Through Dead Eyes (12 page)

‘Oh yes,’ said Angelien. ‘He’s under there all right. What’s left of him anyway.’

Alex was reminded of the tomb with the worm-ravaged corpse and shuddered. He had a sudden realisation that this stone floor concealed a great layer of dead bodies, sleeping under their stone blankets.

‘And this,’ said Angelien, ‘is Hanna’s.’

Alex started at the name and felt as though he was standing at the edge of her grave pit, teetering on the brink of falling.

The tombstone was plain save for a design, as on her father’s grave, that Alex realised was the first letters of her name. The only other detail was a crisply inscribed number forty-five at the top. Alex was trying to think why that number had some significance, when he recalled that it was the number of his room back at the hotel.

This realisation brought on the dizziness he had felt when looking at the painting of her. The more he looked at the stone, the more he felt like a great darkness was closing in on him. When Angelien spoke, her voice seemed to come from miles away.

‘Alex?’ she said. ‘Alex?’

‘What?’

She chuckled.

‘I was asking if you wanted to buy any postcards?’

‘Oh, right. Maybe.’

‘I’ll go and see what they have,’ she said, walking away.

As soon as Angelien was gone, Alex staggered outside, gasping for air. A group of tourists on a guided tour looked at him suspiciously as he walked to the canal edge and took some deep breaths. The sky had darkened over the church and the building looked black and forbidding.

Alex tried to regain his composure. He felt as if some of the darkness of that grave pit was still clinging to him. He wasn’t able to make sense of his feelings and didn’t feel ready to share them.

Angelien came out looking for him and he concentrated on taking a photograph even though his hands were still shaking.

‘Alex?’ she said. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Me?’ he said. ‘Yeah. Sure. I just wanted some more photos of the outside.’

Alex took another photograph of the roof against the slate-grey clouds. He was feeling better already.

Angelien took Alex by the arm again and they set off past the pointed turrets of De Waag and on towards the Singel canal. They walked past the university and the mass of bicycles parked beside it. Groups of students were gathered eating sandwiches and laughing beside the canal.

Eventually they crossed a bridge and came to the Bloemenmarkt, a floating flower market on the Singel canal.

The sun came out briefly from between the clouds to light up the colours of the flowers on display and Angelien seemed in a brighter mood to match.

‘I’m sorry I got so cross with you,’ said Angelien. ‘Earlier. I have a terrible temper, like I said.’

‘No,’ said Alex. ‘My fault.’

Alex did not really care about that now. It seemed like it had happened days before. He was happy just to enjoy the glimpse of sunshine and not let his mind dwell on how he had felt in the Oude Kerk. But he knew somehow that wherever he went in this city, he would be pulled back to the mask and to Hanna and to whatever dark mystery lurked behind them.

‘In the old days,’ said Angelien, ‘the growers used to sail up here and moor their boats to sell their flowers. It still floats, but it’s a permanent place now. There’s something sad about that. I like the idea of all those boats filled with flowers heading up the canals and then disappearing again. Much more romantic, huh?’

Alex nodded.

The shops were full of all kinds of flowers in plastic buckets. Alex hardly knew what any of them were apart from the sunflowers and tulips – there were lots of different types of tulip.

‘These are lovely,’ said Angelien, leaning forward to inspect some delicate red and yellow ones, whose petals curled to a twisted point like flames.

Without really thinking, Alex picked up a bunch and handed them to Angelien.

‘To say sorry for being so much trouble,’ he said. ‘And to say thank you.’

‘You already said sorry,’ said Angelien with a smile.

Alex shrugged again.

‘This is prettier though,’ he said. ‘How much are they?’

‘You look a little worried,’ said Angelien, laughing.

‘N . . . No,’ said Alex. ‘I’ve got plenty of money.’

‘You’re sure?’ she said.

‘Sure,’ said Alex.

‘Then thank you,’ she said.

The woman at the counter wrapped them in brown paper and tied them with a red ribbon. She said a few words in Dutch to Angelien and then chuckled to herself. Alex paid for the flowers and they set off back to his hotel.

‘Thanks again for the flowers. It was sweet of you,’ Angelien said as she left him at the hotel.

‘Nah,’ said Alex. ‘That’s OK.’

Alex stood and watched her walk away along the canal and over the bridge; watched until she had disappeared from view. Then he stood a moment or two more.

Chapter 12

Alex and his father made their way along the side of a wide, tree-lined canal, the evening sky a chemical green, the street lights just starting to glow. They were making their way to Saskia’s house. She had invited them over for a meal.

‘You’ve been very quiet,’ said Alex’s father. There was a private view going on in a gallery as they passed by. The windows were flung open and the voices of the guests drifted out into the night in a long murmur interwoven with laughter and the clink of glasses.

‘I’m OK,’ said Alex.

‘What did you get up to today?’ asked his father.

‘Not that much,’ he said. ‘We went to the Oude Kerk.’

‘Did you now?’ said his father. ‘It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it? All those tombstones.’

Alex nodded.

Alex was about to tell his father that they had seen Van Kampen’s tombstone, when he changed his mind. He knew that once he started, he would end up telling his father the whole story and he didn’t want to do that.

The story was so bound up with Angelien that it had become too private, too intimate to share with anyone but her. He hadn’t been able to tell her everything but he knew that she was the only person he could tell.

‘Of course, you must have seen the red light district too,’ said Alex’s father, raising his eyebrows. ‘What did you make of that?’

‘It’s really tacky,’ said Alex.

His father smiled.

‘You seem very relaxed about it,’ said his father.

‘All ports are a bit sleazy, aren’t they?’ said Alex casually.

His father chuckled.

‘I suppose they are,’ he said.

‘I’ve decided what I’m going to write about for my essay,’ said Alex.

