She let his chin fall. The tears flowed on his cheeks. With poise, without looking back, she walked to the door.
'What I am saying, Bill – you secure at your end?'
'Secure. Go.'
'I'm saying there is regular shit stirring at this end.'
'Am I dumb, Ray? What's your end to do with it?'
'This show, Codename Helen, the baggage your guy came for.'
'That's our problem.'
'My problem too. I got mugged by one of the local people here. Quote, "Taken it upon yourselves, you arrogant bloody people, to pressurize and then send a small-town girl to Palermo for some bloody operation you've dreamed up. Who've you cleared it with?", end quote. Bill, that's why it's my problem.'
'Where's that going to lead?'
'Why I'm sweating on it, don't know. I've been in this city, Bill, three years. In three years you get to know the way people work. Here they work devious. The old lion is losing his sight, got flea scrapes, yellow teeth, but he still thinks he hunts with the best of the pride. I'm accused of getting hold of his tail and twisting it. He's angry, and he's quiet, which means he's thinking devious.'
'You're away ahead of me, Ray.'
'I thought you should know, they may try to fuck us about.'
'Aren't we all going in the same direction?'
'Wouldn't that be nice? What I'm getting to, it would raise a powerful shit-smell if anything happened, unpleasant, to Codename I lelen, to your bit of baggage, like I might be run out of town, like it would go all the way to the top floor. I'll stay close.
Goodnight, Bill. I just have a bad feeling.'
He put down the telephone. He switched off the scrambler, then dialled again. He told his wife that he was about through for the evening, and he gave her the name and address of the restaurant in the Fulham Road where he'd meet her. He was clearing his desk when he realized that Dwight Smythe was still at his desk outside, and it was always necessary, when the secure scrambler was used, to speak that bit louder.
'Did you hear that, Dwight?'
'Sorry, but it would have been difficult not to.'
'What are you thinking?'
'Same as I told you first time, same as you ignored. The plan was crazy. When a crazy plan gets disseminated, goes to the top, when the big guys have to guarantee a crazy plan, they run for cover. You're out on your own, Ray, but I expect you thought of that.'
She lay on her bed and she turned the pages of her book.
'If that's everything, Angela, I'll get on with the children's baths,' Charley had said. 'I think you've done wonders.'
'Thank you for your help,' Angela had said.
And Charley had gone into the living room, where Peppino, home an hour before and jacket off and whisky in his hand and tie loosened, sat and where the children played with the presents that had been brought them. There was a battery-powered car that piccolo Mario raced across the tiled floor, and a doll that Francesca had stripped and then dressed again. For Angela there was a silk headscarf, and for Charley there was a box of lace handkerchiefs. She had left Angela in the kitchen with the pasta ready to go into a saucepan and the sauce already mixed, the meat thin-sliced and in the refrigerator, the vegetables washed, the fruit in a bowl and the cheese on the wood block. The wine was chilled and the mineral water. Beyond Peppino and the children, in the dining alcove, the table had been laid by Charley for eight people.
'Come on, Mario and Francesca, bath time, come on,' Charley had said.
'So soon, so early?' Peppino had asked.
Charley had glanced down at the watch on her wrist. 'Think I'd better be getting on because then I'll need a shower and time to change. I thought I'd wear what you-'
And Peppino had said, so casual, 'I don't think you need to be with us, Charley. I understand Angela told you that it is my father's birthday – family talk, Sicilian talk. I think that for you it would be very tedious, very boring for you.'
'Don't worry about me, I'll just sit-'
And Peppino had said, 'My father and mother are from the country here, Charley. I think it would be difficult for you to understand their dialect. They would not be at ease with a stranger – not a stranger to us but to them – so it is better that you do not sit with us tonight. Angela will put the children to bed.'
'Of course, Peppino. I quite understand…'
Into the dining alcove, to the table, and Charley had stripped a laid place and removed a chair. Seven places left, and seven chairs. She had gone into the kitchen and told Angela, without comment, that Peppino thought she would be bored by dinner with his parents. She had watched Angela, and seen the woman's face stiffen, and she had wondered whether Angela would stride from the kitchen and into the living room and make an issue of Charley at dinner. Angela had nodded, as if she did not have the will to fight. She had bathed the children, dressed them in their best clothes and brought them back to Peppino. She had made herself a sandwich in the kitchen. She had gone to her room.
She tried to read. She lay on her bed, dressed, and she turned the pages and learned nothing from them. She listened. A car came. She heard the murmur of voices and the happy shouting of the children. She heard footsteps in the corridor, beyond her door, which she had left an inch ajar. She heard the sounds of the kitchen.
She tried to read…
For Christ's sake, Charley…
She turned the page back because she was absorbing nothing of what she read.
For Christ's sake, Charley, it is just a job of work.
She put the book on the table beside her bed.
For Christ's sake, Charley, the job of work is playing the lie.
She pushed herself up off the bed. She straightened her hair.
It was what she had come for, travelled for, it was why she had left the bungalow and the class of 2B. She took a big breath. She put a smile on her face. She walked out of her room, and she went first towards the kitchen, and she saw the dirtied plates of the pasta and meat courses, and there was another plate beside the cooker that had a saucepan lid put on it as if to keep the plate warm. She went along the corridor towards the voices in the dining alcove beyond the living room. She came into the living room and the smile was fixed hard on her face. Only the children bubbled laughter at the table and played with the car and the doll, but the talking died. The chair at the head of the table was empty. She kicked away the quaver in her voice, spoke boldly.
Charley asked Angela if she could help by putting the children to bed.
Angela and Peppino sat opposite each other, then the children, then the two old people. There was a smear of annoyance on Peppino's face, and the expression of Angela was pain. At the end of the table, either side of the empty place and the empty chair, were the parents of Peppino. The old man wore a poor-fitting suit, but good cloth, and his collar and tie drooped from a thin neck. The old woman wore black, with white sparse hair gathered in a bun. Charley had seen their house, she had walked past the open door of their house, she had heard the radio playing in their house and smelt the cooking in their house.
Peppino said, 'That will not be necessary, Angela will see the children to bed. Thank you for the offer. Goodnight, Charley.'
He did not introduce her. The eyes of the old man were on her, bright in his aged and lined face. The old woman looked at her, disapproving, then started again to peel the skin from an apple.
Charley smiled. 'Right, I just wondered. It will be good to get an early night.'
She went back to her room. She again left the door an inch ajar. She sat on the bed.
Her fingers rested on the face of her wrist-watch. She wondered where he was, whether Axel Moen listened. Plain to her that she was not welcome, and there was the empty chair, and there was the food kept warm on the plate. The rhythm of the codes played in her mind. Where was he? Did he listen? Her finger edged towards the button on the watch on her wrist.