Gimme More (32 page)

‘That's sweet of you, Nash. But I couldn't pay it if it were seven per cent.'

‘Well, of course not. That's why you're in such a mess. It's so sad, Birdie. I wish you'd come to me before. I can sort this out for you with a single phonecall. Think about it – you could come back to the UK to live, you wouldn't have to wander like a gypsy and work for gangsters.'

‘Are you calling Sasson a gangster?'

‘I'm talking about a Malaysian gentleman who owns a chain of night clubs. I understand you were reduced to booking acts for him.'

‘He wasn't a gangster as far as I was concerned,' I say. ‘He paid me well and he kept all his promises. How do you know about him anyway?'

‘I'm
interested
in you, Birdie. I wish you'd believe that. I want to help you. And to prove it, the minute you show me whatever it is you've found, I'll make that call to the Inland Revenue. There should be no more secrets between us.'

‘You're going too fast for me, Nash,' I say. ‘It's unnerving.' It's true, I am unnerved. He's been talking about my affairs to some bastard in the tax office. He's been checking up on my contacts. I can feel him crawling all over my life.

‘Let me think about it,' I say. ‘It's true that the tax bill has been an impossible burden, but it doesn't solve the problem of future earnings and …'

‘Come here,' Nash says impatiently. ‘Bring your sample or whatever you call it. Show it to me and I'll make the call.'

‘No,' I say. ‘Wait. I'll make the arrangements.' I will not go back to his house unprotected and I'll be damned if I'll show him so much as a nail clipping on the mere promise of a phonecall. I hang up.

‘Who's paying for this hotel room?' Tina asked.

‘Linnet,' George said. ‘She gave me cash.'

‘This is weird. She should be here.' Tina twitched the curtains and looked down over London rooftops and half-hidden streets. ‘Cash payments,' she said, ‘fingers on phone buttons. It's like buying back kidnapped children, or extortion or something.'

‘Well,' George said, ‘I advised her not to be here, and you wanted someone in the office.' He turned the TV round so that it faced one of the easy chairs while Tina tested the video.

‘A poncey hotel room!' she said. ‘We could've done this in the office.'

‘Not if Linnet wants to keep her place of work confidential.'

‘It won't be confidential for long,' Tina said. ‘This bloke's going to check us out quick as a fox.'

‘But not before this meeting.'

‘And we'll be a bleeding sight easier to check out than he is,' Tina continued, looking at her watch. ‘He's big-time.'

‘Exactly,' George said. ‘This makes sense. Don't tell him the venue till the last minute and don't tell him the room number till he arrives.'

‘It makes sense,' Tina agreed, ‘but only if you're totally paranoid about him bugging the room and re-routing phone calls. Bloody hell, George. I feel silly. It's only a bloody video.'

George sighed. He'd made up his mind not to defend Linnet or any of the decisions they'd made jointly but already he was acting like her advocate. ‘Look,' he said, ‘we all agreed. So let's just stick to the plan and get it over with.'

‘Amen,' said Tina, and the phone rang. She picked up the receiver, listened and said, ‘Thanks. Would you send them up.'

‘Them?'

‘Visitors,' Tina said. ‘Didn't say how many. Come on, George, don't look so anxious. It's show time.'

A few minutes later there was a tap on the door. Tina opened it and admitted a short, stocky man in a pale raincoat.

He said, ‘Good afternoon. I'm Mr Zalisky's assistant. Would you mind if I look round? It's only a formality – just a routine we go through whenever he goes anywhere.'

‘Be our guest,' Tina said, standing aside and glancing at George.

George watched. The stocky man was practised and thorough. Bugs, bombs or bandits would've stood no chance.

‘Amazing,' Tina muttered. ‘Looks like we've got paranoia on both sides.'

It was real, George thought. Up till now, a secret part of his brain had thought he might be indulging Linnet.

He was pleased to see Tina follow their unexpected guest to the bathroom. They both watched while he closed the window and the curtains, cutting all the daylight out of the room.

