The Marketmaker

16

The plane began its descent to São Paulo. I looked out of the window at the second greatest metropolis on earth. Twenty million people live in Greater São Paulo. Low red-roofed houses sprawled as far as I could see. Sprouting out among them like the white shoots of early spring were hundreds, if not thousands, of skyscrapers. They were grouped in clumps, as if handfuls of seed had fallen together from the hand of a careless sower. On the horizon, between the brown and red of the city, and the blue of the sky, stretched a thick dark grey band of smog. As we descended, the landscape was broken up by a grey ribbon of river, and dozens of industrial sites. We passed low over a lake of the most extraordinary lime green. God had created Rio in a fit of inspired imagination, man had created São Paulo with a total lack of it.

São Paulo is the business and financial centre of Brazil. Paulistas are proud to compare their city with New York and, indeed, the long avenues flanked with skyscrapers did look impressively commercial. People in suits dashed back and forth, and the traffic moved urgently through the vast network of São Paulo’s highways. There was money to be made and work to be done and, although it was eighty-five degrees and humid, the paulistas would do it.

We met Humberto Alves’s equivalent in the São Paulo Finance Department. The paulistas had a different approach to dealing with favelas, which they called the Cingapura project. It was an idea that had supposedly been developed in Singapore, hence the name. It involved what they called ‘verticalization’. That meant tearing down the temporary structures and replacing them with modern high-rise hous-ing. It sounded to me more heavy-handed than the Rio project.

They were hot to trot. The Cingapura project had been under way now for several years, but the City was having problems finding the funds for more construction. Isabel’s ingenious trust idea was just the way to unlock the World Development Fund cash that was desperately needed to move on to the next stage. And now Rio’s deal had fallen through, São Paulo’s would be the first out in the market, which made the whole idea even more attractive.

It was a Friday, and we had meetings planned for that day and for Saturday, which showed how eager they were. As the day wore on, Isabel and I became progressively more excited as we realized that a deal might actually happen. Bloomfield Weiss were nowhere to be seen: after their humiliating withdrawal from the Rio deal, São Paulo wouldn’t take them seriously.

It was a hard day, but we worked well together. I had read the pile of documents Isabel had given me on the plane, through the night. I was well prepared, and we operated brilliantly as a team. I quickly got the hang of how her mind worked, and she treated me like a valuable partner. Although I had lost any loyalty to Dekker, I didn’t want to let Isabel down, and besides, her enthusiasm had infected me. I believed in what she was doing.

At last, at eight thirty, we finished, with a promise to be back in the municipal offices at nine the next morning. We flopped into a taxi, feeling both tired and excited at the same time.

‘Did you know that São Paulo has the best Japanese restaurants outside Japan?’ Isabel said.

‘No, I didn’t know that.’

‘Would you like to try one?’

‘Sure.’

She leaned forward to the taxi driver. ‘Liberdade.’

We were dropped off next to a bustling street market. The smell of spices and fried food mixed in the warm night air. Black, white and brown Brazilians mingled with the Japanese and Koreans. It was good to see people wandering around on foot after driving from place to place by car all the time. A statuesque black woman walked past with her little four-year-old son. She caught me looking at them. ‘Hey, how are you?’ she said in English, with a leer. Embarrassed at my innocence in not realizing that a mother and a hooker could be the same thing, I looked away.

Isabel led me down a street daubed with Japanese characters. Over one million Japanese are supposed to live in São Paulo. So do many people from the Middle East. I noticed a sign for Habib’s Fast Food, written in English and Japanese. Somehow it seemed typically Brazilian.

We came to a crooked wooden gateway, behind which was a tiny Japanese garden. Inside was a restaurant, divided into cosy booths. A large Japanese man was ostentatiously wielding huge knives. I winced as he twirled the blades round his hands, expecting at any moment to see a human finger added to the raw fish on the slab in front of him.

The place was bustling with Brazilians of all shades, but after a short wait we were squeezed into a tight booth for two and ordered beer.

‘Well, it looks like a favela deal is finally going to happen,’ said Isabel.

‘Yes. And so it should. You deserve it.’

‘Thank you. I like working with someone else on this. I normally do all this stuff by myself. But I think we make an excellent team.’

She smiled at me, an innocent smile of encouragement.

