The Rocket Man (4 page)

He nodded.

‘What do you do there?'

He looked at her, hesitating, as if uncertain what to say. Then he said, quite slowly and deliberately, ‘Actually I am an expert in uranium enrichment.'

‘And have you been at the agency long?'

‘Six months.'

The coffee and cake came. Katie cut a sliver off the corner of her gateau, savouring each mouthful; Gavrilov consumed his quickly, without seeming to notice particularly what he ate. Katie, thinking that he might prove after all to be boring, and moved by some impulse of mischief, said, ‘I was always against nuclear energy myself.'

‘Were you? Good for you.'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Well, somebody has to be against it, ask all the right questions, try to make sure it's as safe as possible. If we had had that kind of pressure at home we might not have had Chernobyl.'

‘So why are you working there? Don't you believe in nuclear power?'

He looked away and then shrugged. ‘Is there an alternative? We can't all be idealists. Some of us have to deal with the realities. You're an idealist, I take it.'

Katie said, ‘I don't know.'

‘Well, what do you believe in?'

She laughed. She thought, what a question. ‘Well… I don't know. God, I suppose.'

‘Do you? I thought so, at the funeral. At one point you started to cross yourself.'

‘I was brought up a Catholic. What about you?'

‘Oh, I don't believe in religion… it's all right for people who want to believe in fairy tales.'

‘There's a lot of psychological truth in fairy tales.'

They looked at one another and both laughed. Immediately the mood changed and lightened. Katie liked the way he smiled; he didn't do it very often, but when he did it changed his whole face. She particularly liked the way the corners of his mouth turned slightly down and his eyes wrinkled. Katie asked, ‘Where do you live? You don't live in the Russian compound now?'

‘No, we live just the same as everyone else. Needless to say many people are unhappy about it, they complain that they are not so well off as they were before… well, that is what we Russians are good at, complaining. I have a flat in the 19th district. Is that far away?'

‘No, we're in the Weinberggasse.'

‘Well, then, I'm just round the corner.'

‘And your family…'

‘I'm on my own. Divorced. No children.'

She thought she detected a note of bitterness in his voice. She would have liked to ask him more, but she didn't feel able to. Instead, she found him asking the inevitable question about the political situation back in Russia.

He sighed, as if he had been asked this question a thousand times. ‘What can I say? Things are terrible. Let me quote you one of your English poets: ‘Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold…'

‘”…Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,”‘ echoed Katie. ‘I know it well,
The Second Coming
. Yeats is one of my favourite poets.'

‘Is he?' asked Gavrilov, studying her face. ‘What else do we have in common, I wonder?'

He lit another cigarette, and then, very casually, he put his free hand right next to hers where it rested on the table. She was not sure if this was deliberate. She let his fingers rest next to her own, instead of taking her hand away; it was like the first act of infidelity. Unthinkingly she looked around, to see if she knew anyone; and then she them. Two figures, a man and a woman, stepping out of the brightness of the street and standing by the entrance. She watched them take off their expensive camel-hair coats, hanging them on the coat-stand just inside the door.

Katie looked away at once. She knew who they were; she didn't want them to see her. She turned to Dmitry and saw him watching her, curious. ‘Somebody you know?'

She pulled a face and saw the woman, striking in a bright red dress, sit at a table not far away, half hidden by a marble column; her husband sat with his back to them. Katie was relieved; they hadn't seen her. She glanced at them once more, just to make sure, and saw the woman do the same; their eyes met; they couldn't now avoid one another. Katie gave a tentative wave, hoping they might leave it at that, but the woman got up, and came across to them, exuding wealth and confidence.

She was a woman of indeterminate race, with thick, black hair wound elegantly into a pleat, honey-coloured skin, and the face of a model, her features fine and taut as a racehorse. When she smiled she was quite bewitching. She held out her hand to Katie; it was covered in gold jewellery. ‘How amazing to find you here. But of course, you live in Vienna, don't you.' Her voice was soft and smooth, with an American accent. She turned around. ‘Wolfie, shall we join them? You don't mind if we join you, do you?'

