Geneva, page 10
He nearly spits out the chunk onto the bed, laughing.
‘Come here.’ I obey, but mainly because I want some of that gold-plated chocolate.
‘Something has changed with you; you seem better.’
‘It feels like there’s hope today after last night.’
He looks at me and narrows his eyes. He stops chomping for a second and holds my arm.
‘I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’
‘I’m just trying to be positive, that’s all.’
He types into the search engine and pulls up various articles. A couple of local newspapers with bad paparazzi shots of us arriving at the airport. Then he scrolls down to Landauleaks.com and opens it. It’s a stream of articles, inflammatory and under-researched clickbait.
‘Babe, she’s posted the audio of the interview. There is a headline that says “Professor Sarah Collier Terminally Ill”. I thought you were being interviewed about Neurocell?’ The blood drains from his face as he clicks on the audio link.
A distorted and crackly interview plays. It’s bad quality and has clearly been edited. I’m listening to the sound of a voice I don’t recognise. And then, suddenly, we both hear it.
‘Yes, I have to admit … Unfortunately … I have … Alzheimer’s.’
‘Sarah … what … the fuck?’ Daniel is up from the bed and standing glaring at me, his injury miraculously improved.
‘I didn’t mean to … I was … I wasn’t … Helen was supposed to be there to intercept a question like that.’
‘WHAT QUESTION? I didn’t hear a question, I just heard you VOLUNTEERING TO TELL THE WORLD that you have Alzheimer’s. What were you thinking?’
‘Daniel, I’m sorry, I wasn’t feeling well. I was left alone while you were having the time of your life pissing around on skis. Shout at Helen, not me.’
He’s limping around the bed now, his hand to his head. He pulls out his phone to make a call but hangs up. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit!’
A feeling washes over me suddenly. Is he angry that our privacy has been violated or is there something else?
‘You understand that your endorsement is now highly questionable?’
I open my mouth to speak but I have nothing to say.
‘This is a massive conflict of interest.’
I go to grab my coat and boots.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I need to get out for a while.’ I can feel my face burning and tears starting to well up in my eyes. What have I done? I’ve betrayed myself. I never do this.
‘You’re not going anywhere. There are press and photographers downstairs. You … stay right here. I will deal with this.’
‘How? What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to get her to retract the article. It doesn’t even sound like you on the tape. We’ll say you were drunk and you got confused about your father.’
‘I’m not sure being drunk is a better explanation.’
I sit on the bed and watch him throw on boots and a jacket.
‘I wasn’t drunk. I’m not well and to be honest I really don’t know why the hell I’m here.’
He’s pacing around the bed, not acknowledging me. Why did I come? How on earth did I agree to this?
‘I need some air.’
‘Yeah? Well, open the fucking window then.’ This is a different Daniel to two seconds ago. Are we sure I’m the one with dementia and the mood swings? He stops by the door and his shoulders sag; he turns back to me.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so angry. I just … I don’t want the world’s press scrutinising you, devouring your illness like vultures stripping a carcass. They’ll hollow you out for all the tragic details. I don’t want to deal with that.’
‘Well, it’s not you that will be dealing with it, is it, Daniel? It’s me. I’m going to be dealing with this life sentence.’
‘In private, not by hanging out the bunting for Hello magazine.’
I put my hands to my face because I don’t want him to see me any more. I don’t want anyone to see me any more.
Chapter 23
Mauritz Schiller’s boiling anger is too much for him to bear. He slams his chair into reverse and hits the wall. Veins bulge in his neck and his face burns with rage. He hits the wall again and again. The force of his fury is so great that a hairline crack appears at the base of the glass wall of his office and starts to creep upwards. He inhales deeply through his nostrils, trying to compose himself, and then, tapping his finger against the arm of his wheelchair, on the electronic pad, he makes a call. An American voice answers.
‘Hello?’
