Through Every Human Heart Read online

  ‘Don’t say anything about Miss Arbanisi,’ Feliks said.

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not indeed? It was only a gut feeling, and hadn’t he decided not to trust his guts again? ‘Just listen carefully, and think about what he says.’ He wanted to tell her not to talk about anything, but stopped himself. He had no right to order her about.

  Back in the front room, Dina opened the curtains wide, flooding it with light. He watched Frank lower himself carefully into an armchair. No mention was made of the leg, though he was obviously in pain. Perhaps he liked being the noble hero. He did grunt as he leaned over to the fireplace to pick up the wine bottle they’d shared the night before, examining the label with pursed lips. Wait, Feliks told himself, pushing down the anger that was mounting in his stomach. Wait and see.

  ‘Is the Countess here with you?’

  ‘No. It’s just us,’ Dina said.

  ‘That’s a pity,’ Frank said, placing the wine bottle back on the floor.

  ‘We want to apologise about the car,’ she was now telling Frank, ‘but we haven’t damaged it at all.’

  ‘Do you have anything to eat?’ Frank interrupted her.

  ‘Toast? I’ve made some eggs.’

  Don’t help him, don’t be so nice, Feliks begged her silently.

  ‘Toast would be excellent,’ Frank said.

  She was back in moments with a plate. My toast, Feliks thought. And my mug of tea also.

  ‘Most of our mutual problems,’ Frank began, ‘at least in the last forty-eight hours, have been caused by this man who calls himself Charles de Bono. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘No,’ Feliks answered for them both. He felt Frank’s eyes on him, and tried to look like someone intent on being helpful.

  The tea was gulped down and the toast eaten very rapidly.

  ‘It’s rather early in the morning for harsh reality,’ Frank said, ‘but we may as well begin. The facts seem to be these. He and his accomplice broke into Miss Arbanisi’s home, intent on her antique collection, and were surprised by you, Dina. Some minutes later, hoping to speak to Miss Arbanisi, you and your colleague Mr Cristescu arrived. I was right behind you, and I parked nearby. I was there, as I told you before, to make sure that that nothing prevented your meeting with the Countess. We all know what happened next.’

  ‘Do we?’ Feliks asked.

  ‘What matters now,’ Frank ignored the question, ‘is that we all work together to make things right. As matters stand, we have several advantages.’

  Feliks rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps you will allow us to finish breakfast while you tell us about them. Dina, you could make fresh tea, yes?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I left the boiler on. There should be loads of water. We can all have showers.’

  Now she was being absurd, he thought.

  ‘Perhaps later, thank you. I’m fine just now,’ Frank said.

  ‘Would you like some eggs? There isn’t any bacon . . .’

  ‘No, I’m not a great one for bacon anyway,’ Frank told her. ‘More toast would be welcome.’

  Feliks stared out of the window. There was a black motorbike against the wall. The absurdity of the whole situation was only increasing moment by moment. They were dancing round one another, like ballet dancers on the edge of a precipice. What was the phrase, the elephants in the room?

  ‘One thing has puzzled me, Frank,’ he asked as they followed Dina to the kitchen. ‘How do you keep finding us?’

  Frank sat on the one chair with a cushion. ‘Simple technology. Your hired car had a tracker in it. Mine has one too. Most unfortunately, Miss Arbanisi’s has stopped functioning.’

  ‘Then how are you going to find her?’

  His question went unanswered.

  ‘Miss MacLeod, Dina, am I correct about what happened in the flat?’

  Dina nodded. ‘You might not want this. It’s stone cold.’ She pointed to the scrambled egg.

  ‘I’ll finish it. We must not waste good fresh eggs.’ Feliks sat down at the table and took up his fork. ‘Is there perhaps salt?’

  She brought salt and pepper from a cupboard. ‘Shake hard. It might be damp,’ she said.

  He watched her inserting more bread into the toaster. A pot of red jam was opened and put down on the table. He looked at the salt pot, then at Frank’s temple, measuring the distance.

  ‘Tell me, how exactly did De Bono’s partner get stabbed?’ Frank asked.

