With his bare feet up on a coffee table piled with exhibition catalogues bought by Anastasia that he couldn’t bring himself to throw away, Samson picked up with her phone where he’d left off when Leila had called the previous afternoon to go through Cedar’s figures. With Jo asleep next door, he wondered if he should feel more discomfort than he did, but he swiftly put the thought out of his mind because there was nothing to be gained from it, and Jo had given him some distance and helped him see things more clearly, particularly with the information about Daniel Misak, the man without a face.
He sipped from a mug of tea and went through the photographs. He found a series taken in Germany when they had both gone to visit Naji Touma, the young boy – now young man – that he had been hired to find among tens of thousands of refugees on the road to northern Europe three years before. The family was struggling with the practicalities of life, as well as with the growing hostility to refugees. Naji’s sisters had been bullied at their school and his mother was experiencing a greater sense of isolation and despair than she had in the Turkish refugee camp. A film of Naji being roughed up had appeared on the Web.
Anastasia was at her best. She found a new apartment for the family and put a bomb under the social workers that were meant to be looking after their welfare. She contacted local refugee associations; liaised with the German officials who had brought Naji to Germany; and eventually made the connections which won Naji a handsome scholarship in Latvia, where the family subsequently moved. There was a photo of them all, Naji, standing between his mother and two sisters, and behind them Samson and Anastasia, who was wearing a determined expression, as though she had just walked from a meeting with the welfare people. The growing distance between Anastasia and him seemed obvious now.
He moved on to the Notes section of the phone, where he found a cache of Anastasia’s most private thoughts about Denis Hisami and himself, which he supposed were either jottings for a journal or a means of working through her options. Full of abbreviations and half-formed sentences, they were obviously not intended for anyone else, and he imagined that, after all this time, she might have forgotten they were there. There was something girlish about them, but also something hard-headed.
D called again. Embarrassing because am with Samson, and had to lie. Once Denis wants something he never lets up … I feel a little like a company he’s taking over … so much more rounded than Samson … he can give everything I want for my career. The good we could do! Real improvement for refugees’ lives. But I love S. for myself. That’s the me part satisfied, not the good part that wants to help people. Leave him when we have so much? Samson’s faults 1. Gambling addiction/ likes risk 2. Remote even when tries not to be. 3) sister, pain in the neck 4) obstinate 5) irresponsible with himself and his money. Qualities – funny, bed wonderful, generous, and he reads and knows a lot, likes food. CAN COOK. Sexy and doesn’t know it. TOUGH. OMG so TOUGH!
There were no dates to any of the entries, but he had an idea when they were made because of occasional references to things they had been doing together – a movie at the British Film Institute; a race meeting at Newmarket, which he knew she’d loathed and about which she’d written: ‘Red-faced English people. All drunk. Horses beautiful’; and a weekend in Prague where they had failed to rekindle the magic of Venice and which came very near the end of their relationship. Anastasia wrote:
He doesn’t understand me, or what I need to do in life. We are like bad teenagers. There is no future with Samson. Denis called. Said he wanted to make a Foundation with me to remember his sister. He already had business plan and structure. When he flew to Lesbos and told me of his plans, I didn’t believe him. Now I do.
Samson noted that she hadn’t told him about Hisami’s visit to Lesbos, but then he wasn’t surprised and had known they were seeing each other, or at least that they were in touch regularly. He moved on to a list, which was evidently Anastasia trying to order the arguments for leaving him.
1 He will be happier without me. 2 No more arguments 3. S. wants children – I don’t 4. Pressure from mother to have grandchildren 5. I cannot be happy in London and he doesn’t want to live anywhere else. 6. I need to follow my career.
There was a postscript.
Must say, I love S. and my heart breaks with all this. We have been through a lot together and he will always be special to me. No one has made me laugh as much or enjoy simple things. He is a GOOD man and I love him!!!
As far as he could recall, this was exactly the way her speech had gone, and almost in the order she’d sketched out. He hadn’t bothered to argue his case because by that time he knew all about Hisami and she was adamant, but he did know, or thought he knew, that she still loved him. He saw that particular softness in her eyes, though she tried to hide it. And, absurdly, he had banked on her coming back to him eventually.
