Two other young women, both wearing the smart company outfit, were working behind desks: one was speaking on the telephone, the other was typing.
I said to the one at the typewriter: 'Is Seri Fulten here, please?'
'Seri isn't coming in today. May I help you?'
'I was supposed to be meeting her here.'
'Are you Peter Sinclair?'
'Yes.'
The girl's expression changed; that subtle shift from formality to recognition. 'Seri left a message for you.' She tore a sheet from a notepad.
'She asked you to call at this address.'
I looked at it but of course it meant nothing to me. 'How do I find this?'
'It's just off the Plaza. Behind the bus station.'
I had crossed the Plaza during my late-night walk, but no longer had any idea how to find it.
'I'll have to go by cab,' I said.
'Would you like me to call one for you?' she said, and lifted the telephone.
While we were waiting for the car to arrive, the girl said: 'Are you a lottery winner?'
'Yes, of course.'
'Seri didn't say.' The girl smiled, hinting at intrigue, then looked down at her work. I went to sit at the glass_topped table.
A man appeared from the inner office, glanced briefly in my direction, then went to the desk Seri had been using the day before. There was something about the office-life quality to the Lotterie that made me uneasy, and I remembered how my doubts had been focused when I was here before. The bright and reassuringly confident image projected by the staff and their sunroundings made me think of cabin crew on aircraft, who attempt to calm nervous passengers with professional blandness. But the Lotterie's product surely did not need to be backed up with reassurances? It was paramount that the treatment was safe, or so it was claimed.
At last the taxi arrived, and I was taken the short distance across the centre of town to the address Seri had left.
Another side street, bleached by sunlight: shops were shuttered, a van waited by the kerb with its engine running, children squatted in shadowed doorways. As the taxi drove away I noticed fresh water was running in the gutters on both sides of the street; a dog limped forward and licked at it, glancing to the side between gulps.
The address was a stout wooden door, leading through a cool corridor to a courtyard. Unclaimed mail was scattered on the floor and large containers of household waste spilled out across the uncut grass. On the far side of the courtyard, in another corridor, was an elevator, and I node up in this to the third floor. Directly opposite was the numbered door I was looking for.
Seri opened the door within a few seconds of my ring.
'Oh, you're here,' she said. 'I was just about to telephone the office.'
'I slept late,' I said. 'I didn't realize there was anything urgent.'
'There isn't . . . come in for a moment.'
I followed her in, any remaining intention of seeing her as a mere employee confounded by this new insight into her. How many lottery winners did she normally invite round to her flat? Today she was wearing a revealing open_neck shirt and a denim skirt, buttoned down the front. She looked as she had done the night before: youthful, attractive, divorced from the image the job gave her. I remembered that feeling of resentment when she left me to meet someone else, and while she closed the door I realized I was hoping the apartment would show no signs of some other man in her life. Inside it was very small: to one side there was a tiny bathroom--through the half-open door I glimpsed antique plumbing and clothes hanging up to dry--and to the other was a cramped living-cum- bedroom, cluttered with hooks, records and furniture.
The bed, a single, was neatly made. The apartment backed on to a main street, and because the windows were open the room was warm and noisy.
'Would you like a drink?' Seri said.
'Yes please.' I had drunk a whole bottle of wine the evening before, and was feeling the worse for it. Another would clear my head . . . but Seri opened a bottle of mineral water and poured two glasses.
'I can't get you a passage,' she said, sitting on the edge of her bed.
'I tried one shipping line, but they won't confirm reservations yet. The earliest I call get you on is next week.'
'Whatever is available,' I said.
There the business side of our meeting came to an end, as far as I knew.
She could have told me this in the office, or left the message with one of the other staff, but clearly that was not all.
I had drunk my mineral water quickly; I liked it. 'Why aren't you at work today?'
'I've taken a couple of days off, and I need the break. I'm thinking of going up into the hills for the day. Would you like to come with me?'
'Is it far?'
'An hour or two, depending on whether the bus breaks down or not. Just a trip. I want to get out of town for a few hours.'