‘We do. It’s a shame I won’t be able to see it through with you.’

‘You won’t? Why not?’ I was pleased to see the disappointment in Isabel’s face. Actually, I was disappointed too.

‘I’m going to resign as soon as I get back to London.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘You know. We’ve talked about it before. I just can’t put up with Ricardo’s way of doing things.’

Isabel lowered her eyes. ‘I understand,’ she said.

A waitress came round for our order. After a minute’s consideration of the menu, I ordered tempura, and Isabel sushi.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

I shrugged. ‘Finish my thesis, I suppose. Try to get a job.’

‘You don’t sound very optimistic.’

‘I’m not. I needed the job at Dekker. And the money. I won’t be able to sell the flat for as much as the mortgage. So I’ll have to let it, although I’ll be lucky to get enough to cover the mortgage payments. And there aren’t any jobs. But I must admit it will be good to get back to my thesis.’

Isabel nodded in sympathy. It must have been difficult for her to understand my position, what with a father worth millions and her own substantial income. But she seemed to.

‘I’m sorry it didn’t work, Nick.’

‘So am I. I screwed up.’

‘I think you’ve taken the right decision, though. I know it’s easy for me to say, because I haven’t any money problems, but I don’t think you could have carried on at Dekker and been happy with yourself.’

‘And what about you?’

She smiled. ‘That is a very uncomfortable question.’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked it.’

‘No, that’s OK. I guess I’m still trying to prove to myself that I can do this well. I don’t want to give up. And every now and again, like on days like today, the job seems worthwhile.’

‘Well, good luck with it,’ I said, raising my glass.

‘And good luck to you,’ she said, raising hers. Then, ‘I shall miss you.’

The words hung in the air. For a brief moment, she looked embarrassed, as though she wanted to take them back, but then she left them there, defiantly, looking directly at me, so that I knew what she meant, and that she didn’t care that I knew.

My heart leaped. The bustle of the restaurant receded from my peripheral vision, and from my ears. There was just Isabel, there in front of me.

Neither of us said anything. I think I grinned stupidly. Isabel looked down as a bowl of soup was placed in front of her, and then looked up at me again and smiled. I felt as though I was falling into that smile, into those big dark eyes.

Then she giggled, we both relaxed, and delved into our soup.

The taxi journey back to our hotel took half an hour. It was late, it had been a long day, and we were both tired. Isabel let her head slump on to my shoulder, and shut her eyes. I sat motionless, unable to relax, totally aware of her body next to me. Her shoulders and head rested on me with the lightest of pressures. A hint of her perfume, a scent that I already associated strongly with her, surrounded us. A strand of her dark hair crept up and tickled my chin. I left it there.

She opened her eyes as the taxi lurched to a halt outside the hotel. It was midnight. The lift was waiting for us. This time, both our rooms were on the same floor. As the lift slowly eased upwards, Isabel held my eyes, and smiled shyly.

A breathless minute later, we were in her room. She watched me undress. My hands were trembling with anticipation, nerves, excitement. It was hard to concentrate on unbuttoning my shirt and trousers, pulling off my socks.

She laughed. Her clothes slipped off easily, and she sat on the bed, naked. One leg was tucked under her buttocks, and her small round breasts pushed out towards me. I kissed her. Her lips were soft and pliable, her tongue quick. She touched me, and I ached. I pulled her towards me, her body light under my hands. My hands moved over her, gently searching, stroking. She trembled under my touch.

Then she was on me, her body flowing over mine, shimmering pale in the reflected lights of the street outside. Eventually our muscles relaxed. She gazed down at me, her eyes dark pools half hidden behind strands of hair flopping over her face. She sighed and rested her head on my thumping chest, her body as light as before.

I held her.

‘That was nice, Nick,’ she said, some time later.

‘Mmm.’

She ran her finger over the scar on my chest, which was healing nicely.

‘Don’t go away.’ She rolled off me, and climbed out of bed. I watched her as she moved across the room to the bathroom. Naked, her body was supple but lithe as she walked.

She returned two minutes later, poured a glass of mineral water from the bottle on the desk, and sat cross-legged next to me.

‘Don’t stare!’ she said.

‘Sorry. It’s hard not to.’

‘You’ll give me a complex.’

‘Don’t be silly. You’re perfect.’

