Within a few moments I was drenched with sweat, and it was almost as if the humid air were condensing on me. I paused once or twice to switch hands on my holdall. When we reached the hotel we went straight inside, into the welcome cold of air conditioning.
Checking in was a brief formality, but before giving me the room key, the clerk asked to see my passport. I handed it over to him. He placed it, without looking at it, behind the counter.
I waited for a few moments, but there was no sign it would reappear.
"What do you want the passport for?" I said.
"It has to he registered with the police. You may collect it on your departure."
Something made me suspicious, so I moved over to where Seri was waiting.
I said to her: "What's going on?"
"Have you got a ten-credit note?"
"I think so."
"Give it to him. Ancient local custom."
"Extortion, you mean."
"No . . . it's just cheaper than the police. They'll charge you twenty-five."
I returned to the desk, passed over the bill and got my key and passport in exchange; no regrets, no explanations, no apology. The clerk impressed a rubber stamp beside the Archipelago visa.
"Are you going to stay and have a drink with me?" I said to Seri.
"Yes, but don't you want to unpack?"
"I'd like a shower. That'll take about a quarter of an hour. Shall we meet in the bar?"
She said: "I think I'll go home and change my clothes. I live just a short way from here."
I went up to the room, lay on the bed for a few minutes, then stripped off my clothes and showered. The water was pale brown and felt very hard; the soap barely lathered. Sonic twenty nlinutes later, refreshed and wearing clean clothes, I went down to the bar at street level. This was actually outside the hotel, opening on to a side road, but there was a glass canopy and a number of high-pressure fans kept the air cool around the tables. Darkness had fallen while I was inside. I ordered a large beer, and Seri arrived shortly afterwards. She had changed into a flared, loosefitting skirt and semi-transparent cheesecloth blouse, looking less like a company stereotype and more like a woman. She ordered a glass of iced wine, sitting across the table from me, looking relaxed and very young.
She asked me a number of questions about myself: how I had come to buy the lottery ticket, what I did for a living, where my family came from, and various other questions that people ask each other when they have just met. I was having difficulty making her out. I was unable to tell whether these harmless personal questions were prompted by polite, genuine or professional interest. I had to keep reminding myself that she was my Lotterie-Collago contact here, that she was just doing her job. After the celibacy of the ship, aggravated by Mathilde's evasions, it was disconcerting to be sitting casually with such an attractive and friendly woman. I could not help looking at her appraisingly: she had a small, neat figure, and a pretty face. She was obviously intelligent, but holding something back, keeping a distance, and I found it very enticing. She made conversation with apparent interest, leaning slightly towards me, smiling a lot, but there was also a sense of withdrawal in her. Perhaps she was on overtime, hosting a company client; perhaps she was merely being cautious with a man she had only just met.
She told me she had been born on Seevl, the sombre island that lay offshore from Jethra. Her parents were Jethrans but they had moved to Seevi just before the war broke out. Her father had been an administrator at a theological college there, but she had left home in her early teens. Since then, she had been moving about the islands, drifting from one job to another.
Both parents were now dead. She said little, changed the subject quickly.
We had two more drinks each, and I was starting to feel hungry. The prospect of spending the rest of the evening with Seri was very appealing, so I asked her where we could find a good restaurant.
But she said: "I'm sorry, I've got a date this evening. You can eat at the hotel. It's all on the Lotterie. Or any of the Salayan restaurants around here. They're all excellent. Have you tried Salay food?"
"In Jethra." It was probably not the same, but then eating alone would not be the same, either.
I regretted suggesting the meal because it had obviously reminded her of what she was doing for the rest of the evening. She drank the remainder of her wine, then stood up.
"I'm sorry I have to leave. It was nice to get to know you."
"Same here," I said.
"Tomorrow morning, meet me at the office. I'll try to book you a passage to Collago. A ship leaves about once a week, but you've just missed one. There are a number of different routes. I'll see what's available."
For a moment I glimpsed the other Seri, the one who wore the uniform.
I confirmed I would be there, and we said goodnight. She walked off into the perfumed night and did not look back.
I ate alone in a crowded, noisy Salay restaurant. The table was set for two, and I felt more isolated than I had done since leaving home. It was weak and stupid of me to fix on the first two women I met, but I had done so and there was nothing I could reverse. Seri's company had successfully rid me of thoughts of Mathilde, but she seemed set to become a second Mathilde. Was her date tonight just the first evasion of me?
After the meal, I walked through the rowdy narrow streets of Muriseay, lost my way, found where I was, then returned to the hotel. My room was air-conditioned to the point of refrigeration, so I threw open the windows and lay awake for hours, listening to arguments, music and motorbikes.
8
I overslept, so it was late morning by the time I walked around to the Lotterie office. I had awoken to a feeling of indifference about Seri, determined not to start another pursuit. I would accept her for what she was, a Lotterie employee doing her job. When I went inside the office Seri was not there, and I felt a quite distinct pang of disappointment, making a fraud of my new determination.
Two other young women, both wearing the smart company outfit, were working behind desks: one was speaking on the telephone, the other was typing.
I said to the one at the typewriter: "Is Seri Fulten here, please?"
"Seri isn't coming in today. May I help you?"
"I was supposed to be meeting her here."
"Are you Peter Sinclair?"
"Yes."
The girl's expression changed; that subtle shift from formality to recognition. "Seri left a message for you." She tore a sheet from a notepad.
"She asked you to call at this address."
I looked at it but of course it meant nothing to me. "How do I find this?"
"It's just off the Plaza. Behind the bus station."
I had crossed the Plaza during my late-night walk, but no longer had any idea how to find it.
"I'll have to go by cab," I said.
"Would you like me to call one for you?" she said, and lifted the telephone.
While we were waiting for the car to arrive, the girl said: "Are you a lottery winner?"
"Yes, of course."
"Seri didn't say." The girl smiled, hinting at intrigue, then looked down at her work. I went to sit at the glass_topped table.
A man appeared from the inner office, glanced briefly in my direction, then went to the desk Seri had been using the day before. There was something about the office-life quality to the Lotterie that made me uneasy, and I remembered how my doubts had been focused when I was here before. The bright and reassuringly confident image projected by the staff and their sunroundings made me think of cabin crew on aircraft, who attempt to calm nervous passengers with professional blandness. But the Lotterie's product surely did not need to be backed up with reassurances? It was paramount that the treatment was safe, or so it was claimed.