No, she hadn’t actually been scared. Well, OK, perhaps a bit when the guy who drove her from Milan to Genoa kept on about her appearance. She’d been annoyed that she didn’t speak enough Italian to shut him up. But then he’d let her get into the back to sleep for a while. And when he insisted on a goodbye kiss – well, yes, apart from the fact that it had scratched a bit and she hadn’t liked his smell, it had been quite funny. She had driven the rest of the journey with a dolled-up woman in an open-topped Mercedes, who had talked without interruption about her argument with her husband and paid her, Kirsten, no further attention. Here, in the sleeping town, it had been a long time before she had found someone to show her the way to the hotel.
‘But now I’m here and I think it’s great that I’ve done it! You know, Martin was quite cross about me suddenly leaving like that. He actually tried to talk me out of it. But when I was coming out of the student canteen I met Lasker, and when he stopped specially to tell me how perceptive he thought my presentation was, I was so high that I just had to do something crazy. Do you think I could give Martin a quick call and tell him I got here safely?’
Perlmann showed her how to get an outside line, picked up his clothes and went into the bathroom. He took alternate hot and cold showers to drive away the after-effect of the pills, and every now and again he held his tongue under the stream of water.
So in the end she hadn’t come because of him, but because she wanted to celebrate her success. He tried to fight against his disappointment with vigorous rubbing. He had never seen her with purple lips before. It was the same purple that Sheila had worn. It emphasized the pout of her lips, which even as a little girl she had refused to accept. The color didn’t suit her. Not at all. And then all those rings, at least one on each finger. They were all mixed up, and yet it looked as if she was wearing knuckle-dusters on each hand.
Only now did he notice that his chin hurt because he was convulsively gripping his razor. Once again he bathed his eyes, which looked swollen and unhealthy. Then he slipped into his clothes, leaned against the door with his eyes closed for a moment, and then went back into the room.
Kirsten was still on the phone, and guiltily turned her head when she heard Perlmann. ‘See you on Tuesday, then!’ she said quickly. ‘Yes, I will. See you then. Bye.’ She put down the phone. ‘I want to be back in time for Lasker’s seminar. I thought there might be a night train from Genoa on Monday evening. It doesn’t matter if I’m tired at the next session! But… umm…’ she looked at the floor.
‘Of course, I’ll give you the ticket,’ said Perlmann, ‘after all, you came here because of me.’
She came up to him and he rested his hands on her shoulders.
‘You look tired. And pale,’ she said. ‘Has something happened? The way you asked about Mum on the phone: I couldn’t understand a word.’
‘Oh, yes, that.’ His tongue was heavy again. ‘I don’t know… I was a bit confused. It doesn’t mean anything more than that. And as to what’s happened, no, no, nothing particular has happened.’
She looked at him with the concentrated, sceptical look that she had inherited from Agnes. ‘But you’re not having a particularly great time here, either, are you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s all a bit exhausting. With all the other colleagues.’
‘And it’s been less than a year. Sometimes it seems to me as if it can’t have been more than a few weeks. You too?’
He felt the burning sensation behind his eyes and pulled her to him for a moment. Then he pushed her away with forced brio. ‘Right, so let’s find you a room in this place!’
Less than half an hour after she moved into her room, she was back with him, her clothes changed and her hair still damp.
‘God, the price of a room like that – it’s insane!’
She didn’t want to sleep now. She wanted to see the sea at dawn, the terrace, the really fantastic hotel in general.
‘And you’ve got to show me the conference room as well! Have you got a session on Monday? Do you think I could listen?’
Perlmann felt as if his chest was filling with lead. Breakfast first, he finally suggested. As they walked to the elevator, she turned round and looked back down the long corridor.
‘Are you all up here?’
‘What? Oh, I see. No. Just me, in fact.’ He pressed the button for the elevator again.
‘And why’s that?’
‘Why? Umm… ah… that’s more or less coincidence. Lots of the rooms downstairs are being renovated over the winter, and there was some sort of problem with the bed. I’m quite content. It’s nice and quiet up here.’
The elevator door opened. ‘Aha,’ she said and plucked at her yellow sweatshirt with the printed emblem of Rockefeller University. On the way down Perlmann looked with concentration at the jumping illuminated numbers.
It was only a quarter past seven, and the dining room, its lights still lit, was deserted. The waiter struggled to hide his surprise. ‘Benvenuta!’ he said with a slight bow when Perlmann explained who Kirsten was.
She ate for two, admired the silver cutlery and the chandeliers and kept pointing enthusiastically at the sea, where the day was breaking, and the faint dawn light was making way for the transparent blue of a cloudless sky.
Perlmann drank only coffee. He would have liked to smoke, but didn’t dare. Before, when Giovanni told him he had sent up a signorina who claimed to be his daughter, the first thing he had done was to check whether he had emptied and rinsed out the ashtray. He couldn’t tell her now that he was smoking again. He guessed that this half hour, sitting quite alone in the big, snow-white dining room as light filtered increasingly in, so that the chandeliers suddenly were switched off, as if by an invisible hand – that this half hour would be the loveliest moment of her visit, and he wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible.
When she was finished, she took a pack of cigarettes out of her Indian-looking shoulder bag. She sheepishly put one between her lips. ‘Only one every now and again. Not like Mum and you before.’ Then she rummaged for a red lighter with a fine gold rim and lit her cigarette. Perlmann registered that she was only inhaling it half-heartedly. It was nearly eight o’clock. Soon it would be over, that moment of silent intimacy in the empty dining room.
Millar, Ruge and von Levetzov came in at the same time and stopped, nonplussed, for a moment. Then they approached the table and Perlmann introduced Kirsten. At first she didn’t know what was happening when von Levetzov lifted her hand and made as if to kiss it. There was still a confused smile on her face when Millar shook her hand and bowed athletically.
‘Good girl!’ he said, and pointed to the sweatshirt. ‘That’s my university!’
‘And, of course, he thinks it’s the best one,’ Ruge said to her in German. ‘Only because he doesn’t know Bochum!’ he added with a giggle. He shook her hand. ‘Good morning. When did you get here?’
Perlmann was glad that the women hadn’t come yet. When Kirsten had finished her cigarette, he excused himself and they went out to the terrace. Before they reached the veranda Kirsten suddenly stopped and craned her neck.
‘That looks like… Is that the conference room?’
Perlmann nodded.
She took his hand. ‘Come on, you’ve got to show it to me now.’
Inside, she immediately sat down in the high armchair with the carved back. She compared the elegance of the room with the shabbiness of the practice rooms at the university: here the mahogany tables, there the greyish Formica ones; the gleaming white porcelain ashtrays, as opposed to the cigarette butts floating in the dregs of the cardboard coffee cups; the immaculate, electrically adjustable board behind her, in contrast to the blind boards back home, which constantly got stuck. Then she picked up one of the crystal glasses for the mineral water.