Through Every Human Heart Read online

  That couldn’t be the real reason, Dina thought. What kind of people cared which way the toilet roll unrolled? It wasn’t something she’d ever noticed. That might be part of her problem. Not knowing what she wanted exactly. Perhaps Irene was right. Perhaps what made relationships last was knowing what you wanted in even the small things. Being decisive. She tried to walk more decisively but gave up. It wasn’t easy in heels on an uneven pavement. Shoes were so much easier for men, like everything else.

  The fine weather had brought out lots of mothers with babies, as if they’d been hatching over the summer. Some day, possibly, she thought. Loads of time. No one she knew had babies. Not that she would mind making babies with the right man. For the right man, she would make babies till the cows came home.

  The hallway of Irene’s basement flat was just as she remembered it, constricted on both sides by shelves of books, valuable objets d’art, curious bits of faded writing under glass, and paintings, large and small, of Irene’s aristocratic ancestors, who had arrived in Britain as fugitives from somewhere in Europe. It wasn’t cluttered, Irene wouldn’t be able to function amidst clutter, it was just very full of stuff in comparison with the rest of the public rooms, which were sparingly furnished. It was, she thought, kind of the opposite way from most people’s homes, which were easy to get into and cluttered as you got further in.

  ‘Bebe?’ she called cautiously, before going any further. ‘Nice cat? Bebe?’

  In truth, Bebe was not a nice cat. A large, un-neutered lilac point show Siamese, with bright blue eyes and a vicious temper, he adored Irene as much as he loathed the rest of humanity. Irene wouldn’t accept any criticism, though. Bebe could turn taps on and off, enjoyed watching the ten o’clock news and only talked when he had something interesting to say. Paul had been heard to comment that the cat was very beautiful but ‘too smart for his own good’.

  She walked cautiously down the long corridor, eyeing the tops of the shelves and the ceiling lights. At one of Irene’s elegant Sunday brunches, she had seen Bebe with bared claws drop like Attilla’s wrath from the sitting room curtains onto the neck of a man who choked on his canapé and vomited.

  There was no sign of Bebe in the sitting room. The crimson leather sofa was cat-free, as were the long curtains at the French windows, heavy gold and black brocade, the ones Irene intended to be buried in, since they had cost so much. Irene had broken all the rules in this room, mixing different reds, dark blues and golds, and art from different eras. The effect was spellbinding.

  Enough of this, she told herself. Disc for the Hamiltons.

  She had to push to get the kitchen door open. There was a large sports bag stuck behind it.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Was that in your way?’

  The man who spoke was standing by the sink, washing his hands. He didn’t sound like a workman, though he was wearing overalls.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘We’re here to check the washing machine. The door wasn’t locked, so we came in. Are you the homeowner? Miss Arbanisi?’

  ‘No. I work for her. But I had to unlock it,’ she said. He had gorgeous eyes, almost as blue as Bebe’s.

  ‘Did you? That’s odd. I’ve been trying to phone you. I mean her. But she’s not picking up. We were supposed to meet here.’

  ‘Were you trying the office or her mobile?’

  Before he could say anything, another man came in right behind her.

  ‘Dan, this young lady works for the homeowner. I’ve just explained that we’re here to fix this old bugger.’ He gave the washing machine a thump.

  The big man said nothing. He wore the same navy overalls as the other, with a picture in gold of a leaky tap and spanner above the breast pocket.

  ‘Reliable most of the time, this model, but when they break down, they really break down,’ the first man said.

  The front door bell rang.

  ‘That might be her,’ Dina said, though she realised it made no sense for Irene to be ringing her own bell. Especially since the door wasn’t locked. The bell rang again, this time as if someone was leaning on it.

  ‘Why would she be ringing the bell?’ the big man asked.

  ‘The door’s not locked,’ she said. It might be someone returning the cat, she supposed, if he’d bolted when the workmen came it. He wasn’t supposed to go out at all.

