‘Bernard? Hi, it’s Frederick. I have a favour to ask.’
Jasmine had been very understanding. He told her that he had to do some work for his father and it couldn’t wait. Not so much a lie as a half-truth; his father was the reason he wouldn’t be able to see her. When he asked her out on Saturday instead, she had initially played hard to get, accusing him of standing her up and telling him that she didn’t know if she would be available; but, seeing the hurt look on his face, she quickly changed her tune and told him that she didn’t have to work weekends so they could spend the whole day together.
They had arranged to meet at 10 am at a café on the Rue du Rhône, one of the main shopping streets in the city. Ajay was there twenty minutes ahead of schedule to make sure he got a table in the window so he could see her when she arrived; he covered his bases, as he wasn’t sure if they were supposed to be meeting inside the premises or outside.
Café Le Monde was a small, bustling, art deco style coffee shop serving light lunches and exorbitantly priced coffees to the affluent shoppers who frequented the street’s luxury goods stores. It smelt of its wares; the aroma of richly-roasted dark coffee beans and sweet pastries permeated the air. Ajay had never been to the place before, but he had chosen it for its location; it was directly opposite the Jardin Anglais, where he planned to start his tour. His itinerary was meticulously planned to take in most of the sights worth seeing in Geneva, ending the day at the Hôtel d'Angleterre, on the other side of the lake. On several occasions, he had heard his father talk about how good the restaurant was and it sounded like the ideal place to impress his date.
He wore his best designer jeans, white shirt and a black puffer jacket to protect against the bitter cold of a grey November morning. He sat in the window warming his hands on the skinny latte with an extra shot and caramel flavouring. Daunted by the extensive menu, he had ordered the first coffee on the list; the extras were up-sold by an eager, commission-hungry, pre-pubescent sales assistant. He watched the people through the window as they tried to carry their oversized carrier bags stuffed with haute couture to waiting cars. He checked his watch; it was half past ten. She was running late.
She wouldn’t be so vindictive as to stand him up in retaliation for the other night, surely? he reasoned. No, she was far too kind-hearted a person to do that! But he couldn’t wait for her all day.
Why hadn’t he asked her for her mobile number? But then, why would he have needed it? They’d already arranged to meet. If she wasn’t able to make it, she could always phone the café.
Give her another thirty minutes, he thought to himself.
He ordered a second latte, this time without the trimmings, at the counter and took it back to his perch by the window, to continue his people-watching. Another thirty minutes passed. Just as he was about to leave, he thought he spotted Jasmine in the milling crowd. His pulse raced and his mouth went instantly dry as he tried to peer through the throng of people, but as the scarf-swathed individual drew closer he realised that the woman was too old to be her.
Disappointed, he left the café and drove back to the facility.
Ajay parked up and made his way to the canteen. He had worked out on the drive back that she’d probably been asked to work. It wasn’t unusual for the catering staff to get a call at the last minute to cover a colleague who was off sick, especially if there was a function on or a visiting dignitary. He’d also come to the conclusion that the reason she hadn’t been able to let him know was because she wouldn’t have had time to look up the café’s phone number if they were that short-staffed.
He pushed open the frosted-glass double doors expecting to see a hive of activity. However, he was taken aback when he saw that there was just one person wiping down the tables and refilling the salt and pepper pots.
‘We don’t open until twelve,’ the woman shouted across the room when she saw Ajay standing in the doorway, staring at her.
‘I’m looking for Jasmine. Is she working today?’
The woman put down her cloth and walked over to him. He recognised her as the ringleader of the group who teased him. He read the name on her lapel badge: Mary. She was in her mid-forties with a face that looked older due to too many package holidays and cigarettes. Her teeth were crooked and yellowing from the effects of the nicotine. Ajay could smell the smoke on her breath as she stood in front of him.
‘You not heard?’
‘Heard what?’ Ajay replied.
‘She’s been deported.’
‘Deported?’ Ajay repeated. ‘But why? How?’
‘Something to do with her dad’s visa,’ the woman replied. ‘The police said it wasn’t legal. They came yesterday and arrested her. Apparently, they took her and her family to the airport and put them on the next plane to India. Can’t say I’m surprised.’
Ajay was speechless. Only two people knew that the real reason Jasmine’s family had to leave the country was to prevent him forming a friendship with somebody he could confide in. But Ajay couldn’t work out how his father had the power or authority to deport people at will.
As he sat in his room, the thought crossed his mind again. It had been over a month since the incident and he was still no nearer to finding out. He had confronted his father about the extradition, but he had denied all knowledge or involvement in it. That was the first time in Ajay’s life that he knew his father wasn’t telling him the whole truth, and the fragile bond between father and son, that was so dependent on trust, broke.
He had kept his side of the bargain by not telling anybody about what he’d seen or heard and would continue to do so, not out of any respect or duty to his father, but because he owed it to himself. However, his vow didn’t prevent him from passing documents onto somebody else who could discover the truth.
A sharp rap on the door interrupted his reverie. He opened it to find Deiter standing there, a black leather holdall slung over his shoulder.
‘Mind if I come in?’ Without waiting for a reply, Deiter barged past him and entered the room. Ajay could smell the alcohol on him. ‘Close the door. I think you and I need to have a little chat. We wouldn’t want anyone to overhear us, would we?’
Ajay reluctantly complied. He was fearful of Deiter and went out of his way to avoid him at all costs.
Deiter stood in the centre of the small room and put his bag down on the table underneath the window. ‘I see you’ve been taking a keen interest in my handiwork,’ he said noticing the newspaper cuttings on the wall. ‘I didn’t realise I had such a big fan.’
Ajay shot him a quizzical look and was about to ask him what he meant, when he was silenced by a dismissive wave.
‘We can talk more about that later,’ continued Deiter. ‘But at the moment there are more pressing things we need to discuss. Please take a seat.’ He gestured to the single bed.
Ajay perched on the edge of the mattress, his hands folded in his lap. Deiter pulled the chair from under the table and positioned it directly in front of Ajay. He sat down and crossed his legs, as if they were old friends discussing the latest sports results.
‘It has been brought to my attention that you’ve been spending rather a lot of time in the company of our new Director General. Can I ask why?’ Deiter’s tone was level, but Ajay could detect a menacing undercurrent.
‘He was… he was… erm… interested in my grandfather,’ Ajay replied, thinking back to the first time he’d met the professor.