Geneva, page 11
‘I am here for you. Once this is all over, we are going to be together. Just the two of us. Just like we planned.’
And there we have it. We have plans, so now you know.
I shiver at the statement: words spoken out loud forming a commitment to the universe. Helen places a hand on the back of my head. Her kiss this time is soft and sensual. It’s a promise, a true bond of trust.
I’m out of time and out of place. I don’t expect you to understand what I’m doing. This is complicated. The anger in me is real; I’m angry at the hand life has dealt me. It’s all a game, you see, a competition. Winners and losers. I’ve tried to play fairly. I’ve spent my life watching the sharks, the alphas, the assholes, fight and cheat their way to the top. Now it’s my turn. It’s time to do something for me. Time to make a new life for myself. A life after Sarah.
I get dressed and prepare to return to the hotel and lie to my wife. It isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.
Chapter 25
Across from the Parc La Grange, crawling through lanes of slow-moving traffic, Pavel heads back to the hotel to resume his babysitting duties. The damage has been done and now he must somehow pick up the pieces, but his mind is on other things. His hand grips the wheel, his fingers restless and flexing. He breathes deeply, steadying himself, thinking of the gun and of the thief who took it. He has important work to do here but he must focus, fall in line and play the game. He changes lanes across the static traffic and pulls into a side road opposite the park. A wooden cart by the entrance gates selling vin chaud, hotdogs and pretzels is shutting up shop for the evening. Pavel pulls a woollen beanie from his pocket, jumps out of his car and jogs to catch the vendor before he leaves. He follows a runner into the park and pauses to perch on the railing of a small bridge crossing a frozen stream. He looks up towards the silhouette of Villa La Grange looming in the dark, sipping wine from a paper cup and biting down into the mustard-smothered bratwurst and fried onions. His mind is heavy, the weight of the responsibility hanging over him, bearing down. Not the chaperoning – that he can do with his eyes closed. It’s the bigger picture that’s bothering him, how to do what needs to be done. He chews on the salt-crusted end of his bread roll and ponders.
In the middle of a small clump of trees, about two hundred yards away, he sees a small wooden cabin next to a children’s playground. Maybe he’ll perch on one of the swings and finish his snack. As he moves towards the dilapidated shack, the door opens. Pavel freezes for a second, mid-bite, as he notices a dark-haired, middle-aged man stepping out. There is something about his posture that is familiar. As he turns back to the doorway, he catches his face: it’s Daniel Collier. Pavel doesn’t move for a second, then steps inconspicuously towards the cover of a pine tree. What is Daniel doing down here? He assumed he would be back at the hotel, nursing his wounds – or looking after his wife. Daniel is speaking to someone in the doorway; the conversation appears intense. Pavel finishes his wine and sausage and disposes of the cup in a nearby waste bin. Then he moves closer to the cabin in the shadow of the trees, head down, trying to observe Daniel more closely.
Daniel is about to leave when a slender arm reaches out to clasp the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. The open door blocks Pavel’s view and then the door is pulled closed as Daniel moves off. Damn. Pavel turns sharply away to face the park gates as Daniel heads quickly down the path and out onto the Rue Gustave-Ador. His instinct is to follow but he knows where he must be heading. On the other hand, what he doesn’t know is who he was meeting in that cabin. Is it that important? To Sarah maybe, but not to him. Daniel’s a dark horse, a deceiver, so what? In a way, there is now a sense of intrigue about the insipid Daniel. It perhaps makes him more interesting. Pavel makes the decision not to follow him but watches as he half jogs, half limps across the snow-encrusted grass, out of the gates and back towards his hotel. He smirks to himself and shakes his head. The man who sat weeping in front of him earlier in the day, distraught over his wife’s condition, is a player. Funny old world.
