The Gap of Time (19 page)

Perdita and Zel had come to London.

She'd slept with her head against his shoulder through the noisy night of other people's packed-together lives.

For the last few hours they had been waiting to check into their room at the King's Cross Travelodge.

“How much money do we have?”

“Enough for three weeks.”

Perdita had taken the $1,000 in the attaché case—she reckoned it was hers—and Zel had paid for the flights.

Perdita had left a long voicemail for Clo. Zel had just disappeared.

At last the tired woman in the tight suit gave them the keys to their room. It wasn't big and it wasn't beautiful but it was theirs. Zel began putting his T-shirts in a drawer. Perdita was running a shower. He stood and watched her. He loved the miracle of her body. How could she be so beautiful? He unfolded the towel for her and wrapped her in it, holding her to him. “What's the plan?”

“I'll go to his office tomorrow.”

“I'll come with you.”

“I have to do this part by myself.”

“But he knows me.”

“He knew you when you were eight!”

Perdita went into the bedroom. Zel followed her.

“I don't want you to go on your own.”

She shrugged like she was dismissing him. He took her wrists. Too tight.

“Let go of me! I'm not your possession.”

Zel let go. “I'm sorry.” He sat on the bed, his body absolutely still the way it was when he was upset. Like a hiding animal. “I guess I'm taking it out on you.”

“What?”

“That you'll suddenly find a whole new family and forget about me.”

Perdita sat next to him on the bed. She took his hand. “I'm not going to forget you.”

Sicilia Ltd. was above an art gallery. Two young men in tailored suits were directing a smart black van to unload. They smiled at Perdita because she was pretty. “Are you looking for a job? Come and work for us.”

Perdita shook her head and buzzed the intercom. There was no answer. One of the young men took out a bunch of keys and opened the door. “Don't tell her.”

“Who?”

“You'll see. Would you like to go out for a drink tonight?”

He was handsome, confident, floppy hair. Perdita smiled and shook her head. He sighed. “If you change your mind—I'm Adam.”

He stood back to let Perdita up the wide, well-carpeted stairs to the first floor. Tracey Emin prints lined the walls.

The Receptionist had only just gone upstairs herself and she came out of the ladies' as Perdita appeared in the big, comfortable, quietly expensive waiting area, its walls hung with drawings this time, not prints. There was a big neon sign that said RISK = VALUE.

“Who let you in?” said the Receptionist.

“I'm here to enquire about an internship,” said Perdita.

The Receptionist was six feet tall and perfectly made up. Her legs were long, sleek and threatening. Perdita was wearing a simple summer dress, strappy sandals and no makeup. She wasn't tall. The Receptionist looked at her without smiling.

“Did you send in your CV?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Levy isn't here today.”

“What about Mr. Kaiser?”

“Mr. Kaiser has appointments all day.”

“I'll wait here,” said Perdita, sitting down with such finality on one of the linen-covered sofas that the Receptionist could do nothing but swing her computer screen round to block Perdita from her view.

There was a name block on her desk. Lorraine LaTrobe.

“Are you from New Orleans? I wondered because LaTrobe is a Louisiana name. I'm from New Bohemia.”

“I'm not,” said Miss LaTrobe, swivelling her chair to mark an end to the exchange.

Perdita waited.

After about an hour Leo arrived. He was heavier than she had expected. He had less hair than she had imagined. Xeno's photograph was not this man but this was the man.

Leo glanced at her. “Morning, Lorraine. Pauline here yet?”

“Good morning, Mr. Kaiser. Mrs. Levy isn't in today.”

“Why not? She finally dropped dead?”

“She's booked out in the Diary today and tomorrow.”

“Did you tell me?”

“It's in the Diary,” said Miss LaTrobe again, as though the Diary were a confident scripture to turn to in times of need.

“If I wanted to look at the Diary myself I could save money on a PA,” said Leo. “Where's my PA? Or is Virginia booked out as well?”

“Yes, she is.”

Leo turned to Perdita. “Who are you?”

“She's waiting to see Mrs. Levy. I told her Mrs. Levy isn't in the Diary today.”

Leo looked at Perdita again. “Are you from the housing association? About the Roundhouse project?”

Perdita shook her head. She couldn't speak.

Leo said, “I thought I recognised you.”

“She wants an internship,” said Miss LaTrobe, making it sound like a colonic torpedo suppository.

Leo grimaced and went to the lift. The doors closed across his back but Perdita saw him for a second in the mirror, still frowning at her.

“When is Mrs. Levy back?” said Perdita.

“According to the Diary, Monday,” said Miss LaTrobe, without moving her lips or making eye contact.

Perdita thought she would be a great ventriloquist. But she continued to sit on the sofa. And Miss LaTrobe continued to ignore her.

At five minutes to 1 p.m. Leo reappeared to go to lunch.

“Excuse me…” said Perdita.

“You need to see Pauline,” said Leo.

“I told her that,” said Miss LaTrobe.

At 2:30 p.m. Leo returned. Perdita stood up and pushed back her heavy hair. Leo smiled at her before he realised he was smiling. Something in the way she…

“Come back tomorrow,” he said. “Pauline will be here.”

“Not according to the Diary,” said Miss LaTrobe, standing up to her full height, which was several inches above Leo.

