“No.Only a little, anyway.”Sasha had taken a few onlineclasses as soon as he'd learned their destination, puzzling Laurieconsiderably.An immigrant's reflex, he supposed, to grab at thecultural ropes; he had a smattering of courtesies and emergencyvocab for every country he and Laurie had visited.He coughedagain, vertigo sweeping him.“I really won't hurt you.What wereyou doing...¿Qué estàs haciendaaquì?”
“It's okay.I speak English.”The boy padded swiftly across theyard.To Sasha's surprise, he took his arm in a gentle grip andguided him away from the pool.“You're hurt.I thought you weredrowning.”
“No, I'm all right.”Sasha put one hand up to his brow.“I justthink I've bumped my head.”
“Sì.You are bruised.Sit here.”Hehelped Sasha down onto a marble bench in the shade of thebougainvillea.“I get your clothes.You have a towel?”
“No, I...I left it inside.But clothes would be a good idea,yes.”
The boywent to collect his crumpled jeans from the poolside.Sasha watchedhim through a wondering haze of pain.He wasn't a kid, as he'dinitially thought—eighteen or nineteen, probably, which was arelief, considering Sasha's state of undress.He had curling sablehair and a build consistent with a habit of shinning up walls inthe sun—lean but strong, smooth muscles shifting under his tawnyskin.He brought the jeans to the bench and crouched in front ofSasha, examining the bruise.“I must go.You want me to call adoctor?”
“A doctor...No, of course not.I really am fine.I'll let youout through the house.Did you ring to be in when you arrived?I'msorry—I didn't hear.”
Theboy's mouth quirked in an odd, charming smile.“No.I don'tring.”
“Well—next time, do.You don't have to scramble in over thewall.”Sasha felt gingerly at his brow.His fingertips brushedthose of his new friend, who had just been doing the same.Then hetried to recollect himself.He was being naïve, wasn't he?Lauriewouldn't approve, or at least not Laurie as he had been over thelast few weeks.“Look, who are you?How did you get in withoutsetting off the alarms?”
The boyglanced up at him.Sasha had seen that look from the far side ofhis desk in the immigration department—assessing him, sizing him uplike a fox through the undergrowth.Worthy of trust, or only ofskin-saving lies?The brown eyes cleared suddenly, decision made.“I will tell you.First—can I ask you your name?”
“Yes.”It's time we were introduced,since you found me bollock-naked in a pool.“Me llamoSasha.”
“Mateo.Me llamoMateo.I thought you were Latino when I saw you—the colour ofyour skin and hair.I thought...maybe you were stealing a swim inthe pool.”
Sashasnorted.It had almost felt that way.“No.I live here, just.Weonly arrived last night.”
“From where?You sound Eastern European.”
“That's right.I'm part Romanian.But we came from London,Laurie and I.”Once more Sasha drew himself up short.It was niceto be recognised, to have dark eyes meet his and rightly guess hisorigins.No reason to hand over all his details and Laurie's on aplate, though...“You said you'd answer my question.I know thatwall's wired to trigger an alarm.”
“Not in that far corner.Do you see how it angles where thejacaranda grows?No camera covers that part, and the beam can onlyrun in a straight line.”
MaybeSasha was concussed.He found he was more interested than worried.“Why are you telling me burglar's secrets, please?Don't you know Icould call the police?”
“I don’t think you would.Not you.And I'm not aburglar.”
“What, then?”
“I take the leaves out of pools.This house, next door, all thehouses in San Marco where I can.Cristo, he don't like that part.Leaves, insects, grubs—sometimes worse things, that wealthy peopleleave behind after parties.”
“And Cristo is...”
“My brother-in-law.Also your pool-maintenance man, the realone.”
Sashanodded.He was beginning to get the picture.“So he subcontractspart of the job to you.And the reason you come in over the wallis...”
“He isn't supposed to.I know all the walls in this place, allthe gaps in their alarms.Cristo, my brother-in-law—his cousinMiguel worked construction while San Marco was being built, andMiguel's best friend was on the team who installed thesecurity.”
“And the team left a little gap in everyone'sperimeter?”
“Yes, in the places Vicente knew was best.Like that tiny angleof your wall.”Mateo took Sasha's T-shirt and shook it out, givinghim the smallest wicked glimmer when Sasha promptly moved his jeansto cover his lap.“Biffy Clyro?I like them too.You shouldn'tworry, Señor Sasha—Cristo and Miguel and all us others, we don't doharm here.How could we?This is where we live.We just like to dothings our own way.”
Sashaconsidered this.He pulled on his T-shirt when Mateo held it out tohim, then bent to tug on his jeans.He fought not to blush atMateo's proximity, but unwanted warmth stole into the base of histhroat.The denim was damp in patches, its coolness by contrastpleasant on his skin.When he got to his feet to zip up, thedappling shadows revolved around him, and he had to put a hand outto the wall.Yes, his thoughts were still in disarray—he liked theidea of Mateo's network, found a weird satisfaction in knowing thisairtight place had holes.And he was intrigued by the concept ofthis sub-economy, this life going on beneath the palatial housesand pools.“It must be difficult,” he said, sitting down again.“For you, I mean—knowing when to come and go.”
“Sometimes.But soon I learn people's routines.”
He'dsaid it with an odd kind of pride.Sasha smiled, unable to helphimself.When he had been living as a squatter in East Hill, he hadtimed his own daily routines around the comings and goings of thebuilders in the derelict flats.“You're like a London cabbie withthe Knowledge.”
“Cabbie...A cab driver, yes, for London taxis?What knowledge,please?”
