���s my little girl. Please make her stay a child. A little longer.���
Outside Liliane cast her eyes across the floor of the garden. Every plant had been touched and tended by her own hands. Every leaf that sprouted, too violently green from the yellow soil, was the result of her labour. This was the domain she had been left. She was filled with rage at the sight of the garden, growing obscenely intact behind its high walls. She felt the urge to spit upon it, but turned away and walked back into the house.
Chapter Twelve
Though she was expecting him, Alice started when Babette opened the door of the sitting room and showed him in. Coco Santini did not look at her but strode across the flagstones in his silent shoes to the three French windows that gave on to the terrace and threw open their shutters, one by one, letting the afternoon heat and the sound of the cicadas into the room.
���It stinks of spinsters in here.���
Alice stood near the fireplace and watched. When he had finished he went and sat down on one of the frail pieces of upholstered furniture that were arranged around the fireplace. It was a sofa that offered room for no more than two people of average build. He spread his arms out along the back.
���Why don���t you sit down?��� His voice was very deep. It sounded as if he had not been wound up properly.
For the first time Alice felt her own tiredness washing over her pleasantly and leaving her a little worse off. She went and sat opposite him on a small, uncomfortable chair with thin, bowed legs. A circular rug with a pattern of garlands in pink, yellow and red lay between them. The upholstery too was predominantly pink. Santini looked incongruous in the room. But Constance Colonna had never had to share her home with a man.
He sat with his legs crossed and his arms draped over the back of the sofa. He wore no socks and she saw his pale feet, streaked with blue veins. His beard was dark blue. Blue-beard was Sam���s favourite villain.
They both spoke at once.
���I���m sorry,��� she said. ���Go ahead.���
He smiled, brought one leg on to the opposite knee and gripped his ankle.
���I was one of the last to hear about your son. I was in Massaccio at the time. I wish I had been here.���
���Why? Could you ��� Do you know anything?���
He glanced at her and then continued. She was not expected to interrupt.
���I gather the police now think it���s a kidnapping.���
���They wasted time,��� she said.
He put both feet on the floor and leaned forward, his palms pressed together as though praying for silence.
���I can���t tell you what has happened to your boy. All I can say is that it���s the work of an outsider, someone not from the island. It���s also someone who���s not very careful.��� His hands made a series of soundless claps while he considered. ���They took him in the square at noon, which was very stupid. It���s a miracle nobody saw them.���
Alice realised that in any other circumstances she would have strongly disliked this man.
���I know who���s in charge of the case and I don���t need to tell you what I think of him. You probably know already.��� He paused, but she now knew not to interrupt. ���I think Stuart is a bitter, incompetent little shit,��� he said, ���but you���ll soon find that out. Meanwhile, I���ll make my own inquiries. We���ll see who gets there first. How���s that?��� He grinned and she caught a glimpse of gold at the back of his mouth.
When he rose to his feet, she realised how rigidly she had been holding her body, for her neck ached and her upper arms were numb. She stood up and faced him. He had an inappropriate spattering of freckles across his nose and his eyes were a pale green, al
most yellow.
���As soon as I have anything, I���ll let you know. Through Babette.���
When he spoke to her he looked at her mouth.
���Would they hurt him?��� she asked.
His expression seemed to darken. Perhaps she was expected not to speak at all.
���Of course they wouldn���t. These are wannabes. No one who���s established would make a hit like this. Stuart should know this.��� He suddenly smiled at her. ���No, they won���t hurt your boy. He���s their only hope for stardom.���
He held out his hand. His skin was soft and remarkably cold and dry. She inwardly recoiled from this man. He let go of her hand. He was standing too close to her. She stepped back.
���They���ll be in touch soon. You���ve got to make sure the money is somewhere you can get at it. The money must be to hand. Then we can make them wait a little. Not too long. But we must be in control.���
���We���re not in control,��� she said. ���They are.���
His impatience returned.
���That depends on who they���re dealing with.���
He was looking at her mouth again. She was aware that her personality was immaterial to him. This was why her voice so irritated him. His technique was to seek out only that in a person which was of use to him. Women, she suspected, were principally for sex. This was what Babette had called womanising.
���How much will they want?���
���How much are you worth?���
She hesitated; she wanted to be truthful.
���It doesn���t matter,��� he said. ���If they���ve done their homework, they���ll know. When did you lose your husband?��� he asked suddenly.
���Three years ago.���
���I���m sorry. How did he die?���
���A skiing accident.���
He said nothing, allowing the fatuousness of this fact to speak for itself. He was taking in her eyes now, first one, then the other. She held his stare until he suddenly smiled. He patted her on the arm in a gesture of unexpected simplicity, and left.
She stood in the empty room. She felt she had hardened in his presence and she knew this was a good thing, better for her purpose than the spilling over that had occurred with the policeman. It worried her that Stuart was so widely despised. To her both men seemed equally strange and equally repulsive. If Mathieu had been with her, they would have kept a respectful distance from her grief. But if Mathieu had been there, Santini would not have offered his help.
A silence had settled in the room. The metallic sound of the crickets had stopped. The pain in her head had gone. For the first time since her childhood, she closed her eyes and prayed: Please give me Sam back, Dear Lord. She began again. Heavenly Father, please don���t punish me. She opened her eyes and looked round the room. There was a large bunch of gladioli standing in a vase in the fireplace, giving off a strong peppery smell.
Please. Give me Sam back.
What could she give in return?
She would give whatever was asked of her. Anything.
