Tango (31 page)

‘You don’t seem to mind very much,’ she said.

‘I don’t know what I think.’

She went on nervously, as if he had said something quite different. ‘Yes, because it’s not as if you haven’t had your bordello girl to play with.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve been having an affair with her, haven’t you?’ She laughed a short laugh.

‘Not an affair, no.’

‘More fool you.’ She laughed again. ‘I assumed you had.’

‘Is this why you’ve decided to go off with Max?’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with that. In fact, it began . . . well, I don’t want to go through it all but we became aware that we couldn’t live without each other. Neither
of us intended to get involved at the start. It just happened. It was inevitable.’

William wasn’t sure that love affairs were inevitable. People chose them. He would have chosen if he’d been allowed – had chosen, in fact, but had been prevented. He was
tempted to unrighteous anger at her having taken advantage where he couldn’t, but he said nothing.

‘It can’t have come as a great surprise,’ she said. ‘It was obvious we haven’t been getting on for some time.’

‘Haven’t we?’

‘Well, no, not having rows or anything but just not . . . well . . . going anywhere. Our relationship wasn’t progressing.’

William wasn’t sure about the linear view of relationships, either. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘Not that it was ever much anyway.’

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘I don’t think so, do you? We just got along with each other, that was all. It was a habit. We were a habit for each other.’

‘Which is now broken.’

‘Yes.’

They stared. There was an edge of defiance to her tone as if she were prepared for, perhaps even wanted, argument. He felt no jealousy of Max, none whatever. It seemed to have nothing to do with
Max. If it hadn’t been him it would have been another. The essential fact was anterior to all that.

‘You love him?’

‘Oh yes. It’s like nothing I’ve ever known.’

It felt as if he were talking to a born-again Christian. Even the thought of her making love with Max did not move him. It seemed to involve someone wholly other than the Sally he had last made
love with, quite a time ago. Anyway, he had no right to jealousy. He poured the tea. ‘Are you sure you don’t want any?’

‘Yes. I’d better get on with my packing.’

She went back into the bedroom, refolding the blouse. There was a change in the muted tones of the radio. He took his tea into the sitting room and turned up the sound. It was martial music.
When it stopped an announcer slowly read the repeat of an earlier statement. There had been an attempt to overthrow the government but it had failed. The president was safe and the two generals who
had been temporarily imprisoned were free. The conspirators had been arrested by the security police. Investigations were continuing but foreign elements were believed to have been involved. The
president, who would shortly appear on television to make an announcement to the nation, had already issued a statement deploring the attempt, promising a full investigation and retribution
according to the law, and thanking Colonel Herrera for his prompt and loyal action. The music resumed.

Sally stood in the doorway. ‘It hasn’t worked, then?’

William said nothing.

‘Max said it wouldn’t. He said something much bigger would be needed. What’s happened to your friends?’

‘They’ve been arrested.’

‘Will they come and arrest you?’

‘I suppose they will.’

She came closer to him. ‘I don’t like to leave you if you’re going to be arrested.’

‘There’s not much to be done.’

‘No, but I do care about you. I love Max but I care for you.’

‘Perhaps I should go into hiding.’

‘I hope you’ll go on caring for me.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be friends.’

‘No, there isn’t.’

‘You do mean that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

He watched her go back into the bedroom. It was probably as well she was running away with Max; he would be able to protect her or get her out. She came back with a suitcase and her raincoat,
looking smart and lively, just as whenever they had set off anywhere new together.

‘I booked a taxi,’ she said. ‘It should be down there by now.’ She put the suitcase by the door and turned to face him. The raincoat was folded like the blouse over her
clasped hands. ‘I’m glad you came back in time for me to tell you. Otherwise I was going to have to leave a note and that would have seemed so unfriendly.’

‘Yes, it would.’ He felt as if he were floating.

‘Thank you for being so sweet about it.’

‘That’s all right.’

‘You will look after yourself, won’t you? Try not to get arrested.’