‘Look, I’m about the only woman in Rio who hasn’t had cosmetic surgery.’

‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘Everyone does it.’

‘So what would you do?’

‘Oh, I’d sort this out first.’ She pointed to her nose. ‘And then my bottom needs lifting. Here. My breasts are OK.’

‘Yes, your breasts are OK. That’s something,’ I said, with heavy irony. She hit me with a pillow.

I sat up next to her and drank some of her water. ‘You know, over the last couple of weeks, I couldn’t work out what you thought of me.’

‘I liked you,’ she said.

I smiled. ‘Well, I hoped you did. But you seemed to be keeping your distance. I didn’t think I had much of a chance.’

‘Sorry. You’re right. I mean, I did want to see more of you, but then I really didn’t want to start something with someone at work again. So... I was confused.’

I almost felt like asking her if my resignation was why we were where we were, but that was unfair, and I most certainly did not want to be unfair to her. Not then.

She had said ‘again’. ‘Start something with someone at work again.’ What was that?

‘Jamie told me something that makes no sense,’ I said.

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

‘It was about you and Eduardo.’

Isabel held back her head and laughed. ‘You didn’t believe that, did you?’

‘It didn’t make much sense to me. Now Ricardo I could have believed.’

For an instant Isabel tensed. In more usual circumstances, I wouldn’t have noticed it. But after what we had experienced a few minutes before...

‘You didn’t?’

I could see Isabel’s first reaction was to deny it. But she realized it was too late.

‘I did.’

‘Oh.’

‘It didn’t last long.’

‘That’s OK. You needn’t tell me. It’s none of my business.’

‘No, I’d like to. I’d like to tell someone about it.’

‘All right. I’ll listen.’

‘It was just after I’d joined Dekker. Ricardo and I were invited for a weekend’s skiing in Aspen by the chairman of one of the São Paulo banks. Ricardo was in a great mood. Dekker had just had the best year of their history. Our host insisted that we ski’d and didn’t talk business, so we did as we were told. Ricardo and I clicked. I know Ricardo has that effect on just about everyone, but with me I truly do think it was different.’

She looked at me to see whether I believed her. I did. ‘Go on.’

‘I mean I was completely taken with him. I guess that’s not so surprising. But the way he looked at me. It was... I suppose it was like the way you look at me.’

‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’

She ignored me. ‘Well, we slept together. And over the next few months we went on a number of trips together.’

‘And what did Luciana think about that?’

‘She never found out.’

‘Lucky for you. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of her temper.’

‘But she cheats on him! Everyone at the office knows it. Apart from Ricardo. Just ask Jamie.’

I frowned.

‘OK, you’re right. I was wrong to do it. And I’m definitely not going to do it again. Especially after what happened.’

‘What happened?’

‘He dumped me.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Yes. A lot. I think it still does.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘He said he had been wrong to start it. He said it was the first time he had been unfaithful. He was risking his marriage, and he was risking his working life as well. Sleeping with one of his team was not the right way to do things.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘You know how self-controlled he is. Usually he wouldn’t put anything before Dekker. And he talks a lot about the importance of family life although, of course, he hardly ever sees Luciana. I think it’s some sort of fiction he has created for himself.’

‘Did you believe him? That it was the only time?’

‘Yes. Of course that’s what every dumb mistress wants to believe, but in this case I think it really is the truth. I think he was scared that he’d let his self-control slip. It certainly hasn’t happened again.’

I stared up at the ceiling, considering the concept of Isabel and Ricardo. I didn’t like it. There may have been an element of jealousy, but there was more to it than that. I wanted to get Ricardo out of my life, but here he was getting even closer to me.

‘How’s your relationship now?’ I asked.

She sighed. ‘Oh, he’s very professional with me. He’s friendly, he treats me just like the others. I try and be the same way with him, but I can’t quite manage it.’

‘So how did the rumours about you and Eduardo start?’

‘I think the others realized that there was something going on with me. They just guessed the wrong Ross, that’s all.’ She shuddered. ‘Yeuch. Just the thought of it makes me ill.’

‘And since Ricardo?’

‘No one. Until now.’ She turned to me and smiled. I melted.

‘You know, I definitely shouldn’t be doing this,’ she said, bending over to kiss me.

