26

Carver looked at the phone in his hand, wondering what he was going to say. It had been a couple of years since he’d last spoken to Alix, just a handful of words snatched at the funeral of a mutual friend. There hadn’t been a chance for a proper conversation: he’d been there with another woman.

He wasn’t even sure if the number he had for her would still work. He dialled it. Well, at least there was a ringtone. But no one was answering. He heard the phone ring three, four, five times, and was just formulating a voicemail message in his mind when she took the call, sounding brisk and a little hurried: ‘Hello, Alexandra Vermulen.’

The sound of her voice still thrilled him. They’d been apart for more than a decade, yet even now there was no other woman in the world that could get to him the way she did. But there was a stab of jealousy in him, too, that she should be using another man’s name as her own. That was another thing Carver had never quite got used to. ‘It’s me,’ he said.

There was no need for any further identification. He knew that his voice would be as instantly recognizable to Alix as hers was to him. Now he waited to hear her reaction. There was a hesitancy, almost a brittleness, as she said, ‘Hello…’

‘Look, I’m sorry to call you out of the blue. But you might be able to help me…’

Did he imagine it, or was there a sigh before she asked, ‘Is this a business call?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I suppose it was too much to hope that you might just want to speak to me.’

Carver rolled his eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath. Bad start. Try again.

‘Come on, Alix, you know it’s not like that.’

‘So what is it like?’

Silence fell on the line, neither knowing what to say next, but not ready yet to hang up. It was Carver’s move. He made it.

‘Can we start again, here? I would really like to see you. Full stop. Also, you might be able to help me with something important. Is there any chance we could meet up this evening? It doesn’t have to be for very long if you’re busy. Maybe we could have a quick drink?’

There was another pause. Carver could sense the debate in Alix’s mind as she weighed up the pros and cons of taking this further. Finally she said, ‘OK, Sam, we can meet. There’s a party at the Muscovy Gallery in Cork Street this evening. They’re opening an exhibition of Soviet propaganda posters. I’ll get your name put on the guest list. Be there in an hour.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you should.’

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