Quintin Jardine - On Honeymoon With Death

‘Steadily.’

‘Keep at it. Can I speak to Susie?’

‘I think she’s in the bath.’

‘Okay,’ Prim chuckled. ‘Just don’t be scrubbing her back!’

The thought had never crossed my mind, until my wife put it there.

We ate out again that night. I knew that Susie liked seafood, so we went to the fishermen’s bar in the new marina complex, to pig out on prawns and monkfish. I would have moved the wine choice a bit upmarket, but Susie saw a bottle of Penedes rosada, nestling in an ice bucket two tables along, and asked if we could have some of that.

The table talk was easier than at lunchtime. Susie told me about her construction company, the Gantry Group, which was running well, it seemed, now that she had slimmed it down, and proved herself in the eyes of the business community and of her bankers. She tried to surprise me by telling me that she had given Joseph Donn a non-executive directorship. She failed though. Old Joe’s her only living blood relative, her natural father, for Christ’s sake, although his isn’t the name on her birth certificate; for all the bust-ups they’ve had in the past, there’s nobody she could trust more.

I have trouble keeping count of my own drinks, far less anyone else’s, but it did occur to me that Susie’s intake during the day had been pretty formidable. She was holding it better than I’d known, too. When we’d finished dinner, she reminded me of my promise to take her to Bar JoJo, and since I had left the car at home in favour of a taxi, I had no good reason for wriggling out of it.

As it turned out, we were the only customers. . well, it was still short of midnight. . apart from a couple of guys whom I could hear but not see, playing pool in the back room. Jo treated Susie like a long-lost niece, and even poured her some of the best brandy, unbidden.

‘You heard any more about that upset you had?’ she asked me as she handed me a beer.

‘Not lately,’ I answered. ‘I’m trying to forget it.’

‘Was it the Frenchman then?’ I was surprised; I thought the jungle drums would have sent out the message.

‘No, as it happens. It turns out that it was another of your customers, Sayeed.’

‘What? The fisherman? Him as went to prison?’

‘He didn’t go to prison, Jo. He got a death sentence.’

Susie was intrigued. ‘What’s this?’ she asked me.

‘A bit of local difficulty, that’s all. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’

‘No! Tell me now.’

‘Tomorrow!’

By the time the taxi arrived to take us home, she had forgotten all about it. By the time it had got us there, she had probably forgotten her name into the bargain. One minute she was okay, the next she had crashed, right there on the back seat of the white car. I suppose I shouldn’t have let her drink as much, but I’ve never been my sister’s keeper, literally or figuratively. As a matter of fact, in my childhood it was the other way around.

I had to carry her, more or less, up the drive, into the house and up the stairs to her room. I sat her on the edge of the bed, knelt down and pulled off her ankle-length boots. She gave me a woozy smile, then a giggle. ‘The rest you do yourself,’ I said.

‘Easy,’ she mumbled, then slowly toppled backwards. I swung her legs up on to the bed and left her to it.

My alarm read forty minutes past midnight. I undressed, got into bed and picked up a book; my dad’s Chester Himes. He had finished it and left it for me; half-cut though I was, the magic Technicolor prose got to me at once.

Next thing I knew, the alarm was showing seven minutes past three. The bedside light was still on, but the book was on the floor. I reached over and snapped the switch off, as I did so I thought I heard a faint sound.

In Spain, the night is full of noises; I dismissed it, until a few seconds later, I heard it again. It was a squeak, more than anything else. Then it turned into a kind of shuffle; and next, a soft bump. I got out of bed, knocking over the table lamp with my elbow in the process. ‘Shit!’ I swore, and again, as I half-tripped pulling on my boxers, which I had left on the floor earlier.

I wasn’t even halfway to the door when there was another sound, long and continuous this time, a bumping, tumbling noise. It ended in a thump, and a soft, short squeal, then there was silence.

I stepped out into the upper hall and switched on the light. There was nothing there, but the rug, which ran along to the left of the stairway, to the point where it opened on to a wide landing, was twisted and crumpled in places, as if someone had staggered their way along its length.

I strode to the top of the wide flight of steps and looked down. The ground floor was in darkness, but there was enough light spilling down from above for me to make out the form which lay motionless at the foot of the stairs.

I jumped on the right-hand banister and slid down; it was the fastest way I knew to get down there.

Susie was lying on her back, motionless, her eyes closed. Her red hair was damp with sweat, and was plastered across her forehead. She had managed to get out of her clothes, apart from her black push-up bra. I was relieved to see from the way her chest rose and fell that at least she was still breathing. I stared at her for a moment, trying to think what Prim would do in these circumstances, and, as I did, she moved. Her eyes flickered open; she looked up at me, trying to focus, but she was badly dazed and confused.

I decided that I had better give her some reassurance, before she could start to panic. ‘It’s all right, Susie,’ I said, as calmly as I could. ‘It’s Oz. You’re in my place in Spain, remember? You’ve had a bit of a fall, that’s all.’

She let out a whimper, and began to cry, softly, small, sad sobs. I wondered if this was the real Susie Gantry, lying before me, lost and lonely in the dark, with her sparky exterior stripped away. I felt desperately sorry for her.

‘Lie still for now,’ I murmured. ‘I know a bit of first aid. Relax, now; just let yourself go, and tell me whether anything hurts.’ Her right leg was bent at the knee, awkwardly up under the other. I touched it, gently. ‘How about there?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she whimpered. ‘That’s okay.’ I took her by the right ankle and straightened the leg, letting her lie more comfortably.

‘My shoulder, right shoulder. That’s sore.’

I felt my way from the joint along the collarbone, squeezing gently as I went. She didn’t scream and everything seemed in one piece.

‘I think that’s okay,’ I told her. I reached across and smoothed her hair back from her eyes. She winced as I touched her and I saw a vivid red mark on the right side of her forehead.

‘Sore,’ she whispered.

‘I think you banged it.’

‘Where am I?’ she asked.

‘At the foot of the stairs. It looks as if you fell down them.’

‘No!’ She looked more distressed than ever.

I pressed on with my injury check, trying to put her at her ease. ‘I want you to take a deep breath.’

She did as she was told, without showing any fresh signs of discomfort. ‘Okay, let it go.’ She gave a great sighing sound. ‘Good. If you had rib damage you’d have felt it there. Now, I want you to move your arms and legs one by one; lift them up and put them down again.’ I nodded approval as she checked each limb. ‘Now make a fist with each hand, then unclench it.’

By the time we had finished the fear had gone from her face. ‘Oz,’ she murmured, so softly that I had to bend over her to hear her, ‘can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

She smiled. Just a wee crack in her face, but a smile nonetheless. ‘Have I got any clothes on?’

I tried to stay matter of fact about it. ‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ I told her. ‘It’s probably just as well that you were too pissed to undo your bra. . even though it spoils the view. . otherwise you might have squashed your tits on the way downstairs.’