Our Kind of Traitor

‘I do.’

But Gail is, he thinks again, glancing at his watch.

* * *

By three o’clock, thanks to a timely train connection in Spiez, Gail had found the house. It wasn’t difficult. She’d asked at the post office: does anyone know a ski teacher called Max, a private instructor, not official Swiss Ski School, parents run a hotel? The large lady at the guichet wasn’t certain so she consulted the thin man at the sorting desk, who thought he knew but for safety’s sake consulted the boy loading parcels into the big yellow trolley, and the answer came back down the line: the Hotel Rossli along the high street on the right- hand side, his sister works there.

The high street was dizzy with unseasonably early sunshine and the mountains either side were shrouded in haze. A family of honey-coloured dogs basked on the pavement or sheltered under shop awnings. Holidaymakers with sticks and sunhats peered into windows of souvenir shops, and on the terrace of the Hotel Rossli a scattering of them sat at tables eating cake and cream and drinking iced coffee through straws out of long glasses.

An overworked red-headed girl in Swiss costume was the only person serving, and when Gail tried to talk to her she told Gail to sit down and wait her turn, so instead of walking straight out again, which would have been her normal reaction, she had meekly sat down, and when the girl came she first ordered a coffee she didn’t want, then asked whether by any chance she was the sister of Max, the great mountain guide, at which the girl broke into a radiant smile and had all the time in the world.

‘Well, not a guide yet, actually, not officially, and great, I don’t know! First he must make the exam, which is rather difficult,’ she said, proud of her English and grateful to practise it. ‘Unfortunately Max began a bit late. Before, he wanted to be an architect but he didn’t like to leave the valley. He’s quite a dreamer actually, but fingers crossed, now he is settled down at last, and next year he will qualify. We hope! Maybe he is in the mountains today. Do you want me to call Barbara?’

‘Barbara?’

‘She’s actually very nice. We say she has completely converted him. It was high time, I must say!’

Bluemli. Max’s sister wrote it down for Gail on a double page torn from her notepad:

‘In Swiss German this means a little flower but it also can mean big flower, because Swiss people like to call anything they are fond of small. The last new chalet on the left side after you pass the school. Barbara’s father built it for them. Actually, I think Max has been very lucky.’

Bluemli was a young couple’s idyll built in spanking-new pine with window boxes with red flowers, red gingham curtains in the windows and a red chimney pot to match, and a hand-carved inscription under the roof in Gothic letters thanking God for his blessings. The front garden was a patch of fresh-mown new lawn with a new swing and a brand-new inflatable paddling pool and a new barbecue, and chopped-up firewood faultlessly stacked beside the seven-dwarfs front door.

If it had been a virtual house instead of a real one, Gail would not have been surprised, but nothing was surprising her. The case had not turned on its head, it had simply become worst case: but not worse than the many cases she had put together on her journey here by train, and was putting together now as she pressed the bell and heard a woman call cheerfully, ‘En Momant bitte, d’Barbara chunt grad!’ which, though she had neither German nor Swiss German, told her that Barbara would be there in a moment. And true to her word Barbara was: a tall, groomed, fit, handsome, thoroughly pleasant woman only a little older than Gail.

‘Gruessech,’ she said and, catching Gail’s apologetic smile, switched a little breathlessly to English: ‘Hello! Can I help you?’

Through the open doorway Gail heard the plaintive grizzle of a baby. She took a breath, and smiled.

‘I hope so. I’m Gail. Are you Barbara?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am!’

‘I’m looking for a tall girl with black hair called Natasha, a Russian girl.’

‘Is she Russian? Well, I didn’t know. Maybe that explains something. Are you a doctor, maybe?’

‘I’m afraid not. Why?’

‘Yes, well, she’s here. I don’t know why. Can you come in, please? I have to look after Anni. She has a first tooth.’

Stepping briskly after her into the house, Gail smelled the sweet, clean smell of powdered baby. A row of felt slippers, with bunny’s ears, hanging from brass hooks, invited her to remove her grubby outdoor shoes. While Barbara waited, Gail pulled on a pair.

‘How long’s she been here?’ Gail asked.

‘One hour already. Maybe more.’

Gail followed her to an airy living room with French doors opening on to a second small garden. At the centre of the room stood a playpen, and in the playpen sat a very small girl with golden ringlets and a dummy in her mouth and an array of brand-new toys around her. And against the wall on a low stool sat Natasha with her head down and her face hidden in her hair, leaning over her folded hands.

‘Natasha?’

Gail kneeled to her and put a hand to the back of her head, cupping it. Natasha winced, then let the hand stay where it was. Gail spoke her name again. To no effect.

‘It was lucky you came, I must say,’ said Barbara in garrulous Swiss sing-song, picking Anni up and putting her over her shoulder to wind her. ‘I was going to call Dr Stettler. Or maybe the police, I didn’t know. It was a problem. Really.’

Gail was stroking Natasha’s hair.

‘She rings the bell, I am feeding Anni, not bottle but the best way. We have a lens in the door now because these days you never know. I looked, I had Anni at my breast, I thought well, fine, that’s a normal girl on my doorstep, quite beautiful actually I must say, she wants to come in, I don’t know why, maybe to make an appointment with Max, he has many clients, specially young, because he is so interesting naturally. So she comes in, she looks, she sees Anni, she asks me in English – I didn’t know she was Russian, one doesn’t think of that although one should these days, I think maybe she is Jewish or Italian – “Are you Max’s sister?” And I say no, I am not his sister, I am Barbara his wife, and who are you please, and how can I help you? I am a busy mother, you can see. Do you wish to make an arrangement with Max, are you a climber? What is your name? And she says she is Natasha, but actually I am beginning to wonder already.’

‘Wonder what?’

Gail pulled up another stool and sat at Natasha’s side. With her arm across her shoulder, she gently drew Natasha’s head in to her until their temples were pressing hard against each other.

‘Well drugs actually. The young today, I mean one simply doesn’t know,’ said Barbara, speaking indignantly like someone twice her age. ‘And frankly with foreigners, specially English, the drugs are everywhere, ask Dr Stettler.’ The baby gave a scream and she calmed it. ‘With Max also, his young ones, my God, even in the mountain huts, they are taking drugs! I mean alcohol I understand. Not cigarettes naturally. I offered her coffee, tea, mineral water. Maybe she didn’t hear me, I don’t know. Maybe she is having a bad trip, as the hippies say. But with the baby frankly one doesn’t like to say it, but I was a little bit afraid even.’

‘But you didn’t call Max?’

‘In the mountains? When he has guests? That would be terrible for him. He would think she was ill, he would come immediately.’

‘He would think Anni was ill?’

‘Well naturally!’ She paused and reconsidered the question, which was not, Gail suspected, a thing she did often. ‘You think Max would come for Natasha? That’s completely ridiculous!’

Taking Natasha’s arm, Gail lifted her gently to her feet, and when she was fully upright, she embraced her, then took her to the front door, helped her change back into her outdoor shoes, changed her own, and walked her across the perfect lawn. As soon as they were through the gate, she called Perry.