False Impression (9 page)

Anna joined a
group of fellow stragglers as they emerged out of the gloom. Her compatriots
looked as if they’d already completed a marathon, but hadn’t yet reached the
finish line. Coming out of such darkness, Anna found she couldn’t bear to look
up at the glaring sun; even opening her dust-covered eyelids demanded effort.
On, on, she stumbled, inch by inch, foot by foot, coughing up dirt and dust
with every step, wondering how much more black liquid there could possibly be
left in her body. After a few more paces she collapsed onto her knees,
convinced the grey cloud could no longer overtake her. She continued coughing,
spitting.

When Anna looked
up, she became aware of a group of startled onlookers, who were staring at her
as if she’d just landed from another planet.

“Were you in one
of the towers?’ asked one of them. She didn’t have the strength to answer, and
decided to get as far away from their gawping eyes as possible. Anna had only
covered a few more paces before she bumped into a Japanese tourist who was
bending down trying to take a photograph of her. She angrily waved him away. He
immediately bowed even lower, and apologized.

When Anna
reached the next intersection, she collapsed on the sidewalk and stared up at
the street sign – she was on the corner of Franklin and Church. I’m only a few
blocks from Tina’s apartment, was her first thought. But as Tina was still
somewhere behind her, how could she possibly have survived? Without warning, a
bus came to a halt by her side. Although it was as full as a San Francisco tram
car during rush hour, people edged back to allow her to clamber on. The bus
stopped on the corner of every block, allowing some to jump off while others
got on, with no suggestion of anyone paying a fare. It seemed that all New
Yorkers were united in wanting to play some part in the unfolding drama.

‘Oh my God,’
whispered Anna as she sat on the bus, and buried her head in her hands. For the
first time she thought about the firemen who had passed her on the stairwell,
and of Tina and Rebecca, who must be dead. It’s only when you know someone that
a tragedy becomes more than a news item.

When the bus
came to a halt in the village near Washington Square Park, Anna almost fell
off. She stumbled over to the sidewalk, coughing up several more mouthfuls of
grey dust that she’d avoided bringing up while she was on the bus. A woman sat
down on the kerb beside her and offered her a bottle of water.

Anna filled her
mouth several times before spitting out dollops of black liquid. She emptied
the bottle without swallowing a drop.

The woman then
pointed in the direction of a small hotel where escapees were trooping in and
out in a steady stream. She bent down and took Anna by the arm, guiding her
gently towards the ladies’ room on the ground floor. The room was full of men
and women oblivious of their sex. Anna looked at herself in the mirror and
understood why onlookers had stared at her so curiously. It was as if someone
had poured several bags of grey ash all over her.

She left her
hands under a flowing tap until only her nails remained black. She then tried
to remove a layer of the caked dust from her face – an almost pointless
exercise. She turned to thank the stranger, but she, like the cop, had already
disappeared to assist someone else.

Anna limped back
onto the road, her throat dry, her knees cut, her feet blistered and aching. As
she stumbled slowly up Waverly Place, she tried to remember the number of
Tina’s apartment. She continued on past an uninhabited Waverly Diner before
pausing outside number 273.

Anna grabbed at
the familiar wrought-iron balustrade like a lifeline and yanked herself up the
steps to the front door. She ran her finger down the list of names by the side
of the buzzers: Amato,

Kravits,
Gambino, O’Rourke, Forster... Forster, Forster, she repeated joyfully, before
pressing the little bell. But how
could Tina
answer
her call, when she must be dead, was Anna’s only thought. She left her finger
on the buzzer as if it would bring Tina to life, but it didn’t. She finally
gave up and turned to leave, tears streaming down her dust-caked face, when out
of nowhere an irate voice demanded, “Who is it?’

Anna collapsed
onto the top step.

‘Oh thank God,’
she cried, ‘you’re alive, you’re alive.’

‘But you can’t
be,’ said a disbelieving voice.

‘Open the door,’
pleaded Anna, ‘and you can see for yourself.’

The click of the
entry button was the best sound Anna had heard that day.

‘Y
ou’re alive,’
repeated Tina as she flung open the front door and threw her arms around her
friend. Anna might resemble a street urchin who had just climbed out of a
Victorian chimney, but it didn’t prevent Tina from clinging to her.

‘I was thinking
about how you could always make me laugh, and wondering if I’d ever laugh again,
when the buzzer sounded.’

‘And I was
convinced that even if you’d somehow managed to get out of the building, you
still couldn’t have survived once the tower collapsed.’

‘If I had a
bottle of champagne, I’d open it so that we could celebrate,’ said Tina,
finally letting go of her friend.

‘I’ll settle for
a coffee, and then another coffee, followed by a bath.’

‘I do have
coffee,’ said Tina, who took Anna by the hand and led her through to the small
kitchen at the end of the corridor. She left a set of grey footprints on the
carpet behind her.

Anna sat down at
a small round wooden table and kept her hands in her lap while a soundless
television was showing images of the other side of the story. She tried to stay
still, aware that anything she touched was immediately smeared with ash and
dirt.

Tina didn’t seem
to notice.

‘I know this may
sound a little strange,’ said Anna, ‘but I haven’t a clue what’s going on.’

Tina turned up
the sound on the television.

‘Fifteen minutes
of that,’ Tina said as she filled the coffee pot,

‘
and
you’ll know everything.’

Anna watched the
endless replays of a plane flying into the South Tower, people throwing
themselves from the higher floors to a certain death, and the collapse of first
the South and then the North Tower.

‘And another
plane hit the Pentagon?’ she asked. ‘So how many more are out there?’

‘There was a
fourth,’ said Tina, as she placed two mugs on the table, ‘but no one seems
certain where it was heading.’