‘OK,' the stocky man said. ‘Thank you.' He punched a button on his walkie-talkie and said, ‘Everything's fine.' Then he stood in the middle of the room. ‘Terrible summer we're having,' he remarked pleasantly. ‘I like to play a round of golf myself but I've hardly had the chance. Oh, by the way, by all means send down for coffee for yourselves – Mr Zalisky always brings his own.'

‘I don't think we'll bother,' Tina said.

‘Don't blame you,' the stocky man said. ‘Who do you work for, if you don't mind my asking?'

‘Whoever the client is,' George said. ‘In this case Ms Walker.'

‘I mean, what's your outfit? What's the name of the firm?'

‘Oh, I see,' said George. ‘It's a small South London firm. You wouldn't have heard of it. Why? You looking for a job?'

‘You never know these days,' the man said. ‘Got a card?'

George patted his pockets. ‘Somewhere,' he said. ‘Tina?'

‘Tell you what,' Tina said, ‘I'll look one out and give it to you before you leave.'

‘OK,' the man said. ‘I must say, I don't think Mr Zalisky was expecting professionals. He thought he'd be …' He broke off as a knock sounded at the door.

Tina opened it to a little man dressed all in black. He blinked at her nervously through thick steel-rimmed spectacles as if his mother had sent him next door to borrow a cup of sugar and he wasn't at all sure of his reception.

‘Where's Birdie?' he asked plaintively.

George said, ‘I'm George Adler and this is my colleague, Ms Cole. Are you Mr Zalisky?'

The little man nodded, and George went on, ‘Ms Walker sends her apologies. She's asked me and my colleague to represent her in this matter.'

‘Oh dear,' the little man said, opening his hands helplessly. ‘I don't know … I was expecting to see her. This is most disappointing.'

Tina said soothingly, ‘Ms Walker has given us detailed instructions and a video to show you.'

Her tone was so maternal that for one moment George thought she was going to pat the little man on the head. He said, ‘Would you like to take a seat, Mr Zalisky? Shall we get on?'

But Nash Zalisky dithered in the doorway until the stocky man opened his bag and brought out two pillows and a handful of clean white napkins. One pillow went on the seat of the chair opposite the TV. The other rested against the back. Napkins were spread over the arms and back like antimacassars. Only then did the fussy, anxious little man consent to sit down. The stocky minder stood behind the chair like a soldier at ease.

‘The tape, the tape,' Nash Zalisky said, fluttering his hand.

Tina picked up the remote and pressed the play button. The screen lit up to a picture of sun and sea. Surf was rolling in, small black kids were playing beach soccer. In the background a guitar played. The camera scanned the horizon, turned and came to rest on a hammock strung between palm trees. Two young people were sharing the hammock. They looked like a pair of film stars. The camera crept closer. The man had one arm round the girl. His other hand made circles in the air.

‘Ripples,' he said. ‘I wonder how long before these ripples reach London.'

Tina touched the pause button and the image of the handsome man stuck trembling to the screen.

George said, ‘Is this the video you want to see, Mr Zalisky?'

‘Maybe,' Nash Zalisky said. ‘But how do I know this isn't all there is?'

‘Shall I fast-forward?' Tina asked. ‘You can tell me when to stop.'

Images raced silently across the screen. ‘It's all here,' Tina said. ‘We haven't substituted Tom and Jerry.'

But on the screen people scampered and chased each other through the sunshine, speeding through dawn to dusk like cartoon characters.

‘Stop!' Zalisky cried, and the headlong rush halted suddenly in a candle-lit room. The shuddering picture showed George a close-up of a heartbreakingly young Linnet with dim light gleaming off unruly fair hair.

‘Can you go back?' Zalisky said. ‘I want to see this bit.'

‘I'm sorry,' Tina said. ‘George?'

George dragged his eyes away from the screen and said, ‘I'm afraid, at this stage, we're only authorised to confirm to you that the footage exists.'

‘Just a couple of minutes,' Zalisky pleaded. ‘Surely there's no harm in that?'

‘I'm sorry,' Tina said. ‘Our instructions are explicit: we can only go on when the money's been transferred.'

‘What absolute nonsense,' Zalisky said. ‘Why doesn't she trust me?' He was staring at the screen as if he thought he could persuade the blonde child to change her mind. Still staring, he held out his hand and the thickset man placed a mobile in it.

