All the Colors of Darkness

“Only, I was feeling guilty,” Gervaise went on. “About dragging you back up here for nothing on the evening of your big dinner party.”

Christ, Banks thought, she wasn’t going to invite them for dinner, was she? “It wasn’t for nothing,” he said. “But that’s all right. Water under the bridge.”

“Only, I know how much trouble this job can cause a couple sometimes, and it must be really hard when you’re just starting out.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Just where on earth was she going with this? Banks had learned that it was sometimes best not to ask too many questions, just to let Gervaise talk her own way around to her point. If you tried to nail her down too soon, she tended to get slippery.

“I hope we didn’t put too much strain on your relationship.”

“Not at all.”

“And how is the lovely Sophia?”

“Thriving, ma’am.”

“Good. Good. Excellent. Well, I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here?”

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“I’ll admit to a touch of mild curiosity.”

“Aha,” said Gervaise. “Ever the wit. Well, seriously . . . er . . . Alan . . .

I’d like to make it up to you. How does that sound?”

Banks swallowed. “Make what up, ma’am?”

“Make up for calling you back, of course. What did you think I was talking about?”

“Thank you,” said Banks, “but that’s not really necessary. Everything’s fine.”

“It could always be better, though, couldn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Right. Well, I’d like you to pick up your holidays where you left off. As of this weekend. A week, shall we say?”

“Next week off ?”

“Yes. DI Cabbot and DS Jackman can handle the East Side Estate business. They’ve got young Harry Potter to help them. He’s coming along quite nicely, I think, don’t you?”

“He’ll be fine,” said Banks. “But—”

Gervaise held up her hand. “But me no buts. Please. I insist. No reason you shouldn’t enjoy the rest of your leave. You’re owed it, after all.”

“I know, ma’am, but—”

Gervaise stood up. “I told you. No buts. Now bugger off and enjoy yourself. That’s an order.”

And with that she walked out of the boardroom and left Banks sitting alone at the long polished table wondering just what the hell was going on.

7

SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

It was hot and crowded in the theater bar at intermission. Banks felt the sweat prickle on his scalp as he stood by the plate-glass window with Sophia looking out at the evening light on the shops across Market Street. A young couple walked by holding hands, a man walking his dachshund stopped to pick up its leavings in a plastic Co-op bag, three girls in miniskirts wearing Mickey Mouse ears and carrying balloons teetered on high heels on their way to a hen night. Banks glanced at Sophia. She was wearing her hair loose tonight, over her shoulders, and its luster framed her oval face, the olive skin and dark eyes showing her Greek heritage. Not for the first time in the past few months he felt like a very lucky man.

“Well,” said Sophia, taking a sip of red wine, “it’s hardly Olivier, is it?”

“What did you expect?”

“The lighting’s good, all that chiaroscuro and whatnot, but I’m not convinced about the whole German Expressionist idea.”

“Me neither,” said Banks. “I keep expecting Nosferatu to jump out from behind one of those big curved screens and f lash his fingernails.”

Sophia laughed. “And I still think those Georgians must have been tiny.”

“With well-padded bums,” Banks added.

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“Lord, they must have looked funny waddling around the place.

Seriously, though, I am enjoying it. It’s a long time since I’ve seen Othello. Come to think of it, it’s a long time since I’ve seen any Shakespeare play onstage. It takes me back to my student days.”

“You studied Shakespeare?”

“Long and hard.”