‘The Landau Leaks article. Is it true? Does Sarah Collier have Alzheimer’s?’ His tight voice can barely contain his fury.
‘I was just about to call you. It appears so. It’s her voice on the recording. I’m just as shocked as you are. I know she hasn’t been well during her stay in Geneva, but I had no idea it was that serious.’
‘What happened yesterday?’ He is angry. Demanding answers.
‘Sarah was fine at our morning briefing but after her interview with Landau, she was very unwell. I had to cancel the other interviews. I didn’t think—’
‘How could we not know about this?’
‘The Colliers have kept it to themselves.’
‘And then she decides to announce it to the world’s press without warning us? This is outrageous. A breach of trust.’ Mauritz’s voice rises with fury.
‘It’s unexpected and … unfortunate for us, yes.’
‘How could you let this happen?’
‘Mauritz, please try to calm down. I was managing a full press junket for the entire day. I am not in charge of what information Sarah chooses to disclose. I thought Pavel was supposed to stay with her at all times?’
This makes Mauritz pause. He looks out of the window as he gathers his thoughts.
Neither of them speaks for a second. There is just the sound of Mauritz’s angry breathing down the line. Finally, Helen breaks the tension.
‘Maybe we could turn this to our advantage.’
‘We have made it clear one of Neurocell’s primary uses could be for the treatment of Alzheimer’s disease, and now the very person endorsing it is personally afflicted. It is biased. It is not sound.’ Outrage has been replaced by despair as he realises the implication of Sarah’s betrayal.
‘Let’s make it intentional. Let’s reframe the narrative. The announcement of her diagnosis has been timed to coincide with the conference. She is invested in the technology both professionally and personally. She’s putting herself forward as a trial candidate. That’s the most powerful endorsement of all. We can make this work for us.’
Mauritz draws in a breath and closes his eyes, and the clouds start to clear from his mind. ‘And what about the interviews that were cancelled? The Lancet? And the others? We need them on side. They won’t be happy that we shut them out.’
‘Quite to the contrary. The Landau exclusive will make them hungry for their own story. Collier’s diagnosis and the groundbreaking technology you have developed will actually come together to make a much more colourful news piece. Forget the science-specific press, this could go viral, and that’s exactly what we want.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Definitely, Mauritz. This is what I do. Let’s use this to our advantage. Tomorrow’s launch will be even more loaded. This is no longer theoretical, it’s happening. Let’s show the entire world what you have managed to achieve here at the Schiller Institute.’
He considers for a second the life raft Helen has thrown out to him. It could work, as long as nothing else goes wrong. ‘Make it happen, Helen. The funding depends on it.’
‘Have I ever let you down?’
He ends the call and takes a deep breath. He does trust her but they are not home and dry, not yet. There are billions of dollars on the table pending the successful launch of Neurocell, and they need to pull together. They need to work as one. They are only as strong as their weakest link, and Sarah Collier has buckled.
The architect of the whole security system at the Schiller Institute is Pavel Osinov – the surveillance cameras, entry systems and their digital log-in data. In his office, flicking between various screens of the surveillance video, he checks that last night hasn’t left any digital footprints. He enters the system and erases his logged entry. He then scrolls through every camera covering the south side of the Institute and erases the twenty-minute window when three of the cameras went dark. He resets the time code, as simple as a cut and paste. He is in the clear, as far as he can see. But there is one camera he can’t review, the one he doesn’t have access to: Helen Alder’s webcam. In the corner of his screen, he watches the live footage of the Schiller Institute: Jan Pager at the reception desk, the white bodies gliding around the research lab, everyone at their desks, everything calm. Something moving at speed down the corridor towards his office cuts through the stillness. He instinctively shuts down the surveillance images he is reviewing.
Mauritz Schiller enters the room with a face like thunder, the door closing behind him.
‘I need answers, Pavel.’ His tone usually reflects respect for his trusted ally and asset, but not today. Today there is a tremble in his voice, a fierce accusation. Pavel’s mind races as he runs through the potential causes of the hostility; truth be told, there are many.
