More Than You Can Say Page 8

  ‘I do not drink alcohol,’ she said, in perfectly clear, if slightly accented, English. ‘May I have a glass of water?’

  I ran the tap and filled a glass, then opened the bottle of wine and poured myself a large measure. I felt I needed it. We went into the sitting room and I slumped on the sofa while she sat demurely on the edge of the only other chair. I sipped my wine and looked at her. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. No immediate subject of conversation occurred to me. Our engagement had been too brief to establish any common ground between us. All I knew about her was that she did not seem to like orange juice. And she spoke Arabic. I repeated my question.

  ‘What are you doing here? How did you find me?’

  ‘I took a taxi.’

  ‘Yes, but how did you know my address?’

  She looked at me as if I was an idiot.

  ‘Your address is on our marriage certificate.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’

  There was a silence. I sipped some more wine and wondered whether it would make a very bad impression on my new wife if I refilled my glass. She might as well know the worst. She sipped a little water delicately, as if she were crossing a desert and needed to conserve supplies.

  ‘You like our London water?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, it is very good water.’

  There was another silence. I found myself thinking that a wife who does not talk too much is a pearl beyond price. I returned to my original question:

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Where else should I go?’

  I stared at her with a blank look and she stared back. After a moment she added:

  ‘I did not want to stay with those men. They are very bad people. When you left, it gave me a chance to get away from them.’

  I raised my eyebrows, but she said no more, so I tried again:

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘I drove a car from the house to London, and then a taxi to this street.’

  ‘What I meant to ask was, how did you get away from Mr Khan? I didn’t think he would just let you go.’

  ‘When you struck that man they call Kevin they were very surprised,’ she said. ‘I was also surprised. Until then I thought you were a friend of those people.’

  ‘Yes, I felt quite pleased when I hit him too,’ I told her. ‘But how did you get away?’

  She held up her hand to stop me talking. ‘I will explain.’ She put her hand down and folded it with the other one in her lap. Her gestures were graceful and she was elegant in the way a model might be, except that in her case the elegance was entirely natural. She looked quite out of place in my shabby flat.

  ‘When you struck this man they helped him up. Then they all left in the car – Aseeb, Amir and Kevin – except for the servant David. I thought they would quickly find you and perhaps they would kill you.’

  She paused to sip some more water, then put the glass down carefully on the floor.

  ‘The servant took me inside the house and put the car keys on a table in the entrance. His mobile rang. I think it was Aseeb who was calling him. The servant walked to the other end of the room because he could not hear properly, so I took his coat from the chair and his car keys from the table and ran out to the car. There is a box in the car that opens the gates. I have seen them use this. You press a button. I pressed it and drove out of the gates. The servant came out running and shouting but I was too fast for him.’

  ‘That was brave of you,’ I said. She made a dismissive motion with her hand. She didn’t want me to interrupt.

  ‘I drove the car until I found signs to Oxford, then to London. It took me a long time to get to London. I have not driven in England before and I got lost many times. At last I found a street where there were taxis, so I stopped the car and left it there. I left the keys in the car so that they can drive it back when they find it. I am not a thief. I had some pounds I found in the servant’s coat. They were enough to pay for a taxi. Now I have no money.’

  She seemed breathless at the end of this speech, as if she had used up a lot of energy remembering all those English words. How come she spoke English so well, if she was from a remote valley in the Hindu Kush?

  ‘You left the Range Rover in a busy London street with the keys in the ignition? Well, that’s the last Mr Khan will see of his car, I’m afraid.’ It had been a bad day at the ranch for Mr Khan. But I still didn’t understand what was going on.

  ‘Tell me again why you left Mr Khan,’ I said. ‘And why do you call him Aseeb?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Adeena. ‘You ask me why?’ Her voice rose in anger. ‘You ask me why I leave a man who has held me prisoner and made me marry a man I do not know?’

  ‘Hey, I didn’t ask to be married to you either,’ I said. ‘We were both prisoners. Kevin knocked me down.’