  ‘Let’s both go,’ said the other. ‘Dan, could you try that phone number again?’

  He put his hand on her back as they went through the sitting room, as if she needed help. It wasn’t all that annoying, barely touching. Be reasonable she told herself as they made their way to the door. Everybody’s different. He doesn’t mean anything.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Miss Arbanisi? Irina Arbanisi?’

  The man asking the question was looking closely at her. He had ugly scars all down one side of his face. There was another man behind him facing the row of steps up to the street.

  ‘I’m not . . .’ she began, stopping when the plumber gave her a little squeeze. She moved, quite sure now she didn’t want his arm around her waist, but back it came, and now there was nowhere to move to.

  ‘I need to talk with you, if I may. The matter is complex.’

  He sounded foreign. His dark hair and beard were neatly trimmed, but there was no getting away from the scars.

  The plumber said, ‘Sorry, this isn’t a good time. We’re very busy.’

  ‘If this is not a good time, I will return. Perhaps you would prefer also to have my telephone number . . .’

  ‘Sorry, pal.’

  The plumber pushed the door shut. Confused, Dina followed him back into the sitting room, but went towards the window, wanting to see what the two men would do next. She tripped on something behind the armchair, looked down and screamed.

  The man called Dan came running.

  ‘It’s Bebe,’ she screamed again.

  The other one came and caught hold of her hand, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he began. She heard the other say, ‘Bloody stupid name for a cat, though.’

  There was a loud reverberating bang. Instantly, the man dropped her hand. The two of them rushed towards the hall, to reappear seconds later, moving backwards, struggling with the bearded man and his lighter haired friend. The friend was locked round the big man’s middle, all of them bashing about into the chairs and the coffee table. The standard lamp fell over. Stumbling, half-crawling, she got past them. She’d left her bag in the kitchen, but the house phone was nearer, a ridiculous ornate cream and gilt thing, slippery in her shaking fingers. She’d just managed to dial the numbers, and say a few words when the friend and the fat plumber came crashing into her, then back into the middle of the sitting room, rolling across the floor and smashing into the beautiful butterscotch leather Blava chair. The dark bearded one got to his feet, yelling gibberish at her. She dropped the phone and ran into Irene’s bedroom. There wasn’t a lock. She braced herself against it. There was a mighty yell, several, a loud crack, another massive thump. And silence.

  Her legs collapsed and she slid to a sitting position on the carpet. Voices. One, then someone else replying. The first voice louder. Silence again. She looked about her. Nowhere to hide.

  ‘Miss Arbanisi. Please to come out.’

  She didn’t. The request was made again. There was no other noise. Shaking, she opened the door a fraction. She saw the handsome plumber first, on his back, not moving. The bearded scarred man was crouching down beside the fat one at the other side of the room. The man at the door was beckoning her forward, nervously holding out his hand, talking to her in a language she didn’t understand.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘It’s all right. You’re safe. The danger’s over,’ Lazslo said, holding out his hand. The girl wouldn’t take it.

  Feliks looked over. So this was their Countess. What a superb beginning. In less than ten minutes they’d managed to reduce the country’s future monarch to a shaking terrified girl under a bush of dishevelled blond hai
r.

  Getting to his feet, he swore loudly.

  ‘What did you want me to do, for fuck’s sake?’ Lazslo snapped back. ‘He had a knife. He was going to kill me.’

  ‘You could have hit him somewhere peripheral once you got it from him.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I should have told him to stand still and give me a chance to stab him gently. Besides, it was peripheral. He’s not nearly dead.’

  Feliks looked at the Arbanisi girl. All colour had drained from her face. They’d seen from her face at the door that something was wrong, but the scream had decided it. Once in, there was no time to think, no option but to fight them, whoever they were.

  They didn’t have much time. The smaller one wasn’t going to stay asleep for long. He moved towards the girl.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he began, in English, for it seemed her command of her native language was rusty or non-existent. ‘We aren’t going to hurt you. What are these men?’