  Kafka would have relished this, Feliks thought. Eggs and toast. Salt, murder and strawberry jam. It was rather like being inside one of his stories. Or making Prince Hamlet chew gum while he talked to the ghost, or hold a hamburger in one hand and the dead man’s skull in the other.

  ‘Lazslo stabbed him in self-defence,’ he said. ‘Miss MacLeod was not in the room, so she cannot bear me out. To be honest I do not know if it was Lazslo’s knife or his. It was left behind.’

  ‘Do you still have my gun?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I gave it to the ocean.’

  ‘That’s a pity. It deserved better.’ Frank turned to Dina, ‘The police had several theories initially, including one that had you as an accomplice, or a murderer.’

  ‘Who was murdered?’ Feliks asked.

  ‘De Bono’s partner.’ Frank seemed puzzled at having to explain.

  ‘We thought he would live. She had called for help, and Lazslo said the wound . . .’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ protested Dina.

  ‘He knows that,’ Feliks said firmly. ‘Everyone knows that. You were in the other room.’

  He was surprised the man had died.

  ‘Is Lazslo dead too?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Was it an accident?’

  Dina put more toast on the table between them.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  With Lazslo gone, he was next in line. He would be blamed for the fat man’s death. He waited for Frank to point this out, but Frank merely stirred his tea. He didn’t look good, and his movements were all careful. Feliks wondered where he had spent the night, and how the wound had been dealt with, then hardened his heart. The man was not to be trusted, no matter how much pain he was in. Lazslo had been barely alive at the roadside. Frank had given them false hope.

  ‘What are the advantages you spoke of?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, we have my car.’

  ‘And a motorbike.’

  ‘Which we mustn’t use anymore, since it’s not mine. But we have back-up if we need it, and an excellent place to start from.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Feliks asked.

  ‘Here, of course. Your telephone, Miss MacLeod. And Miss Arbanisi’s mobile number. You have called her, Miss MacLeod, haven’t you?’

  Dina bit her lip, looked at the floor.

  ‘Oh, grow up, Feliks, why don’t you?’ Frank turned on him. ‘You’re not going to sit there and let her perjure herself again, are you? Listen, my children, I already have the number. I have her office number, her home number, her email, her shoe size and the same information for every member of the firm. I need you because the main advantage we have is that she and De Bono don’t know me. That’s why I need you to call her now. You still don’t trust me, do you? How can I convince you?’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘One easy way would be for me to make a phone call, and sit here eating this very nice toast and jam until Special Branch arrive and arrest you both.’

  ‘She hasn’t done anything.’

  ‘Of course she has. Obstructing the course of justice, car theft, accomplice in the wounding of an officer of the Crown, the list goes on.’

  ‘All right,’ Feliks said. ‘Miss Arbanisi is on her own. She got away from De Bono. She’s going to meet us at twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘In the town centre.’

  ‘But we were thinking here would be better. We were going to phone her again anyway,’ Dina said. Her voice sank to a whisper.

  ‘Thank you,’ Frank said. He looked at h
is watch, then rose slowly from the table with a last corner of toast in one hand. ‘Let’s keep things as they are. I want back-up on this from now on, and we’re far too exposed here. One road, open country, not so good. It’s better to meet somewhere public. I take it that’s my car key. And I would like a shower now. And possibly somewhere to rest for a couple of hours.’

  The key was hanging on a spare hook beside the cups. He picked it up and went out, very obviously limping and in pain. They heard the front door open and close.

  ‘I don’t like him anymore,’ she said.

  ‘I have never liked him,’ he reminded her. ‘He’s a liar. He lies when there is no point. Remember how he lied about Dimitar. Dimitar can’t talk. When my father found him, way back in the seventies, he’d been taken hostage by a rival bandit gang in the mountains, and they’d cut out his tongue.’

  She shivered.

  Fool, he admonished himself. She didn’t need to hear that. Or maybe she did. Maybe she needed reminding that they weren’t playing games.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Why can’t we just stay here?’

