Downtime - Marc Platt [9]
‘I said to him, “Let me keep the cards please, because you can’t use them, you know.” And he still kept apologizing. So I told him it was all right. I felt so sorry for him.’
The landlady hugged her tightly. A smell of eau de cologne and cats. ‘What did he look like? Was he well dressed?’
‘How could he be well dressed? He had no money.’
‘But was he wearing sunglasses?’
‘At night?’
‘You poor child. You mustn’t feel sorry for a crook like that.’
‘But I do. I had some loose change in my pocket and I offered him that too. But he said no, I would need that to get home. And I said I only lived round the corner.’
‘Sweetheart!’
‘But he ran off down the hill. And halfway he called back,
“I wouldn’t have used the knife. Honestly.” And then the poor man was gone.’
‘Poor man, indeed! How much did he take?’
‘I don’t know. About fifty pounds.’
‘Fifty! You should have come in to me straight away. Now we must call the police.’
Victoria’s already tense frame tightened. ‘No. Please, no. I don’t want to talk about it over and over.’ The mask finally cracked in a welter of tears.
Mrs Cywynski rocked her gently back and forth in her arms. ‘It’s all done with now, Victoria. Nothing else to worry about. You drink this down and you’ll get a good night’s sleep.’
Through the sobs came a choked tirade. ‘There’s so much sadness in the world. People have so little, they’re so lonely –
no wonder they do such terrible things.’
‘Yes, dear. I know.’
‘Why don’t the people who have power do something? I’d do something.’
‘Once they have power they are reluctant to share it.’ At that remark, Victoria seemed to freeze again. Mrs Cywynski sighed and said, ‘I think I must stay up here for a while. Yes?
No?’
‘But...’
‘No, dear. No arguments, please. I often sleep all night in a chair. The cats usually get to the bed before me.’
Victoria blew her nose and tried to sound composed.
‘Thank you, Mrs Cywynski.’
‘Roxana, dear. There’s no point in having formality among my friends.’
‘Thank you. I’m glad I came here.’
‘I should hope so, too. Now off to bed with you.’ And she pushed her charge gently back to her room. ‘It’ll all seem much better in the morning,’ she said, but something in the ether told her that she was wrong.
Victoria considered her office. From up by the ceiling it took on a completely different aspect. She wondered why she spent so much time on the confining floor when there was so much wasted room higher up.
She watched herself seated at her desk down below, surrounded by schedules and inventories. She seemed to be dozing in the warm sunlight, and if she wasn’t careful, she would knock that stone-cold cup of ‘hot’ chocolate over.
There seemed to be some sort of cord like a silvery umbilical that connected the two of them above and below. It tugged slightly at her, but was not uncomfortable. Strangely, as she floated she thought she could hear her dusty little pot-plant humming to itself.
She slid through the wall just by the cornice, and out into one of the main halls. For a while she floated gently over the cosmopolitan heads of the tourists as they milled around the antiquities below. They didn’t seem to notice her at all.
At this height she could examine the details on the strange deities painted around the upper walls of the Egyptian rooms.
The gods shared Upper Egypt with her. The mortal masses were confined below to the lands of the Lower Nile.
She was about to slip out through a window, when she felt a sharp tug at her stomach. With a snap, she was back in her office, startled and dabbing at the chocolate that had spilled across her desk from the overturned plastic cup.
Messrs St J. R. Byle
192d King’s Road
Thom. K. Leviticcus
Chelsea
London W3
SOLICITORS
COMMISSIONERS FOR OATHS
8th May 1984
Reference: StJRB/TKL/EJ Waterfield
Ms Victoria Waterfield
Thalassa
Billows Drive
Thorpesea
Yorkshire
Dear Ms Waterfield
ESTATE OF THE LATE EDWARD JOSEPH
WATERFIELD
As executors of Mr Waterfield’s estate,