Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

Now, however, the waiting was nearly over, and the thought of what was going to happen in a matter of hours made me feel giddy. And, after the first drink, garrulous.

“You know, Zeppo, if anyone had told me you were a cook I wouldn’t have believed them, but that smells very good indeed. What is it?”

“Gambas a la plancha,” he said from the kitchen, from where sizzling sounds were emanating. “Or prawns fried with garlic, if you prefer. Followed by paella.”

I smiled over at Anna. “I take it we’re in for a Spanish evening, then. Actually, I was thinking about paella just the other day, and wishing I knew a good Spanish restaurant in London so I could have it more often. It never tastes the same when you cook it at home.” I realised my gaffe and immediately became flustered.

“Well, it never does when I try it, that is. I’m sure that yours is much more authentic, Zeppo. It certainly smells delicious. You’ll have to give me the recipe for it before you go on holiday. But you’re not going on holiday, are you, I was forgetting. I meant to work. Brazil.”

“Anna, could you just stir these while I take the bread through?” Zeppo asked.

“Yes, sure.” She went into the kitchen, leaving me sweating and confused in the lounge. Zeppo came out carrying a basket of cut French bread.

“More wine, Donald?” he asked, and as he leaned to take my glass hissed, “For fuck’s sake stop gabbling!”

He went back into the kitchen, and when Anna came out I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I splashed water on to my face and drank a little from the tap. Then I sat on the edge of the bath and took deep breaths until I felt composed enough to face them again.

Zeppo was just bringing in the prawns. I sat down at the table, the three of us forming a triangle, and occupied myself with a piece of bread. I had no appetite, and my only lasting impression of the food is that it was hot. I burnt my mouth on the first forkful, and ate without taste or pleasure. But Anna was loud in her praise, so I joined in, taking care not to sound too effusive.

Luckily, that was no longer a problem. From being unable to shut up, I suddenly found myself with nothing to say. I smiled and laughed and otherwise responded to the conversation, but contributed little to it. It was a struggle not to constantly keep looking at my watch, and as the minutes passed the urge became stronger and I grew even more silent.

But neither Anna nor Zeppo seemed to notice. They had enough to say without help from me, and each listened raptly whenever the other was talking. Even I could not help but be aware of the frisson between them, and that part of me that was not anxiously watching the time felt a glow of paternal pride at being responsible for bringing them together.

Then the telephone rang. I jumped, jolted out of my trance, and spilled wine on my hand.

“Excuse me,” said Zeppo, and went to answer it. I dabbed at the wine, thankful that Anna did not appear to have noticed. She was watching Zeppo.

I forced myself not to stare as I heard him say, “Hello? Yes, that’s right. Okay... Yes, he is. Just a second.” He turned to me. “It’s for you, Donald. Somebody called Roger Chamberlain.”

I did my best to look surprised as I went and took the receiver from him. “Hello?” I said. The dialling tone hummed steadily in my ear. “No, of course I don’t mind. How on earth did you know where to find me?” I paused. The tone continued. “Oh, so I did. No, that’s okay. Is everything all right?” I glanced over at the table. Anna and Zeppo were studiously trying to mind their own business. “Oh, no! You haven’t! That’s awful! What have they taken?” Again, I paused. “And have they left a mess?” I sighed, loudly. “That’s terrible. I don’t know what to say.” In fact, I really was running out of ideas. The dialling tone was an unimaginative prompter. “Yes... yes... no... No, of course not. Yes, I’m sure. About an hour, okay? Yes, I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up and went back to the table. “Bad news?” asked Zeppo.

I sat down. “Yes, it was, rather. That was a friend of mine. He’s just got back from holiday and found he’s been burgled. It sounds like they’ve left his house in an awful mess, and taken almost everything that’s not nailed down. He’s in a terrible state.”

“Has he called the police?” Anna seemed suitably convinced.

“Yes. They’ve already been, but they weren’t very helpful, apparently. He wants me to go over. He had quite a nice little collection of watercolours, and most of those are missing, but what’s upset him even more is that whoever did it defaced the ones they’ve left. He wondered if I’d go over and see if they can be salvaged. You don’t mind, do you Zeppo?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you have to go straight away?” Anna asked. “Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Well, I suppose it could, but I think he would like someone to talk to. He lives by himself, and it must have been quite a shock for him.” I hoped Anna would not question it too closely, but I was flattered that she wanted me to stay.

“How can anyone do anything like that?” she said. “It’s bad enough stealing something, but spoiling what’s left...” She shook her head.

“Sickening,” agreed Zeppo. “Can you stay for dessert, or do you have to go now?”

I looked at my watch. The hands and numerals formed a cypher that meant nothing to me. Now that the moment had come, the time was unimportant. “I think I’d better. I told him I’d be there in an hour, and he lives quite a way away.” I had a sudden moment of panic, my mind a blank, as I waited for Anna to ask exactly where he lived. But she did not.

“I just hope they catch them,” she said. “Have they left any fingerprints?”

“He didn’t say.” I stood up, forestalling further enquiry. “I’d better go. Thanks for the meal, Zeppo. I’m sorry to have to dash like this.”

He stood up. “That’s okay. I’ll see you to the door.”

Anna began to get up as well. “No, don’t bother,” I said quickly. “You stay where you are. I’m disturbing everyone enough.” I bent and kissed her cheek. Her skin felt hot and taut. “Have a nice evening.”

She said goodbye, and I followed Zeppo into the hallway. “Proper little Olivier, aren’t we?” he muttered. Then, raising his voice, he opened the front door a crack and said. “Bye, Donald. I hope your friend gets his things back.”

“So do I. Sorry to have to go like this.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later. “Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Zeppo put his finger to his lips and firmly closed the door. I followed him back down the hall, careful not to make a noise. Before we came to the lounge, another door stood open. I went inside and Zeppo quickly pulled it shut behind me.

I put my ear against it. “What a shame,” I heard Zeppo say, and then his voice was cut off as he closed the lounge door. I listened for a moment longer, but could make out nothing but indistinct murmurs.

I relaxed for the first time that evening. I looked around the room. It was dim, a fabric blind covering the single window. A chair waited by the wall. Next to it was a low table on which stood a glass, a jug of water, and a bottle of brandy. There was also a small pencil-light, and an object I did not at first recognise. I moved nearer and saw it was a wide-necked cardboard bottle, the sort used by hospital patients to relieve themselves. I was impressed by Zeppo’s foresight. That was something I had not considered But then I saw the note underneath it. “You can use this for whatever you want. The tissues are on the dressing table.” When I realised what he meant I put the bottle down again, angrily.