Katie moved round to make room for them. She introduced everyone; Liliana and Wolf Richter; Dmitry Gavrilov.' Richter sat down heavily. He was in his late forties, perhaps 50, a little overweight. He had a soft look about him, as if he was used to a life of luxury; except that his face was rather hard. He said hello politely, but he didn't look pleased to see either of them; Katie was dismayed. There were few people she felt more uncomfortable with than Wolf Richter and Liliana.

She shot a glance at Dmitry to try to indicate her feelings, to apologise for inflicting this on him, hoping he would realise that they were not her friends, but failed to catch his eye. Richter himself seemed bored. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, looked at his watch. They ordered coffee; Richter's mobile phone went. He was arguing, loudly in German, about a delivery that was late; it was clearly an important deal, he mentioned large sums of money. Dmitry suppressed a little smile.

Liliana was looking at Richter with admiration. ‘Poor Wolf, he can never get away from the phone,' she said. When Richter had finished the conversation Liliana reached over and took Katie's hand. ‘Oh, I do love your ring… did Bob buy it for you? We're only here for a few days, but you must join us for dinner… is Bob here? Look, I bought this dress, let me just show you…' She chattered on, unaware that Katie's faint smile was really a plea for her to stop. In spite of Liliana's babble she could hear that Richter had finally started talking to Dmitry, the conversation had become technical, and Richter's heavy face seemed almost animated. He describing arcs in the air with his hand, making gestures as if to show how things fitted together, drew diagrams on the serviettes. Dmitry's expression was unreadable as he drew on his cigarette. Despairing suddenly of the impossibility of the situation, she got to her feet.

‘I'm sorry,' she said, ‘It's lovely to see you like this, but I have to go… I have to fetch Anna from kindergarten.' In fact this wasn't true; she had asked a friend to collect her today, in case she was delayed at the inquest. But it worked; Liliana kissed both her cheeks and released her. Richter gave her a bored wave.

Gavrilov had also got to his feet. He briefly said goodbye and followed her out into the cold street. She stood there for a moment, confused and uncertain. He asked, ‘Are you getting the tram home? We are going the same way, I think.'

A large red Mercedes coupé was parked across the road. She saw a driver and another man in dark glasses staring down the street. Katie was sure that it was Richter's; for the first time she wondered whether his activities weren't actually criminal. She began to walk hurriedly up the street.

‘Who is this man?' Gavrilov asked suddenly, watching her face intently.

‘His name is Wolf Richter… I don't really know him. Liliana is an old girl-friend of Bob's.'

‘What do you know about him?'

‘Very little. I know he's very rich… I never quite found out why, I think he had money in his own right, not just from Liliana. He's a bit of a playboy… the pair of them spend money like water. I think he's an engineer of some kind isn't he? Bob told me he had his own technical research institute or something…'

He was walking close beside her. ‘Research into what?'

‘I don't know… I really don't. Why?'

‘Have you seen them often?'

‘No, just in Paris, a couple of times… I told you, they're not my kind of people.'

‘When were you in Paris?'

She was suddenly on her guard; something about his questions, casual though he made them, alerted her. She thought he was too interested; these were not the questions of someone interested in the background of someone they have casually met. She wanted not to answer, but this seemed too difficult. ‘In the spring… May, or June, I can't remember…'

‘And you went to his apartment?'

‘Yes, in the Place des Vosges…'

They were standing at the tram stop. A cold wind blew, and she shivered. He moved behind her, putting himself between her and the wind. Katie noticed this gesture, and the thoughtfulness of it, but didn't dare say anything to him. They waited for the tram in silence. She felt horribly confused.

‘How did you meet…?'