Pavel decides to head back to his car. He considers driving after Daniel, offering him a lift just to see his face and hear his spluttered excuse. He needs to get back to the hotel to keep himself glued to Sarah Collier as Mauritz has instructed. He reaches the gate to the park and is nearly at his car when he happens to look back at the cabin. The light in the window extinguishes and the door opens. A figure emerges and begins to walk briskly back down the incline, directly towards him. He continues walking, head down. In his peripheral vision, he keeps track of the woman rushing to get out of the park before the gates are locked. His eyes flick to the rear window of each parked car as he passes, desperately trying to catch a reflection of who is following behind him, but the frost obscures his vision. Eventually, he reaches his vehicle. As he presses the fob to unlock, another car parked ahead is also triggered, its side lights flashing in sync. He opens his door and slides in quickly, leaning over to the passenger seat, turning his face away as the figure hurries past. He whips his head back to watch but isn’t in time to see her face. He hears a door slam; then the engine of the other car fires up and a black SUV pulls out. Could it be? Pavel slides down into his seat as it pulls slowly alongside. He raises his eyebrows. It is. Drifting past his window, her blonde hair tied back, checking her lips in the rear-view mirror, is Helen Alder. He watches the familiar black car wait at the junction, then pull out and speed away.
So, Helen Alder is a player. He always assumed she was, but what exactly she is playing at with Daniel Collier is the bigger question. He always felt there was something duplicitous about her, something deceitful, but he wondered if his bias was just personal. He didn’t like her, but then the feeling was reciprocated, she had made that quite clear. But he has learned something very valuable tonight. Now he knows something about her that he can use to his advantage. Kompromat. A tiny vibration echoes in the deep recesses of his mind. Kompromat is valuable, and he knows exactly how to use it. Now he has something to shame and expose her with if necessary – a bargaining chip. Helen has something that Pavel needs. She holds the key to locked doors, and now he has the leverage to break them open.
He presses the ignition; fire sparks fuel.
Chapter 26
Sarah
I can hear music playing. I am lying on my side, half of my body uncovered; half awake and half in a dream. Over the top of the music there is a conversation that I can’t quite hear. I strain to understand what the voices are saying but can’t make it out. Then there is a knock at the door. They’re coming for me; I can feel it. I’m out of time, and my summons is long overdue. I try to get up but my body won’t move; a suffocating paralysis has taken hold of me. The knock sounds on the door again; I have to answer it or else they’ll break it down. It feels as if my body is glued to the bed. Eventually, I manage to wrench myself up, sweaty and trembling. The room is still and dark, my head is thrumming. Then I hear them again: the muffled voices. They’re coming from inside the wall, a low murmur, interrupted by the laughter of a drunken reveller outside in the distance and a church bell tolling: two.
I’m now standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the sitting room, in the deep panelled gap between these thick old walls. I lean into the painted woodwork. The dark room is brushed by the slightest kiss of moonlight, and I see a figure sitting on a chair silhouetted in the window, hair covering their face. They are speaking but it’s not directed at me. I can’t understand the muffled conversation; it’s indecipherable, submerged. There is someone else here; another voice. I can’t see their face as their head is in their hands, but they seem upset. The whole atmosphere in the room is heavy with sadness.
My feet feel cold. I look down to see that I’m standing barefoot on a marble surface. The chill penetrates the soles of my feet, creeping up my legs and hips into my belly, and I start to shiver. A light emanating from above me draws my head up and I see a face looking back at me. I should know this person, but I can’t recall their name. Lank hair flopping across tired eyes. I grip the bathroom sink to keep me from falling and stare at the woman in the glass. Who are you? I reach out to touch her face, and her fingertips meet mine. We connect, we’re alike in many ways. As I reach forward, I lose my balance and my knees slip and slide on the cold bathroom floor. I slump down, exhausted. I hate this. I am surrounded by strangers. I want to go home. I don’t feel safe. The thoughts press down upon me and I start to sob, wet tears dripping down my face. I lie down and let the paralysis take hold once more.
A pair of warm hands wrap around my waist and caress my stomach, pulling me to my feet. I look back to the mirror. Two faces now, side by side. The same woman I saw before but now there is someone else beside her. A woman with sharp features, like mine. I look at her green eyes with heavy lids, and her lips part to reveal perfect white teeth. I compare our faces but the reflection is out of focus now, blurred behind a cloud of steam rising from the hot tap. Her head disappears behind mine, I can feel breath on my neck and a kiss. Our faces now wearing each other.