He moved on through the notes, which described the new life she had found in California, with guest lists, possible members of committees, notes from meetings, memos to herself, must-do lists before big occasions, all of which seemed to be events arranged around the new foundation. She was much more organised than Samson had ever imagined. She collected her thoughts before meetings, wrote down ideas for presents, even listed the things she needed to bring up with her new husband. Samson groaned inwardly. It seemed like they were the type of couple who set aside time to go over each other’s schedules. She was right. This was not a life that he could ever have given her. Samson did not possess a diary.
In the later notes, he noticed that Denis was always referred to and signed himself as Hash, and it occurred to Samson to search her emails with just that name. In her inbox he came up with a series of laconic messages from an email address, DH1Spoleto@spoletomix.com, which he assumed came from a private server, though they were notoriously easy to hack. Hisami said nothing of note in them, but then he began to read the emails Anastasia had sent to him and his replies.
Nine months before, she had written from Germany.
I just called. I don’t want you to make this investment, Hash, darling. I think it will turn out badly for you, because you are not allowing yourself to make the judgement with your usual criteria. I don’t get back for another week and by that time I know it will be too late. I love you and I don’t want you to waste your life on an unnecessary fight. You are too big for that. XXXX
In a meeting. We’ll speak in the morning. Don’t get this out of proportion. I send my love. Sleep well. Hash X
Samson was sure that the disagreement was over the investment in TangKi but, frustratingly, there wasn’t any more on this. He combed the later emails and found nothing until some exchanges within the last month.
She wrote:
Up here in the State of Washington, things seem clearer, Hash. I couldn’t say it last night, but I did want to tell you how much I admire you. It’s something people should say to their partner more often. I also wanted to say this – sell your stake and let things be.
Again, a short reply:
It’s a matter of principle. I can’t back off. Anyway, my sweet, with patience and good thinking, I will win.
And then Anastasia showed her mettle:
Hash, accept you are wrong. You need to think about your motives and realise what you stand to lose. I’ve decided to go to Italy from Seattle. Saves time and I know I won’t miss the boat I am hoping to meet. And you can handle that reception without me, right!!!
This was the Anastasia he knew, and he was momentarily pleased to find that this part of her personality – truculent and really difficult – hadn’t been altered by all Hisami’s money. She was as capable of having a row with Hisami as she was with him. Samson was now certain that TangKi was the issue between them. He thought for about five minutes and briefly considered taking a cigarette from the unopened packet that lay beneath the framed photograph of his mother, but her gaze deterred him. She hated smoking and blamed it for her husband’s premature death – that, and the stress of his gambling.
He got up and started for the bedroom, but then had a thought and sat down again with one of his own phones and tapped out an email.
Naji, Hope you and your family are doing well. I need your help urgently. If you call me tomorrow morning early, will explain everything. Can you get into this email – DH1Spoleto@spoletomix.com? I need to see it all. It belongs to Denis Hisami – Samson.
He rose and went into the kitchen where he and Anastasia had spent so many hours cooking, dining and, of course, sparring – part of the fun of dinner for her – and made for the stove. He reached up and with two index fingers pulled away the stainless-steel splash-plate behind the cooker to reveal a tiled surface, a remnant of his old kitchen decoration. Then he levered out a section of four tiles, which came away with some difficulty. Behind it lay the wall safe he had installed when he was gambling and had kept large amounts of cash in the flat. He punched the eight-digit code into the pad and the safe door popped open. He placed Anastasia’s phone inside, on top of some documents he’d gathered while researching Adam Crane.
He paused before returning to the bedroom. Reading the exchanges between Anastasia and her husband had certainly convinced him that they had a close and equal relationship, but it had also put her voice in his thoughts again and it seemed strange to be returning to his bed where another woman lay – a woman he liked and very much wanted to sleep with, but another woman nonetheless. He grimaced to himself, more from irritation at Anastasia’s continued hold over him than actual remorse, and went into the bedroom. He slid in beside the unconscious form of Jo Hayes, who stirred and a few seconds later murmured. ‘What’ve you been up to, Samson?’
‘Doing the crossword,’ he replied.
‘Such a bloody liar,’ she said.