‘Yes?’ said his father.

‘Yeah,’ said Alex. ‘I’m going to write about our hotel and how it was in the seventeenth century.’

‘Oh, really?’ said his father.

‘Angelien will help me,’ he said. ‘She’s been looking at the diary of a painter who lived opposite and –’

‘OK, OK,’ said his father. ‘As long as it’s your work and not Angelien’s, huh? Ah, here we are.’

They had arrived outside a canal-side house. A small flight of steps with dark railings led to a deep-green door with a small window at the top, divided up into a fan of triangular panels. A large metal doorknocker in the shape of an eagle hung in the centre of the door, but Alex’s father pressed a bell push on the wall.

‘Jeremy!’ said Saskia when she opened the door. ‘And Alex. Come in, come in. At least it wasn’t raining when you walked round.’

Alex stepped across the threshold and into the house, astonished at how big it was.

‘Mum’s loaded,’ said Angelien seeing the look on his face. ‘Everyone thinks she is just a poor little editor, but she only works there because she loves it. She has never needed to work – it’s her business after all.’

‘Hers?’ said Alex.

‘Her father was very rich and she was an only child. He started that publishing house in the 1960s. She owns the place – well fifty-one per cent of the shares anyway.’

Alex looked at Saskia, trying to make this adjustment in his head. He had never realised the publishing house belonged to her. His father hadn’t said anything that even hinted at it.

‘So does that mean you’re rich too?’ said Alex, looking back at Angelien.

Angelien laughed.

‘Do I seem more interesting all of a sudden?’ she said. ‘Maybe if I bump her off. She doesn’t let me think the money is mine. And that’s cool. I would not have studied so hard if I had thought that I was just going to get what I wanted without any effort.’

‘Don’t stand there in the hallway, Angelien!’ called Saskia. ‘Bring Alex in and get him a drink of something.’

‘What do you want, Alex?’ said Angelien as they walked into a large, high-ceilinged room lined with books all around. It opened out on to another room just as large with a table already laid for the meal.

‘I’m OK thanks,’ said Alex.

‘How about you, Jeremy?’ said Angelien. ‘There’s a bottle of wine open . . .’

‘Wine would be good,’ said Alex’s father standing in front of a bookcase and taking a book down.

‘
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
’ said Alex’s father. ‘Philip K. Dick? I didn’t see you as a sci-fi reader, Saskia.’

Saskia walked forward from the kitchen and stood in the doorway.

‘You bought that for me,’ she said with a smile. ‘A long, long time ago.’

‘Really?’ said Alex’s father, opening the book and reading the inscription. ‘So I did. Good Lord.’

‘You were so excited about it,’ said Saskia. ‘You had stayed up all night reading it and the next day you bought me my own copy and said that I simply had to read it.’ Saskia chuckled at the memory. ‘You were so passionate about everything. It is what first –’

‘What was I thinking of?’ interrupted Alex’s father with a snort. ‘Absolute tosh.’

He put the book back and Alex saw the smile fade on Saskia’s face as she returned to her cooking. Angelien bit her lip and Alex frowned at his father, who returned to the bookshelves muttering disapprovingly.

‘Angelien,’ called Saskia. ‘Could you give me a hand? It’s almost done.’

Angelien got up slowly, looking back at Alex’s father, and walked through to the kitchen. Alex could hear them talking in hushed voices, before Angelien called them to the table.

Saskia had cooked them roast pork. She said she knew how men liked their meat and winked at Alex, who got the impression that she was already just a little tipsy.

The food was good and they laughed and talked in the glow of candlelight, although Alex sensed that Saskia wasn’t as cheerful as she pretended to be.

The evening went quickly and Alex was surprised at how early it seemed when his father looked at his watch and said they probably ought to be going.

Alex walked to the door with Angelien, leaving his father and Saskia behind in the lounge.

‘See you tomorrow then, Alex,’ said Angelien.

‘Yeah,’ said Alex.

‘It sounds as though my services may not be needed soon,’ she said.

‘What?’ said Alex.

‘Yes,’ said Saskia walking up behind them. ‘The meetings are almost done and your father will be free to spend a little more time with you.’

‘More time?’ said Alex’s father. ‘We haven’t really spent
any
time together yet, have we, Alex?’

Alex looked at Angelien and back to his father.

‘That’s OK, Dad,’ he said.

Angelien looked away, out into the night.

‘Well, goodnight,’ said Alex’s father. ‘Thanks for the meal. It was a lovely evening.’

‘Our pleasure,’ said Saskia.

‘The first of many I hope,’ Alex’s father said.

‘Goodnight, Alex,’ said Saskia.

‘Goodnight, Saskia,’ said Alex quietly. ‘Thanks. Goodnight, Angelien.’

Angelien smiled at him and then turned and went back inside. Saskia waved to them as they walked away. Alex turned back when they had walked a little way, but the door was already closed.

‘You like Saskia, don’t you?’ said his father.

‘Yeah,’ said Alex. ‘She seems nice.’

‘Good,’ said his father. ‘She is. Nice, I mean.’

They walked back to their hotel, the nightlife of Amsterdam in full spate. They picked up their keys from the reception desk and climbed the stairs to their room, saying goodnight in the corridor outside.

Alex could scarcely stay awake long enough to brush his teeth. He collapsed into bed and fell asleep in an instant.

Alex woke suddenly. The room was dark apart from the glow of the street lights behind the curtains. He had heard a noise but wasn’t quite sure what it was or where it had come from. He wondered if he had made it himself while asleep. He hoped he had.

His eyes quickly became adjusted to the gloom and he scanned the room looking for something while at the same time hoping he would find nothing at all. It was the same crippling sense of fear again, but the familiarity changed nothing nor did it diminish the intensity of it.