But she did. Twice more.

We were booked into a business hotel located between the metallic-smelling river Pinheiros and a highway. The dawn rose red in the São Paulo smog. From our window I could see a patch of wasteland that had been turned into a soccer pitch, and a small favela. Isabel’s theory was that there weren’t any nice locations in São Paulo anyway, and this hotel had good facilities and was convenient for the airport.

I went back to my own untouched room to dress, and returned a few minutes later to pick up Isabel.

She laughed when she saw me. ‘You look dreadful.’

I looked in the mirror. Dark patches edged with yellow surrounded my eyes. I glanced at Isabel. ‘You don’t exactly look fresh yourself.’

She yawned and stretched. She looked delectable. Tired but delectable.

‘What will they think at the municipal offices?’ I said. ‘Maybe they’ll assume we’ve been up all night working on the project.’

Isabel laughed. ‘They might if they were English. But they’re Brazilian. They’ll assume we had sex all night.’

‘Oh dear.’

Isabel laughed. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t matter. In fact, I think they’ll rather like the idea.’ And she put her arms around me and gave me a long, lingering kiss.

I suspected they could tell, but they didn’t seem to mind. We put in another hard day’s work, but it was fun, and we made good progress. We finished at six, and Isabel and I spent Saturday night in São Paulo in bed, with room service to provide us with sustenance.

To Isabel, a carioca, the prospect of a weekend spent entirely in São Paulo was appalling so she suggested flying to Rio on Sunday morning, and taking the shuttle back to São Paulo first thing on Monday. She would show me the beach, and then we could have dinner with her father.

Initially I was reluctant; I wasn’t sure I wanted to return to a Rio beach. But Isabel promised me that the beach she went to was completely safe, and that we would probably have dinner with her father at the Rio Yacht Club, which had armed guards. I agreed to go, ashamed at my nervousness.

I thought I knew Rio’s beaches, but I didn’t. The Point was a quarter-mile stretch of the Barra de Tijuca, a beach just down the coast from Ipanema. I brought my towel and my book, and a plan that would involve turning my pale body a delicate shade of pink. That wasn’t how it worked.

The beach was crowded, crowded with beautiful brown bodies. All the men had terrific muscular definition, the result of regular workouts, and the women had smooth, tanned soft skin, displayed to great effect by bikinis that revealed almost everything. In Brazil, the buttock was all, and swimming costumes were designed to show them off in all their glory.

Isabel was wearing one of these dental-floss bikinis, and she looked stunning. It was very hard not to stare. In fact it was impossible, so I did.

But the extraordinary thing about the Point was that no one was lying down basking in the sun or reading a book, as people would on a European beach. They were sitting, squatting or standing, and talking. It made quite a racket. I shut my eyes, and the chattering, shrieking and continuous chirruping of mobile phones sounded as though I was in the midst of a crowded café.

Everyone seemed to know Isabel, and they were friendly to me. Despite my absurdly pale skin, I was quickly made to feel at home. There were plenty of bottles of the local beach beer around, and I soon relaxed, mellowed by the friendly charm of carioca hospitality.

I watched Isabel and her friends with interest. She seemed much more relaxed than she ever did at Dekker. She smiled, laughed, gossiped and argued in a free and uninhibited way that I found enchanting. It was as though the real Isabel, the Isabel I had glimpsed privately before, had suddenly emerged from under the long shadow of Dekker Ward.

At four we left and headed back to the Copacabana Palace Hotel. We stopped at an intersection. On the corner, two policemen slouched by their blue and white car. They wore baseball caps and dark glasses, and their first names were taped on to their chests. Right in front of them two small girls were attempting to wash windscreens, with little success. Behind them a tall, scruffily dressed man leaned against a parked car, relieving himself on the passenger window. The policemen smoked cigarettes and posed.

The traffic moved us on, past Ipanema beach, and the spot where I had been stabbed. The favela on the cliff above the beach looked alive but peaceful. In there, somewhere, were our attackers.

Isabel saw me tense and squeezed my hand. ‘Try to forget it,’ she said.

‘It’s difficult.’ I swallowed, and we spent the rest of the journey in silence.

When we reached the hotel, Isabel joined me in my room. Eagerly, we made love again. It was long and slow, our bodies tingling from the sand and the sun. Afterwards, with Isabel’s black hair spread across my chest like a soft, lightweight blanket, I asked her a question that had suddenly become very important to me.

