Breaking Cover

39

The plane landed twenty minutes early, and with very little delay at passport control and customs Jasminder was soon in the baggage hall. She had brought rather a lot of clothes for a weekend, uncertain what the dress code would be. Thinking that in a place like Bermuda she would need something fairly glamorous for the evenings, she’d been shopping in her lunch breaks and had equipped herself with a choice to meet all situations. The airport confirmed her view that this would be a pretty glitzy weekend – the shops were expensive designer-label-only outlets, and the passengers in the terminal were dressed in the casually smart outfits of the rich.

A tall man in a chauffeur’s hat was standing by the barrier with a sign bearing her name. He gave a curt nod when she approached him, took her bag and led her to a black limousine parked directly outside. They drove across the causeway from the airport, and after a few questions from Jasminder about Bermuda had received only monosyllabic replies, they travelled on in silence.

They continued for a few miles more, past colonial-style houses set back from the road. Jasminder felt she could have been in Surrey, except for the occasional palm tree and the hints of sand beneath the manicured lawns. The sun shone in an unbroken blue sky, but it was cooler here than she’d expected – just 70 degrees Fahrenheit according to the thermometer on the car’s dashboard – and she reminded herself that she was in the North Atlantic, not the tropics. They had just passed the umpteenth golf course when the driver turned off through open gates towards a spacious bungalow that sat a good hundred yards from the road. A large and beautiful Cedar of Lebanon tree stood on the front lawn, but the grass was six inches high, as if the gardener had been ill or the mower didn’t work. When the chauffeur pulled up in front of the house, Jasminder could see that its pale ochre paint needed refreshing, and that at one end of its low slanting roof a few tiles were missing.

The chauffeur took her bag and escorted her to the front door, then shook his head when she asked how much she owed him. She rang the bell, but when the door swung open from her inadvertent push, she stepped inside, into the hallway. Open arched doors led to rooms on either side, but when she peeped in, there was no one about.

‘Hello,’ she called out cautiously, then repeated it more loudly. There was no response at first, but then she heard a door close at the back of the house. A moment later, a woman came towards her down the narrow hallway.

‘Jasminder?’ she asked. She was blonde and expensively packaged – as if on show rather than holiday. She wore a skin-tight dress of rainbow stripes, and white high heels that looked uncomfortable. Her arms and bare legs were the colour of caramel, and her skin had the leathery look that comes from too much exposure to the sun.

‘That’s me,’ said Jasminder with a smile. The woman did not smile back.

‘Let me show you where you’re staying,’ she said. She led Jasminder to the back of the house, down a corridor with closed doors on either side. The last door turned out to lead to Jasminder’s bedroom.

‘Is Laurenz here?’ she asked. There was no sign in the room of his things.

The woman shook her head. Pointing to a connecting door, she said, ‘His room’s through there. They’re all in a meeting, but you’ll see him at dinner. It’s at seven at the club.’

‘The club?’

The woman looked at her expressionlessly. ‘The golf club. It’s just over there.’ She pointed through the wide window of the bedroom. Turning to look, Jasminder could see a few holes of a golf course. Did anyone do anything else in Bermuda?

The woman said, ‘You can walk there in a few minutes. If you want, I’ll go with you so you don’t get lost. There’s a pool at the back,’ she added – pointing behind the house. ‘Feel free to use it. And help yourself to anything in the fridge.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jasminder.

‘See you just before seven then,’ the woman said, and left the room.

The bedroom was small and stuffy – the air conditioning seemed woefully underpowered. Jasminder opened the connecting door and walked through to Laurenz’s room. It was the same size as hers, and though one of his suits was hanging in the cupboard and his shaving things were in the bathroom, it seemed equally soulless. It was certainly not the luxurious accommodation he had implied there would be. Still, Jasminder decided, she mustn’t grumble; not many people got a free holiday to Bermuda.

Going back to her own room, she decided to have a swim, and changed into a new bikini she had bought for the trip. Taking a bath towel with her, she went out of the back door of the house and found the pool set behind a group of squat palmettos. The pool was small, kidney-shaped, and didn’t look very inviting; clusters of flying beetles were flitting on and off the surface of the water and some were floating on it, apparently dead.

