She shook her head when she saw that he was smoking. ‘How many do you smoke a day?’ she asked.
‘A pack. Two, sometimes.’
‘Even though you know the dangers?’
‘Of smoking?’
‘Of course of smoking. Is everything a joke to you, Jack?’
Nightingale blew smoke up at the sky. ‘Everybody dies,’ he said. ‘Life is a zero sum game. The best you can do is to enjoy yourself as you go along.’
‘But smoking shortens your life.’
‘Maybe. But it only takes the years from the end of your life. Not the beginning or the middle.’
Jenny looked at him, confused. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you mean.’
Nightingale took another drag on his cigarette before continuing. ‘Say I live until I’m seventy-five without smoking. And say I die at seventy if I do smoke. I lose five years. But really, Jenny, what am I going to be doing during those five years? Sitting in a bedsit somewhere watching the football, assuming I’ve enough of a pension to be able to afford Sky Sport?’
‘That’s how you envisage your final years, is it? What about grandchildren? What about family?’
Nightingale laughed. ‘To have grandkids I’d need kids and to have kids I’d need a wife or at least a steady girlfriend, and that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen any time soon. Here’s the thing, Jenny. It’s not about how long you live, it’s about enjoying the life you have. And I’m happy smoking.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘Maybe. It’s like my car. My MGB.’
‘The car that you can’t use because the battery’s flat again?’
‘It’s a classic,’ said Nightingale.
‘You keep saying that. But it’s not. It’s an old banger.’
‘It makes me happy. I enjoy driving it. It’s got a history and I like the way it handles.’
‘On the few occasions that it’s actually on the road, you mean?’
‘I’m not saying that your Audi isn’t a great car. But driving your Audi is a totally different experience to being at the wheel of a classic car. You feel connected to the road. You really feel the speed when you’re in the MGB, even though the Audi is faster. Driving it could well shorten my life. There’re no airbags, the seatbelts are crap, the brakes aren’t smart like they are in the Audi, so if I get into a smash I’ll probably come off worst. But does knowing that stop me driving it? No. Because I enjoy it. The pleasure outweighs the risks.’ He held up the cigarette. ‘Smoking makes me feel good. It relaxes me, it helps me concentrate.?.?.’
‘It gives you something to do with your hands.’
‘What?’
‘Everyone knows that cigarettes help people get through awkward social situations.’
‘Jenny, really, I just enjoy smoking.’
Jenny threw her hands in the air. ‘I give up,’ she said. ‘So how did it go with Bob the Builder?’
‘His name’s Chris,’ said Nightingale. ‘He’s going to send me an estimate.’
‘You’re going to get more than one, right?’
‘We’ll see,’ said Nightingale. ‘First thing I’ve got to do is get some cash.’ He tossed his keys to her. ‘Can you lock up? I want to make a call.’
As Jenny went up the steps to the front door, Nightingale took out his mobile phone and called the number of Joshua Wainwright. The American had bought several volumes from the basement library and if Nightingale was going to have any hope of paying the builder he was going to have to sell him quite a few more.
‘Jack, my man, how the hell are you?’ said Wainwright. Nightingale could hear the hum of engines and figured that the American was probably on his Gulfstream jet.
‘All good,’ said Nightingale.
‘How was your Christmas?’
‘Quiet,’ lied Nightingale. He’d spent Christmas Day at Jenny’s parents’ house and the fact that one of the gamekeepers had blown his head off with a shotgun had taken the gloss off the festive season, somewhat.
‘Well, I hope you have one hell of a new year,’ said Wainwright.
‘You too,’ said Nightingale. ‘Where are you?’
‘Cruising at thirty-one thousand feet.’
‘Going anywhere nice?’
‘Private island in the Caribbean, as it happens. You should drop by if you get the chance. There’re some very interesting people on the guest list — a couple of former prime ministers, a vice-president, three Oscar winners. And a couple of Russian billionaires.’
‘I’ll have to take a rain check on that,’ said Nightingale. ‘Hey, the reason I’m calling is to see if I can send you another list of books. We’ve inventoried another couple of hundred.’
‘Sure thing,’ said Wainwright. ‘Look, Jack, how many books do you have in this library of yours?’
‘Thousands,’ said Nightingale. ‘I haven’t counted but there’re a lot.’
‘So why don’t I call in one day and have a look-see? Be easier that way.’
‘Sure,’ said Nightingale. ‘When are you in the UK again?’
‘I’ll be with Richard for two or three days, then I’m heading over to China. I could stop off on the way. I’ll call you and fix up a time.’
‘Perfect,’ said Nightingale. He ended the call as Jenny came back down the steps. ‘Wainwright’s going to come and look at the books for himself. Save us from doing the inventory.’
Jenny shuddered and looked back at the house.
‘Are you okay, kid?’
‘The house is beautiful,’ she said, looking up at the massive chimneys. ‘Like a picture from a box of chocolates. But down in the basement, on your own.?.?.’ She shuddered again. ‘It feels a bit.?.?.’
‘Spooky?’ He laughed. ‘There’s some pretty weird stuff down there, Jenny. The books. The artefacts. God knows what my father was involved with, or what he did down there.’ He put an arm around her. ‘But there’s nothing down there that can hurt you. Or me.’
She shivered. ‘Let’s go.’ She handed him the door keys.
‘I’ll buy you dinner.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said as she walked with him to the Audi. ‘I promised I’d go to the gym with Barbara.’
‘Pilates?’
She pointed a finger at him. ‘Don’t take the piss or you’ll be walking home.’
Nightingale mimed zipping his lips closed as she got into the car. He climbed in next to her. ‘You know, you’re right. I should sell the house. The builder says he might have a buyer. I’ll get him to put out some feelers.’
Jenny started the engine. ‘Probably best,’ she said.
‘Maybe I’ll move to Chelsea,’ he said. ‘I could be your neighbour.’
She flashed him a tight smile. ‘Please don’t,’ she said. ‘We’re having enough trouble with falling property prices as it is.’
15
Two days later Nightingale’s mobile rang while he was sitting down with a plate of chicken tikka masala and pilau rice that he’d picked up from an Indian restaurant in Queensway. The caller had blocked their number so Nightingale hesitated before taking the call.
‘Nightingale?’
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s me.’
Nightingale recognised the voice. Dan Evans. ‘Yeah?’
‘Where are you?’
‘In front of the TV.’
