The Lie of You: I Will Have What Is Mine

by Lythell, Jane

  ‘Very good, really very good... Now, what’s this about Robert Mirzoeff?’

  ‘He left a message, some days ago. I only just got it. We’ve been away. Said he was a close friend and wanted your parents’ address. He’d heard Solange was very ill and that you were back here.’

  ‘No, no, not at all; I am sorry, Ilkka. I don’t know how he got your number. The thing is I want to end my relationship with Robert so I told him I had gone to Helsinki for the foreseeable future. I did not give him a forwarding address and I do not want him to have one!’

  ‘He sounded very concerned. Said he wanted to help if he could...’

  ‘He’s a nice enough man, but it was never going to work out. He wanted to get serious and wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘Still the heartbreaker, I see. And your mother is OK?’

  ‘She’s fine. They are just back from a four-week holiday in France.’

  ‘That’s good, then. And when are you coming back to Helsinki?’

  ‘I’m not sure. When I do, we must get together. Are you still enjoying work?’

  ‘Not really. Not the fun it once was and not a job for mature people any more. The idiot children are in control these days. You were clever to get out when you did.’

  ‘Thanks for the call, Ilkka. And please make some excuse to Robert.’

  ‘Of course I will. Take care, Heja.’

  Damn Robert. Damn him. How did he get Ilkka’s number? And how could he know that I said Solange was ill? I did not say anything about Solange in my letter to him. There is only one possible explanation. He has been to see her. The only place I ever wrote Ilkka Laine’s number was on my job application. She must have given it to him. I can just imagine the two of them meeting up in her office. She would be all fake reasonableness, ever the professional manager. He would probe gently until he got more information out of her than she meant to give, or should have given, him. He insinuates his way into people’s confidence. He is someone who does not respect boundaries, whether it is my body or my plans. I have the same sensation of my inner self being probed as when he used to stick his fingers up me.

  They will leave by six o’clock at the latest. The party starts at seven and goes on till nine-thirty. She will have to stay till the end and Markus will stay on to show his support. The childminder will be at their flat. She will watch television in their sitting room. Maybe smoke a cigarette with the window open. Or call that boyfriend of hers. It will just be a matter of choosing my moment. I will not go there till eight o’clock. Billy should be asleep by then.

  I assembled all the paraphernalia for the journey in the middle of the room: my suitcase with my things and a holdall for Billy’s things, including the pack of nappies. I had already stowed the buggy I bought on the floor of the car, covered with a blanket. Then I closed and taped down a cardboard box containing the bottles and baby foods. So much stuff! I do not want the caretaker to see what I am loading. He is an ex-cop. He takes a lively interest in our comings and goings. I have to get all this from my apartment into the boot of the Volvo. Then I will need to rest before the drive.

  First I took everything out and put it by the lift. I locked my apartment and moved all the stuff into the lift. At the ground floor I moved everything out into the lobby.

  The caretaker saw this and moved from behind his desk. He has a fat face and wears one of those absurd white shirts with navy epaulettes with brass buttons on them as if to convey authority. His shirt was tucked into navy trousers and his belly was hanging over the top of his black leather belt.

  ‘Morning. Can I help you with that?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He picked up my suitcase and the box. I followed him and he held the doors open for me. We crossed the forecourt. I knew he would ask where I was going.

  ‘Going away for a bit, are you?’

  ‘Yes, for a week or so.’

  ‘This isn’t your usual car, is it?’

  ‘No. That is in for some work.’

  ‘Got pranged, did it?’

  ‘I am sorry?’

  ‘Your car, it got damaged?’

  I opened the boot. He lifted my suitcase in then placed the box and the holdall neatly by its side.

  ‘No, it just needed a good service.’

  ‘Right, right. Going anywhere nice?’

  ‘The Lake District.’

  ‘Ahh, lovely spot... May be a bit wet, though, this time of the year. Looks like there’s a storm brewing today.’

  I looked up. Great purple-grey clouds were forming over the river. I locked the boot and we walked back together.

  ‘Thank you for your help.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on your flat while you’re away.’

  ‘I would appreciate that.’

  I opened my bag and gave him a twenty-pound note. How I detest the English and their snooping ways.

  I stood outside the front door of her flat and listened intently. No sound came through the door. I slid my key into the lock and turned the key and the handle softly. I pushed the door open one inch and listened again. I could hear the rise and fall of TV voices coming from their sitting room. I pushed the door open further and looked down the landing. The table light was on in the hall and light was coming from Billy’s room. I stepped in, closing the door silently behind me, not letting the lock engage, then walked into Billy’s room. He was lying on his back asleep in his cot.

  I closed his door behind me and picked up the padded jacket hanging on the back of the door. The wind was getting up and he would need it. Then I leant over his cot and picked him up, bringing his blanket with him. He made a funny little noise as I lifted him. I wrapped the blanket securely around him and rocked him in my arms until he settled back to sleep. Then I walked back to the door and opened it carefully. Still the voices from the TV rose and fell. I walked down the hall through the door and pushed it to behind me, again not letting the lock engage. In three minutes I was out of the building. I lay Billy on the back seat wrapped in his blanket. It took me a few minutes to secure him there with the car seat belts. I had not bought a baby car seat. They are so visible and we would only be making the one long journey. I got into the front seat, started the engine and began the journey to Kent.