  ‘I thought you were like them,’ said Adeena. ‘Then when you hit that man I saw that I was wrong. It was very good that you hit him so hard. I was pleased when I saw you do it. I wished you had struck Aseeb also.’

  ‘Well, maybe next time,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you keep calling him Aseeb. Is that his first name?’

  ‘At home in Kabul his name is Aseeb. Many people know of this man. He is a very bad man, but with powerful friends.’

  ‘Then how do you know him?’ I asked.

  ‘I was working for an aid agency in Kabul,’ said Adeena. ‘You know that in Afghanistan it is very new for women to be allowed to work. Only the aid agencies and a very few government departments will employ us. I studied English language in school and then I found a job in Kabul, after 2001 when the Taliban left. I was working as a translator for two years. Then a few weeks ago the Taliban shot two people from our aid agency in the street.’

  As she spoke I remembered reading about similar incidents. This part of what she was telling me sounded true at any rate. I reproached myself inwardly. Why shouldn’t her story be true?

  ‘They shot one good German man,’ Adeena continued, ‘and his bodyguard, right outside the office, in front of their car. I did not see, but I heard the shots and ran to the entrance. My friends were lying in the road. The men who had shot them just walked away. It is a busy street but no one tried to stop them. Everyone knew it was the Taliban. The police did nothing when they came. One policeman said to me: ‘‘They will shoot you too, because you are committing a crime against God, working for these Christians.’’ ’

  Adeena yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as she did so.

  ‘So how did Aseeb come into your life? You still haven’t explained that.’

  ‘Because I am very tired,’ said Adeena. ‘It is hard for me to remember and speak English at the same time. Aseeb came to me one day soon after. The people I worked for were talking about closing the office and going back to Europe. Aseeb came to my home. He told my brother to go outside and my brother went quickly. He gave me a look. He wanted me to be careful with this man. When we were alone, Aseeb told me that the Taliban knew who I was and where I lived, and would kill me in the next days because they wanted to show the Europeans that they could protect no one, no one, who worked for them. This was important politics for them. Aseeb told me this. ‘‘It is not you yourself they want to kill, but they need to kill you as an example.’’ ‘‘What can I do?’’ I asked. ‘‘Where can I go?’’ He told me he could help me. He took me away in his BMW before my brother came back. He said he would get me to England and give me an English passport as a favour to me, and in memory of my father, whom he once knew. He took me by plane to London.’

  Adeena looked at me, as if asking me to understand. I nodded encouragingly. I was having difficulty, picturing Aseeb in the role of Good Samaritan.

  ‘How did he get you a visa?’

  ‘He told me to say I was his niece coming to learn English at a language school. It is easy to come if you say you are a student. But when I got to England he took me to that house and told me I would have to marry an Englishman, as a favour to him, in order to get
an immigration permit and then an English passport. He said he would ask me to do certain favours for him in return.’

  ‘What favours?’ I asked. It seemed like a very important question, but I did not get an answer.

  ‘I am tired now,’ said Adeena. She stood up. ‘I wish to go to sleep. Can I stay here tonight?’

  I stared at her. She looked so vulnerable when she said those words.

  ‘Yes, you can stay,’ I replied. ‘In the morning we will talk some more about what to do.’ I too felt overwhelmed by sleep as I spoke. It had been a long day. ‘That is my bedroom, through that door there. The sheets are clean. And that,’ I said, ‘is my bathroom. I’m sorry everything is so cramped. You can sleep in my room and I will sleep here on the sofa. Tomorrow we will decide what must be done.’

  Adeena seemed relieved by these arrangements.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then she asked, ‘What is the time now?’

  ‘Nearly midnight.’

  ‘Please wake me before dawn. I must pray at sunrise. I will go to sleep now.’ She went into the bathroom and then, a few minutes later, I heard the bedroom door close. I stripped down to my shirt and boxer shorts and pulled a rug and a few pillows over me and tried to sleep. At first I couldn’t. What on earth was this woman doing in my house? She would be nothing but trouble to me, I felt certain.