Two recliners were positioned in the shade at the far end and Jasminder went and lay down on one of them. She should have brought her book, she thought, then realised how tired she was.

When she opened her eyes again she was cold and, looking at her watch, discovered she had slept for an hour and a half. It was almost six-thirty. She went into the house, where no one else seemed to be about, including the woman she was starting to think of as Miss Glamour Girl. In her bedroom Jasminder considered what to wear for dinner – would it be smart or casual? She compromised, and put on smart trousers and a pretty, flowery top, with silver sandals. She applied a little makeup, brushed her hair, and went back to the front of the house. There she found Glamour Girl waiting in the sitting room, turning the pages of an old copy of Vogue.

‘Hi, Jacintha, all set?’ The other woman stood up. She was wearing a low-cut black evening dress, with a heavy gold necklace, dangly earrings and a pair of gold bracelets that jingled when she moved her arm.

‘It’s Jasminder. And yes, I’m ready. But what’s your name?’

‘My real one is long and unpronounceable. But you can call me Sam. Everyone else does.’

They went outside and Sam closed the door firmly behind them. Jasminder followed as the woman went through a gate in the back garden that led on to the golf course. As they walked along one of the fairways, Sam asked, ‘Have you known Laurenz long?’

‘Not really. It’s been a couple of months since we started seeing each other. How about you? Have you known him long?’

‘I suppose so,’ Sam said vaguely.

‘Do you work at the bank?’

Sam looked startled. ‘The bank – me? Lord, no.’ She gave a little artificial-sounding laugh and went on, ‘I know these boys socially. I help arrange their little get-togethers, and make sure they have a good time.’

Jasminder nodded. It sounded as if Sam was some sort of hostess, and a well-paid one from the looks of her. She wondered where the other women were. Surely Jasminder wasn’t the only partner there.

As they approached the clubhouse, she saw a group of men having drinks on the veranda. Laurenz was there, standing among them, and when he looked up she waved cheerily. He gave a little salute back, but he didn’t come over to her, just kept on talking to the other men. Jasminder told herself to be more restrained. She didn’t know many bankers in London – perhaps they were a stuffy bunch.

With Sam, Jasminder walked up the steps of the veranda. The men turned as one and examined them both, with an assessing stare that was plain rude. The two women joined the group and a few introductions were made, but Jasminder found it hard to catch anybody’s name. Though they were all speaking in English, the men all looked more East European than British or American, except for one African who said he was from Zimbabwe.

The men were drinking cocktails, big measures of spirits served in oversized whisky glasses, but when the waiter came to her Jasminder asked for a spritzer. She had never been a big drinker and this looked as if it would be a heavy evening. From time to time, Laurenz looked over at her, but he didn’t join her, and Jasminder felt both awkward and a little upset that he hadn’t come over to welcome her. None of the other men seemed particularly anxious to talk to her and so she stayed standing next to Sam, who was prattling on about the comparative merits of shopping on Bond Street and the Rue de Rivoli. It looked as though the two of them were going to be the only women at the dinner.

Eventually they all went inside to a small private dining room. There didn’t seem to be anyone else at all in the clubhouse apart from a couple of waiters. Jasminder found herself seated next to Sam, despite there being no other women present. On her other side was a giant bear of a man, with rough black hair and sideburns that came halfway down the sides of his face.

‘I am Kozlov,’ he said in a thick Russian accent. He held a bottle of red wine in one hand and, without asking her, filled her large goblet and then his own to the brim. He took a big gulp then said, ‘And you are Laurenz’s special friend. The one he often speaks of.’

‘That’s nice to hear,’ said Jasminder, as a waiter put a plate of dressed crab down in front of her.

‘And with a very special job,’ said Kozlov, with a grin.

‘I don’t know about that.’ Had Laurenz really talked about her job with this man? She hoped not.

‘You are being modest,’ said Kozlov, digging into his crab. He chewed nosily while looking at her. ‘You are what Westerners call “deep waters”, no?’

‘Deep waters?’ asked Jasminder, puzzled.

‘You know what I mean. There is much information in that head of yours, but you do not act the part. You sit like a modest schoolgirl, when you know more than everyone in this room combined. I congratulate you on your cleverness.’

