As it turned out, solubility didn’t really matter. As soon as Tadić came out of the bathroom he tossed back the rest of the drink in one and drained the glass. Without even looking at any dregs there might be, he picked up a half-full bottle of Glenmorangie from the little nook where the tea and coffee makings were kept and filled it up again. Zelda let out the breath she had been holding.
‘You want?’ he said, offering her the whisky.
Zelda turned her nose up. ‘I don’t like whisky,’ she said.
He opened the minibar and took out a miniature vodka. ‘Good? Yes?’
Zelda nodded and he poured for her. She stubbed out her cigarette in a saucer, added tonic water to the vodka and smiled. She had no intention of drinking any more.
Tadić bent over a cupboard under the drinks area and Zelda saw he was entering his code for the safe. When he had got it open, he brought out a plastic bag of white powder, a small mirror and a razor blade, and grinned at her. ‘You like?’
Christ, the last thing she needed him to do was start snorting coke. That would probably nullify the flunitrazepam completely, or at least delay its onset. She didn’t want a coked-up Tadić on her hands. ‘I like,’ she said and moved as sexily as she could. ‘But maybe later? When we are tired?’
Tadić shrugged, then lounged on the bed, propped up against the pillows, and patted the place beside him. There was really nowhere else for Zelda to go except a hard-backed office chair at the desk under the window, so she sat and leaned back beside him. The pills were supposed to take between twenty minutes and half an hour to start working, and Zelda didn’t think that would be fast enough, the way time seemed to be dribbling slowly away right now. It was a lot of time to keep Tadić occupied, and she very much doubted that conversation would do the trick. She picked up a remote control and switched on the television, hoping it would distract him.
He turned it off. The next thing he did was light a cigar. That would give her a bit of time, she thought, as the smoke spiralled, caught in her throat and took her back to the nightmare car journey across Romania. There was no ashtray, but he brought over the saucer from the tea and coffee tray.
‘Do you have any music?’ Zelda asked.
‘Music?’ He switched on the bedside radio, which was tuned to a station that was playing old standards by Frank Sinatra, Sarah Vaughan, Tony Bennett and the like.
‘What you do?’ Tadić asked, puffing on his cigar, drink in hand.
‘Advertising,’ Zelda said.
‘Ah. Is good job, yes?’
‘Not bad. You?’
‘Importing goods.’
That was one way of putting it, Zelda thought. She glanced sideways, hoping for signs that the drug was taking effect. He hadn’t shown any yet, but it was early days. She felt as if her heart was going to burst through her chest if it beat any harder or faster, and her muscles were stiff with tension. She was also feeling nauseated by the cigar. If he didn’t collapse soon, she thought she would just have to make a break for it. Abort the mission. She calculated the distance to the door. She thought she could make it. He slipped off his tie and opened a couple of buttons on his shirt so that Zelda could see the thick gold chain around his neck, and his salt-and-pepper chest hair.
She lit another cigarette, a further delaying tactic. Tadić, cigar in mouth, got up and refilled his glass. Luckily, he seemed to have forgotten about hers, which was still full. How long had it been?
Zelda noticed that his movements were beginning to seem a little uncoordinated. Perhaps it was just the booze, but it was a good sign. He put his glass down on the bedside table after one large gulp. His hand brushed her bare shoulder and arm. She felt herself shiver, but not with pleasure. He clearly misinterpreted the signal because he took her cigarette from her hand, put it out in the saucer, then leaned over to kiss her. The next thing she knew, his rubbery lips were squirming on hers, tasting of cigar smoke, his hand squeezing her breast so hard it hurt. He took her hand and placed it between his legs, so that she could feel his erection. She thought she was going to be sick and disengaged herself as quickly and gently as she could. ‘Whoa. Easy, boy,’ she said. ‘There’s no hurry, is there?’
‘What you want? You don’t want coke. You don’t want fuck. What you want?’
‘What I really need,’ said Zelda, ‘is to go to the toilet.’
‘I come with you. I like to watch.’
‘No.’
Tadić grinned and lay back on the pillows, one hand casually stroking her breast. She thought she could see traces of confusion in his eyes; they were losing their sharpness and focus, as if becoming aware of something wrong. She got up and went to the toilet, closed the door then put the seat and the top down and sat. How long would it take? How long could she get away with? She could hear the muffled sound of the radio — a song she knew from her childhood in the orphanage, Frank Sinatra singing ‘High Hopes’ — but nothing else. The smell of cigar smoke had got everywhere and was making her feel even more ill than her nerves were.
Finally, she thought she couldn’t get away with staying in the toilet any longer, so she opened the door slowly and peered out. Tadić was as she had left him, slumped on the bed, only now his shirt was undone all the way. His trouser belt was loose, his zipper down, his eyes closed; his drink balanced on his chest, which rose and fell slowly. But he must have heard her come out, for he stirred as she edged towards the bed, and his hooded eyes half-opened.
‘Take your clothes off,’ he said, slurring his words. ‘Strip for me. Strip for Goran.’
‘What?’
‘Undress for me. Now. Please.’
He gave his head a shake, as if to clear the cobwebs, and let it fall back against the pillows with a dull thud. He almost missed the bedside table with his glass as he put it down to wave his hand at her. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Strip.’
The drugs were working, Zelda thought, with a surge of relief. His coordination was going. The waving hand might have belonged to someone else. She couldn’t tell what he said next, as his voice was so muffled. He tried to get up again but couldn’t seem to manage it. But his eyes were still open and he was still looking at her. Time. She needed more time. Slowly she moved to the bottom of the bed, sliding her sandals off. She reached around and unfastened the tie at the back of her neck, letting the halter neck fall slowly over her throat to her breasts. He smiled and made a deep grunting sound, but his eyes remained fixed on her and she thought she could see him nod.
She slid the dress all the way down and stepped out of it. He tried to sit up but couldn’t make it. Just when she thought she didn’t need to go any further and was thinking of reaching for her bag, he barked another command for her to keep stripping. Frank Sinatra was singing ‘Try a Little Tenderness’, which was hardly suitable striptease music, but she did her best. Zelda swayed in time with the music, reached behind her back, unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor beside her dress.