“Agreed,” agrees Chris.
63.
From outside, Elizabeth can immediately see that something is wrong. The curtains in Stephen’s study are open. They are always closed. Stephen doesn’t like the glare of the morning sun when he writes.
Her brain makes all the necessary calculations in a second. Has Stephen woken and broken his routine? Is he hurt? Lying on the floor? Alive? Dead?
Or has someone broken in? Someone from her past life? It does happen, even now. She has heard of it happening. Or perhaps someone from the messy present has paid her a visit?
Elizabeth circles to the fire door at the back of Larkin Court. It is impossible to open from the outside without a piece of kit available only to the fire service. Elizabeth opens it and slides inside.
Her feet make no sound on the carpeted hallway, but they would have made no sound on the concrete walkway of an East German detention center. She takes out her keys and coats the Yale key in lip balm. It makes no noise when she inserts it in the lock, and Elizabeth opens the door as quietly as she can. Which is very quietly.
If there is someone in the flat, Elizabeth knows her time may be up. Holding her key ring in the palm of her hand, she slides a different key through each of the gaps in her fist.
Stephen has not collapsed in the hallway; that is news, at least. His study door is open, morning sun streaming in. She feels a momentary shame at the bright dust dancing in the doorway.
“Checkmate,” says a voice from the living room. An Eastern European voice.
“Well, I’m damned,” replies Stephen.
Elizabeth slips her keys back into her bag and opens the living room door. Stephen and Bogdan sit across the chessboard from each other. They both smile to see her.
“Elizabeth, look who it is!” says Stephen, gesturing to Bogdan.
Bogdan has a moment of confusion. “Elizabeth?”
“He calls me that. He gets things wrong.” To Stephen she says, “It’s Marina dear, remember.” This doesn’t feel wonderful, but needs must.
“Like the man said,” agrees Stephen.
Bogdan has risen from his chair and extends his hand toward Elizabeth. “I brought you flowers. Your husband has put them somewhere. I’m not sure where.”
Stephen is examining the endgame on the chessboard. “The bugger got me, Elizabeth. Fair and square.”
Elizabeth looks at her husband, crouched over the board, backtracking moves, clearly delighted with the trap in which he has been caught. Life in the old dog yet, then, thinks Elizabeth, and falls in love again for the thousandth time. She repeats, “It’s Marina, darling.”
“I call you Elizabeth. Is okay,” says Bogdan.
“He fixed the light in my study too, dear,” says Stephen. “We have a marvel on our hands.”
“That’s very kind of you, Bogdan. I’m sorry we’re not as clean as we might be. We don’t get guests, so sometimes—”
Bogdan places his hand on her upper arm. “You have a beautiful home, Elizabeth, and a wonderful husband. I wonder if I can speak to you?”
“Of course, Bogdan,” says Elizabeth.
“I can trust you?” he asks, staring deep into her eyes.
“You can trust me,” she says, her eyes never leaving his.
Bogdan nods. He believes her. “Can we go for a walk? You and I? This evening?”
“This evening?” asks Elizabeth.
“I have something to show you. Is best to wait till dark.”
Elizabeth studies Bogdan. “Something to show me? Any clues?”