‘Isabel?’

‘Yes?’

‘Can I see you again? I mean, when we get back to London.’

She lifted her head, and smiled into my eyes. ‘Of course.’

I pulled her back down on to my chest. ‘Good.’

As I stroked her hair, I thought about what we might be getting into. My relationship with Joanna had been the only serious one of my life. It had lasted five years, five years which to me now seemed wasted. Of course we had had some good times, but I didn’t remember them well. What I did remember were the daily power struggles over small things, power struggles that I always let Joanna win. She hadn’t been worth it, and when she had run off to America with Wes, I had savoured my new-found independence.

Since then I had avoided another relationship. I had dated women, but had never let things progress. I was afraid of a serious attachment, and jealous of my independence.

Until now.

Isabel was completely different from Joanna, or at least Joanna as I remembered her. She was a strong, independent woman, but she was also natural, kind, warm. And she was very beautiful.

She was well worth the risk, I told myself, as though I was in control of my emotions towards her. Of course I wasn’t. I had lost myself to her long ago. I looked forward to the months ahead with her with optimism.

But, of course, there was the job. Although Dekker seemed a long way away, we’d have to get back to work the next day in São Paulo. And then we’d return to London, and I would resign. I wondered how Ricardo would take it. Not very well, I imagined. And Eduardo? I shuddered.

‘Is it true Eduardo killed someone once? A student?’ I asked.

Isabel didn’t answer immediately, her head lay motionless on my chest.

‘No, it’s not true,’ she said at last.

‘It wouldn’t have surprised me if he had. But I suppose it’s just another myth.’

‘Not entirely.’

I stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

‘It was Ricardo who killed the student.’

‘Ricardo?’

She propped herself up on her elbow. ‘Oh, it was a complete accident. It was at a party in Caracas. The other guy was drunk and took a swing at Ricardo, who was chatting up his girlfriend. Ricardo hit him harder than he meant to, and the guy fell back over the balcony, four floors up. Apparently it was very messy.’

‘So Eduardo had nothing to do with it.’

‘Not quite. There were witnesses, and they were the student’s friends, not Ricardo’s. The police came and Ricardo was soon in jail. They were about to work on him for a “confession“, when Eduardo sorted it all out.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know. Even then Eduardo had a flair for that sort of thing. And Ricardo walked free.’

‘Ricardo told you this, presumably?’

‘Yes. He still feels guilty about it. And grateful to Eduardo.’

‘I bet he does.’ I sympathized with the guilt. I clearly remembered one night in Oxford when Jamie had become involved in an argument with a six-foot-six-inch University of Cape Town rugby player. Height never bothered Jamie: it just made his head-butts more effective. The South African had staggered back into the road. A van was driving fast down the empty High Street, and braked hard. It hit the South African, but only gently, and no damage was done. But if the van driver’s reactions had been just that little bit slower...

‘Eduardo and Ricardo seem to have a very strange relationship,’ I said. ‘That must be why.’

‘It’s not just that. I think a lot of it has to do with their father. Apparently, he was quite a successful businessman. The brothers never saw much of him, or of their mother who made a career out of spending the money her husband earned. Ricardo worshipped his father. He said he was always trying to prove himself to him, but his father never took any notice so Ricardo just tried harder.’

‘Yes. He told me something similar himself. But what about Eduardo?’

‘I think that Ricardo is the Argentinian and Eduardo the Venezuelan. From what I understand, their mother wanted Eduardo to be educated in Venezuela. Ricardo never lived there as an adult, but Eduardo spent a lot of time there. The flashy clothes, the cars, the speedboats, the girls, the apartments in Miami. He’s a typical Venezuelan rich kid.’

‘That’s quite a car he owns,’ I said.

‘What, the “Testosterone”? The amount of times he’s tried to get me into that thing!’

I grinned. I couldn’t really blame him.

‘Anyway,’ Isabel continued, ‘Ricardo’s father drank. In the early eighties his businesses fell apart when the oil price crashed, and he tried to drink his way out of it. He died at the age of sixty-two. Ricardo was twenty-seven.