  She was good-looking, though, I thought sleepily. For a while I considered going into my bedroom and getting into my bed and curling up beside her. It would be very cosy in there, warmer than on this bloody sofa, with its springs sticking into me and draughts swirling in through the badly fitted windows. Then I thought that, if I did that, I might never get rid of the girl. I might be stuck with her. I couldn’t quite understand how little control I seemed to have over my own life. There was something wrong here, but I was too tired to work it out. I fell asleep.

  At four in the morning I awoke as suddenly as if someone had shaken me by the shoulder. This had happened to me before, but not since I left the army. Some sixth sense would warn me that something was about to happen and my instinct was nearly always right. Now I sat up on the sofa, my brain working furiously.

  Why was the girl here? There were two possibilities. Either the whole thing was a set-up: in which case Khan and his two thugs would be here any minute. She was here to make sure I stayed in one place long enough for them to be able to deal with me. Or. Or it wasn’t a set-up and she had left Khan because he had kidnapped her and had plans for her that she didn’t like. In which case Khan and his thugs would come to get her back. My flat might not be the most obvious place to look, given Adeena’s earlier distaste for my company, but they would get round to it soon enough, I was sure.

  The only miracle was that I hadn’t woken up to find a gun at my head.

  If all three of them came – Mr Khan, Amir and Kevin – things might get very nasty very quickly. I still had Kevin’s gun and I was sure they would bear this in mind and would come armed accordingly. The idea of taking part in a gun battle in Camden did not appeal to me.

  I was wide awake now. I dressed, pulled aside the curtains, and looked out. There was still no sign of the enemy. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be. Warning signals were going off somewhere deep inside my brain. I had to move. I had to get away from here. Was I being paranoid again? I didn’t think so.

  What about the girl? I couldn’t just leave her here. Or could I? For a moment I thought that maybe I could, that she wasn’t my problem. Why should I take responsibility for her, just because I had married her? But I knew, even as I had these thoughts, that I wasn’t simply going to abandon her. I had sunk fairly low in my own estimation, but not that low: not yet. Going home to my parents’ house didn’t seem like a good idea. Could I ring Bernie and ask whether he could loan me a hideaway? Not tempting: and besides, he never did favours for anyone, and certainly not for me. Nor would he keep his mouth shut. Then an idea occurred to me.

  I knocked on the door of my bedroom. A sleepy voice answered after a moment, at first in slurred words I could not make out, but which were not English. Then, ‘Who is it? What do you want? Is it the hour for prayer?’

  ‘No. It might be. I don’t know. It’s quarter to five. Adeena, you must get dressed. We must go. Aseeb will find us here. I know he will.’

  ‘I will come.’

  A few minutes later Adeena came out of the bedroom. She was dressed in her blue wedding suit, but still looked half asleep.

  ‘I must pray,’ she announced. ‘I will do it in your other room. There is light beginning in the east of the sky.’

  ‘There is no time to pray,’ I said. ‘We must go quickly.’

  ‘There is always time to pray,’ said Adeena. ‘Today of all days I must ask God for guidance and help. I do not pray every day, as I should. But this morning I must.’

  I felt her warmth as she brushed past me. Then she shut the door of the sitting room. There was a phone in the kitchen. I went to it, and looked at the little black book where I kept phone numbers. I looked up the one that I wanted and then dialled. It was early here, but not quite as early where the phone was ringing. After a moment another sleepy voice, this time a man’s, answered in bad French.

  ‘Ed,’ I said. ‘It’s me, Richard Gaunt.’

  ‘Do you know what the fuck the time is?’

  There was a pause, but before I could say anything, Ed Hartlepool’s voice came again, this time sounding more awake.

  ‘Richard? I was expecting you to call. Richard, I’m so sorry.’ I had no idea what he was talking about, but it seemed like a good time to get on the front foot in what might be a difficult phone conversation. The very fact Ed Hartlepool was calling me by my given name rather than the irritating nickname they all used meant that for some reason I had the upper hand.

  ‘So you should be,’ I said.