‘The White
House, possibly,’ suggested Anna, as she looked up at the screen to see
President Bush speaking from Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana: ‘Make no
mistake, the United States will hunt down and punish those responsible for
these cowardly acts.’

The images
flashed back to the second plane flying into the South Tower.

‘Oh my God,’
said Anna. ‘I hadn’t even thought about the innocent passengers on board those
planes. Who’s responsible for all this?’ she demanded, as Tina filled her mug
with black coffee.

‘The State
Department is being fairly cautious,’ said Tina, ‘and all the usual suspects –
Russia, North Korea, Iran and Iraq – have all been quick to scream, “Not me,”
swearing they will do everything they can to track down those responsible.’

‘But what are
the anchormen saying, because there’s no reason for them to be cautious.’

‘CNN is pointing
a finger at Afghanistan, and in particular at a terrorist group called Al-Qaeda
– I think that’s how you pronounce it, but I’m not sure as I’ve never heard of
them,’ Tina said as she sat down opposite Anna.

‘I think they’re
a bunch of religious fanatics, who I thought were only interested in taking
over Saudi Arabia so they could get hold of its oil.’ Anna glanced back up at
the television and listened to the commentator, who was trying to imagine what
it must have been like to be in the North Tower when the first plane struck.

How could you
possibly know, Anna wanted to ask him. A hundred minutes telescoped into a few
seconds, and then repeated again and again like a familiar advertisement. When
the South Tower collapsed and smoke billowed up into the sky, Anna started
coughing loudly, shaking ash onto everything around her.

‘Are you OK?’
asked Tina, jumping up from her chair.

‘Yes, I’ll be
fine,’ said Anna, draining her coffee. “Would you mind if I turned the TV
off ?
I don’t think I can face continually being reminded
what it was like to be there.’

‘Of course not,’
said Tina, who picked up the remote and touched the off button. The images
melted from the screen.

‘I can’t stop
thinking about all our friends who were in the building,’ said Anna, as Tina
refilled her mug with coffee. ‘I wonder if Rebecca…’

‘No word from
her,’ said Tina. ‘Barry is the only person who’s reported in so far.’

‘Yeah, I can
believe Barry was the first down the stairs, trampling over anyone who got in
his way. But who did Barry call?’ asked Anna.

‘Fenston.
On his mobile.’

‘Fenston?’ said
Anna. ‘How did he manage to escape when I left his office only a few minutes
before the first plane hit the building?’

‘He’d arrived on
Wall Street by then – he had an appointment with a potential client, whose only
asset was a Gauguin. So there was no way he was going to be late for that.’

‘And Leapman?’
asked Anna as she took another sip of coffee.

‘One step behind
him as usual,’ said Tina.

‘So that’s why
the elevator door was being held open.’

‘The elevator
door?’ repeated Tina.

‘It’s not
important,’ said Anna. ‘But why weren’t you at work this morning?’

‘I had a dental
appointment,’ said Tina. ‘It had been in my diary for weeks.’ She paused and
looked across the table.
‘The moment I heard the news I never
stopped trying to call you on your cell, but all I got was a ringing tone.
So where were you?’

‘Being escorted
off the premises,’ said Anna.

‘By a
firefighter?’ asked Tina.

‘No,’ replied
Anna, ‘by that ape, Barry.’

‘But why?’
demanded Tina.

‘Because Fenston
had just fired me,’ said Anna.

‘Fired you?’
said Tina in disbelief. Why would he fire you, of all people?’

‘Because in my
report to the board, I recommended that Victoria Wentworth should sell the Van
Gogh, which would allow her not only to clear her overdraft with the bank, but
hold on to the rest of the estate.’

‘But the Van
Gogh was the only reason Fenston ever agreed to that deal,’ said Tina. ‘I
thought you realized that. He’s been after one for years. The last thing he
would have wanted was to sell the painting and get Victoria off the hook. But
that’s hardly a reason to fire you. What excuse...’

‘I also sent a
copy of my recommendations to the client, which I considered to be no more than
ethical banking practice.’

1 don’t think
it’s
ethical banking practice that keeps Fenston awake at
night. But that still doesn’t explain why he got rid of you so quickly.’

‘Because I was
just about to fly to England and let Victoria Wentworth know that I’d even
fined up a prospective buyer. A well-known Japanese collector, Takashi
Nakamura, who I felt
sure
would be happy to close the
deal quickly, if we were sensible about the asking price.’

‘You picked the
wrong man in Nakamura,’ said Tina. ‘Whatever the asking price, he’s the last
person on earth Fenston would be willing to do business with. They’ve both been
after a Van Gogh for years, and are regularly the last two bidders for any
major Impressionists.’

“Why didn’t he
tell me that?’ said Anna.

‘Because it
doesn’t always suit him to let you know what he’s up to,’ said Tina.

‘But we were
both on the same team.’

‘You’re so
naive, Anna. Haven’t you worked out that there’s only one person on Fenston’s
team?’

‘But he can’t
make Victoria hand over the Van Gogh unless...’

‘I wouldn’t be
so sure about that,’ said Tina.

Why
not?’

‘Fenston put a
call through to Ruth Parish yesterday and ordered her to pick up the painting
immediately. I heard him repeat the word “immediately”.’

‘Before Victoria
was given the chance to act on my recommendations.’

Which
would also explain why he had to fire you before you could get on that plane
and upset his plans.
Mind you,’ added Tina, ‘you’re not the first person
to have ventured down that well trodden path.’

What do you
mean?’ said Anna.

‘Once anyone
works out what Fenston is really up to, they’re quickly shown the door.’

Then why hasn’t
he fired you?’

‘Because I don’t
make any recommendations he isn’t willing to go along with,’ said Tina. ‘That
way, I’m not considered a threat.’