I shrugged my shoulders. Actually, that suited me. I had collected all my stuff in a cardboard box, there wasn’t that much of it.
Eduardo’s dark eyes bored into me. ‘When you go I want you to forget Dekker, and forget all you saw here. But I won’t forget you. I’ll be watching you. And if I see you try anything, any tiny little thing, which might harm this firm, I will take the appropriate steps.’ His voice was low, almost a whisper. It made my skin prickle, a physical reaction to the danger that loaded his words. ‘Do you understand?’
My throat was dry. I knew Eduardo didn’t make empty threats. But I didn’t want him to see me swallow.
‘What I do with my life is my own affair,’ I said.
‘Oh, no, it’s not,’ said Eduardo, leaning forward. ‘It’s mine now, too.’
I picked up my jacket from the back of my chair and put it on. Eduardo was right to be concerned about me, of course. As he would realize when he saw the stories in the Rio papers.
Two security guards arrived at my desk. They searched me, turning out my pockets, and patting my chest, arms and legs. Eduardo seemed disappointed when they didn’t find anything.
The dealing room went quiet, as everyone watched me, jaws open. Jamie saw me from the square. ‘What the hell?’ he mouthed. He still didn’t know I had resigned. I sought out Ricardo. His eyes met mine, emotionless. I felt the stares burning into me. Still, I thought, if they could turn Dave into a non-person so quickly, they’d have no trouble with me. The guards led me through the unnatural silence, out of the trading room to the lifts.
I plummeted forty floors down to the real world.
22
I felt elated as I pedalled rapidly back to Primrose Hill, leaving the Tower further and further behind me. No more worrying about Ricardo and Eduardo. I could forget money-laundering and murder. I had escaped!
By the time I reached home it was one o’clock, and I was hungry. As soon as I was through the door I checked the fridge for something for lunch. Nothing. There was a pint of milk, though, so I made myself a bowl of cornflakes. There were also a couple of cans of beer. I don’t drink during the day. I took one. It turned out that beer and cornflakes don’t go well together.
I was glad about leaving Dekker, although I felt a fool for going there in the first place. It would be a difficult mistake to unravel. I would have to go cap in hand to Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies, admit I was wrong, and ask if he knew of any jobs anywhere. I shuddered as I thought of applications, interviews, explanations of why I hadn’t any formal Russian qualifications, if I even got far enough to be allowed to explain. My father would think I was crazy.
And money. I had received one pay cheque from Dekker, which helped a lot. But I still had the mortgage on my flat. Mr K. R. bloody Norris would be on my back again in no time. And I owed Ricardo his five grand, three of which I still had in the bank. Well, that would come in useful to tide me through the next few months. One day I’d pay him back. Maybe.
Sharp hammering started up somewhere above me, followed by the muffled crash of plaster pulled away from a wall. I remembered that the old lady upstairs had warned me that she was having some work done. I was never home during the day so I hadn’t noticed before.
I finished the bowl, and prowled through to the tiny bedroom, stepping over my bag of rugby kit, which I still hadn’t had time to wash after the last match of the season. My euphoria at escaping Dekker was swiftly evaporating as I faced the realities of life without a salary. The bed beckoned and I flopped on to it. I lay face down, eyes open, thoughts rushing through my mind.
I missed Isabel. The eagerness with which my brain had tried to deal with her kidnapping, the scrambling for memories, for causes, for culprits, had been replaced by a tiring, chronic despair. The uncertainty was hard to cope with. Most of the time I told myself she was alive. But in dark moments, like now, I felt she was dead, that I would never see her again. The question was always there. If she was dead, why hadn’t they found her body? If she was alive, why hadn’t Zico called back with the proof of life? Why would he want to kill her, when he was on the edge of making a fortune out of her? Why should he keep her alive, when it looked as though the police were on his trail? I needed to know one way or the other. And yet... At least there was still hope.
The phone rang. It was Jamie. The noise and chatter of the Dekker trading room came through strongly in the background.
‘What the hell have you done?’
‘Resigned.’
‘I know you’ve resigned. But why? It’s put Ricardo in a hell of a bad mood. He rated you, you know. And why didn’t you tell me?’
I should have told Jamie, but I hadn’t. I just couldn’t face explaining it to him, and then having to explain it to Ricardo. I hadn’t seen him at all since I had returned from Brazil.
‘I’m sorry, Jamie, but you know I’ve had questions about Dekker ever since I joined. It’s not for me.’
‘Are you all right? The theory here is that you’ve lost it since Isabel’s kidnap. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’
‘I’m sure. I am upset about her, but I’d planned to resign before I went out to Brazil in any case.’
‘Well, we’re busy doing a Dave on you here. Although it’s a bit easier in your case.’
‘Yeah, well. I’m not surprised.’ But I was a little hurt. I liked the other guys. I didn’t want to be erased from their consciousness.
‘You must feel awful, mate. Shall I pop round for a drink? I can’t make it this evening, but tomorrow?’
‘Yes, Jamie. That would be good.’
I had never doubted that Jamie’s friendship would survive my resignation. He had stuck his neck out for me with Ricardo, and I had made him look a fool, something Jamie never liked. But I knew he would stick with me. It would be good to see him tomorrow.
I drank the other can of beer, then went out to the off-licence and bought some more. I put on some of Joanna’s old CDs. I suppose I hoped that they would remind me of her, and push Isabel to the back of my mind for a moment. They didn’t. I ordered a pizza and ate it. Then I rang Luís and told him I had resigned. No news of Isabel. At some point, as the day dragged to an end, I went to sleep.
I went to sleep thinking of Isabel, and I woke up thinking of her. But I also woke up determined to pull myself together. I cleared up the debris of the day before, bought some real food from the supermarket, and made myself a proper breakfast: bacon, sausages, fried eggs, fried bread, the works. And I made a pot of fresh coffee.
Feeling fat and a little happier, I sipped my coffee and stared out of the window at my small garden. It was a mess, with weeds bursting upwards, overwhelming the few perennials that had survived the winter. The grass was looking more like a miniature hayfield than a lawn. Perhaps I would get stuck into that after breakfast.
I should call Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies. But not today. Tomorrow.
The phone rang.
‘Hallo.’ It was the first word I had said all day. It came out thick and hoarse.
‘Nick. It’s Father.’
‘Oh, hallo.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, sorry, I’m fine, Father. What’s up?’ My father never phoned me. Never. My mother rang very occasionally, on my birthday, perhaps, or when she hadn’t heard from me for a couple of months, but not my father.
‘I telephoned you at the office last week, but they said you were in Brazil on a business trip. Sounded interesting. Then when I rang this morning, a nice chap said I could find you here.’
‘Well, here I am.’
‘Listen, Nick. I thought I’d come down to London for the day next week. Catch up with a few old pals. I wondered if I could drop in and see you?’