  ‘I simply overslept. We went on playing cards at the Diplomatic after you left to walk to Oxford – some fool suggested one last hand and I didn’t get into my bed until five o’clock. I slept right through my alarm clock and woke up about midday, just in time to cancel my lunch date with my uncle. Then I remembered about you, walking all the way to Oxford, but your mobile didn’t seem to be working.’

  It wouldn’t have done. It was at the bottom of the Thames, or inside a fish. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had – or I would have – walked all the way to Oxford to complete my part of the bet, and this idle bastard hadn’t even got out of bed in time to drive there in his Mercedes. In other circumstances I might have taken the next plane to the south of France, found Ed’s villa, and strangled him. But these were not other circumstances. I needed his help.

  ‘I walked all that way, Ed, for nothing. What are you going to do about the bet?’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Could you bear to cancel it?’ he asked, in what I think he hoped was a contrite voice. ‘Not the card debt, I mean. I’ll honour that whenever I see you next. But the double or quits bet: the extra three thousand pounds. Could you see your way to letting me off the hook?’

  I let him dangle for a bit. Then I said, ‘If you will do me a favour in return, I’ll think about it. It won’t cost you anything, either.’

  ‘Name it,’ said Ed. ‘Anything, just tell me what it is.’

  ‘I need a bed for a few nights, somewhere out of London. A couple of beds, in fact. I was thinking of Hartlepool Hall. Is it completely shut up when you are away?’

  This time Ed laughed.

  ‘Hartlepool Hall? Are you sure it’s going to be big enough for you? Who are you taking with you? Who is she?’

  ‘Never mind all that,’ I said. ‘I’m not looking for somewhere to go and bonk someone. I’m trying to help a friend who’s in a bit of a jam and needs to be out of the way for a while.’

  ‘How long’s a while?’ asked Ed.

  ‘Say a week?’

  Ed thought for a moment. Then he said. ‘Fair enough. I’ll call Horace. Do you remember him?’
/>   Horace was the Hartlepool family butler.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘I’ll call him. He lives in a flat at the back of the house, and Mrs Dickinson, the housekeeper, lives in a cottage near by. They assist with the occasional functions that we have to have there – weddings and such – to help pay the bills. I may not go there much myself, but the bills keep coming in. I’ll ask them to make up a couple of rooms for you and get some food in. Don’t expect spectacular cooking, but you won’t starve.’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ I said. ‘Do this for me and we can consider your debt cancelled. One other thing … it’s very important.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone. I mean no one.’

  *

  As I turned from the phone Adeena came out of the sitting room. She must have finished communing with God.

  ‘We can go now,’ she said.

  I called a taxi to take us to King’s Cross, then I hid the gun. I didn’t want to be carrying it around with me. I packed a change of clothes. The taxi arrived and we left.

  Ed’s house was an enormous pile in County Durham, about half an hour’s drive from Darlington Station. On the train there, I tried once or twice to get Adeena to talk, but she shook her head. On her face was the expression she had worn when I first met her: a look of desperation so profound I wondered what on earth was the matter with her.

  When we arrived in Darlington we went to the shops, where Adeena bought some clothes and other necessities. Then we climbed into a taxi and I told the driver to take us to Hartlepool Hall. He didn’t need directions – everyone in that part of the world knew of the house. Adeena asked me no questions about where we were going, and I didn’t bother to explain. You couldn’t explain a set-up like Hartlepool Hall. You had to see it. As the taxi drove down the narrow country lanes, I thought about the very first time I had been there.

  Eight

  The first time I went to Hartlepool Hall was to a dance when I was in my early twenties. I forget the occasion for which the dance was given – it was a mixture of young and old people, and I think Ed’s father and mother gave the dance rather than Ed himself. It was a grand enough affair. There were over three hundred guests that night, as far as I recall. Hartlepool Hall is an enormous house but even so it had been necessary to erect a couple of adjoining marquees on the lawns outside. In one, drinks and dinner were served. In another a dance floor had been erected, along with a platform on which a group of men in white tuxedos played orchestral versions of songs such as ‘Yesterday’ and ‘I Did It My Way’. By common consent the band yielded to disco music towards midnight, and all the younger members of the party swarmed on to the dance floor.