A hand reaches forward and draws a heart into the steam on the glass with familiar fingers. Then presses against my sternum and pulls me closer. Printing into me.
Standing in the bedroom, I’m now watching two people asleep under the covers. A man and a woman. They are so peaceful, entwined in a love knot, their limbs becoming one. There is no room for me in that tangle. I am left out in the cold, not welcome here. I am not welcome anywhere any more. Then the knock at the door booms loudly out of the silence. They’re here. They’re coming for me. It is time.
Chapter 27
Daniel
It was a rough night; Sarah had another … episode, a nightmare I suppose you would call it. I found her on the bathroom floor in the early hours, sobbing and delirious. I got her back to bed and lay awake next to her for hours. I haven’t been able to sleep at all. I have too many thoughts running through my head, too many worries on my mind. You probably don’t have much sympathy for me, knowing what you know. But this whole situation is taking up so much of my energy. It’s not just the deceit and the guilt, it’s the sadness and the stress. It’s every negative feeling you can imagine. The ugliness is coiled up inside me, ready to lash out and cause more destruction. I am using every last fibre of my strength to keep my shit together and I think the rope is starting to fray.
I’m hoping that after a few decent hours of sleep, Sarah will feel better. I just ordered room service for breakfast so I can get some nourishment inside of her; we have a big day ahead of us. Sarah is expected to stand up in front of hundreds of people at the Neurocell launch alongside Mauritz Schiller. This is the whole reason I convinced her to come here. Well, one of the reasons. Now you know my other reason for wanting to come back to Geneva: Helen Alder.
‘Morning, Dan.’ Sarah is awake. Her eyes are open.
‘Hey you, how are you feeling?’ I move to the bed and sit down next to her. ‘Headache?’
‘No, I’m feeling OK.’ She rubs her eyes and sits up against the pillows I’ve packed around her. ‘What’s all this for?’
‘You had a nightmare.’
‘Sweet, my very own padded cell.’ My sharp-witted wife is back, that’s good.
‘Hungry? I’ve ordered some breakfast.’ I hop off the bed and start to pull some of her clothes out of the wardrobe. She doesn’t answer. ‘Sarah?’
‘Yes, sorry …’ She’s looking out of the window at the bright Geneva morning, towards Mont Blanc. Sunlight illuminates her sad face.
‘Big day today,’ she answers me with a sigh, and continues to stare out of the window. ‘How are you feeling about it all?’ I lay her favourite dark-blue suit over the back of a chair.
Silence again. I pull her underwear from a drawer and return to sit on the edge of the bed.
‘Sarah?’
‘Yes, I heard you the first time, Daniel. How am I feeling about it? Well, you know me: I absolutely love public speaking in front of hundreds of people. And even more so when they all know my private business. When they all know that I’m dying.’
I’m not in the mood for being a punchbag this morning. I shoot up off the bed and head into the bathroom. I know I should be more sympathetic, but I can’t help it. Sometimes she talks to me like I’m a total idiot. She’s not the only one drowning under the weight of all this. I’m her carer now: dressing her, mopping up shit and vomit, and there is only so much I can take. I turn on the shower and stand under the water, letting the steam envelop me. I glance down and inspect my wounds. The water stings my grazed flesh but I revel in the pain. I return to the bedroom, towelling my hair. I pop a coffee pod in the machine.
‘Only decaf left, I’m afraid.’ I turn and smile. ‘Want one?’
‘Sorry I snapped.’ Her eyes are seeking reconciliation. She’s a mess. Her hair is matted and her eyes are hollow and haunted.
‘It’s OK, love.’
‘Everything is getting on top of me. The last few days have been really hard. And now I have to talk about Alzheimer’s to the world. I’m not sure I can. What will I even say?’
I wrap a robe around me and take a sip of the rubbish coffee.