‘Okay.’

‘And we will stay friends, won’t we?’

‘Of course.’

She picked up the suitcase and smiled. ‘Don’t look so sad. You make me feel awful.’

‘I’m all right.’

‘Poor William. It’s not been a very good day for you, has it?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s all right.’

‘Take care.’

It was an expression she had adopted since working at the American school. He nodded. ‘And you.’

‘ ’Bye.’

‘Cheerio.’

He did not know how long he stood there after the door had closed. The music on the radio continued until the announcer made an identical announcement. William noticed that his teacup was empty.
The more that happened, the less he felt. There was a growing blankness which stilled mental and emotional responses. The longer he stood the more likely it seemed that the blankness would envelop
his physical responses as well. That would be an interesting phenomenon: for how long could one remain simply standing? Days and nights, presumably. Weeks in some cases, the sort that got into the
Guinness Book of Records.

When he did move it was in a determined stupor. He thought of one thing at a time and, when that was done, moved on to the next. He poured more tea, ate six pieces of toast with cheese and
Marmite, changed his shirt, pocketed his passport, cheque-book and cards, collected all the money he could find, polished his shoes. Finally, he turned off the lights and the radio and stood for a
while on the balcony. The trees, moved by the breeze, were now rustling masses of denser dark. Beyond them the sea was a faint uneven line of foam. Beyond that was nothing but dark. He stared at
the spot where
Señor
Finn’s fire used to burn. That was why they had been right to try. It would have worked if Manuel hadn’t liked his driver. He didn’t let
himself imagine what might have happened – be happening – to Theresa and Box.

He left the building on foot. A few people were strolling, muffled against the warm night breeze, but most were no doubt comatose after the feast. Many of the street-lights were not working and
voices, cigar smoke and relaxed rolling laughter floated through the darkness. William walked quickly towards the British Embassy. The leather soles of his polished veldtskoen sounded reassuringly
purposeful. The people he passed did not seem excited. Perhaps they had not seen the news, or perhaps they had become used to this sort of thing. Twice he saw police cars travelling at speed and
once an army lorry lurched round the corner, almost keeling over like a ship. There were distant sirens.

It was difficult to wake the embassy guard. William pressed the big brass bell at the gate for some time, feeling increasingly conspicuous. The guard when he came was querulous and smelled of
alcohol. He told William that the visa office was not open until ten in the morning. William said again that he wished to speak to Mr Nightingale, Mr Feather or the ambassador. The guard repeated
that no visas could be issued until ten. William showed him his passport to prove that he was British and did not require a visa. The guard said he knew someone in the visa office who, for a
consideration, could speed up the process. William demanded to see Mr Nightingale. The guard said it was not possible at night; not even his friend in the visa office could fix that. William became
angry and shouted that he was British.

The guard shrugged and held open the gate. ‘You come with me,
señor.
’

In the reception hall the guard pointed to a telephone and a list of numbers, then shuffled into an office and shut the door.

Of course, the ambassador did not live at the embassy. Nor did Nightingale or Feather. He should have thought of it, but his idea had been to avoid using the telephone. Now he would have to use
it anyway. Nightingale and Feather shared the same home number. Nightingale answered. Yes, he had seen the news. He knew no details but it could have been worse. At least there was no mention of
British involvement though the reference to foreign elements was worrying. They would seek a meeting with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs first thing in the morning in order to stress that,
whatever appeared to be the case, there was no official British connection with the rebels. They could say that with their hands on their hearts. It was the one positive thing about the
privatisation policy. They would also send congratulations to the president. With luck, embarrassment might be averted.

‘What about my friend?’ asked William.

‘Your friend? Oh, the little man, yes.’ He could sense Nightingale’s smile. ‘You think he was arrested, don’t you? Well, that’s all right, then. Nothing we
can do.’

‘But shouldn’t we try to get him out?’

‘Why?’ Nightingale let the word fall like a drop of water.

