Inhuman Remains

Twenty-two

Happily, they didn’t get on, so Frank’s dangerous little knife stayed in his pocket. We went to the restaurant, for a late dinner, but not before he had gone through every one of the train’s carriages, looking, just in case.

As we ate, I asked him about his life in Switzerland. ‘If you hadn’t got involved with this Interpol thing, do you think it’s something you might have done anyway?’

‘Maybe. I know I loved it while I was there. It was a really terrific job, and I was more than a little cheesed when I had to chuck it and move on.’

‘And Susannah Gilpin: were you cheesed when you had to chuck her?’

‘You’d better believe it.’

‘What would you have done if she’d agreed to leave her husband? You could hardly drag the poor woman into this life.’

‘I’d have walked away from all of it for her. I still would, if she changed her mind.’

‘Er, Frank,’ I ventured, ‘that may be a little academic, given what’s happened. The life seems to have walked away from you.’

He smiled wistfully. ‘You have a point there. Maybe I’ll still have a chance with her, once I get out of this mess. You spoke to her. What do you think?’

‘She sounded to me like the sensible type, very sensible. Ask yourself, honestly. Would a sensible girl take a chance on the likes of you?’

The smile turned into a grimace. ‘You never know.’ He looked me in the eye, across the table. ‘Your late ex-husband was a very sensible type, from what I read of him. He took a chance on you. . more than once, from what Mum told me.’

God, that one had come from out of the blue. ‘As it happens,’ I replied icily, ‘the chance-taking was mutual. But he dumped me, didn’t he, not once but twice?’

‘And you’ve never forgiven him?’

‘No, I never have, but not for dumping me. I understood why he did it, both times.’

‘So what was his big crime, his unforgivable sin?’

‘I’m not going there, Frank. That’s something I’m keeping to myself.’

‘That’s very noble of you, if unnecessary, seeing as the guy’s dead.

Or are you protecting his memory?’

‘It’s got sod-all to do with his memory. I don’t want Tom to find out, ever.’

‘You’re properly stuck on that little man, aren’t you?’

‘So much so that sometimes it surprises even me. I didn’t think I could ever be so happy.’

‘Too bad Oz isn’t around to share it, then.’

‘No. Oz was very reserved when it came to sharing.’

He speared his last prawn. ‘Suppose he was still around, and suppose the d’Amuseo scam had screwed him for big bucks?’

‘No chance, he was way too cynical to get suckered into something like that.’

‘But suppose, just suppose. Let’s say he’d been taken for five million euros, as a couple of people will have been if the money does vanish. What would he have done? Written it off as loose change?’

I considered the question. ‘I can’t say for sure, you understand,’ I began, ‘but my suspicion would be that by now Caballero would be a couple of metres under in his own land, with Lidia Bromberg alongside him, and anyone else Oz’s people could find.’

He whistled. ‘Are you pulling my chain?’

I shook my head.

‘And that’s what you don’t want Tom to find out about his dad?’

‘Along those lines.’ I held his gaze. ‘Let me tell you something now: if you ever think of using that as a lever against me, you might find out how alike Oz and I were. A couple of his friends are my friends too, and I’d turn them loose in the blink of an eye on anyone who threatened our son, in any way.’

He eyed me up and down: I let the words hang in the air for a few seconds. ‘Now,’ I continued abruptly, ‘change the subject. When you were reading that paper on the AVE, what made you grin like an undersized Cheshire cat?’

‘I saw an outside chance for us to get out of this mess, if I can get us close to him. There was a thing called “Agenda” in the political pages, showing forthcoming events, meetings, visits and suchlike. Guess who’s due in Barcelona tomorrow, for a consultation on the Olympics in preparation for 2012? None other than the UK junior culture minister, Justin Mayfield, MP. If I can get to see him, and tell him about the bother we’re in, and about how we were dropped in it, we could just be in the clear.’

‘What could he do?’

‘He’s a member of the government, for Christ’s sake. He’s got clout. He could blow the whistle on Interpol, and call for an investigation into how I was set up, by whom, and why. A mole in that organisation has international security implications.’

I had to agree with all of that. ‘An investigation would have to start with your controller. What’s her name, anyway?’

‘I knew her as Charlotte, but I’d be amazed if that’s her real name. I agree she’s a possibility, but she’s not the only one. She has her own line managers.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Within the Interpol London bureau, I only ever met her. I was a secret even in their world, Primavera. Imagine the consequences if it became known that security services across Europe were recruiting convicted criminals as part of their strategy to combat major international crime.’

‘Yes, I can imagine them. And that suggests another way back into the daylight. Why don’t you simply phone the Sun, or the Daily Mail, any bloody tabloid, and sell them the story?’

‘Because I’m deniable, all the way along the line. There is no paper trail. The tabloids are interested in stories that shake governments; ours is earthquake proof on this.’

‘But somebody must have signed off on it.’

‘If they have, those papers will be secret for ever, or until everyone involved is long gone. But I doubt if anyone did. I worked in Westminster, remember. Sometimes ministers just don’t want to know about things that might splash mud on their boots.’

