Frank Schätzing - Limit

‘Got it,’ said Hanna.

Nair rubbed his nose. ‘At the risk of depressing you – I don’t actually know anything about you at all.’

‘Because you’ve spent the whole flight talking about yourself,’ Sushma observed reproachfully.

‘Have I? You must excuse my need to communicate.’

‘That’s fine,’ Hanna said with a wave of his hand. ‘There isn’t so much to say about me. I tend to work in silence.’

‘Investment?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Interesting.’ Nair pursed his lips. ‘What fields?’

‘Mostly energy. And a bit of everything.’ Hanna hesitated. ‘It might interest you to know that I was born in New Delhi.’

The helicopter lowered itself towards the heliport. The landing pad had room for three helicopters that size and was marked with a fluorescent symbol, a silvery O with a stylised orange moon around it: the company logo of Orley Enterprises. At the edge of the heliport Hanna spotted people in uniform, taking reception of passengers and luggage. A slim woman in a light-coloured trouser suit broke away from the group. The wind in the rotor-blades tugged at her clothes, her hair glistened in the sun.

‘You come from New Delhi?’ Sushma Nair, visibly taken with Hanna’s unexpected revelation, edged closer. ‘How long did you live there?’

The helicopter came gently to rest. The door swung aside and a stepladder unfolded.

‘Let’s talk about it by the pool,’ Hanna said, putting her off for the time being, then let them walk ahead of him and followed them without any great haste. Nair’s smile revealed more tooth enamel. He beamed at the staff, the surroundings and life, he drew the island air into his nostrils, said, ‘Ah!’ and ‘Incredible!’ As soon as he caught sight of the woman in the trouser suit he started praising the grounds in the most effulgent terms. Sushma added indifferent noises of appreciation. The slim woman thanked them. Nair went on talking, without drawing breath. How wonderful everything was. How successful. Hanna practised being patient as he appreciated her appearance. Late thirties, neat ash-blonde hair, well groomed and displaying that natural grace that is never entirely aware of itself, she could have played the glamorous lead in an advertisement for a credit company or a range of cosmetics. In fact she was in charge of Orley Travel, Orley’s tourism department, which made her the second most important person in the biggest business empire in the world.

‘Carl.’ She smiled and extended her hand. Hanna looked into sea-blue eyes, impossibly intense, the iris dark-rimmed. Her father’s eyes. ‘Nice to have you here as our guest!’

‘Thanks for the invitation.’ He returned her handshake and lowered his voice. ‘You know, I’d prepared a few nice remarks about the hotel, but I’m afraid my predecessor pre-empted everything I had to say.’

‘Haha! Ha!’ Nair clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, my friend, but we have Bollywood! Your old-school charm couldn’t possibly match so much poetry and pathos.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Lynn, without turning her eyes away. ‘I’m very susceptible to Canadian charm. Even its non-verbal variant.’

‘Then I won’t allow myself to be discouraged,’ Hanna promised.

‘I would be most offended if you did.’

All around them, willing hands were busy unloading mountains of battered-looking luggage. Hanna assumed it belonged to the Nairs. Solidly built things that had been in use since Old Testament times. He himself had brought only a small suitcase and a valise.

‘Come on,’ Lynn said cordially. ‘I’ll show you to your rooms.’

From the terrace, Tim saw his sister leaving the heliport with an Indian-looking couple and an athletically built man, and walking to the reception building. He and Amber lived in a corner room on the fifth floor, with a perfect panoramic view. Some distance away, glinting in the sunlight, was the platform that they would be going to the following morning. Another helicopter was approaching the island, its arrival heralded by the clattering noise of the rotors.

He threw his head back.

A day of rare, crystal clarity.

The sky stretched across the sea like a deep-blue dome. A single ragged cloud hung there like an ornament or a landmark, apparently motionless. It made Tim think of an old film that he’d seen years ago, a tragicomedy in which a man grew up in a small town without ever leaving it. He’d gone to school there, got married, taken a job, met up with friends he’d known since childhood – and then, in his mid-thirties, he discovered that he was the involuntary star of a television show and the town was one huge, colossal fake, stuffed full of cameras, fake walls and stage lighting. All the inhabitants apart from him were actors with lifetime contracts, his lifetime, of course, and consistently enough the sky proved to be a huge, blue-painted dome.

Tim Orley narrowed one eye and held up his right index finger in such a way that the tip seemed to touch the lower edge of the cloud. It balanced on it like a piece of cotton wool.

‘Do you want something to drink?’ Amber called from inside.

He didn’t reply, but wrapped his left hand around his wrist and tried to keep his finger as still as possible. At first nothing happened. Then, extremely slowly, the tiny cloud drifted eastwards.

‘The bar is full to the brim. I’ll take a bitter lemon. What would you like?’

It was moving. It would drift on. For some unfathomable reason it reassured Tim to know that the cloud up there wasn’t nailed on or painted up.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘I asked what you’d like to drink.’

‘Yes.’

‘So, what?’

‘No idea.’

‘Goodness me. I’ll take a look and see if they’ve got any.’

He returned his attention to Lynn. Amber came across the terrace towards him, swinging an open bottle of Coca-Cola seductively between thumb and forefinger. Tim mechanically accepted it, put it to his lips and drank without noticing what he was pouring down his throat. His wife watched him. Then she looked down to where Tim’s sister and her little entourage were just disappearing into the lobby.

‘Oh, I see,’ she remarked.

He said nothing.

‘You’re still worried?’

‘You know me.’

‘What for? Lynn’s looking good.’ Amber leaned against the railing and sucked noisily on her lemonade. ‘Really good, in fact, if you ask me.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m worried about.’

‘That she looks good?’

‘You know exactly what I mean. She’s trying to be more perfect than perfect, all over again.’

‘Oh, Tim—’

‘You’ve dealt with her before, haven’t you?’

‘More than anything I’ve experienced her having everything under control here.’

‘Everything here has Lynn under control!’

‘Fine, so what should she do, in your opinion? Julian’s invited a crowd of filthy-rich eccentrics that she’s got to look after. He’s promised them two weeks in the most exclusive hotels of all time, and Lynn’s responsible for them all. Should she start letting herself go, and walk around the place looking all unwashed and with her hair in a mess, neglect her guests, just to prove that she’s a human being?’

‘Of course not.’

‘This is a circus, Tim! She’s the ringmaster. She has to be perfect, or else the lions will eat her.’

‘I know that,’ Tim said impatiently. ‘That’s not the issue. It’s just that I can see that she’s starting to get agitated again.’

‘She didn’t seem specially agitated to me.’

‘That’s because she deceives you. Because she deceives everybody. You know how well her personal diplomacy works.’