“Twelve.”
“What’s that, around eighteen thousand dollars a year?” he says, setting the glasses on the surface of the coffee table. “In America, for the job you’re doing, that salary would be unsatisfactory. And we have lower taxes, medical plans built in, all that.”
It’s time to get it out of them.
“What are you saying?”
“What we’re saying, Alec, is that we’d like to give you the opportunity to do something about your situation.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You won’t, immediately,” he says, his eyes fixed on the table.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat as he says this and look over at Katharine for some indication of what is going on. Her face is entirely inscrutable. There is an atmosphere of very carefully chosen words. I hear the first swallowing glugs of wine as Fortner starts to fill the glasses. He twists the bottle to catch any drips, his hand as steady as a flat sea. There’s just the rustle of clothing and distant traffic sounds as Fortner sits down. Each of us takes a glass from the table, sipping, registering the taste.
Fortner breathes in the bouquet and says, “We have something, we both have something we want to discuss with you.”
I do not answer. The rush of expectation in me is so great that I don’t want to risk anything on a few ill- chosen remarks. Better to react precisely to what he has to say, to let them do all the talking.
“How would you feel about coming over to our side?”
There’s no liveliness in Fortner’s face as he asks this, no widening of the eyes. He merely lets the question drift out of him with an uninflected stillness.
“What, you mean work for Andromeda?”
“Not exactly, no.”
I don’t have to look over at Katharine to know that she is watching me.
“How, then?”
“We want you to help us.”
His words are phrased with care to ensure an ambiguity.
“To help you?”
“Yes.”
I hold the pause longer than is necessary. What Fortner is asking is very plain to anyone who works in our business, but he has couched it in such a way that if I object, neither of them will be culpable. As if to confirm this, Fortner takes a very relaxed draw on his wine as he waits for my response, pausing to look at me only briefly. He’s been here before.
I look across at Katharine, more out of nervousness than anything else, and I am surprised to see that she looks almost ashamed at what Fortner has suggested. She is blinking constantly and massaging the back of her neck.
“I don’t understand,” is all I can think to say. There’s been a delay in the room like the disappearing echo of a long-distance phone call.
“It’s quite simple. Would you like to help us?”
“You mean hand over information about what Abnex is doing? For money?”
He has made me say it, just as they said he would. I was the one who put it in concrete terms.
“That is correct.”
“Kathy, do you know about this?”
“Of course. It occurred to us that you would be amenable.”
At this, Fortner looks over at her quickly. It wasn’t the right thing to say. She changes tack.
“That it would suit you. And us.”
I take a sip of wine. My hand is shaking so violently that I can barely hold the glass.
“You’ll obviously need some time to think it over,” Fortner says, like a doctor who has just diagnosed a cancer. He is funneling any anxiety into the red plastic top of the wine bottle, turning it this way and that in his thick fingers. He has gradually molded the plastic cone into the shape of a toadstool, twirling the stem between the thumb and index finger of his left hand.
I know that at first I must appear to be offended.
“So our whole friendship has been based on the possibility that this might happen?”
“Alec, don’t…” says Katharine, but I interrupt her.
“You’ve pretended to be something that you’re not.”
“You’re bound to be a little shocked at first,” Fortner says very flatly. He’s absolutely certain that I’ll come over. It’s just a matter of time.
“How long have you been planning to ask me?”
“For some time now,” Katharine replies, running her hands down her thighs so that the material of her dress stretches out.
“How long?”
“Four or five months,” she says.
“Four or five months! That’s practically when we met.”
“Come on, Alec. We were first introduced before that.”
“Yes. And you cultivated the friendship because you knew that this might happen.”
“Now hold on there,” says Fortner. “We just want a little help, that’s all, and we’re prepared to pay you handsomely for that.”
This is smart: bring it back to the money. It’s fascinating to see how Fortner operates. He wants to take my mind away from ethical considerations and just let me visualize the cash.
“How much?”
“We’ll come to that in good time. There’s a lot we need to discuss first.”
“I’m not even sure about this. I’ll need time to think it over.”
“Of course.”
And now it’s my turn to pace. I am up on my feet, walking in random circles around the room, running my hand through my hair, lighting a cigarette.
“I need some air.”
“What?”
Katharine looks up at me, a dying fall of panic in her voice.
“He says he needs some air. Alec, you mustn’t talk to anyone about this. That could get us all in a lot of trouble. Now you understand that, don’t you?”
“I’m not stupid, Fort. I just need to walk around, clear my head.”
“So you’ll be back?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I reply, backing away to the front door. “Maybe.”
20
An hour later, I climb the stairs to their apartment, not two at a time but singly, contemplatively, slowly making my way to the third-floor landing. Fortner is standing in the half-open door, his tie gone, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Our eyes meet for a good long time as I go toward him, my shoulders hung deliberately heavy, hair disheveled by the wind.
“Where d’you get to?” he says quietly, ushering me back inside.
“To Portobello Road. Around.”
Katharine is sitting on the sofa, upright and very still. She looks to have been scolded. Her eyes are heavy, perhaps even with tears. It is as if a mask has been wrenched from her face, and all that is left is a frightened
