Rapids (27 page)

When he reached the car, he didn’t even have the energy to undress and change clothes. Seven o’clock. He turned on the radio. I should have put some food in here. I need sugar. Checking his mobile for messages, he was vaguely aware that the German newscaster he was listening to had used the word
Mord
in the headlines.
Selbstmord.
When are you coming back, Dad? Louise had written. Miss you. Things to talk about. An hour later, in bed in the chalet, he thought again, it won’t be Clive. The American Forces radio station said that the protestors were as yet nameless. They had blown themselves up before the deadline when an armoured car had approached them.

V
ince already had the boat loaded in the back of the car when he reached the hospital. His left shoulder and right knee were aching. When Clive returns, he can tell her about it, he thought. But if Clive didn’t return? Surely if Clive were one of the three, the police would know, they would already have come to the chalet. Vince had thought of hiding the laptop; but then someone might imagine I was stealing. Michela was already waiting for him on the steps at the main entrance, wearing dark glasses. Suddenly she looks like some kind of celebrity. She has a bright blue mini—dress. They let me go into town yesterday afternoon, she smiled. She seemed cheerful. I spent Clive’s money. Then she added: I’ve decided to live, by the way. Her tone was deliberately casual. Glad to hear it, Vince told her. He was awed by her easy elegance, a sort of natural disdain she has.

Throwing her bag in the back, Michela asked, how come the canoe? He had had to lower the back seats. I went out on my own. This morning? She raised her eyebrows. The bruise on her cheek was almost gone. He explained. He had had to drag the thing through brambles. You’re mad, she told him. You could have drowned. Against all his plans, this prompted Vince to say: Did you hear what happened in Germany? She was opening the passenger door. They were in the hospital car park. The pause she left was so long, settling herself now in the seat, wriggling a little to be out of the way of the nose of the kayak propped between the headrests, that he wondered if she had heard. This afternoon, she said firmly, I must check through all the kit. There’s some administrative stuff to do as well. And tomorrow morning I’ll have to shop, because the deal is that we have to provide the food for the first meal. They’re supposed to arrive after lunch. She turned and looked straight at him, smiling falsely. I’m not to mention it, he understood. She knows. As soon as Clive gets back, he said, I’ll hit the road.

When she opened the chalet door, she hardly seemed to notice the transformation that had taken place, the clean floor, clean sink, tidy table. She put her bag down. To work! Vince drove her to the post office, the bank, the internet café. She and Clive had a business e—mail. She made notes of one or two messages. At the post office there were brochures from equipment manufacturers. Invoices and cheques. Heads turned as she stepped out into the street. The blue of the dress was dazzling in the sunshine. She is conscious of those looks, Vince saw. She is enjoying them. But there is still something brittle about her. She is tensed for Clive’s return. Take me to lunch, taxi—man, she told him. She is warm and mocking. The Schloss Café is good, she said.

This was at the end of a dirt road two or three hairpins above the castle that dominates the village. An ample terrace was packed with tables. What time did he say he’d be back? she asked. To Vince’s surprise she has ordered steak and wine. They are sitting under a red and white sunshade looking down over pine trees into the warm green hum of the valley. Yesterday’s river is a harmless brown ribbon flecked with white. Early evening, I think, Vince said. He didn’t give a specific time. Vince has never bothered with sunglasses, but feels the need for them now. The slopes and mountains are pulsing with light. The very air is too bright. I should be back Thursday. He remembered Clive’s voice. The man hadn’t said when.

Good! She was rubbing her hands. Just a few hours, then.

He is struck by her cheerfulness. Her hair is glossy from a morning wash. Perhaps she’s had it trimmed. She’s eating and ordering without any concern for the price, as though this were some special celebration.

I was wondering … he began.

Ye—e—e—es? she laughed, raised her sunglasses for a moment. Her eyes are playful.

Wouldn’t it be better, maybe, to come to some agreement with Clive, about the, er, money side of things, then for you to go and live elsewhere, perhaps, with friends. I mean, with the situation as it is, you risk getting upset. Or getting more attached, without solving anything.

