ICEHOTEL (13 page)

‘You obviously know something I don’t, Mike.’ I lowered my
voice. ‘Tell me what you’ve got against Wilson Bibby. I don’t believe it’s just
the money.’

‘It’s how you make it. I assume you don’t know the story of
how Wilson became a millionaire.’

‘The way everyone does? Lots of hard graft?’

‘By ruthlessly exploiting people.’

‘Now that’s rich coming from someone who works for an IT
company,’ I said, laughing.

‘Says someone working for a pharmaceutical company,’ he spat
back.

‘Look, Mike,’ I said in a placatory tone, ‘I’m sure Wilson
made his fortune perfectly legitimately.’

He shook his head. ‘His grandfather, Wilson
Bibby
I, did that.’

‘How?’

‘Property deals.’

‘How big was the fortune?’

‘I don’t think anyone knows, but big enough that the family
could have lived like millionaires just on the interest.’

I moved the chess pieces to their starting positions. ‘I
presume Wilson is just continuing the family tradition.’

‘Well, you presume wrong,’ he said nastily. ‘Listen and
learn.
Bibby’s
father, Wilson
Bibby
II, squandered most of the fortune.’

‘In what way?’ I said, intrigued.

‘The casinos at Vegas.’

‘How on earth did he get through that much money?’

‘It took him a lifetime.’

‘And did the current Wilson
Bibby
make the money back?’

‘He did it in the worst possible way. On the backs of his
workers.’

‘In the States?’

‘He couldn’t touch those, they’re heavily unionised. The
ones he exploited were in South America.’ He was tapping the white king with a
fingernail.

I leant towards him. ‘Tell me.’

His eyes rose to meet mine. ‘When I was in Dublin, I had a
Venezuelan girlfriend. Consuela. She came from a large Maracaibo family. Her
father worked for Bibby’s company, a manual worker, not a professional. Well
the workers tried to form a union. It was ground-breaking, that sort of thing,
but they didn’t succeed. Bibby crushed it.’ He dropped his voice. ‘According to
Consuela, he had the politicians in his pocket. Sure, and that didn’t surprise
me, given his wealth and the corruption in the government at the time. There
was talk he was involved in narcoterrorism, although I find that hard to
believe. He strikes me as a man who doesn’t take unnecessary risks.’

He lowered his voice further and I had to strain to hear
him. ‘After destroying the union, he carried on doing what he’d done from the
outset: increasing the workers’ hours and reducing their pay. It was always in
stages. He promised it was a short-term measure because of the global oil
crisis. He was constantly reassuring them that things would soon return to
normal.’

‘But they didn’t.’

‘And that’s not all. There was no health and safety
legislation, and Bibby took advantage of it. The ventilation in the factories
was expensive, and he cut corners. As his workers became sick, they were
replaced. There were always queues of men at the gates. It was just a matter of
time before Consuela’s father contracted lung disease and was laid off. And
everything went downhill from then on.’

‘Didn’t he get sickness benefit?’ I said, shocked.

‘There was no such thing. To make ends meet, Consuela’s
mother took a second job cleaning offices. One of her sisters went on the game,
although she didn’t tell her family, only Consuela knew.’ He stared at the
chess board, his face grim. ‘You know the real irony? Consuela was a bright kid
and got a scholarship to study in Europe. You know who paid for it?’

‘The Bibby Foundation?’

‘Got it in one. She earns enough now that she can send money
home. It keeps her family going.’

‘What happened to her f
ather?’ I
said quietly.

‘He died a year after he lost his job. His wife never
recovered, poor woman.’ He was staring into his drink, his mouth working.

Pieces of the jigsaw were falling into place. ‘You’ve not
told me the whole story, Mike.’

The silence lengthened.

‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘You got a scholarship too.’

He nodded dumbly.

‘And it was the Bibby Foundation that paid for it,’ I added.

After a pause, he said, ‘My parents couldn’t afford to give
us a decent education. We were so poor we didn’t have a pot to piss in.
It was watching my Mam boil potato peelings and my Da
working all the hours God sends that made me want a decent education so I could
earn real money. And in the type of job where I’d be in demand and could put
two fingers up to my employer and leave if I wanted to.’

It said much about Mike’s state of mind that he was prepared
to disclose these details to a comparative stranger. Seeing Bibby again must
have removed his inhibitions.