‘Where were you?’ Mauritz pins him to the wall with his gaze.
‘I’m not sure what you are referring to?’
‘Sarah Collier’s press interviews. It seems like Helen Alder is doing your job for you. I tasked you with watching her while she was here. Why didn’t you cut the interview short when she started going “off piste”?’
‘What happened?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘I wasn’t there, I was with Daniel.’
‘And why was that, when I specifically instructed you to be glued to Sarah twenty-four-seven? Sleep in the fucking hotel lobby, if necessary, but don’t let her out of your sight. Did I not say that?’
‘Yes, you did, and I have been watching her like a hawk, trust me, but—’
‘No “buts”, Pavel, this is exactly the reason she needed to be monitored. This single stupid interview could have blown everything apart, the whole conference, the future of Neurocell.’ Pavel takes a steadying breath and Mauritz slowly backs away from the desk, ready to ram him.
‘It will not happen again.’
‘Then why are you still here? Is Sarah hiding somewhere in this room?’ Mauritz waits for Pavel to concede. His chair jerks forward an inch, threatening. His finger is twitchy.
‘Well?’
‘I’m on it.’
‘I need people around me I can trust. You’re standing on thin ice, Osinov.’
He spins his chair around and exits the room. Pavel exhales but confusion clouds his mind. He assumed Mauritz knew where he was earlier. Helen has scheduled everything and everyone to within an inch of their lives. She asked him to take Daniel skiing. Was it a coincidence or was it an orchestrated plan to remove him from Sarah’s side? If so, why would she do that? Unless she had another agenda. Does she know what he is doing?
His attempt to hack her computer now feels even more pressing. More than an itch to scratch. He has to find out what she knows. Is it wise to poke the hornet’s nest? Well, the hornet’s nest is already stirring – he needs to pierce the queen.
A plan begins to formulate in his mind.
Chapter 24
Daniel
I exit the hotel, my mind racing. I’m trying to contain my anger, but this spells trouble. I emerge from the warmth of the lobby and out into the assault of the biting wind. How could this happen? Sarah’s condition is a private matter. It is not supposed to be the subject of gossip or clickbait for fame-hungry bloggers. I lose my footing on the freshly laid carpet of snow that covers the path and stumble in a frenzy of panic and rage. I know exactly who to blame. I am livid but I am also scared. Sarah’s diagnosis is now out there in the world. People will be asking questions and expecting answers that I don’t have. It makes it all so much more real. Something we have to have answers for. As yet, I have none.
I up my pace and limp over the bridge, my knee burning in pain, wrapping my coat tightly around my neck to block out the wind and cover my face. The frozen water of the lake looks fragile beneath me and I wonder if it would hold my weight. My heavy load. How long would it take me to drown if I dived in? I’d probably freeze to death first. Not helpful, Daniel. I have to find out what the hell happened. I press on, anger fuelling every footstep, past the Ferris wheel of the Jardin anglais until I reach the children’s playground. Sparse barren trees reach their bony fingers towards me, threatening to grasp and strangle. I near the familiar ramshackle Alpine cabin in the centre of the park. A light is on inside. Good. The door is bolted from the inside and I hammer on the door, my fury infusing every strike. The rusty bolt grinds back and the door creaks open.
‘Daniel! You startled me.’ There’s a chill in the room; the steam from my coat and the heat of my anger rise off me.
‘Helen. What the hell is going on?’
She stares at me, a darkness descending over her eyes. ‘I’m sorry?’ Her voice remains steady and her cold expression makes me check myself and swallow. ‘Landau Leaks. The world exclusive about Sarah having Alzheimer’s.’ As the words come tumbling out, I move forward, looming over her. She holds my gaze, saying nothing.
‘I thought you were sitting in on the interview.’
