Mo Hayder - Skin

‘That’s OK. What time will you get to mine?’

‘Twenty minutes. As soon as this is done.’

She went to the desk in the far corner, set down the coffee, took off her angora and hung it carefully on the back of the chair. Baby pink. She’d be the one who’d walk over you in stilettos, he thought, deleting the dot. He hit enter and the screen lit up in front of him. All of Gerber’s consultations today.

It was the same system the other secretary had used and, having seen it in action once, it was easy for him to hop-skip backwards even though the database was working slowly, the diseased server grinding its cogs like a dray horse. He went back through the timeline two years and found the days in question. The name Lucy Mahoney came out at him like a bolt. At ten o’clock on the morning of 4 May she’d been given an abdomectomy and a sympathectomy by Georges Gerber FRCS.

Georges Gerber FRCS.

One hundred and eighty. Got you, you bastard.

He closed the database, logged out and stood up just as Marsha appeared in the doorway.

‘Hello.’

She gave him a courteous smile. ‘Are you leaving?’

‘I’m going to talk to Mr Gerber.’

‘He’s not here.’ She looked beyond him to the chair he’d been sitting in. ‘I think I mentioned that earlier.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘At home?’ She came past him, and stood for a moment looking at the chair again. Then she hung her handbag over the back and sat on it – tentatively, as if she thought it might burn her or give way. ‘Probably at home, I don’t know. I tried to call him a few minutes ago. He didn’t answer his phone.’

‘Thank you, Marsha. You’ve been a great help.’

He was at the door when she said his name. He waited. Hand on the door. Turned back slowly. From the other desk the pink angora girl had stopped what she was doing and was watching over the top of the monitor.

‘Yes?’

‘I just saw the other secretaries. They said you were looking for patient records.’

‘That’s right.’

‘The database is a bit slow but it’s still working.’ She pulled the keyboard towards her. Logged on and the screen came up. ‘I can go through Mr Gerber’s records, if you’d like?’

Caffery stood half in, half out of the door, and looked at her black hair, her little curranty eyes. Wanted to laugh for a moment. He thought, Marsha, bless every hair on your head, I take it all back. You’re an angel, a Samaritan. And probably a vixen in the sack. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But I’ll speak to Mr Gerber directly.’

‘In that case I’ll print out his home address for you.’

Home and Away ’s just finished and Ruth’s pouring her third rum and Coke when someone knocks at the door. She checks the clock. Only one p.m. Little Miss PI said later in the afternoon. It annoys her to think she might be early. She’s been trying to work out how to approach the subject, how to go about upping the amount. Maybe it’s the rum but she hasn’t got it sorted in her head yet, and that annoys her.

Another knock. Irritated, she sets her drink down, goes into the hallway and puts on the safety chain.

‘Yeah, what?’

But when she looks out she finds Mr Gerber, the surgeon from the clinic, standing on the doorstep. The last person she was expecting. He’s wearing something strange. Like a tunic made out of denim, but there’s a bottle of champagne in one hand and a sheepish smile on his face.

‘Ruth?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry about what?’

‘I shouldn’t be here.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not ethical. If I wore a hat,’ he gives a rueful laugh, ‘I’d have it in my hands now.’

She opens the door a crack more, puzzled. He looks odd out here in the sunlight. He’s got very fine bones, a tiny nose and a thatch of wiry hair shot with grey threads, which he keeps running his fingers through nervously.

‘When I asked if you lived alone, Ruth, it wasn’t my place to do that. That’s the clinic staff’s job.’

‘Eh?’

He bites his lip and glances up and down the road. Looks back at her again and something dawns on her. She thinks about the Mercedes and the Aston Martins she saw in the staff car park at the clinic that morning. She thinks about sitting down at the pub, waiting for someone to speak to her. And then she thinks about the way she’d arranged her legs sitting opposite him earlier on.

‘My first name is Georges,’ he says.

‘Hello, Georges.’

‘Can I come in? I won’t stay long. Not if you don’t want me to.’

She opens the door, lets him in and he walks down the corridor, looking from left to right. She follows, stopping for a moment in front of the hall mirror to dig out clumps of mascara from the corners of her eyes. Quickly she puts the wad of gum she was chewing in an ashtray, cups her hands round her mouth and checks her breath.

When she gets to the living room he’s standing in the middle of the carpet.

‘Nice place.’

She adjusts the strap on her bra and makes sure her breasts are sitting up high. Noticeable. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘That’d be nice. If it’s not too much trouble. What’re you having?’

‘I’m…’ She indicates the drink sitting on the bar. ‘Rum and Coke. But I can get you something else.’

‘Rum and Coke.’ He smiles. He really isn’t all that bad-looking. Just needs a bit of grooming. ‘Sounds perfect.’

He sits politely on the sofa, his feet together, and watches her mix the drink. When she turns to hand him the glass, she finds he’s holding out the champagne in both hands. ‘I think this needs to be chilled.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Veuve Clicquot. Stevie loves Veuve. She puts the glass on the table next to him and takes the bottle. It is a little warm. She carries it into the kitchen and puts it in the freezer, packs a bag of ice round it. When she comes back into the room Georges is standing next to the bar, looking at the photos. In the middle there is a picture of a dolphin in Greece. She stands shoulder to shoulder with him.

‘Lovely animal.’ She picks up her drink from the bar and takes a sip. ‘Isn’t it?’

Gerber turns and looks steadily at her. ‘I can think of something lovelier.’

She wants to giggle, but stops herself short. Georges isn’t the sort to appreciate giggling. He’s serious. Classy. So she smiles and points at another photo.

‘My ex-husband. And my son. He lives near by. Drops in from time to time. But otherwise I’m on my own. Like I said.’

‘I’m sorry I quizzed you like that. I’m sorry about all of today. You made me nervous. That’s all.’ He sits down on the sofa. ‘I made a mess of the whole thing.’

‘No, you didn’t. You were lovely, just lovely.’

He gestures at the wall. ‘Tell me about the dolphins, then. You’re quite a sailor, I take it.’

Gratified by his interest she sits on the recliner and arranges her skirt nicely. She starts to talk about the animals, the dolphins in Greece, the guillemots she saw flying over a harbour near Sitges once. He lets her lead the conversation. Asks her lots of questions: what’s it like living on a boat? Is she happier on land? Do the cats prefer it here? He supposes it’s nice that she can keep so many animals. He really is quite lovely, she decides. Appearances can be deceptive.

‘You’ve finished your drink.’

She looks at the glass in her hand and sees he’s right – it’s empty. They’ve been talking a long time. His drink is still untouched on the table next to him. He twists in the chair and looks towards the kitchen. ‘What about that champagne? Do you think it’s cold yet?’

She gets up and goes into the kitchen. She takes the champagne out of the freezer and pulls down two crystal bowl glasses Stevie stole from a restaurant in Sardinia. While she’s uncorking it she has a moment of dizziness. She puts the bottle down and leans on the work surface to steady herself. This isn’t like her. A few rums can’t put her on her back usually. She scoops a little water straight out of the tap into her mouth, dries her mouth on the tea-towel and continues with the champagne. It’s open and both glasses are poured when she feels strange again. She puts down the bottle noisily and within seconds Gerber is at her side.