He rubbed the underside of his jaw. ‘My school advised me to
write to the Foundation. They offered scholarships to study at Trinity College,
so I applied and won a place. My saving grace is that I didn’t know about
Bibby. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.’ He lifted the white king and
rolled it between his palms. ‘It makes me feel contaminated. Can you understand
that?’

I looked away, unable to think of a reply. I knew what was
going through his mind: the one thing worse than accepting tainted money was
accepting it, not realising, then making the discovery too late. I understood
why he’d been so hard on me and my acquaintanceship with the Bibbys; he was
really being hard on himself.

‘Don’t beat yourself up, Mike,’ I said, as kindly as I
could. ‘It’s not your fault. You weren’t to know.’

He stared balefully towards the alcove.

‘All these years, you haven’t been able to let it go, have
you?’ I said. ‘You’ve been keeping tabs on Bibby, following his career. That’s
how you know so much about him.’

I nearly said:
And perhaps why you’ve followed him to the
Icehotel.

Mike said nothing but, from across the table, I could feel
his body tighten. He seemed to buzz with hatred, vibrating and thrumming like a
wasps’ nest.

It was 8.00pm. We were in the
Activities Room, dressing ourselves for the Ice Bar.

Mike was sprawled on a bench in his thick snowsuit, watching
us struggling into ours; of us all, he was the one who’d mastered the art of
slipping into snowsuits quickly and gracefully.

His good humour had returned. ‘Did you see the aurora,
Maggie? I noticed you didn’t stay for coffee.’

‘Did I hell. I froze my backside off for half an hour and
saw damn all. And the sky was clear, too. I was pretty fed up.’

‘That’s the trouble with natural phenomena, I’m afraid,’
Harry said, zipping up his light-blue snowsuit. ‘You can’t see these things to
order. You’re always at the mercy of Mother Nature.’ He pulled on a blue hat,
and yanked it down over his ears.

‘Maybe I was too early. They have a good idea of the date,
but they can’t predict the time with any accuracy. There might be something
later tonight.’

‘But, my dear, you’ll be too blotto to go out. That’s if
this Purple Kiss lives up to its reputation.’

Liz was pulling on a pair of oversized fur-lined gloves.
‘Does anyone know how on earth we’re supposed to hold our glasses in these
things?’

‘We’ll find a way, that’s for sure.’ Mike got to his feet.
‘There’s not much that can come between an Irishman and his drink, not when he
has a throat on him.’

The bar was packed. We pushed our way to the counter or,
rather, Mike pushed his way and we followed in his wake. Marita was with a
dark-haired girl whom she addressed as Karin. They looked
harassed
trying to serve the crush of customers
and, f
rom the number of pitchers on the counter,
they were expecting a full house. We picked up our drinks and backed away
carefully.

We found a free ice table. Mike ran a hand over the coarse
hair covering the seats. ‘Do you think these reindeer skins are going to keep
our lovely arses from freezing?’

‘They seem to work extraordinarily well for the reindeer,’
Harry said, lowering himself gingerly. He took a sip of the purple liquid. ‘Not
bad, not bad at all. Try it, Maggie.’

But Purple Kiss was too sweet, with a sickliness that set my
teeth on edge, and so cold it gave me sinus pain. I set down the ice glass,
wondering what else there was to drink. A mark on the rim caught my eye, an
imprint where the warmth of my lips had melted the ice. ‘I think I read
somewhere you have to drink quickly from these before they disappear.’

‘Well there’s no time to waste then,’ said Mike, downing his
in one go. ‘It’s a bit on the sweet side. I prefer a pint of the black stuff
any day.’

Liz had abandoned her mittens. Her fingers were turning blue
clutching the glass. ‘What’s that strange taste?’ she said, dabbing at her lips
with a handkerchief.

‘Violet cordial,’
said Harry
.
‘Wonderfully refreshing, don’t you
think? Do you like
it, Maggie?’

‘I’m afraid it wouldn’t be my first choice.’ I took another
sip, but I had to leave it. Nothing else seemed to be on offer. If this were
indeed all they were serving tonight, I’d be the only one sober at the end of
the evening. Brilliant.

A commotion at the entrance heralded the arrival of the
Danes. They jostled their way to the bar and crowded out the people standing
there. In a matter of minutes, they’d emptied the pitchers. Marita refilled
them, protesting at their conduct, but they ignored her. Jonas propped himself
against the counter and tried to engage Karin in conversation, but she picked
up a tray and strode past him as if he didn’t exist.

