'Do I know you?' she asked.
He didn't answer directly. Instead, he walked around to join her on the pavement, his hands held unthreateningly down by his sides. He was a little taller than medium-height, burly and blessed with the kind of tough good looks that made her feel a little strange inside. Mid-to-late twenties, from the look of him, perhaps ten or twelve years older than her. A high forehead and a flat nose and a thin goatee beard, his dark hair cropped short as a soldier's-though how many soldiers could afford cars like that? Wolfish sharp canines and eyes of such dazzling pale blue that she assumed he had to be wearing contact lenses. A perfectly tailored suit over an open-throated white silk shirt, his shoes soft sheathes of calfskin-leather, his gold watch a little loose around his left wrist, so that it jangled like a bracelet. 'Let me help you with those,' he said in correct yet heavily-accented Greek, taking the top two books from her.
'What are you doing?' she protested. But she couldn't exactly stop him, not while still holding the rest of her stack. Besides, there was just something about him, the kind of man who'd do exactly as he wanted, whatever anyone said. He popped his small boot, stowed her books inside and came back for the rest. She watched as he packed those away too, then slammed the boot closed. 'What are you doing?' she asked again.
He rejoined her on the pavement, still smiling blandly, as though this was all the most natural thing in the world. But the hammering of her heart assured her that it wasn't natural at all. 'What's going on?' she asked, her voice crumbling just a little. She looked around for someone to help, someone from the world of adults. But they were all involved in their own business: even the creep on the bench was now looking the other way. 'Please give me my books back.'
'They won't come to any harm in there,' he said.
'But they aren't even mine.'
'They'll be fine,' he told her, taking her hand. 'Trust me.' His skin was faintly scratchy to the touch, like the finest imaginable sandpaper. He smiled into her eyes with a directness and self-assurance that made her feel ridiculously weak, like on those mornings when her pillow fell to the floor and she couldn't even grasp it to pick it back up. He nodded as if he understood exactly, and wanted her to know that she shouldn't worry, because it was going to be okay. Then he opened the passenger door of the Ferrari and made the tiniest gesture for her to get in. She hesitated, aware she'd have to be crazy to comply, but somehow she found herself doing so. He slammed the door emphatically, walked around to the driver's side, climbed in beside her. 'Your seat-belt,' he said, reaching across her to click it into place. 'We wouldn't want you coming to any harm, would we?'
'Who are you?' she asked.
'My name's Mikhail,' he told her. 'And yours?'
She hesitated a moment. 'Olympia.'
'Charmed to meet you, Olympia,' he said. He looked at her in that unblinking way he had, reached across and brushed a strand of hair on her temple back behind her ear, then gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. Her skin tingled where he touched her, her heart twisting and dipping on a fairground ride. There was a moment of almost complete stillness as he smiled more broadly and she found herself smiling in response, unable to help herself. 'You're very beautiful, you know, Olympia,' he said. 'You're going to break a lot of hearts.'
She didn't reply to that. She didn't know what to say. He settled in his seat, turned on the ignition. The engine made a glorious roar, like some savage beast caged at the zoo. He released the hand-brake, glanced over his shoulder for a gap in traffic. Unfamiliar sensations cramped inside her, hot and icy, sharp and sweet. Strange thoughts had been coming to her at night recently, thoughts of men just like this. But not for a moment had she imagined that one would come into her real life. A voice in her head, her mother's voice, beseeched her to get out while she could, yet she knew she wouldn't. 'Where are we going?' she asked. But really she was asking: 'What are you going to do with me?'
'You'll see,' said Mikhail, as he pulled away.
FOUR
I
A young man with flaming orange hair watched intently as Knox was led into the holding cells. He frowned and sat forward, the strangest expression on his face, as though he recognised Knox and had something of vital importance to tell him. Then he promptly vomited onto the floor.
A mop was brought, but the orange-haired youth simply lay shivering on his side on the wall-bench. None of the cell's other occupants seemed bothered, so Knox cleaned it up himself. The main door opened at regular intervals, police escorting suspects in and out of the various steel cages. A forty-something man arrived, struggling with his police handlers, accusing them of stitching him up; but, the moment they left him there, he laughed and winked as though it were only a game. A youth with a swollen lip kept testing his front tooth to see if it was loose. An elderly man in a shabby suit wiped his face with his handkerchief in an effort to hide the fact that he was crying. But then the main door opened one more time and Gaille came in, talking intently with a policeman. Knox's heart leapt, he jumped to his feet and hurried over to the cage door, waited impatiently for the policeman to open it.
'Christ!' he muttered, taking her in his arms, hugging her tight, not realising until now quite how much he'd needed to see her. 'What news of Augustin?'
She gave a little grimace. 'He's in intensive care at Evangelismos Hospital. He hadn't regained consciousness last I heard. Claire's out of her wits. I promised we'd go straight over, if that's okay?'
'I'm free to go?'
'You will be any moment. Nico called in his sister-in-law.' She glanced around, lowered her voice, wary of being overheard. 'Her name's Charissa. She's only about two foot tall, but my god! We were getting nowhere until she turned up, and suddenly the police were jumping through hoops and barking like seals.' Her brow knitted. 'It is seals that bark, isn't it?'
'Dogs have been known to, as well.'
She took his wrist. 'Listen, I had to make a promise on your behalf. I'll explain later, but I gave my word you'd stand in for Augustin tomorrow morning and give his talk. Is that okay?'
'Is that how you got the seal-trainer to come?'
'Sort of.'
'Then it's fine,' said Knox.
Nico appeared at the door, dabbing his throat with a green-and-white handkerchief. He was about the unhealthiest-looking man Knox had ever met, fat to the point of caricature, mere stubs of arms and legs, so that in his dark shirt and suit he looked like some gigantic anthropomorphic beetle, a character from a children's book brought miraculously to life. 'My dear Knox!' he exclaimed. 'I can't believe they put you in such a place!'
'Don't worry about it. And thanks for coming.'
'Of course. Of course.' He stepped to one side, revealing the woman hidden behind him. She was short, slim, stern and unmistakeably formidable. 'This is Charissa,' he said. 'My dear brother's wife.'
'Gaille just told me what you've been doing,' said Knox. 'Thanks so much.'
She waved his gratitude aside. 'I spend too much time in conference rooms. Places like this do my heart good.'
'Not mine,' said Knox. 'How soon can I get out?'
'At once,' she told him. 'It's a disgrace they brought you here at all.'
'Thank Christ!'
'I'm afraid that concludes the good news, however. The police seem to have it in for your friend Pascal. They intend to charge him the moment he regains consciousness.'
'Those bastards!' scowled Knox. 'They started it. One of them groped Claire, I swear he did. They're just covering their arses.'
'I'm not talking about that,' said Charissa. 'I'm talking about Petitier.'
'How do you mean?' frowned Knox.
'You may not know, but he was pronounced dead on arrival at hospital. And the police are planning to charge your friend with his murder.'