‘You know how seriously Ricardo takes things. I think he saw it as his responsibility to look after his mother and his brother. Especially his brother. Eduardo was getting himself into all sorts of trouble with drugs. Ricardo found the money for some fancy detox clinic in America and persuaded Eduardo to go.’

‘So Ricardo has always helped Eduardo out?’

‘It’s a two-way thing. They both owe each other a lot of favours. I’m not sure they even like each other. Eduardo thinks Ricardo’s too squeamish, and a control freak. But he’s jealous of Ricardo’s success and wants to be a part of it. Ricardo thinks Eduardo has no self-discipline and is a danger to himself as well as other people. They’re both right, of course. But as a result they both think they have to be around to help the other out.’

‘So they need each other?’

‘That’s what they think. I think they’d both be better off having nothing to do with each other.’

She swung out of bed, and walked, naked, to the window. I followed her with my eyes.

‘Oh, look,’ she said. ‘I think you’re going to see a classic Rio rainstorm.’

I joined her, and wrapped my arms round her. A thick line of black lurked on the horizon. As we watched, it grew, gathering itself into a dark blanket that moved swiftly over the sky towards us. The breeze, blowing in through the open window, became softer, heavier. The city, still in sunshine for a few moments more, cowered in front of the enveloping clouds. Then the blanket reached us, blacking out the sky and dropping itself upon us in a torrent of water. We let the giant drops splash into the room through the open window. Below us, the courtyard erupted into thousands of tiny fountains as the rain struck it, and the surface of the swimming pool was shattered into a myriad of angry whirlpools.

‘God, what a sight,’ I said.

‘We’d better get going. The traffic in Rio becomes a nightmare in a storm like this.’

We showered, dressed, and then scurried to a taxi beneath one of the hotel’s white umbrellas. As I scrambled into the back seat after Isabel, I thought I caught sight of someone I recognized. I turned to look as we pulled off.

‘What is it?’ she asked, a drop of water dangling appealingly from her nose.

‘I thought I recognized the driver of the car behind. I could have sworn he was waiting for someone at the airport this morning.’

‘Where?’ She turned to look behind us.

The rain fell heavily on the rear window and created a curtain of water behind us.

‘I can’t see him now. Or his car. It was a Fiat, I think. Blue.’

We both strained to see through the rainstorm. Nothing.

‘Are you sure?’ Isabel asked.

‘To be honest, no. I might just be imagining it.’

She squeezed my hand. ‘You’re getting jumpy after what happened last time. Rio isn’t that dangerous, you know.’

‘You’re probably right,’ I said, but nevertheless I did check behind every now and again. I didn’t see anything.

We were meeting Luís at the Rio Yacht Club. The journey took about three-quarters of an hour. The traffic slowed to a crawl. Torrents of water gushed down any small incline, often reaching up to the tops of the struggling cars’ wheels.

It was dark by the time we reached the Yacht Club. Luís was already there, and gave Isabel a huge hug, which she returned warmly. He seemed genuinely happy to see me too, which pleased me. The club was, of course, next to a small marina, and we could just make out the sailing boats, bobbing in the rain-lashed sea. Eventually, the downpour softened to a more recognizable rain, and it was possible to see the buildings of Botafogo across the bay, and the imposing shape of Sugar Loaf mountain, looming high up above us.

I drank the compulsory caipirinhas — I was beginning to realize that no foreigner could avoid them in Brazil — and ate some glorious fish whose name I didn’t quite catch. Luís and Isabel both did a good job of avoiding any difficult subjects, and I didn’t witness a single argument. Isabel seemed happy, very much alive, and she glowed in the attention of her father and me.

‘So, you didn’t want to spend the weekend in São Paulo, Nick?’ Luís asked, with a smile.

‘Isabel didn’t seem very keen on the idea.’

‘Where did you take him?’ he asked Isabel.

‘The Point,’ she said.

‘Ah, very good. Did you like the view, Nick?’

‘Oh,Papai!’

I grinned. ‘One of our poets once said, “Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”’

This Luís seemed to find very funny. Isabel just looked cross.

‘Well, I’m glad you found a few minutes to spend with your old father,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry I’m not staying with you tonight,’ Isabel said, ‘but we’re leaving for the airport tomorrow morning, and I knew you were in Petrópolis today, and we are leaving very early, so I thought it made sense to stay at the hotel with Nick. So I can show him to the airport.’