‘Or blood,’ I murmured. ‘So how do we get to see your old pal Mayfield?’

‘You probably don’t. It’s an official visit, and he’ll probably have a tight timetable, so I’ll have to blag my way past his private secretary. That might be more difficult if I had you in tow.’

‘Where will you find him?’

‘He’s going to be in the Hotel Arts, according to the paper. Do you know where that is?’

‘Yes, I’ve been there. It’s right down on the sea. It was built as part of the Olympic village, then converted. That may be why he’s stopping there. Do you think he’ll see you? After all, you did say he distanced himself from you when you went to prison, and he didn’t return Auntie Ade’s calls.’

Frank nodded. ‘I think he will. I know a few things about him from the old days, like who his cocaine supplier was and how much he and I went through. Plus there was a married lady he was shagging back then, and even now if her name came out it could cost him his job.’

‘Okay, so you’re going to blackmail your way in to see him?’

‘When the devil drives,’ he whispered.

I picked up my coffee cup, but it was empty, and there was no waiter around to refill it. ‘That’s it for me,’ I told him. ‘I’ve had it.’ As soon as the words passed my lips, I realised just how true they were. I had missed out on several hours’ sleep the night before, and since then I’d been running on adrenaline. I really was knackered; plus my foot hurt like hell, and I had no paracetamol.

‘Yes, me too,’ Frank admitted. ‘Let’s get along there and lock ourselves in. This train still has a stop to make during the night.’

‘I’m too tired to bother about that. If anyone wakens me, I’ll rip his throat out with my teeth and that’ll be that.’

We walked the short distance back to our compartment, where Frank secured the door and then wedged his rucksack strap around the handle as extra insurance. I climbed into the top bunk, but didn’t pull up the ladder; it would have been churlish, after he’d saved my bacon. . and I didn’t really have room for it.

I switched off my reading light, then stretched full out, slipped off my clothing, all of it, folded it as neatly as I could, into the smallest package possible, and put it by my side. Naked, I slipped under the sheet that Renfe had provided. I waited for Frank’s light to go out, but it didn’t. I glanced to my left and saw the top of his head, as he faced the basin in the corner. I leaned over for a better look. He was standing, rigid, in his underpants and seemed to be trembling violently, shaking from top to toe. ‘Hey,’ I whispered. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was strained. ‘You could have died today, we both could, and we’re still stuck well in the middle of the fucking forest. I’ve been in hiding for six weeks, Prim, in hiding from the whole fucking world, including my own mother, and it’s done no good because I’m still in danger, you’re in danger, and now she’s in danger too. It’s getting to me, that’s all. I need a few moments of weakness to regroup. Don’t worry, though: I’ll be fine.’

He was still shaking. ‘Hey, wee guy,’ I found myself saying gently. ‘You need a cuddle. Come on up here for a bit.’

He turned and I reached out my hand to him. He climbed the ladder and lay down alongside me. I wrapped my arms around him, as I had done with Tom when he was younger; he felt cold, even though the train’s air-con was only a partial barrier against the heat of the night, and he was still shivering. I held him tight, until his tremors began to subside, until he felt warmer, and calmer, and the pounding of his heart had slowed. I realised that my chest was damp, and that he had been crying.

‘Here now,’ I murmured. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right. Let me show you.’ I wrapped the sheet around us both. With the movement, my right nipple pressed against his parted lips: I felt him suck it, very gently, not voraciously, as Tom used to do. I was sure it was involuntary, rather than erotic. It didn’t excite me, yet I found it touching. What happened after that was probably inevitable, given all that we’d been through that day, and the state he was in. I slid my arm down his back as he lay there, motionless, found his underpants, eased them past his buttocks, and took them off with my left foot. I reached for him, and found him still shrivelled and flaccid, for all our proximity. I massaged him, gently at first, and then more firmly, as he began to stir. It took a little while, but eventually he was as ready as I reckoned he was going to get. I drew him on to me; he seemed to weigh hardly anything. His head was on my shoulder as I guided him to the entrance, and took him inside me, into my moistness. I ran my fingers through his hair, and began to move, slowly. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, until finally he responded, thrusting, and we were in rhythm.

It didn’t last long, and I didn’t have anything approaching an orgasm, not even after those years of total abstinence, but he did, or at least he came, for I’m told that’s not always one and the same thing for a guy. It wasn’t great sex, in fact it didn’t even approach good, but somehow it left me feeling at peace with myself, realising as he finished that until then, until that very moment, I hadn’t thought of the Algonquin, not once.

‘I’m sorry.’ He breathed the words in my ear.

I smiled. ‘Less of the sorry, okay? We’re going to get through this, and if we don’t, well, what the hell? We’ve eaten, we’ve drunk, and we’ve made merry.’

I slid out from under him and down the ladder. I filled the basin, washed myself thoroughly with one of the cloths and a small bar of soap, then dried myself with a hand-towel. When I climbed up again, he was on his back, sleeping like a baby, with a look on his face that would have become an angel. I reached over him, retrieved my small parcel of clothes, and took the bottom bunk.