  Kathy

  OCTOBER

  We arrived at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office at five-thirty p.m. A security guard lifted the outer gate for us and Philip drove in through the arch and stopped at the security window. A man checked the registration number against a clipboard, checked our names and then examined the underneath of our car with a torch and a metal detector. I wondered if all the guests would have to go through these security procedures. It was a government building, of course, and these days such checks were the norm. The security man handed Philip a square paper pass to put inside the windscreen. Philip drove slowly into the quadrangle and parked the car. Victoria and I got out and she pulled her skirt down as a strong wind whipped across the quadrangle, swirling grit into our faces.

  ‘Hope this weather won’t put people off,’ Victoria muttered to me.

  ‘What?’ Philip asked. He had sprung out of the car, all fired up. He was wearing a brown linen suit that did not suit him and I wondered if he was nervous at all. I certainly was.

  ‘I was just saying it’s good we’re so early – plenty of time to check the sound system and the promo.’

  We walked into the building accompanied by the event organizer, who had been waiting for us. The grand staircase swept up in front of us, a mass of richly coloured marble at our feet and gold decoration above. Two great ormolu chandeliers hung over the staircase. My eyes were drawn upwards to a dome of gold decorated with a circle of female figures, each representing a different country. At the top of the staircase we walked past a sequence of the most extraordinary wall-sized murals.

  One was called Britannia Pacificatrix. This showed the nations of the world as costumed figures who were paying homage to Britannia. Italy was depicted as a woman in w
hite holding the fasces, Canada was a young man girdled with maple leaves, while Africa was a small naked boy with a basket of tropical fruits on his head! I looked more closely and saw that Portugal was depicted as a woman with a basket of grapes. Britannia, the peacemaker, was comforting a naked girl, Belgium, who was holding a broken sword aloft. We lingered in front of this mural for a few minutes.

  ‘Quite extraordinary! It just oozes Imperial confidence, doesn’t it? When was it painted?’ Philip asked.

  ‘Between 1914 and 1921 by the artist Sigismund Goetze,’ the event organizer said.

  ‘Great choice, Victoria. We should do a feature on this some time, Kathy.’

  ‘Indeed,’ I replied.

  An uneasy peace had been restored between us but we were still at the chilly stage.

  We entered the Grand Reception Room. A large plasma screen had been set up at the far end and a dais had been built in front of it with a table and two microphones for Philip and me. Two long tables covered in white linen cloths lined the side of the room and were being set up as bars. White-jacketed waiters were arranging trays of wineglasses in sequence down their length.

  ‘I asked them to do interesting soft drinks as well wine and beer,’ Victoria told us. ‘Elderflower cordial and pomegranate juice. More and more people are swerving booze these days.’

  ‘The hacks still like a drink,’ said Philip.

  One of the waiters came over and offered us a drink. I asked for mineral water. I was absurdly nervous and kept swallowing.

  The event organizer said, ‘We’d like to do a sound and picture check now. Mr Parr, Kathy, would you mind getting into your positions on the stage, please.’

  Philip read through his speech. It was a good speech, quite funny in places, and he did acknowledge that the guide was my idea. He delivered it a bit too fast and I wondered if I should say anything. I decided not to. His closing words were the cue for a three-minute promo tape cut to music, which was made up of some of the best images and quotes from the guide. It was very well done and I was glad that they’d followed my advice and ended it with a freeze frame on Hector’s shot of the Torre de Belem taken from the river. At this point the plan was to take questions from the guests and that was when I would be needed.

  ‘Kathy, could you please say a few words into your mic so we can check the sound level?’

  I said, ‘The Torre de Belem in Lisbon, a UNESCO World Heritage Site...’

  ‘That’s fine. OK. Everything’s ready.’

  Philip and I got down from the dais.

  ‘Great speech, Philip, maybe take it a bit slower,’ Victoria said.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah, give the jokes time to sink in, it’s very amusing. The photographer who did that last shot is coming tonight.’

  ‘Kathy, make sure you introduce him to me. He’s got something special...’

  ‘Hector Agapito.’

  ‘We should use him more.’

  ‘I plan to,’ I said.

  I went to the Ladies and checked myself over. My stomach would not be stilled and I just wanted the evening to be over with.

  Around five to seven the first guests started to arrive. Philip, Victoria and I positioned ourselves by the huge oak entrance door so we could greet people as they came in. It was such a large and magnificent room that the early guests looked a little awkward and they grouped together by the bar. I could hear the moan of the wind against the vast high windows and saw dead leaves being whipped up into the sky.

  ‘Bloody awful night,’ Philip hissed. ‘May keep people away.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Victoria. ‘People will want to see this amazing building.’ She looked a bit anxious.

  More guests started to arrive and slowly the room began to fill, the level of voices rose and it started to feel like a party. Markus came in and squeezed my arm. The organizer came over to Victoria.

  ‘I think we’ll start to circulate with some hot canapés now.’

