The Light of Day: A Novel Read Free Page B

Miss?—meet?”
    “It’s Miss. Yes, I can give you the address. It’s a flat in Fulham. A first-floor flat. We rent it for her—I mean, my husband rents it for her.”
    “I see.”
    “Before this—I mean before she lived in the flat—she used to live under our roof.”
    “I see.”
    I sensed her watching my pen move over my pad, as if I was being slow. It was Rita who bought me the pen (when she found out my birthday). “It looks posh, George, it’s got class. A fountain-pen, not these crappy old biros.”
    A fountain-pen. Tortoiseshell. It was Rita who’d used the word.
    “I see. And you’d like me to—keep your husband and Miss Lazic under observation? You’d like me to establish evidence?”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    “No. You see, it’s all over. It’s all over. Kristina is going back to Croatia—in maybe three, four weeks. Do you follow the news? It’s agreed. She’s getting a plane. What I want you to do is follow them to the airport. Watch them. That’s all.”
    “Let me get this clear. It’s ‘all over’—you mean it’s all over between Miss Lazic and your husband?”
    “Yes.”
    “But you said ‘them’—‘follow them.’ You mean your husband is going to take Miss Lazic to the airport?”
    “Yes. To see her off. It’s—a last concession. It’s his last three weeks.”
    “But—if it’s all over, if she’s leaving, why do you want me to follow them?”
    The first real pause. The first slight quiver of the lips. She looked like someone owning up to something.
    “To see if she really goes. To see if they really go to the airport. And, if they do, to see if she really gets the plane—I mean, by herself. If they don’t just fly off together, somewhere. Any plane, anywhere. Will you do this for me? Will you follow them and watch them and tell me what happens?”
    As if she was suddenly begging some friend.
    “Of course.”
    And I was thinking: jobs don’t come easier. Money for old rope. I might have handed it over to Rita.
    But I saw the glitter in her eyes. Melting frost. Sometimes they gush or explode. Sometimes there’s just a wetness in the eyes. It can lead on to other things, but if it doesn’t you have to pretend it isn’t there.
    All the time she’d been holding on to the strap of her shoulder-bag, twisted round her fingers, like a pet on a lead.
    “Of course I can, Mrs. Nash, no problem. But I’ll need details. The date and time of course, details of the flight— the intended flight. Are we talking about Heathrow? The address you mentioned, is that where they’ll be driving from? In your husband’s car? Will they be going in his car? What does he drive?”
    The tears didn’t spill, they didn’t dry up.
    “And I’ll need photographs, of each of them, if you can supply them. For recognition purposes, you understand. Can I ask what your husband does?”

5
    I cross back over the Broadway and make for the side-alley where I leave the car. If Rita’s watching she’ll have lost me now. Well, if she wanted, she could sneak out and shadow me all day, the office left on hold. If she did it carefully, how would I know? Under surveillance by my own staff—all one of them. It’s what happens. You train them up . . .
    The car, tucked in, by old arrangement (and annual rent) against the side wall of Leigh’s yard, is like an ice-box, though it’s only been standing a couple of hours. There’s still an oval of unmelted frost on the roof.
    I put the flowers on the back seat. The wrapping (silver and grey stripes) is almost superfluous, since I mean to take them out and lay them just by themselves and flat. There are those little perforated pots you can get, made for the purpose, I don’t know where from. Florists maybe. And the cemetery must have water taps. But it’s November, a cold snap: they aren’t going to last long, either way. And the flowers themselves are almost superfluous. It’s the thought that counts.
    “Will you do it for me, George?”
    “Yes,