Sashahung on tight to the tiles.From here, the canyon opened out ontomiles of rolling sage-scrub hills, green and ochre in the sun.Beyond their furthest reach there was a sapphire haze.“Wow.Isthat the Pacific?”
“Yes.Finish telling me your job.You work in immigration,but...”
“With it, not in it.I'm an interpreter, an advocate.I helprefugees enter Britain—legally, although...”Although I didn't get there myself that way.Sasha bit the confession back.It didn't matterany more.With Laurie's help and kindly John Kucharski's, he'dfound his path to the right side.“Anyway.I'm not borderpatrol.”
“Good.As well as the view, you can see down through all thegardens from here, and right into the street.This corner here iswhere I come into yours, and if you look down there to theright...”
“No.Don't tell me.”An old excitement stirred in Sasha's gut.Yes, he'd been prey in an alien land.He'd also had the freedom ofit—all its empty warehouses, derelict flats.Back streets andallotments where he had worked out a trail for himself, back andforth, unseen.“I bet it's that gap there, where the neighbour'swall makes that tight angle with the one leading down from thatroof.And then...Beyond that, you come in through those bushes,across the top of the garage.”
Mateo shifted uneasily.Then he gave a rich cackle of delight.“Dios mío!Youareun mojado.”
“A wet...Oh, a wetback?I'm bloody not, you know.You shouldhave seen the paperwork I had to fill in to get here.And that waswith all the help I got from Laurie's job.”
“Is that his name?Laurie?”
“Yes.”
“It is very beautiful.”
It was.To Sasha it was the most beautiful name in the world, and he wasinstantly sorry he'd revealed it.He didn't understand Laurie'sfears, the nature of that shark in the pool, but he owed himdiscretion.“None of this explains why you thought I was locked uphere like Rapunzel in her tower.”
“Look at the street.You see that car, the silver Camry?It'salways there—that, or one other, a black Altima.”
“Well, they live here, probably.”
“There's always somebody behind the wheel.”
Sashanarrowed his eyes against the sun.Yes—he could see a faint outlinein the driver's seat.“Private detectives?”he suggesteduncertainly.“I might have been watching too much daytime TV, butdon't they stake out people's houses in divorce cases?”
“You notice a lot when you don't want to be noticed.I thoughtthey were after me, but these ones always park so they can watchthe front door of your house.”
Insanepossibilities danced through Sasha's mind.Laurie, in the grip ofhis Hollywood fever, had somehow witnessed—hidden camera?—Sasha'sfirst encounter with Mateo, and was filing for divorce.Sashagrinned at his own stupidity.“Okay.That's weird, I admit.Butwhatever they're here for, it can't be me.Laurie's the superstar,not...”
He shut up.What was the matter with him today?Tiredness,maybe, a hangover from a broken night—even after Laurie's long,sweet ploughing of his flesh, Sasha had known he would dream, andone advantage of this massive house was a basement bedroom to whichhe could decamp and wake up howling in peace.Oh, it half-killedhim to put himself beyond Laurie's reach, but he'd seen thehelpless worry in his lover's eyes, the questions, the fear thatfive thousand miles andno more Londonrainhad not been enough...
“Your boyfriend is Laurie Fitzroy.Devlin in the newBlood Moonmovie.”
Shit.“Yes, but he doesn't likepeople to know.I shouldn't have said—”
“Calm down.I have picked leaves out of pools for manysuperstars.Besides, I am in a tree talking to you, not DevlinfromBlood Moon.”
“Which you shouldn't be.Look, this is crazy—your guys in thecars down there are doing something else.”
“What do they do when you leave the house?”
I haven’t gone out yet.Suddenly thatwas too pitiful an admission.“Nothing.Forget them.I'm glad youcame back, because I wanted to talk to you about somethingimportant.Can you stay for a few minutes more?”
“I...I think so, yes.”
“Good.And can we have the conversation by the pool, not up ajacaranda?What sort of coffee do you like?”
The boycoloured deeply.“No.My people—the staff and the gardeners here—wehave our own lives.We do well, and we don't...”He struggled forthe words.“We don't look down on ourselves.But we don't sit atpoolsides with—”
“Nonsense,” Sasha interrupted him mildly.“Don't give me any ofthismy peoplestuff—you have no idea who you're talking to.I know I have tokeep you hidden, and chuck you out before Mrs Alvarez arrives, butfor now you're my visitor.My guest.”
Nevertheless Sasha keyed and thumbprinted himself back indoorsand crept into his kitchen like a thief.Just blackwas how Mateo liked hiscoffee, but the Gaggia didn't seem to have that modest setting, andbesides would raise the roof with its hissing and clatter.Oncemore Sasha cracked out the instant.Defiantly he added to the traya plateful of the biscuits he'd sneaked undeclared into the US,certain that Laurie would get peckish around midnight and thatnothing else would do.He tucked his laptop and notebook under hisarm and awkwardly made his way back out.Mateo, perched on the edgeof the stone bench, smiled upon his homely offerings and lookedmore at ease than if Sasha had whisked out with cocktails andolives.“Rich tea biscuits on a little plate...You really areEnglish, aren't you?”
“No.I told you—part Romanian.”Sasha put the tray down on thebench between them.“Not even fully a citizen there.I was—am—froma Roma community, what many people in the West call gypsies.Sowhen I entered Britain, I learned very quickly what it meant to bean immigrant.”