‘It’s a lot to deal with, I know. But if anyone can do it, you can.’ I need her to believe me. ‘Mauritz Schiller could have asked any number of people to endorse Neurocell but he chose you. And that’s because you’re brilliant.’ I kiss the top of her head and breathe in the smell of her hair. She smells of stale sweat. I recoil and smile sadly at her.
Her lips move to say something else but before she can utter the words, there’s a knock on the hotel room door. She flinches, her eyes darting nervously to the door.
‘It’s OK, love. It’s only breakfast!’ I leap up from the sofa, open the door and let the waitress push a trolley full of pastry and real coffee, with real caffeine, into the small sitting room. ‘Merci beaucoup.’ I cringe at my attempt at French.
‘Bitte schön.’ German. Of course, nice try, Daniel. I smile at her and hand her a few francs. I hear the door close as I lead Sarah from the bed and into our makeshift bistro in the other room.
‘Madame, breakfast is served.’
She sits in her robe and nibbles the corner of a warm croissant as I lift the silver cloche and dig hungrily into scrambled eggs and wafer-thin bacon.
There’s something faded about her, almost transparent. ‘You’ll smash it out of the park, love. You always do. And after today it will all be over. After the conference we can relax and then jump on an earlier flight home if you like. How does that sound? Get back and surprise Maddie.’
At the mention of our daughter, her eyes light up and I’m hit by another lurching wave of guilt.
‘Oh shit, that reminds me, she wanted chocolate and a cowbell.’ Sarah cracks a smile at me.
‘What is she going to do with a cowbell?’
‘I dunno, probably tie it around my neck so she can keep tabs on me?’ That makes her laugh out loud, little flakes of croissant sticking to her bottom lip.
What I’m doing to my family must seem so cruel, but the train has already left the station. I didn’t expect this all to happen so fast. I’m managing the situation as best I can, trying to reconcile myself with the fact that I have other needs. It’s overwhelming and I’m in unfamiliar territory. Being a carer is tiring, it’s draining me; and it definitely kills the spark of passion. But that’s what I’m trying to explain. The intense pleasure; the irresistible, electrifying and forbidden encounters with Helen. That’s my medicine, you see. That’s what I need to remain sane.
‘You’re right, I just have to get through today and then we’re done.’
I can’t look her in the eyes. I grab my coffee, move to the bedroom and call through the door, ‘OK, I just need to grab your passport so I can change the flight.’
‘It’s in my bag on the side.’
I find the bag and start to rummage. ‘Why don’t you jump in the shower, love? Freshen up a bit; you’ll feel better.’
As I search through the contents of her bag, I feel two hands slide around my waist to my belly and I’m pulled into an embrace. I flinch slightly as fingers move over my bruises. Sarah’s grip is tight and needy.
‘Thank you.’
Her gratitude stops me cold. ‘What for?’
‘For always being there for me. For being my rock. For looking after me.’
I gulp down my last dregs of decency and turn into her. ‘I’ll always be there for you, for both of you.’
She lays her head into my chest. I don’t believe I’m a bad person but I’ve somehow managed to separate my actions from my conscience. As if what I’m doing is not who I really am. I am damaging myself, not her, because what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her and her capacity to know is now diminished. My skin prickles as a charge of electricity passes between us: the magnets repelling. I gently push her away.
‘How about that shower?’
She rolls her eyes at me and smiles. ‘Well, if I smell that bad!’
I laugh it off and return to her bag. I lay my hand on her passport and flick through the pages. Opening the page with the photo, I see a woman I have long forgotten. My wife, but back then, not as she is now. A younger version looking out at me, that enigmatic stare, like she knows something magical. She did. She knew. I close it, shutting out that penetrating stare and my doubts. I pocket the passport.
Now it’s time to do what we came here for.
Chapter 28
Sarah
Mauritz Schiller sits across from me in the gaudy orange and gold dining room of L’Atelier Robuchon along the Quai de Mont-Blanc. His eyes scrutinise me over the rim of his coffee cup. Pavel Osinov is standing by the door, fiddling with his earpiece and checking his watch. Daniel has gone on ahead to get things ready with Helen and now I’m being briefed ahead of the launch.
