The Redbreast

66

Dinner. 5 May 2000.

Rakel's laughter penetrated the constant buzz of voices, cutlery and busy waiters in the packed restaurant.

'… and I was almost scared when I saw that there was a message on the answerphone,' Harry said. 'You know that small flashing eye. And then your voice of authority.'

He lowered his voice into a deep key.

"This is Rakel. Dinner at eight on Friday. Don't forget, nice suit and wallet. Helge was scared out of his wits. I had to give him two millet cobs before he calmed down.'

I didn't say that!' she protested between bursts of laughter.

'It was similar.'

'No, it wasn't! And it was your fault. It was the message you've got on your answerphone.'

She tried to find the same deep key: "This is Hole. Speak to me. That is just so… so…'

'Harry-like?'

'Exactly.'

It had been a perfect dinner, a perfect evening, and now it was time to ruin it, Harry thought.

'Meirik has given me my orders. I have to go to Sweden on an undercover assignment,' he said, fidgeting with his glass of Farris water. 'Six months. I'm leaving after the weekend.’

‘Oh.'

He was surprised when he didn't see a reaction register on her face.

'I rang Sis and my father and told them earlier today,' he went on. 'My father spoke. He even wished me good luck.'

'That's nice.' She gave him a fleeting smile and busied herself with the dessert menu.

'Oleg will miss you,' she said in a low voice.

He looked at her, but couldn't catch her eye.

'And what about you?' he asked.

A wry smile flitted across her face.

'They've got Banana Split a la Szechuan,' she said.

'Order two.'

'I'll miss you too,' she said and her eyes found the next page of the menu.

'How much?' She shrugged.

He repeated the question. And watched her take a breath. She was poised to speak, but let the air out. Then she started again. In the end it came.

'Sorry, Harry, but right now there's only space for one man in my life. A little man of six.'

It felt like having a bucket of freezing cold water poured over your head.

'Come on,' Harry said. 'I can't be that wrong.' She raised her eyes from the menu with a quizzical expression on her face.

'You and me,' Harry said, leaning across the table. 'Here, this evening. We're flirting. We're having fun. But we want more than that. You want more than that.'

'Perhaps.'

'Not perhaps. Absolutely certain. You want everything.’

‘So what.'

'So what? You have to tell me, that's what, Rakel. I'm off to some dump in southern Sweden in a few days' time. I'm not a spoiled man. I just want to know if I have anything to come back to in the autumn.'

Their eyes met and this time he held her gaze. For a long time. She finally put down the menu.

'I'm sorry. I don't mean to be like this. I know this will sound strange, but… the alternative won't work.'

'What alternative?'

'Doing what I feel like doing. Taking you home and taking off all your clothes and making love to you all night.'

She whispered the last part softly and quickly. As if it were something she had wanted to wait until the very last minute to say, but when it had to be said, it had to be said exactly like that. Blunt and unadorned.

'What about one more night?' Harry said. 'What about several nights? What about tomorrow night and the night after that and next week and…?'

'Stop it!' She had an angry line over the bridge of her nose. 'You have to understand, Harry. It won't work.'

'Right.' Harry flicked out a cigarette and lit it. He allowed her to stroke his chin, his mouth. The gentle touch ran like an electric shock along his nerve fibres, leaving a dull pain.

'It's not you, Harry. For a while I thought I might be able to do it again. I've been through all the arguments. Two adults. No one else involved. Non-committal and simple. And a man I feel more for than anyone since… since Oleg's father. That's why it won't stop with just the once. And that… that is no good.'

She fell silent.

'Is it because Oleg's father is an alcoholic?’

‘Why do you ask about that?'

'I don't know. It could explain why you don't want to get involved with me. Not that you need to have been with another alkie to know that I'm not a good catch, but…'

She rested her hand on his.

'You're a good catch, Harry. It's not that.'

'So what is it then?'

'This is the last time. That's what it is. We won't meet again.'

Her eyes rested on him. And he saw it now. They weren't tears of laughter gleaming in the corners of her eyes.

And the rest of the story?' he asked, trying to force a smile. 'Is that like everything else in POT, on a need-to-know basis?'

She nodded.

The waiter came to their table, but must have sensed his timing was off and went away again.

She opened her mouth to say something. Harry could see that she was on the verge of tears. She bit her lower lip. Then she put the napkin down on the tablecloth, shoved her chair back, stood up without a word and left. Harry remained, sitting and staring at the napkin. She must have been squeezing it in her hand for some time, he mused, because it was crumpled up into a ball. He watched it slowly unfold like a white paper flower.