Jonas snatched up a pitcher and staggered around the room,
refilling the empty glasses. On reaching our table, he stopped and stared,
glassy-eyed. ‘Have a drink, Mike.’

He started to pour, holding the pitcher high, but was so
wide of the mark he missed Mike’s glass altogether. The liquid spilt onto the
table, sending out purple pseudopodia. Jonas swayed and lost his footing,
sprawling across the table and knocking the glasses to the ground. Mike clapped
him on the back and hauled him to his feet. Laughing loudly, they dragged each
other towards the bar. Liz groped in the snow for the glasses, moving her feet
away from the purple stain. I watched in fascination as the top of the table
began to dissolve.

Harry was watching Jonas. ‘It seems that young man has
recovered from yesterday’s drinking binge. Or maybe it’s the hair of the dog.
Do you think, when it comes to alcohol, he’s a match for Mike?’

‘I doubt it,’ I said cheerfully. ‘No-one’s ever won a
drinking contest with an Irishman.’

But Jonas didn’t make it to the bar. He collapsed and lay in
the snow, despite the efforts of Mike and Erik to revive him.

I shook my head. ‘Who was it who said, When enough people
tell you you’re drunk, it’s time to sit down?’

The Bibbys had appeared. They didn’t queue at the bar, but
made for the table next to ours. Wilson produced a cigar and lit it slowly,
sending clouds of smoke billowing to the ceiling. I caught Marcellus’s eye. He
smiled, as if to say, ‘Don’t look at me, he’s always like this.’

Seeing Karin, Marcellus waved her over, and she arrived with
a pitcher and glasses. He produced a wallet and offered a tip but she shook her
head and hurried away. Wilson drank greedily, licking his lips with relish,
savouring the taste.

Mike had returned with a fresh pitcher.

‘Not drinking with your buddies?’ I said.

‘That big feller, Jonas, may be good company in the gym, but
he’s beginning to get drunk.’

‘
Beginning
to?’

A loud laugh from Wilson made us turn. Marcellus was
smiling, murmuring into his father’s ear. Wilson’s eyes were streaming with
laughter. He lifted a hand to wipe them and accidentally knocked his elbow into
Karin, who was rushing past. She stumbled and the pitcher went flying, showering
purple liquid over him and Marcellus.

Wilson got to his feet. ‘I do apologise, ma’am.’

Karin looked as though she were going to cry. ‘It’s all over
your clothes,’ she wailed. She began to wipe the front of Wilson’s suit.

He took the cloth from her hand, smiling sympathetically. ‘I
can do that, ma’am. Please don’t worry yourself, it was my fault.’

She threw him a look of gratitude before retrieving the
pitcher and slipping away.

Marcellus seemed unfazed, and poured another drink for
Wilson. I noticed he left his own untouched. So someone else was finding Purple
Kiss too sweet. He glanced at the stain on his blue
snowsuit
,
and ran a hand over it to remove the purple stickiness. Our eyes met, and he
grinned. I couldn’t tell what he found amusing: the fact the accident had
happened, or his father’s behaviour towards
Karin.
He
held my gaze briefly, then turned his attention back to his
suit.

Liz leant towards me, her eyes gleaming. ‘I think he fancies
you,
Mags.
’

‘Who? Wilson?’

‘Marcellus.’

‘He does not.’

Her gaze sharpened. ‘I wouldn’t let him near your drink,
though.’
She smiled, nodding eloquently. ‘
Remember
Marcia
Vandenberg?
’

‘Honestly, Liz, I wonder about you sometimes. Do you really
believe that story?’

‘Don’t you?’

I thought through my interactions with Marcellus. ‘I think
Marcellus is a decent man.’

Her smile widened. ‘I rather think that’s what Marcia
thought too.’

I turned away pointedly.

It was quieter now. The Danes were leaving, probably to
continue their drinking in the Excelsior. Mike left us to sit with Jane and the
Ellises. He refilled Jane’s glass, leaning in close, his thigh hard against
hers. I tried to envisage a seduction scene in the gelidity of the Icehotel,
but my imagination failed. I glanced at Liz, wanting to gauge her reaction to
Mike’s sudden change of amour, but her interest was taken elsewhere.