At that moment the tram lurched into view. They stepped up into it, punched their tickets, went to sit near the back. Katie looked out of the window at the elegant buildings as they sped along, trying to ignore the disturbing sensation of sitting so close to him. How had they met? It had been in Paris, eighteen months ago. She and Bob had gone there for a long weekend by themselves, the first time they had been away without Anna. Bob said that he wanted to look up an old friend from New York who had married a German living in Paris. They had a flat in the Place des Vosges. Katie hadn't wanted to go, preferring to spend time on her own with Bob, but he had insisted. The flat was very expensive. Richter had opened some champagne. Liliana, appearing in a model dress, had said that it was her birthday. ‘Come down with me,' she said to Katie, ‘Come and see what Wolf has got me for my birthday.'

They went downstairs and across the square, still clutching their glasses of champagne. It had been raining; Liliana tripped across the puddles in which the baroque streetlamps were reflected. She took her to a nearby garage in which there stood a large Rolls-Royce, which the chauffeur was patiently waiting. The Rolls-Royce was pale blue and had Liliana's initials engraved on the doors. Liliana said, ‘Go on; come inside.' The chauffeur opened the doors for them and Liliana instructed him to take them for a drive. She opened a compartment and pulled out a bottle of champagne, then took out a little gold box which she opened carefully, which contained fresh cherries dipped in chocolate. Liliana laughed with delight, like a small child. ‘Look how he spoils me,' she said. ‘When I met Wolf, I decided, this was it. I was always going to marry money, you know. I don't care what anybody says, it is the only thing that matters.'

Katie had thought, what am I doing here. She drank some more champagne and looked out of the window. ‘Did you marry for love?' asked Liliana. Katie looked at her, startled, because she didn't know the answer. No-one had ever asked her this before and it struck her now that to have said ‘Yes' would have sounded false. Katie was not romantic; she thought you married for much more pragmatic reasons. ‘I don't know,' she replied, ‘Perhaps I married because I wanted a child.'

Liliana told her her life story. Her father, Luiz Carneiro de Amaral, had been a wealthy man in Brazil, a coffee baron, living in a huge colonial style house in the very centre of São Paulo. But her father had divorced her mother and they had lived quite modestly. Later, she had regained favour with her father, but before this happened she had resolved to become wealthy in her own right. She had gone to New York; she had been a Penthouse model. This was when she had met Bob. Katie had been somewhat shocked by this, wondering what other hidden aspects of his life there were. Liliana explained that from the moment she had met Wolf, she had been determined to marry him. She hadn't thought she would succeed in this so easily.

They had gone back to the flat. Then they all went out to dinner in an expensive restaurant and later to a nightclub. Katie danced with Bob and then with Wolf himself till she felt absolutely ill and dizzy with exhaustion. They had not returned to their hotel till nearly six in the morning, and slept till midday, both of them waking with terrible headaches. She remembered asking Bob where on earth he had met them and where Richter's money came from. He hadn't seemed to know. She had been miserable; Bob had accused her of never knowing how to enjoy herself. The evening had been the cause of one of their rare and memorable rows.

The tram stopped at the bottom of the Obkirchergasse and they walked up the street together. Gavrilov suddenly asked: ‘Was Lieselotte happy with the verdict?'

‘No, not really, I don't think… she's still not convinced it was suicide, but it's so hard for her to accept…'

Gavrilov stopped suddenly. ‘This is where I live. Do you want to come in for a coffee?'

She stopped too, and stared at him. She knew she ought to say no, but instead she nodded. The flat was in a small modern building, and he took her up to the second floor. She walked into a sparsely furnished room, with just a table and chairs, a bookshelf, and a black leather sofa. On the table were the remains of his breakfast, a pile of papers, and a photograph in a frame. He hurried about, clearing the plate from the table, taking her coat, going into the kitchen and putting on the kettle. Katie didn't know what to say to him.

She walked over to the table. She looked at the photograph, of a woman with two children. He came up behind her. ‘My sister, Olga, and my two nephews, Kolya and Volodya,' he said. Katie picked it up and studied it more closely. His sister had the same eyes and mouth as he did; she was a striking looking woman. The boys looked rather solemn. Katie said, pointing to the youngest, ‘This one looks like you,' and Dmitry immediately looked pleased. ‘Do you think so?' he said. ‘Everybody says so… fortunately neither of them really take after their father.'