It was about half past nine when Zelda pulled up in her little Clio runabout and rang his doorbell. Banks put his book aside and went through to answer the door. She followed him along the hall and into the kitchen.
‘Sorry I’m so late,’ she said. ‘You know what it’s like when you get back from being away for a while.’
‘No problem,’ said Banks. ‘Drink?’
‘What are you having?’
‘Red wine.’
‘That’ll be fine, please.’
Banks poured her a glass and invited her to follow him into the conservatory. She had visited before, with Ray, and seemed quite comfortable, taking the same wicker chair she had sat on the last time she was there.
She looked a little drawn, Banks thought, as if she hadn’t been sleeping very well. She wore hardly any make-up, so it was easy to see the dark shadows under her eyes contrasting the paleness of her skin. She was still beautiful, with classic bone structure, perfectly proportioned features and eyes a man could lose himself in. Tonight she wore her hair in a long ponytail and had dressed in jeans and a red knitted polo-neck jumper. She never wore much perfume, but a fresh and pleasant scent of orange and bergamot drifted over from her general direction.
They clinked glasses and drank.
‘Nice,’ said Zelda. ‘What is it?’
Banks told her about the Sicilian Nero d’Avola he had enjoyed on a short break in Taormina earlier that year and the case he had ordered to be delivered from a wine merchant there. ‘You can’t get it here. Not this particular winery, anyway. Like most countries, they keep their best wines for themselves and only export the rest.’
‘It’s very good,’ said Zelda.
‘Yes. Have you eaten?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. What’s the music?’
‘Sally Beamish,’ said Banks. ‘I’ll turn it off if you like.’
‘No. Leave it on. It’s good. You always play interesting music.’
Banks settled down in his chair. It was dark outside now. The stars were out, and the table lamp reflected its orange glow in the glass. They chatted for a while about Zelda’s time in London, how much she loved the city and how sad she was about the whole Brexit mess.
‘Sometimes I think it’s not Europe people want to leave but England itself,’ said Banks. ‘Life here can be quite depressing, but it’s no good blaming the EU for that. Change needs to happen here first.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’m not a politician. I don’t have a seat to keep, or a need for power.’
‘I think you get plenty of power in your job, don’t you?’
‘I suppose so. The power of arrest and so forth. I’ve seen coppers abuse it, the same way politicians abuse theirs.’
‘And perhaps conditions are bad in the cities, but it is beautiful here, isn’t it?’
Banks nodded. ‘I’m very lucky, and I know it.’
‘Me, too.’
‘Why sound so sad? There’s nothing wrong, is there?’
Zelda shook her head and tried to smile. ‘No, it’s not... I mean, I get scared when I come to love something so much. Afraid I will lose it. Life has always been like that.’
‘I think we all have a bit of that in us. Imposter syndrome. A sense of not deserving what we have. Or survivor’s guilt.’
Zelda shot him a direct glance. ‘I don’t feel guilty about surviving,’ she said.
‘I know. I didn’t mean that. I meant...’
Her tone softened. ‘It’s all right, Alan. I think I know what you meant. Forgive me. It’s just my job that makes me this way. The faces bring back so many bad memories. But many girls are far, far worse off than me.’
‘Yes.’ Banks stood and topped up their drinks. He would need to open another bottle soon. ‘If you want to smoke,’ he said, ‘it’s OK. I’m sure I can find an ashtray somewhere.’ Though Banks had stopped smoking many years ago, he felt that if he invited someone into his house whom he knew was a smoker, then he should permit that person to smoke. As it turned out, most didn’t; very few of his friends smoked, anyway.
Zelda shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to smoke less than five cigarettes a day, and I’ve already reached my limit today. But thank you.’
‘So what do you want to see me about?’ he asked.
‘I thought it was you who wanted to see me?’
Banks laughed. ‘Well, it’s true I would like to talk to you. Nelia.’
She raised a perfect eyebrow. Banks wondered if she had had it microbladed since he had last seen her. ‘So you know my name,’ she said.
‘Nelia Melnic,’ Banks said. ‘It’s a fine name. Why change it?’
‘It was the name they gave me in the orphanage,’ Zelda said with a shrug. ‘A Romanian name. I thought it was time for a new one. Do you think it gives you power over someone if you know their real name, like in magic?’
‘No,’ said Banks. ‘It just came up, that’s all.’
‘I can’t imagine how. Anyway, I found out my real name, before the orphanage. I told you before that my parents were Russian, or “Russian-speaking”, as they say in the old republics.’
‘Will you tell me?’
‘Why?’
‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’
Zelda seemed a little embarrassed by his request. Her skin flushed, and she seemed to become suddenly shy. ‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s not about power or anything,’ said Banks. ‘I would just like to know.’
There was a long silence, and for a while Banks thought she wasn’t going to tell him, then she said softly, ‘Ekaterina Mikhailovna Polinskaya.’ Then she put her hand over her mouth and gave a soft laugh. ‘Quite a mouthful, isn’t it?’
‘It sounds like someone out of a Russian novel,’ Banks said.
‘So now you know everything. I am putty in your hands.’
It was Banks’s turn to laugh. ‘So what do I call you now?’
‘I remember that my father used to call me Katja. But I think we would be best to stick with Zelda, don’t you?’
‘I like Katja, but Zelda’s OK with me, if you prefer it. After F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wife?’
‘Tender is the Night is one of my favourite books,’ Zelda said, ‘but no. It’s The Legend of Zelda. A Nintendo game I used to play in Paris when I was bored, between clients. Not that that happened often enough.’
‘I don’t know much about video games.’
‘You haven’t missed anything.’
‘And I must confess that I haven’t read Tender is the Night, either. There are so many books I should read. Including those big Russian novels.’
Zelda laughed. ‘You’d never get past the names.’ She leaned forward a little and pushed a long strand of free hair behind her ear. ‘It is good to be here, Alan. I think I needed cheering up.’
‘Glad to be of assistance.’ Banks paused. ‘I understand it’s been a difficult week for you? You haven’t told me everything.’
Zelda seemed immediately wary again. ‘Oh? What do you mean, “everything”?’
‘Well, when you told me about London earlier, you didn’t say you’d gone there from Croatia, or that when you arrived, the first thing you heard was that your boss had died in a house fire.’
‘Oh.’ She seemed relieved. ‘Yes. It’s true.’
‘And I asked myself if you, like me when I heard about it, would make the connection and wonder if it could have anything to do with our old friend Phil Keane?’