She put down her knife and fork, patted her breast. I was wondering, she mimicked, head cocked on one side, voice pompous. Wouldn’t it be better if Mr Banker minded his own business? She burst out laughing.

Please call me Vince, he said.

Anyhow, I don’t have any friends, she said.

Vince found this hard to believe.

Not in Italy. And anyway I don’t want to speak Italian. But we’ve been through that. I don’t even want to think it.

Go to England.

Are you inviting me? she asked.

Vince was taken aback. Actually, I wasn’t.

She smiled brilliantly. Please, Mr Ba— No, sorry, Vince, please, stop worrying about me. Okay? Come to think of it, after lunch, you might want to get going right away. If Clive is late you risk falling asleep at the wheel.

Vince told her he enjoyed starting a long drive in the evening, then stopping at a hotel as soon as he felt drowsy. She refilled her glass. She is drinking steadily. Behind her sunglasses he senses the eyes are searching him. She said: You think he might not come back, am I right?

Vince was caught out. Not at all, I just promised I’d stay till he did.

The waitress arrived, hovered, went off.

Why wouldn’t he come back?

Oh I’m sure he will, Vince said. His voice sounded wrong. And then, I’ll get moving, obviously.

They ate. The fare was standard but good. The day was too hot again, though they were pleasantly shaded, lightly dressed. Vince’s body ached in various places from yesterday’s adventure, but when sitting down to meat and wine these are not unpleasant aches, more reminders of being alive. Perhaps Michela feels the same way about the bruise fading from her cheek. There comes a point when a wound makes you more aware of the healing process than the damage. Even the tension between them is something to savour.

Tell me what you will do when you get back home, she asked. He explained that strictly speaking he wouldn’t be going home. He must drive straight to the office. There would be at least ten days, non—stop, of sixteen—hour work stints, sandwiches grabbed in the canteen, a few hours’ sleep in his service flat.

What’s so important?

It was a question, he says, of deadlines for filing accounts, mainly for the bank’s American operations. Things can often be accounted for in various ways.

You mean you have to look for loopholes, to avoid taxes.

Vince shook his head. Not at all. He smiled. Everybody thinks that. Actually, it’s a question of choosing the form of accounting for every transaction that most nearly and clearly represents reality, so that everybody is in a position to understand what’s going on, the directors, the institutional investors, the shareholders. If they don’t understand the situation, it’s hard for them to know how to behave.

So, at least with money, you know how to behave. She was smiling. She enjoys making fun of me, he thought. My job is more to do with defining what has happened, he said, not making the investment decisions.

And after those two weeks, you can go back to your house and daughter?

He explained that Louise lived with her uncle’s family.

Why?

I spend the week in the city and her school is a hundred miles away.

You put your work before her, Michela said.

Vince has understood that these provocations do not necessarily indicate hostility. When Gloria died, I didn’t know what to do. I was thrown. I thought the best thing was to keep working as before.

Giving your whole life to money.

Vince poured himself more wine. You let me off the hook with that kind of crude attack, he told her. Mouth full, she raised an eyebrow. Money, he spoke quickly, is that invention which makes all resources measurable in common terms and hence transferable, so that people don’t have to swap a cow for a field. Yes? Or a goat for a kayak. The bank is that place where the units of wealth can be stored so that resources can be exchanged when and where it is most convenient. Or alternatively they can be used by someone else while the real owner is deciding what to do with them, so that wealth is not just left lying around in heaps of gold. A banker is not serving money, he’s at the centre of a complicated network of exchanges that makes life possible.

Yes, Professor. Of course. But the way it actually works stinks, doesn’t it? No one is thinking where the resources should go. Only where money is most likely to multiply. There’s no morality in it, let alone compassion.

In my case, Vince said, the morality is in the honesty of representation.

She had finished. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, pushed her chair back, crossed her long legs. What do you do in the evening, then?

Vince shrugged. Nothing. I get back to the flat late. Bit of TV. Bed.

And at the weekend?

Maybe I take the canoe out on the estuary. Which is going to seem pretty dull after last week.

Or you could visit Mandy.

I could, yes.

You must have lots of friends, she said.

Not really.

