One Good Turn

57

When they landed at the airport in Geneva, they took a taxi straight to the bank.

Inside the cool interior, Tatiana spoke to a woman at a recep-tion desk. “This is Mrs. Gloria Hatter, she is here to withdraw funds.” Gloria supposed that people who worked in Swiss banks probably spoke English better than the English did. She could have sworn that Tatiana didn’t sound as Russian as she had before.

The receptionist picked up a phone and murmured something discreet and French into it, and within seconds they were ushered into the plush interior of a private room.

“Nice bank,”Tatiana said appreciatively.

Half an hour later they were outside again in the sunshine. It was that easy. Tatiana had instructed Gloria to arrange for the money to be handed over in the form of high-value bearer bonds. The bearer bonds seemed rather flimsy to Gloria, she would have preferred the weighty reality of cash. “Loot,” Tatiana said and laughed.

They went to an old, expensive grand café, and Gloria divided the bonds between them. “One for you, one for me,”she said. Tatiana tucked hers into her bra, and Gloria followed suit. Then Gloria turned her phone back on and listened to the messages on her voice mail. There was a message from the security company man wondering where she was and why her house was wrapped in crime-scene tape. There was a message from Emily, who seemed irritated by the imminence of the Second Coming. There was a message from the hospital. Gloria took a second phone out of her handbag and listened to the one message it contained, it was an announcement she had been expecting since Tuesday, and it confirmed the message from the hospital.

It was a momentous and final thing.

“Graham’s dead,” she said, but she was speaking to herself. Tatiana had gone.

Gloria took her time over her coffee. She had a very nice slice of Eglantine torte with it, and when she paid she left a very good tip. She remembered that it was Friday, Beryl’s day, and wondered if her ancient mother-in-law would notice that she wasn’t there.

Out in the street she pushed the second phone deep into the first waste bin she came to. She was sure it would be emptied soon, the Swiss being so famous for their cleanliness. What she had seen of the country so far was very appealing. She imagined buying a little dark-wood chalet in the countryside, window boxes full of trailing geraniums in the summer, crisp white snow piled on the roof in winter. A basket of kittens sleeping by a log-burning stove.

There was so much work to be done. She would move through the world righting wrong. Legions of kittens, horses, budgies, mangled boys, murdered girls, they were all calling to her. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

She would be feared by the bad. She would be a legend in her own lifetime. She would be cosmic justice. That should definitely be said with capital letters. Cosmic Justice. Incontrovertibly and without argument, Cosmic Justice was a Good Thing.