‘Because he’s British. And there are others, not British but they—’

‘They got themselves into it. They tried to overthrow the government, they broke the law and they got caught. That’s what happened, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘It’s not our job to pull people out of the fire after they’ve jumped into it. We thought it was a bad idea from the start, as you know.’

William was trying not to argue. ‘I’d like you to send a message to London on Arthur’s behalf. I want them to know what’s happened.’

‘It’ll wait until tomorrow, won’t it? Nothing’s going to affect anything now.’

‘But it’s urgent. They ought to know.’

‘They haven’t asked, have they? Not exactly falling over themselves with enthusiasm.’ There was a pause. ‘Have you written it yet?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then. Bring it in in the morning and we’ll have a look.’

William was too angry to continue and, anyway, would have said all the wrong things. Nightingale was right, in a sense. He could see that. But was it enough to be right in that way? Whatever he
had argued, it would have done nothing for Box and Theresa. He would have to use the EE(C).

The wind had got up. It buffeted about the sky, and the polished stars sped between ragged strips of cloud. The roses near the gate – in summer a good show, William remembered – were
tossed wildly against the railings. He thought of the embassy parrot that raised its claw in greeting. What happened to parrots on nights like this?

He had closed the wrought-iron gates behind him and was already across the road in a smaller street when he heard the sirens. The street-lamps were still out and he stood by a dark wall as two
police cars came up the road he had left. They stopped outside the embassy. Several policemen got out and stood looking through the gates until a gust of wind sent their caps spinning along the
road. They chased after them, then huddled together as they sorted out which was whose. After that they got back in their cars and watched.

William moved on up the street, keeping close to the wall and, so far as his eyes would permit in the dark, spying out gates or gaps ahead. His heart beat faster and his legs felt weak but at
least they weren’t trembling, as when he had danced with Theresa that afternoon. Was it really only a few hours before? It seemed another life now. It was surely not coincidence that the
police had arrived when they had. His call to Nightingale must have been monitored. Just as well he was prepared not to go back to the flat.

He did not make straight for the cemetery. That would be too much like running to a hole and hiding in it. He felt he should at least find out what was going on so that he would have more to
report. He walked quickly towards the city centre. The wind sent paper, cardboard boxes, bottles and cans spinning and bouncing through the streets. A sheet of newspaper rose suddenly before him as
high as the roof-tops, hovered, slid back down to the eaves, then shot out of sight like a thing possessed.

He walked more steadily as he neared his shop. He would check that, then the club – not for anything in particular, but just to see. It would be too dangerous to go near the palace and
anyway he would have no hope of getting in. It might be possible, though, to ring Carlos, so long as he kept away from the embassy telephones or his own. There were still sirens and whenever he
heard a vehicle he hid. Once, at a junction, seven or eight army lorries crossed on the red light, their canvas backs flapping in the wind. There were no sounds of gunfire and no people now.
Perhaps a curfew had been announced.

He stopped well down the street from the shop. Three police cars and an army lorry were outside, their red tail-lights making a glow. The shop lights and his own office lights were also on.
Figures moved to and fro. He stood in a doorway, knowing it was foolish to stay. Other police cars could come up the road and see him at any time. He was frightened and fascinated. Door by door, he
edged up the road.

He stopped when he was near enough to hear their voices. The lorry’s engine was ticking over, its diesel throb shaking the vehicle. A policeman was reporting on one of the car radios.
Several soldiers came out of the shop with boxes which they stacked in the lorry. Another soldier shouted to know how much there was, then gathered an armful of empty cardboard boxes and took them
inside. Someone else shouted something indistinct.

William could see that what they were taking was all his office files and paper-work. It was strange to see familiar objects which he had come to regard as his own being handled as if –
well, as if they were someone else’s. Perhaps the same was happening at the flat to his books, records, cutlery, clothes. It showed how independent things were. We did not own them. We had
them on loan, like spouses. He was relieved not to be able to think very much about that. Watching his life being dismantled was a kind of freedom.