  She stared at him, grey eyes wide. Her eye make-up had dribbled all over her face.

  ‘Are they dead?’

  ‘No. They will be waking soon.’

  ‘They said they’d come to fix the washing machine.’

  This meant nothing. He let it pass.

  ‘We are from the old country, Miss Arbanisi. We are here to ask you to . . .’

  ‘I phoned the police . . . they won’t be long.’

  ‘You want to phone the police?’

  ‘No, I already did. They’ll be here soon. I told them where to come.’

  He called to Lazslo, who’d been checking the rest of the rooms. He appeared at once in the doorway.

  ‘We have to go. She called the police.’

  ‘Let’s go then,’ Lazslo said, ‘Your fellow is just as bad as mine, by the way. I think you hit him in a very sore place. Also, he has driving licences and bank cards in several names.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘All English names. You want them?’

  ‘No.’

  Feliks turned back to the girl, ‘This is all a very big mistake. We have to go. But we must come back. We can explain everything. You must say to the police . . .’ but what was she to say to the police?

  ‘I don’t . . . this . . . this is insane . . . who are you people anyway? I don’t . . .’ Her voice faded. He caught her just before she hit the floor.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ Lazslo said.

  Feliks shifted his stance. She was heavier than she looked.

  ‘Get the car started.’

  ‘We’re not taking her, are we?’

  ‘Well, we’re sure as hell not leaving her with them.’

  Chapter Twelve

  He carried her out to the car and angled her into the rear seat. This was all wrong. If she hadn’t phoned the police, there would have been time to think, time to get things straight in his head. Now everything was completely haywire.

  Her legs were good, but her skirt was too short, and quite tawdry. Her clothes were in fact rather tasteless, he felt. One would have to admit that her breasts were full and well-rounded but she wasn’t as beautiful as her photograph, nor as elegant. Ah well, he supposed even a Countess might have an off day.

  There were people in the street, but no one seemed to be paying attention. He fastened her seat belt, then got into the front seat beside Lazslo.

  ‘Where to?’ Lazslo asked, accelerating carefully.

  ‘Back to the cottage.’

  ‘So nothing’s changed.’

  ‘Is that meant to be a joke?’

  He felt Lazslo flinch and was tempted to slap him. Instead he forced himself to bite down hard on his anger.

  This at least was something Lazslo could be trusted to do safely, he thought, watching the steady hands on the wheel. Lazslo had always understood machines, from bicycles to paddle steamers. The inner workings of computers held no mysteries for him. He handled cars well, and he knew how to fix them. Better for him if he’d never left Kocevje. He’d have been a prosperous mechanic by now, living quietly above his own garage, with a fleet of three shiny taxis and nothing to be anxious about but carburettors and brake pads. With no opportunity for grand ideas. No opportunity to mix with the rich and powerful and sell his soul and stab strangers in the belly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Laszlo asked.

  ‘Nothing. Watch the road.’ He tried to say it calmly. Who were those men and why?

  The shopkeepers in this country seemed to be addicted to perverse spelling. ‘Krazy Kuts’, he read. Then further on, ‘Trendz Fashion Clothes’ in jagged black letters on a luminous green background. ‘What Everyone Wants’ said another.

  ‘Promise our Countess whatever she wants,’ Boris had told him. ‘If she doesn’t want glory, offer her money. Tell her about the estates. Offer her a mountain lodge in Celovska. Just bring her back.’

  So were those men working for Boris? It was surely too much of a coincidence that they had been at the house precisely when he and Lazslo arrived. And was Lazslo to be trusted? He’d been working for Janek all these years. Whose orders was he obeying now? How much did Lazslo know that he wasn’t telling? He hated this. How could you fight your enemies if you didn’t know who they were?

  There was movement in the back seat. She was awake, trying to get the door open.

  ‘No, don’t do that. You’re safe . . .’ he began.