‘Yes, it is unfortunate.’ She turns and walks over to a side table behind the desk of computer screens.
‘It’s more than unfortunate, Helen. She’s exposed now. This could ruin everything. I thought you were supposed to manage the press interviews?’
She pours something into a glass and turns towards me. She’s unnervingly calm. ‘I am not responsible for your wife’s indiscretions, Daniel. You’ve heard the recording?’
‘Excuse me?’ I can’t bear being spoken to like this.
‘I asked … if you have heard the recording?’
‘Of course I bloody heard it.’
She hands me the glass. Her face remains a mask of calm, making mine burn hotter.
‘If Sarah has decided to tell her story, who are you to intervene? Her keeper?’
‘Don’t throw that “he’s a misogynist” crap at me.’
Here’s the thing about women like Helen. They throw their punches with words before my brain can engage. Her eyes move down to my suddenly clenched fists and she gives me a patronising smile.
‘Daniel, stop. Have a drink with me.’ I find myself taking the glass and knocking back the whisky. The amber liquor tingles and burns my throat.
‘This situation is not ideal. But we move forward. I am handling it, unlike you … clearly.’
She is watching me, her eyes flickering with condescension.
‘How was the mountain? Did you and Pavel get to know each other? He’s fascinating, isn’t he?’
There is sarcasm and mockery in her tone. She’s deflecting.
‘Never mind Pavel, what do we do about Landau?’
She sits back at the rickety wooden table with her back to me; multiple windows are open on her screen.
‘Sit down, you’re making me feel uncomfortable.’
What am I, a dog? My body, however, obeys, despite my ego, and I slump down on the threadbare corduroy armchair under the window. I feel as pitiful as the frozen dead flies on the sill. I remove my jacket and boots and feel the rough wooden floor through my damp socks.
‘So?’
‘So?’ She still has her back to me.
‘So, what now?’ My face is reddening, and the veins in my neck are throbbing. She stands to face me and leans her body against the desk.
‘We carry on as planned. This doesn’t change anything.’
I want to believe her, but it all seems to be tumbling out of control. She moves closer to the rusty gas stove, which is emitting a withering heat. I look up at her, her blonde hair framing her exquisite face, her green eyes observing my discomfort.
‘Daniel, you don’t need me to remind you of the real value of what we’re doing, do you?’ She reaches for the packet of cigarettes on the desk. The gas canister in the fire peters out and dies as if she has power over that too. She puts a cigarette between her teeth and we look at one another in silence. I am transfixed. She continues to stare at me.
‘Well?’
I wait, knowing what comes next. The silence that follows and her descending eyes, tracing down my body, command me, and I obey. Slowly and carefully, I begin to undress. It’s automatic, without tease or effect. She watches nonchalantly, almost disinterested. I look down and see a livid black-red bruise across my belly, the skin welted with trauma from my fall. The bones of my shoulders are red and battered, my knee is swollen and my shins are torn and raw.
‘Poor boy. You look like you lost a fight.’
I’m a mess. She stares at my wounds with both pity and delight. She approaches slowly. Her knee slides across my naked thigh and she brings her body close. A course of adrenaline rushes through me. I’m intoxicated. Then she bites into my lower lip. It feels dangerous. It is dangerous. It is always dangerous.
I taste blood as her teeth drag across my tongue. Her hand reaches for my throat. There is a lustful violence in her grasp, fingernails digging into my skin. It has never been like this before. Her grip tightens and I can’t breathe. I grab her wrists; it’s a reflex.
‘Sorry … I’m just … I don’t know what we’re doing.’ I feel embarrassed. ‘I don’t want to be this person.’
‘But you are this person, Daniel.’ It’s a challenge. My heart is thumping in my chest.
‘Dan. Listen to me. You have spent your entire adult life living in your wife’s shadow. Too many people have walked over you too many times. When are you going to take control and change all that?’
I slouch under the weight of her words and she lifts my chin with her elegant fingers.