Oh, I find that hard to believe. Again she is mimicking. She is almost too good at it. He smiles. Acquaintances, I suppose. Business friends. Gloria’s friends.

You don’t really want to go back to your job, do you, Mr Banker?

Vince remembers that Clive had suggested the same thing. Perhaps they had talked together about him. He decided to be honest. You know, I don’t quite understand what I want. Actually, I don’t know how I can understand. It would mean knowing the future, knowing myself. I’ve changed.

You see, Michela said, I was right, you don’t want to go back. The young woman seemed very pleased with herself. She lifted her glass to her lips again.

Vince looked down the valley. Clouds were gathering over the peaks now. Perhaps there was the first smell of a storm in the air. There seemed to be a lot of birds on the move. I feel I would like to take a risk, he said. That’s all.

Like you did yesterday on the river.

I suppose so. I had a good time. I mean, even when it was bad.

You know what Clive says?

What?

A fragile candour crept into her voice. You know he liked to run rivers that he really shouldn’t? Like on the last day of the trip. We should really have got off the river at lunchtime, you know.

Looking back on it, yes.

Well, Clive always says, the trouble is, after the high of getting away with it on the river, nothing has really changed. It isn’t a real risk. That’s what he said. Not a real risk.

Vince watched her. Behind the enigma of the sunglasses there was a sudden vibrancy. So, he asked, what would a real risk be, as far as Clive is concerned?

She was shaking her head slowly. He waited. You don’t want him to come back, she said, do you?

Vince hesitated.

Tell the truth! She was trying to laugh, but her voice faltered. Give an honest account.

I’ve been worried he might not, Vince admitted now. Actually, well, I contacted a possible alternative guide, you know. Just in case. So you wouldn’t be in trouble with this group that’s coming, I mean contractually, if he doesn’t turn up.

You did what?

Vince feels ridiculous. He explained his conversation with the people at the rafting centre.

But why should you care? It’s nothing to do with you.

I … it seemed a way to help. Vince began to search in his wallet for the card he had been given. Shuffling through three or four, he heard her say:

So, you think Clive blew himself up.

Vince shut his wallet. He looked up. Her face wore a strange expression of triumph, pained and exulting. He shook his head. He didn’t know what to say.

If he doesn’t come back, you want to stay and have sex with me, right?

God! Vince was appalled. No. For heaven’s sake, Michela!

Why else say you’re staying till he comes back when you don’t think he is coming back. I don’t mind if you want to have sex with me. Most men do.

It’s not what I want, and certainly not something I’ve been planning.

Don’t be so upset! She leaned forward across the small table and put her hand gently on his. Vince can see the tops of her breasts. There’s a sort of … she smiled, but slyly. Yearning is the word, isn’t it. There’s a yearning in you.

Vince said firmly. I’m sure Clive wasn’t one of the people who blew themselves up. He’s not that crazy. And I assure you that I’m not trying to get into your bed.

She withdrew her hand abruptly. Let’s get the bill and go. She stood up, pulled the dress down a little on her thighs. But climbing into the front of his car, she asked, When was the last time you made love?

I beg your pardon.

Come on, Mr Proper, don’t pretend you didn’t understand.

But why do you ask me a question like that? She has him riled now.

Why not? I just wonder if you’re, er, giving the best possible representation of all your various transactions. Laying it on, she said: I’m concerned for you of course. It was crazy of you to stay here when you should be back in London accounting for all that money. Oh, and by the way, I don’t think those men who blew themselves up were crazy at all.

Despite his age, Vince has no experience of conversations like this. Perhaps this is why he can’t leave be. Michela has a strange glow on her face.

Let’s talk about Clive, Vince says. You didn’t seriously imagine I thought he might be one of the three. Watching the road as they began to drive, Michela told him:The last time Clive and I made love was four days before your group arrived, and one day before two people were killed in a demonstration in Milan. I don’t know if you heard. The police charged some demonstrators and two protestors fell under the wheels of a tram. We were right close by. That night Clive was mad. He smoked a lot of dope. Then the day you arrived, that night, he told me that we weren’t going to make love anymore. He was obsessed that he should be doing more about everything that was wrong.