  ‘I believe he means that extra people can be close by, looking like ordinary people. So when something goes wrong, they can help.’ He caught the hand that was intent on removing his empty plate. ‘I don’t think it is necessary for you to come anymore. He will drive. Surely you can remain here. Miss Arbanisi knows me, so there is no need at all for you to be present. If she is concerned about you, Frank will assure her that you are safe. Don’t worry. He has no reason to bring you. From now on, you can . . .’

  ‘How dare you?’ She pulled her hand away.

  ‘How dare I what?’

  ‘Tell me not to worry. Where was that wise bit of advice last night?’

  ‘I didn’t . . .’

  ‘No you didn’t, did you? The only person you thought about was you! What would have happened to me, if you died? That didn’t occur to you, did it?’

  She was right. He had no answer. She waited and waited, but he had no answer. Without warning she scooped his plate from the table and hurled it at the opposite wall. Then she ran from the room. He heard her feet pounding up the stairs.

  He got up and went over to the wall, kneeling to gather the broken bits of china.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ‘Oh,’ Dina exclaimed, as they came in sight of the town.

  ‘What?’ Frank said.

  He was driving, Feliks next to him. They both started, looking from side to side of the road.

  ‘Nothing.’

  It was a new house. She hadn’t noticed it the night before. It would be quite grand when it was finished. Scaffolding stood round it, and the barrel of a concrete mixer, though unattended, was circling around. So many changes, in so few years. Well, why not? Just because a place was important to you, and you wanted to keep it safe, other people couldn’t be stopped from changing it. If she cared that much she should be living here, getting involved, trying to preserve what mattered, like Irene trying to save her endangered sandcats. She could have finished her nursing course, or be doing B&B, or just living on less.

  ‘Would there be landslides up there?’ Frank asked. ‘The hills are very severe.’ He was right. But it wasn’t so much their height as their bulk, and the unrelenting bare solidity of them. On both sides of the road, tufts of reeds grew in dense clumps, like bleached shaving brushes. Frank had let his window down a little. The smell of wood burning came in on the air as they approached the first row of houses.

  He pulled out to give plenty of room to two women on large horses, one bay, one roan. Dina recognised one of riders. Annie Masson. She’d stayed on the island, going straight from school to work at the trekking centre. Annie had had her own pony, and two dogs. Mother had claimed to be allergic to animal hair. So, no dog, no cat, no rabbit in her childhood.

  Feliks was watching her in the mirror.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said again, though no question had been asked.

  He was angry because Frank had wanted her to come. Frank had washed and shaved and changed into clean clothes from a bag in the boot of his car. He’d rested upstairs in the room where Feliks had slept. She’d stayed in hers, apart from a long soak in the bathroom, so she had no idea what Feliks might or might not have done.

  She didn’t like Feliks so much anymore. Mostly because when he was around Frank he changed into someone else. The look on his face whenever Frank told them what they were to do was scary, the hostility in the air was so tangible you could have hung your coat on it. Right now Frank was driving rather slowly. He didn’t believe Irene had got away from her kidnapper. We’re taking no chances, he said. The police would be close at hand from now on, he said, but he didn’t want any more surprises.

  She didn’t like Frank at all. Her stomach had gone tight when he’d turned on her, telling all the things she’d be arrested for. She’d been trying her best to be nice and all of a sudden there was real cruelty in his voice. She was back in Irene’s narrow hallway, pressed against the wall, with a hand squeezing her waist, and a voice in her ear. Frank would never be cuddly again. She wouldn’t be fooled. If there was any fooling to be done, Frank would be the one fooled.

  They’d agreed to stop at the baker’s shop in the main square where she and her school pals had often bought bacon rolls for lunch. On one side stood the Bank with its wrought iron railings, on the other the Dental Surgery. Of course Frank limped along beside her, leaning on Grampa MacLeod’s walking stick. To pay, he said. But really it was to make sure she didn’t fling herself on the floor or have a screaming fit or talk out of turn. As it turned out, she didn’t even know any of the people serving or in the queue, which felt quite strange.

  As they were walking back to the car, a voice hailed her from behind, ‘Donaldina, is that you?’

