She wrapped the towel around her, rinsed her hair in the sink, and put it up. Suddenly she felt a longing for Simon, she wanted to throw her arms around him, lie in bed with him, and press herself against him. She went to the kitchen, but he wasn’t there. Simon, she called, and went into the living room and then the bedroom. Simon? He must still be down in the restaurant, he was sure to be back any moment. She sat at the table, leafed through the free paper she had picked up at the bus station. One ex–Miss Switzerland wanted to climb Kilimanjaro to raise money for a children’s cancer hospital, Prince William had worn a toupee for a portrait photographer, or so at least the newspaper claimed, an American was put to death for a murder he had committed twenty-five years ago. Under the headline Gruesome Find on Lake, there was a story about a trout fisherman who had stumbled upon a dead body in the water just offshore. The policemen who pulled the body in were quoted as saying that the dead man had been missing for a couple of months. Presumably it was suicide, though accidental death was also a possibility. The water temperature wasn’t above thirty-eight or forty degrees, if you fell in you wouldn’t last more than a few minutes.
A drop of water fell from Lara’s hair to the picture of the yachting marina where the body had been found. With a shudder she pushed the newspaper away. She had to think about that man being found in the water no more than a few hundred yards away, while she and Simon were getting moved in, or eating their supper, or making love. She felt cold in her towel. There was only a gas heater in the apartment, and the windows were not exactly insulated. Lara went into the kitchen and put on the water for ravioli. She took two plates from the cupboard and a couple of forks off the draining board, and scrubbed at a stain on one of the units, but it wouldn’t budge. The kitchen was from the seventies, and you could scrub away at it as much as you liked, it never got completely clean. Lara went to the bathroom, blow-dried her hair, and put on some clothes.
SHE SNEAKED DOWN the creaking staircase. She didn’t turn on the landing light, she didn’t want to be seen. The music had stopped, and the voices had quieted down too. She had almost reached the bottom when the door to the bar opened, and she saw the backlit silhouette of an enormous man. At the same moment, the light went on. The man had a flushed complexion, he pulled the door shut behind him, and passed her without a word on his way to the gents, as though he hadn’t seen her. The voice of the landlady was loud and distinct. He didn’t recognize him right away, she was saying, because the man was lying face down. In summer he would probably have bobbed up sooner. Lara pushed open the door to the bar and stepped inside.
There were half a dozen men at the bar and at one or two tables, and Lara was alarmed because they were all looking at her; but then she realized their attention was on the landlady, behind the bar. She was talking about something else now. They ought to poison that son of a bitch, she said, to teach him what it feels like. Those poor dogs. Lara had seen the tabloid headline: ANIMAL HATER STRIKES AGAIN. She saw Simon standing on one of the benches along the wall, his head obscured by an enormous TV mounted on the ceiling. Right behind him and looking up at him stood Danica, the waitress. Even though they were neighbors, Lara had only run into her once or twice on the stairs. Sometimes she heard her footsteps on the landing late at night, but there was never any sound from the studio. Danica had come to Switzerland from Serbia with her parents when she was little, she told Lara and Simon the first time they met. She hadn’t managed to find an apprenticeship, even though she had good grades. Do you think she’s attractive? Lara had asked Simon later. Other women don’t interest me, he replied. But surely you’ve got an opinion? I don’t know, he said. I think she’s got bedroom eyes, said Lara, and Simon laughed and kissed her.
Simon seemed to be doing something with the TV. After a while, he jumped off the bench and said something to Danica. She smiled and switched the TV on, and together they looked at the screen, which was showing a grainy picture of a downhill skier. Simon spotted Lara and went over to her. A faulty connection, he said, and when she looked at him in bemusement, the TV’s on the blink. He turned to the landlady and said the antenna wire’s bent, he could bring her a new one tomorrow. Isn’t it practical having a workman in the house? said the landlady. What will you have to drink? A glass of red? I was going to buy a bottle of wine, said Simon. It’s on the house, said the landlady. And the young lady? Simon looked at Lara, and then he said I’d rather have a beer, and to Lara, Are you hungry? Sit down the pair of you, said the landlady, dunking a glass in murky dishwater and pouring a large beer.
There wasn’t a free table, so Simon sat down opposite an old man who seemed to have had a few already. Lara slid in on the bench next to him. She asked me if I would take a look at the TV, he said half apologetically. A faulty connection. I thought you weren’t coming back, said Lara. She sounded reproachful, which she didn’t mean to be. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t be clingy with Simon. He had just wanted to help out. She was sorry she’d come down. If she’d stayed upstairs, he would surely not have accepted the landlady’s offer, and would have returned right away. Danica stepped up to the table, bringing Simon’s beer and a glass of wine for Lara. The landlady and the men were still talking about the poisoned dogs, and what the authorities should do to the guilty party if they caught him. The drunk at their table said under his breath that he could think of a couple of dogs he wouldn’t mind poisoning. Lara wasn’t sure it was for their hearing, and she didn’t reply. She felt her hair, which was still a little bit damp.
For no obvious reason, the drunk started talking about a cruise he’d gone on almost twenty years ago, on the Black Sea. It was dull, those cruises were pretty uneventful. I’ve been in the Crimea, in Sebastopol, where the Russians have a navy base and submarines. That was an experience, that was worth it. Simon didn’t seem to be listening, he drank his beer and looked up at the TV set, where a different skier was on the piste. From the loudspeaker came the sound of cowbells and the rhythmic shouts of supporters. Lara wasn’t sure where the Black Sea was.
Danica appeared at their table, and filled up Lara’s glass before she was able to say no thank you. Now she was sitting there foolishly with her hand over the full glass. She hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime, and she could feel the alcohol going to her head. Will you have another beer? Danica asked. Simon glanced quickly up at Lara, as though he needed her permission. Then he said, Yes, sure, and half got up. Will you excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment. Lara let him out. No sooner had she sat down again than the drunk asked if she was from hereabouts, he hadn’t seen her before. She felt ill at ease in the bar, threatened by the loud landlady and the drunken men who were ogling her. I grew up in Kreuzlingen, she said. The man held out his hand and said Manfred was his name. She shook it and said Lara. Dr. Zhivago, he said. That was a nice film. With Omar Sharif, and … who was she again? Julie Christie, said Lara. In the streetcar. The drunk smiled. I have a sister in Kreuzlingen. Have you ever been to Russia? No, said Lara.