This explanation was all a bit breathless. It sounded forced to me. I think it did to Luís, to judge by the way he glanced at me. I pretended not to notice.

But then he shrugged. ‘No matter. I quite understand. You often stay at the Copacabana Palace when you’re here on business. It’s just nice to see you for dinner.’

Isabel blushed becomingly and concentrated on her food.

‘I’m very sorry about your Favela Bairro deal,’ Luís said.

‘Yes, I know. The whole scandal was set up by Ricardo. All that stuff linking the drug gangs to the deal was ridiculous. Ricardo just wanted to make sure Bloomfield Weiss didn’t steal the mandate.’

‘I thought it must be something like that. I never believe what Oswaldo’s papers say. Not that I ever read them.’

‘Still, we have another chance. São Paulo are very interested in doing a similar deal.’

‘Good. Well, good luck with that. So you’re going back there tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ said Isabel.

‘Well, remember Nick, in São Paulo you can breathe out but don’t breathe in.’

I laughed. ‘I’ll remember.’

Finally, at twelve, we left. The rain was steady now, and had clearly set in for the night.

‘Would you like a lift back in my car?’ Luís asked.

‘Oh, no,’ Isabel said. ‘I’ve ordered a taxi to meet us from the hotel. It’s probably been waiting for us half the night. We’d better take it.’

Another suspicious glance from Luís, which I ignored.

‘Oh, well, see you soon, my dear.’ He bent down to kiss his daughter. Then he straightened up and shook my hand. I met his eye, which I was relieved to see was still friendly. ‘Nice to see you again, Nick. Please drop in and see me when you are next in Rio.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I will.’

He ran through the rain to his chauffeur-driven car, and we jumped into the taxi.

‘Why didn’t we go with him?’ I asked.

‘I suppose we could have. It’s just I would have felt pretty bad having him drop us off together at the hotel.’

‘I think he suspects something,’ I said.

‘Do you?’ Isabel fell back in the seat. ‘Oh, well, never mind. I think he likes you.’

‘I like him.’

Isabel smiled, and rested her head on my shoulder. ‘I’m so tired.’

With the drink and the fatigue, my eyes stared ahead without focusing properly. The road was empty apart from the car in front, which was driving slowly. Suddenly it stopped.

Our driver swore under his breath, and braked also. He hit the horn. Just then there was movement in the windows all around us. The driver saw it, and hit the button by his shoulder. The central-locking system clicked in all the doors. He slammed the gears into reverse, and there was a crash as he hit something behind us. I turned. Another car had driven up to block our escape. The taxi leaped forward and hit the vehicle in front as the driver tried to shunt out. Then his window shattered in an explosion of broken glass. A gun pointed in, and a voice behind it shouted urgently. The driver took his hands off the wheel and pushed up the lock to his door.

Isabel screamed.

I turned to my door, which was flung open. A gun was thrust in my face. A man in a Balaclava shouted at me in Portuguese. I can still remember his eyes. They were brown, the pupils huge, and they stared in frightened panic. I could see bushy eyebrows beneath the Balaclava, and the remains of a couple of spots between his eyes. The mask was dripping with water. The gun was silver. It was the same style as a Colt.45. The fist that held it was clenched so tight it was shaking. It was a miracle the trigger finger hadn’t pulled already.

This guy was as jumpy as hell.

The shout turned to a scream. I kept perfectly still and stammered, ‘Não entendo.’ The man kept screaming. I felt a kick in my back as Isabel was dragged out of the car, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the gun.

Then he reached into the car and grabbed my jacket, still shouting. I let him pull me out into the rain. He pushed me towards the rearmost car. I could hear Isabel screaming behind me as she was dragged towards the vehicle in front.

Swift panicky hands pushed me down into the well between the back and front seats, but I didn’t fit. Then the front seat lurched forward, and my face was shoved down on to the floor. It smelt of dust and cigarettes. One of them sat in the seat beside me, I heard the car door slam, and felt the cold barrel push into the nape of my neck. It was wet, and drops of water dribbled down my back.

Someone shouted something in Portuguese, and we lurched off. The car screeched round some tight bends, and then seemed to reach straight road. We were moving fast and steadily, in what direction I had no idea.