  Alan McNaught. Unchanged. The fair curly hair, the rosy cheeks, the big grin. Aged ten, she’d pulled back a chair he was about to sit on, in revenge for something, she couldn’t recall what. She’d been sent to the headmistress, while her own father in his surgery inserted two stitches in Alan’s wounded head. They’d been friends ever since. He was out of his police uniform, a sports bag slung over his shoulder.

  She began in English, ‘Alan, it’s good to see you,’ then changed to the Gaelic. ‘Alan, keep smiling as I talk, can you?’

  ‘Of course,’ he smiled broadly. ‘Is this fellow why we’re not talking in English?’ He gave Frank a nod.

  ‘Yes, he is. I’m saying this as if Grampa MacLeod was beside me listening. So you understand I’m not joking. This man holding me by the arm is forcing me and my friend to do something. He says he’s a policeman, but I don’t think he is.’

  ‘So, you are in some kind of bad trouble, and you want me to help. What do you want me to do? Does he have a weapon?’

  ‘No. Laugh as if I’ve said something funny.’

  Alan laughed loudly. ‘Well, that’s very good. However, I can perhaps detain him right now if you tell me a bit more. Would that be an idea?’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, but we should be going, Dina,’ Frank warned her, ‘These are getting cold.’

  ‘Alan, can you keep us in sight, or get someone else to? I’m scared something very bad is going to happen. Around twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Of course. Consider it done.’

  Alan got hold of Frank’s hand and shook it, then with a gesture midway between a salute and a wave turned away.

  ‘Who was that? What was all that about?’

  ‘Oh, I knew him at school,’ she said. ‘He’s on his way to the swimming pool. He was asking if I was married yet, and I said he had never asked me.’

  ‘You said quite a lot more than that.’

  ‘Oh, not really. A little bit about who was still here and who had moved on. It takes a lot longer to say things in the Gaelic. Sometimes you have to turn whole sentences around.’

  ‘He seems to have cheered you up. You look quite pleased with yourself.’

&nb
sp; ‘Do I? Oh, that’s terrible. Well, he told me I was looking very pretty, if you must know. Every girl likes a compliment.’

  The car was parked down by the sea. The place was cluttered, just as she remembered, with buses, cars and boats in a state of disrepair, smells of fried food and diesel and seaweed. There was a strong wind blowing inshore. She got into the back of the car again. Frank stood outside to eat his bacon rolls but his window was open. So there was no chance to share her cleverness.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ Feliks asked.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘She met her old boyfriend,’ Frank said loudly. ‘I think love is in the air.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Dina led the way along an earth path, trodden to brick hardness between thin ridges of tree roots that had always reminded her of the dried-out sinews of dead sheep. When they emerged onto the field, the wind from the sea brought the taste of salt to her mouth. Crows were taking off against the wind, landing clumsily in the tall pines around the circle of rough grass. What was the point of crows? Their cawing was one of the ugliest sounds in all creation.

  She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands. The past was all around her. Year after year they’d gathered here to watch the Games. Crowds of islanders and tourists. The drone of the pipes tuning up, the smell of sausages from the food vans, the cheese stall with samples on paper plates, and cubes of bread to dip in flavoured oils. And there she was herself, part of the junior school choir, facing disaster. Chrisanne their angel-voiced soloist was late. Mrs Taylor, immense and buoyant in her white shoes and white-collared navy dress, moved from foot to foot in anxiety . . .

  The old Scots pine trees bent to the left away from the prevailing wind as they had always done. One had broken in a previous winter’s gale, its trunk now safely levelled off near the ground. The rest stood proud and high, bushy only at the very top. Grey gulls floated overhead. Some pecked about with the crows and sparrows for anything worth eating in the grass.

  Her earlier cheerful feeling of bravado had evaporated. What if she was wrong, and Frank was exactly what he said he was? She’d be in massive trouble. She’d be in for the biggest humiliation of her life. Her insides felt tight, exactly the way they did when waiting for the dentist, knowing that you’d not been nearly scrupulous enough, but hoping she wouldn’t notice, when the reality was that she always noticed.