  Now she was screaming, thumping on the window with both hands. Distracted, Laszlo swerved. His cigarette fell from his lips. He brushed frantically at his lap. Behind them a horn sounded. He’d been stupid, Feliks saw. He should have anticipated this, should have sat beside her. He threw off his safety belt, and lunging over between the seats managed to grab first one wrist then the other.

  ‘Be still,’ he said. This time he remembered to speak English, repeating it over and over, more and more gently until at last she stopped struggling.

  ‘We are on your side,’ he told her.

  ‘If you’re going to rape me, go ahead, but you’ll have to kill me too, because once I get away from. . . .’

  ‘Nobody’s going to hurt you.’

  ‘Yes you are, you’re just saying that you want me to behave so nobody out there thinks there’s anything wrong, you must think I’m a complete fool I don’t know who those men were I’ve nothing worth stealing and nobody would pay a ransom for me so it’s pretty obvious you’re only after one thing. . . .’

  What lungs she must have! Like an elephant!

  ‘Miss Arbanisi, I promise you, if anyone ever rapes you, it will not be me. We were sent here to. . . .’

  ‘Let go, you’re hurting. And I’m . . .’

  ‘If you only calm down, I will let go. There is no point in . . .’

  ‘. . . not Irene! I was only getting something for her because she’s too busy with a client, and she’ll be wondering where. . . .’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘What d’you mean what am I saying?’

  She met his eyes for the first time.

  ‘Don’t make a joke of this,’ he said, ‘it’s not a time for joking.’

  ‘You think I’m having fun?’

  ‘Why do you deny who you are?’

  ‘Because I’m not her. I’m not Irene.’

  He dropped her wrists. ‘Then who are you?’ He shot a look at Lazslo, who protested at once, in their own tongue, ‘The address was right. She’s trying to . . .’

  ‘Shut up! Find somewhere to stop.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’ He turned back round to her. ‘So who the hell are you?’

  She was crying again.

  ‘You’re not Irina Arbanisi?’

  ‘I just told you. I work for her. She was too busy. How many times have I got to tell you?’

  They pulled into a lane between two houses. Lazslo switched off the engine.

  ‘You don’t believe this crap, do you?’ he said. ‘She’s scared witless by what happened. She’s obviously lying.’

  ‘Does she look li
ke a princess to you? When I was a child, I had a picture book with several of them in it. They generally wore long white dresses and had gold tiaras on their heads.’ He looked at their passenger in the mirror. ‘I’m beginning to think we’ve got ourselves a peasant by mistake.’

  ‘Are you talking about me?’ the girl said.

  ‘Yes,’ he told her, in English.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘We can’t decide whether to give you the poison apple now, or leave you for the wild animals in the depths of the nearest forest,’ he told her.

  ‘Who are you? Why do you want Irene?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. Unless you’re her. If you were her, I could explain everything.’

  He watched her face in the mirror.

  ‘Who were those men if they weren’t plumbers?’ she said.

  ‘You tell me. They were in your house.’

  ‘It’s not my house. I don’t know why any of this is happening. So you can open the bloody door and let me out.’

  ‘And what will you tell the police?’ he asked.

  She pushed her hair back from her face and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, spreading the black marks further. He bit back a smile.

  ‘I won’t go to the police.’

  ‘You won’t have to. They will come to you.’

  This made her pause.

  ‘They don’t know it was me. I didn’t give my name, In fact I’m not even sure I got through . . . there’s actually no way they could . . . Oh shit.’

  ‘Shit?’

  ‘My bag.’

  His heart sank, although this possibility had already occurred to him. He’d not seen a handbag, but every woman carried one. He’d been a fool not to look for it.

  ‘Then you see the difficulty. When the police find your bag, they will come to you.’

  ‘I’ll tell them I . . . I’ll say I went in and found those men in the flat. And I thought they were plumbers. But then I found Bebe, and I screamed, and you were passing and came in to help. I phoned the police, and then I ran away.’