Carver

98

Ten days later…

The Old Town, Geneva

‘ How’s your head?’

‘Much better,’ said Alix. She took the big white mug of coffee that Carver held out to her, sipped a little and smiled. ‘Thanks for asking… And thank you for the coffee, too.’

‘My pleasure,’ said Carver. He looked down at her, curled up on one of the oversized armchairs in his Geneva flat. They weren’t the same chairs as the ones that had been there when they first met, and Alix wasn’t dressed exactly the same — this morning she was wearing a white singlet, slim black jersey trousers, and a pair of grey cashmere bedsocks — but his delight in seeing her there hadn’t changed one jot in all the years that had passed.

‘Budge up,’ he said, and snuggled next to her on the chair. He looked at her again, and frowned as he saw a look of sadness drift across her face like the shadow of a cloud passing overhead. ‘You all right?’ he asked.

She held the cup close to her face in both hands and took another drink before she answered. ‘I was just remembering that night. The people nearest the blast were ripped to pieces. I was so lucky… When I came to, I was covered in blood, but it wasn’t mine.’

Carver gave her arm a squeeze. She’d told the story so many times over the past few days, almost as if she hoped that if she repeated the words often enough the pain of what they described would begin to fade. Thirty-nine people had been killed, among them Drinkwater and his guards. And so far as the world was concerned, Malachi Zorn had died in that wheelchair. The man who was shot in the room across the road had never even existed: his passing went unrecorded. Meanwhile, more than a hundred guests had been injured, their wounds running the gamut from crippling mutilation to the kind of surface injury Alix had suffered.

She was right, she had been lucky. A glancing blow from a flying chunk of ceiling plaster had left her with nothing worse than concussion. Carver felt blessed by her survival.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Don’t fight it. Your mind needs to heal, just like your body.’

She nodded, with a wry half-smile, as she said, ‘I guess…’ And then her smile brightened a little. ‘You help me heal,’ she said. ‘You make me feel safe.’

They kissed, very softly. Carver smiled. ‘Mmm… you taste of coffee.’

‘Is it good?’ she asked.

‘Very. Remind me to congratulate the guy who made it.’

‘I could congratulate him, if you like.’

‘That sounds like a plan.’

Alix looked around. ‘So where is he, this coffee guy?’

Carver played along, frowning in apparent bafflement. ‘I don’t know. I think I saw him go into the bedroom.’

‘Really?’

‘Uh-huh…’

‘OK… so this bedroom… will you be there too?’

Carver grinned. ‘Might be.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’