“Oh, pardon me for having an opinion,” said Leo. Then he said, “Did Pauline hire you?”

“Yes,” said Miss LaTrobe. “Personally.”

“I am outnumbered and outmanoeuvred,” said Leo. He looked at Perdita. “Did you have an appointment today?”

“I've been in the States longer than expected,” said Perdita, “or I would have been here before.”

“I'll be down at 7 p.m.,” said Leo. “Your call.”

And then he went back up to his office.

“Don't get your hopes up,” said Miss LaTrobe.

“Why not?” said Perdita.

The Receptionist shrugged. Another day. Another idiot.

What am I doing here?
thought Perdita.
If I leave now it's over. I've seen him. He didn't want me. Why do I want him?

At 6 p.m. Miss LaTrobe announced her departure. Like she was a flight to Miami. “I'm afraid you will have to leave, as you can't stay here unsupervised.”

“I won't steal anything,” said Perdita.

“It's the Rules,” said Miss LaTrobe. Clearly the Rules offered as much certainty as the Diary, so Perdita suggested she call Mr. Kaiser.

“I can't interrupt him.”

“Tell him I won't leave,” said Perdita.

The Receptionist rolled her eyes, pulled a face, tapped her (impressive) fingernails on the desk and spoke to Leo. “Thank you, Mr. Kaiser. And yes, certainly I shall let Miss Tchaikovsky know that you cannot meet her for dinner tonight as you are working late.”

Miss LaTrobe disappeared into the ladies' and reappeared ten minutes later in an orange one-piece Lycra cycling suit. “You are to wait here,” she said to Perdita.

“Do you cycle home?” said Perdita, because it was something to say.

“No. I work in a fetish club,” said Miss LaTrobe and, taking her orange helmet from the desk drawer, she left the building.

Around 7 p.m. Leo came back down in the lift. He had taken off his tie. He needed to shave.

“So you waited?”

She nodded.

“What's your name?”

“Miranda.”

“Miranda who?”

“Shepherd.”

“OK, Miranda Shepherd—so come and have a drink and tell me all about yourself. Patience is its own reward, or some shit I never believed in. Where did patience ever get you except to the back of the queue? But in your case…”

The evening was warm. Pink sky. Red buses. Black cabs. Lights coming on across the city. The evening feel of hometime. A man giving out free newspapers. STANDARD! STANDARD! Young men crowding the pavements outside the pubs. Tired faces, shirtsleeves, women in heels that hurt. The queue at the checkout for something to eat in front of the TV. The crowds flowing down into the underground.

“There's a bar by the river,” said Leo. “We can have langoustines and vodka. It's Thursday.”

“Does that make a difference?” said Perdita.

“I like a routine. These days.”

The bar was busy and noisy but the barman raised his hand to Leo and, without anything being said, there was a table just inside/outside in the long window that opened onto a narrow terrace, and a bottle of Grey Goose from the freezer in an ice bucket, and a set of tins of tonic water and fresh sliced lemons and limes.

“They know me,” said Leo.

“Can I have a mineral water with the lime?” said Perdita.

Perdita was talking but Leo wasn't listening. He was nodding and meeting her eyes but he wasn't listening. She must be twenty-one or twenty-two. What was wrong with that? Youth is so irresistible. Irreplaceable. And wasted on the young.

“Responsible capitalism,” said Leo, surprising himself that he had heard her question. “That's Sicilia.”

“What does your wife do?” said Perdita.

“I'm divorced,” said Leo. “What about you?”

“I'm not divorced,” said Perdita. “Do you have children?”

He looked down. “No. No, I don't have children.”

She nearly said…Instead she took another langoustine. She didn't know how expensive they were. At home they weren't expensive at all.

She was eating more than him. The women he took out didn't eat. They ordered food but they didn't eat it. She was unself-conscious. She wasn't trying to please him. Leo liked her. She asked him why he wasn't eating, and he didn't say
My heart is full of something that takes my mind from feasting
.

He ripped into a langoustine.

“I come here because I like the river,” he said. “I like it that the Thames is older than London—that mammoths drank here once.”

“It's so narrow,” said Perdita. “The Mississippi is like a world. Did you ever see it?”

“Yes,” said Leo. “I had a friend who lived in New Bohemia. It was a long time ago. That's what happens as you get older; everything is a long time ago.”

“But not the present,” said Perdita. “That's now.”

“You're young. You have a present because you don't have a past. When I was young I lived in Paris for a year. I was working there. I fell in love with the river—the Seine; actually I fell in love with someone. Perhaps that's why I find water mysterious and romantic. I'm not just talking about boy meets girl, I mean something bigger—about longing, I suppose. The Germans call it
verlangen
. My father was German.”

“Was she French? The woman you fell in love with?”

“Yes. Petite, boyish, but feminine. Like you.”

Perdita blushed. Leo misunderstood. “It's just a compliment. Take it.”

“Thank you,” said Perdita.

They looked out at the water. The strings of lights. The boats that came in close to the pier.

Leo felt at ease and excited.
What's happening to me?
he thought, and
This is ridiculous.

He tried to focus. “Miranda, we're organising a big charity concert—it happens next weekend; maybe you would like to be part of that? To see how you do with us? It's mostly music. A few acts.”