He punched a number, and said, ‘Yes, this is he. Would you call Mr XYZ and confirm the arrangement we made this morning.' He snapped the phone down and turned to George. ‘I'm here to.
help
her,' he said. ‘Has her life been
so
full of betrayal that she can no longer tell who her real friends are?'

George found himself disliking the little man so intensely that he couldn't answer. He picked up his own mobile and called the
office. ‘Hello there. Just to tell you Mr Zalisky has made his call.'

Linnet's soft voice replied, ‘Thanks, George. I'll check that and ring you back.'

Zalisky said, ‘Is that her? I'd like to speak to her.'

‘I'm sorry,' George said, ‘but she hung up.' He cut Linnet off.

‘Now we'll have to wait,' Tina explained. ‘Ms Walker wants to make sure all your arrangements are to her satisfaction.'

‘This is ridiculous,' Zalisky said. ‘I hope you can see how unnecessary all this is.'

‘I'm sure you're right,' Tina said.

‘Then … ?'

For a moment, George thought the little man was going to make them a counter-offer. His eyes flicked between the two of them with something like hope, but then he shrugged helplessly. The thickset man rummaged in his bag and produced a flask from which he poured a single cup of black coffee. Zalisky accepted the cup and returned to his scrutiny of the face on the screen.

The face on the screen, George thought, was extraordinary: eyes lowered, shadowed by long lashes, lips parted as if she were about to speak, luminous skin, the whole framed by gleaming, coiling hair. She seemed to be emitting light. She could have had a career in the movies, he thought, and wondered why she hadn't.

Electronic interference slashed jagged lines across the immobile face. But the horizontal lightning was powerless against such a potent image of perfect, dewy youth. The youth, the sheer lack of years, got to George and made him feel he was protecting a child, any child, his own child, from whatever harm life had in store for her.

Whatever was in store for that face had already happened. He knew that, and it almost brought a lump to his old, experienced throat. But he wondered, suddenly, if it was the same illogical emotion which was driving Linnet. Wasn't she trying to protect Jack, the young handsome subject of the film, from further harm?

After the call came through and Tina rewound the tape to the beginning, he watched Linnet the child wander through ten minutes of excerpts, barely saying a thing. She was clearly Jack's adornment, Jack's medal, first prize for simply being Jack. There
was little to see of the Linnet George knew, and he wanted to stop the film and lecture the child as if she were his own daughter.

‘Say something,' he might have said. ‘You're worth more than this. Be yourself. If they don't like it – tough; that's their problem, not yours.'

But the only time he saw the real Linnet break through the blank mask of beauty was in a short scene near the end where she was playing a keyboard and Jack was singing. Then he saw the astonishing eyes focus, concentrate and communicate the way they did every day years later in the office. That was the only time, though, and when the scene came up he was surprised because he didn't know she could play piano. In fact, with only the film as evidence, it was surprising to find out she could do anything useful at all.

At the end, when the screen went black and Nash Zalisky said, ‘What a loss, what a waste,' George had to make an effort to realise that he was talking about Jack. The film was about Jack, not Linnet – Jack, Jack, Jack, all the way. George's inner dialogue with the child Linnet was irrelevant.

Tina rewound the tape but left the cassette in the machine. She said, ‘The next step is to ask you if you wish to buy the cassette with no transmission, publication or reproduction rights attached. It would be for your own personal use only.'

‘It's a sample,' Zalisky said. ‘A sample of what?'

‘Of a film of about ninety minutes' length,' Tina said, ‘and some unedited footage which survived after the film was edited.'

‘Do you know for a fact that the film and the extra footage exist?'

‘Yes,' said George, carefully avoiding Tina's eyes. Neither of them had seen it.

‘Have I your word on that?'

‘Yes.'

‘You see,' Zalisky said, ‘we have a problem. Of course I want the cassette. I want to examine it at leisure and I need to show it to my consortium of backers. But the consortium feels that the price we discussed prior to this meeting is too high. I've already paid heavily just to view it here.'

‘The price,' Tina said, ‘is not negotiable. Neither Mr Adler nor I
are authorised to negotiate. We're simply here to carry out Ms Walker's instructions.'