When she opened her eyes, one of Stuart���s men was standing in the doorway,
���Do you want those open?��� he asked.
She looked over at the French windows.
���Yes,��� she said.
���The wind���s dropped,��� he said.
���Yes.���
He nodded, trying to drive his hands into the pockets of his jeans, but they were too tight and he gave up. He scratched his eyebrow with his index finger, hesitating.
���Santini was here,��� he said, indicating the door behind him with his head. ���I just saw him leave.���
Alice folded her arms, facing him head on.
���Yes.���
���Babette showed him in.���
���Yes.���
���What did he want?���
���To introduce himself, I suppose.���
���Please don���t receive people without telling us.���
Alice nodded, suddenly eager to get past him. She looked at the closed door. She would not be reprimanded.
���I���ll be by the phone,��� she said, skirting round him. She opened the door and left the room.
Chapter Thirteen
Stuart took the coast road to Evelyne���s night-club. G��rard sat beside him, making his ritual search for a radio station. He would soon give up. Stuart looked out of his window at the sea, slick and impenetrable as celluloid, and at the lights at the mouth of the bay.
���I want you to go and pick up Raymond Battesti,��� Stuart said.
G��rard sat back in his seat.
���You think we���ll get anything out of him we can use? Junkies have a sixth sense. It���s called knowing what people want to hear.���
���Coco���s overfed him,��� Stuart said. ���He���s dying. You look into his eyes and you can see it.���
���When did you last look into Raymond Battesti���s eyes?��� G��rard asked, trying the radio again. ���Raymond���s no use to Santini any more.���
���Raymond will do anything for heroin. There begins and ends his usefulness,��� Stuart said. ���But Coco���s going to unplug him. It���s only a matter of time. He���s chasing his daughter.���
���How do you know?���
���Beatrice told me.���
���Beautiful Beatrice,��� G��rard said.
���You stay away from my sister,��� Stuart said.
G��rard smiled and looked out of the window. Stuart drove fast through the salt marshes, pushing the tired engine.
G��rard never drew attention to the familiarity between them. He was the only person who had seen Stuart outside the island and the only one who had ever seen him with a woman. They had met as inspectors in Paris. G��rard had watched Maya pick Stuart and marry him in the first two months. He had seen their cramped, circular flat in the experimental tower block with lilac clouds painted on it and tear-shaped windows. He had teased them about being on the thirteenth floor, the last frontier for whites, because the upper floors were for the Arab families who threw their rubbish out of the windows. And he had probably seen Maya���s desertion long before it happened. Stuart remembered coming home and finding his letter box in the entrance dripping with piss. He remembered retching at the smell of his burned doormat that was a smouldering, sticky mass; stepping over it and nudging open the door; contemplating the ransacked interior through a snow of feathers (the cheap furniture had buckled under one firm kick); and knowing all this was a signal that his brief marriage was over. In fact, there turned out to be no link between her departure and the destruction of his flat. Some kids in the building had simply discovered his profession.
That night he had slept on G��rard���s sofa and never moved back. When Stuart turned commissaire and got his posting on the island, G��rard had asked him if he could find something for him, too.
G��rard was watching him.
���What���s so funny?��� he asked.
���Nothing,��� Stuart said.
They were on the dual carriageway a few kilometres short of Evelyne���s club. The needles were quivering in their dials and the dashboard was rattling.
���There���s been a real change,��� Stuart said. ���For the first time it was the FNL who got Russo in.���
G��rard tried the radio again. It was a nervous thing.
���You know what I think?��� The radio hissed and flailed under his fingers. ���Coco���s looking for respectability. Russo���s
in and his interests are safe. He���s not going to sabotage that now.���
���Who fixed the deal with the FNL?��� Stuart asked.
G��rard left the radio alone but didn���t answer.
���What do they need most? What do they always need?���
���Ammunition.���
���And?��� Stuart urged.
���Funds,��� G��rard said.
Stuart lifted a hand from the steering wheel.
Up ahead was the sign bearing the name of Evelyne���s club. At the top of a ten-metre pole, ���La Bomba��� was scrawled in blue neon over an orange sun. The sign rose up out of the flat marshland and concrete plains of Massaccio���s airport and industrial zone. Stuart pulled into the car park. It was empty but for Evelyne���s red Mazda convertible. Monday nights the club was closed. Stuart parked and turned off the engine.
���He doesn���t need to get involved in something like this,��� G��rard said.
���He���s getting old,��� Stuart said. ���He���s tightening his grip.���
G��rard stared ahead of him and shook his head. Stuart pulled the keys from the ignition.
Evelyne had decided not to open up. G��rard went to get the megaphone from the car and Stuart began gathering pieces of driftwood, cardboard and pampas from the surrounding wasteland and making a brittle pile on the doorstep of the club. G��rard raised the megaphone to his mouth.
���Okay, Evelyne, sweetie,��� he called, his voice blasting into the night. ���Open up or we���ll take in all your girls and you���ll have to get pinball machines instead.���
Stuart was already sitting on his haunches, lighting the small bonfire. Smoke curled up into the brown sky. On the ground beside him was one of Evelyne���s large metal dustbin lids.
���Evelyne!��� G��rard called again. ���We���ve started a fire on your doorstep.��� Above the entrance, which was of Moorish design, was a horizontal window of coloured glass. A light came on and Evelyne���s legs, deformed by the convex panes, passed before them. G��rard lowered the megaphone. ���Okay,��� he said to Stuart.