  ‘Fine; please make sure the food stops circulating as soon as he starts his speech.’

  Then Hector was standing there in front of me. He was wearing a red brushed-cotton shirt and black trousers. His hair curled around his neck and he was smiling warmly at me.

  ‘Kathy.’ He kissed me on both cheeks. ‘What a place! I’d love to photograph that staircase. Did you find it?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I didn’t. Did you take a look at those murals?’

  ‘I did; wonderful and quite absurd!’

  ‘Portugal’s in there – a woman with a basket of grapes, of course. Personally I far prefer the Mosteiro,’ I said.

  He looked at me, really looked at me. ‘How are things?’

  ‘I’ll be glad when this is all over, to be honest. I’m happy to say that you are one of the stars of tonight’s show. There are lots of your shots in the promo tape.’

  Philip was standing next to me, talking to a female journalist from a Radio Four arts programme. He looked over at us.

  ‘I want to introduce you to the publisher of our magazine,’ I said. ‘Philip Parr, this is Hector Agapito, who photographed the Portuguese sites’

  Philip said how much he admired Hector’s work. Hector thanked him and I remembered our conversation in the café and his description of Philip as a prick. Sensing this, Hector glanced over at me and winked. Victoria joined us then, introduced herself and said, ‘You must be Hector. There’s a journalist here from a photo magazine and he’s seen some of your shots. Would you be willing to be interviewed?’

  ‘Delighted...’

  He looked over at me and said, ‘We’ll talk later.’

  Victoria moved off with him into the scrum of guests and the media.

  ‘Time to mingle,’ Philip said.

  The room was now full of people and there must have been over three hundred there. There was that excited clamour of voices you get at a good party. I found Markus standing by the great door that led out of the main room into a smaller room.

  ‘Come here. I want to show you something,’ he said. He led me through to the adjoining conference room.

  ‘Look at the hinges on this door. See those acorns carved in brass above the hinges? What a superb detail to find on an oak door...’

  He stroked the wood of the door and I loved him again at that moment for caring about the architectural detail and not caring about the loud, self-important people in the other room. I touched him on his back.

  ‘I’m sick with nerves.’

  ‘You look perfectly cool and calm.’

  ‘Was Billy OK when you left?’

  ‘He was as happy as could be.’

  ‘Fran’s good with him.’

  We walked back into the reception room together. A waitress passed and offered her tray of miniature crispy duck pancakes. Markus took one.

  ‘It is a bit of a circus. Go on, you’d better mix with the guests.’

  This is the warmest conversation we’ve had for weeks and I was grateful that he’d come along to support me. I moved back into the noise and heat of the room.

  Philip walked up onto the stage and it took him two minutes of calling for people’s attention through the microphone before the voices were stilled and the room finally became quiet.

  ‘Thank you, thank you. This won’t take long. We are here to tell you about our World Heritage Sites guide. I’m Philip Parr, publisher of the guide, and this is Kathy Hartman, editor.’

  Markus had moved close to the stage, at the side. Hector and Victoria were standing in the centre of the room. As Philip spoke I saw through the far window that the wind was getting ever fiercer. A plastic bag flew past the window and it ballooned and fluttered in an agony of movement. Aisha was pushing though the guests from the door of the room as Philip was giving his speech. I wondered what she was doing. She was looking for someone. I tried to catch her eye but she did not look in my direction. She moved as quickly and as surreptitiously as she could through the crowd. Philip had finished speaking. He had got a fe
w laughs with his speech. Then the lights in the room were dimmed as the plasma screen lit up with images of World Heritage Sites from across Europe.

  I looked over to where Hector was standing, watching, and Victoria, who stood close to him, was looking very excited. There was a collective sigh of pleasure as the tape ended and then people started to clap enthusiastically.

  Philip waited a moment and said, ‘I’m glad you enjoyed that. We’d be delighted to take questions now. There are people with microphones in the room so if you could use the microphone to ask your questions, please.’

  I noticed that Aisha had reached Markus. She touched his arm and whispered something in his ear. In that instant a profound change came over his face. I couldn’t read it other than to say that it looked as if he had committed a terrible crime. He glanced at me for a split second, too quickly for me to acknowledge his look, then turned and started to walk out of the room, pushing through the crowd with real urgency. Aisha followed closely in his wake. My instant reaction was that something had happened to Billy. There was ice in my chest and in my stomach. People were talking in the distance. Their voices were muffled by the noise of my heart. There was a silence, a stretched-out silence. Then I heard Philip saying my name from a long way away.

  ‘Kathy, that’s one for you, I think.’

  I looked at him. He was giving me a strange look.

  ‘I’m sorry, would you, would you repeat the question, please?’

  We got through the questions. Somehow I managed to get out the answers. Philip did most of the talking. Aisha had come back into the room and now she was standing where Markus had stood, to the side of the stage, and she was clearly very agitated. She could not keep her hands still; she was actually wringing them in her distress. And she would not meet my eye, although I kept looking in her direction. My mouth was dry and my mind was running through the catalogue of sudden infant death syndrome; of babies choking on their vomit; of fits and of accidents with boiling water.

  Finally Philip said, ‘Please enjoy the rest of the party.’