Jasminder felt embarrassed and alarmed. What on earth had Laurenz told this man about her? It sounded as though he’d described her as being a mixture of C and James Bond. It was absurd.

Fortunately Kozlov changed the subject, and began to regale her with stories of his own business prowess and his travels around the world. Las Vegas was his favourite city, he explained, partly for the gaming tables and partly for its culture.

‘Culture?’ asked Jasminder, unable to hide her amazement.

‘Yes. You see, in Las Vegas they have many hotels now that are replicas of the world’s most beautiful places. There is one with a canal as beautiful as the Grand Canal in Venice; another is based on the Parthenon. Et cetera, et cetera. You no longer have to go to all these places to see the sights. Now you can see the beauties of the world just by visiting Las Vegas.’

A waiter came and took their plates and then put new ones down, each with a large steak on it. Jasminder sighed inwardly. She didn’t like beef and wished there had been an alternative available. She took some salad and moved the meat around on her plate to make a show of eating it, while hiding bits under the salad. Kozlov cut away at his, chomping away with gusto.

He was on his third goblet of wine when dessert came, and by then Jasminder had heard even more about Las Vegas, and far more than she wanted to know about the racy nightlife of Hamburg and Cologne. She had tried once or twice to catch Laurenz’s eye, but he never looked over. It was almost as if he were intentionally ignoring her, and that just added to Jasminder’s growing discomfort. This event was nothing like she had imagined, and these people were very far from the sophisticated group of international bankers and their elegant wives and partners that she had expected to meet. In fact, she reluctantly admitted to herself, the gathering was vulgar and tawdry, and Laurenz must know it and that was why he wasn’t talking to her.

After dinner they all went back in a group to the bungalow. Sam walked with Jasminder. She was clearly slightly tipsy now, and seemed friendlier. She said in a loud whisper, ‘I’m sorry you got stuck with Kozlov at dinner. He can be a bore.’

‘He did seem a bit of a rough diamond.’

Sam laughed. ‘That’s putting it mildly. But these are good guys, even if they lack a certain polish. The only thing is, Jacintha…’ And she paused, coming to a halt until the others were out of earshot. ‘These men mean well but they can be a bit rough. If for some reason they wanted a person to do something, they would expect the person to do it.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jasminder suddenly felt cold. ‘Do what?’

‘Whatever it was they wanted. And my advice would always be to do whatever they ask. The alternative can be very unpleasant, in my experience.’

Sam walked on, and Jasminder, now thoroughly scared, followed her. In a moment they had caught up with the men – before Jasminder could press Sam on what she’d been saying. Was this a warning? It certainly sounded like it. Why was she here – apparently the only woman invited to join this group? What did these men expect from her? She thought back to her last conversation with Laurenz when he’d pressed her for information. She’d told him she couldn’t provide it but why did Koslov know about her job? What had Laurenz been telling them? Surely someone as subtle and kind and intelligent as he was didn’t really count these people as his closest friends.

With a growing sense of panic she joined the men in the sitting room, where Kozlov was standing by a tray full of liquor bottles, dispensing large measures into brandy balloons. Jasminder judged it best not to show her alarm, so she smiled and asked for a Crème de Menthe. She managed to drink some of it but found it difficult to swallow the sweet, cloying stuff and eventually abandoned her glass on an empty bookshelf.

She would have liked to quiz Sam further, but the woman was in full flow with one of the men about where he could buy some underwear for his girlfriend, so Jasminder decided to go back to her bedroom and try to work out what was going on. She would have liked to talk to Laurenz but he was in a huddle with his cronies, though he did look over and smile at her for the first time that evening, and when she motioned that she was going, he lifted his index finger to indicate he would join her in a minute or two.

When she got back to her bedroom she felt suddenly very tired. She could hardly keep her eyes open and her fear seemed to have floated away on waves of fatigue. These men seem awfully crass, she thought hazily, more like overgrown boys than mature citizens. Was this really what the world of finance was like? Jasminder had thought bankers were all educated at public schools, wore hand-made suits and belonged to gentlemen’s clubs on Pall Mall. These men tonight could have been supplied by central casting for a film about spivs.

She sighed and got into bed, thinking what she would wear the next day. She vaguely heard Laurenz come into his room and was aware that he looked in through the connecting door, but before she could say anything, she’d fallen asleep.