This small print was terribly hard to read but there was no doubt about it. Would he notice if she cut it out of the paper? Possibly, but what could he do about it if he did? Now to find the scissors. Her own might be in the bathroom cabinet or the oven-seldom used, it made a useful cupboard-or somewhere in the bookshelves, but an old woman like him would keep his in a neatly arranged drawer along with such gadgets as potatopeelers and bottle openers. He would be sure to have several of those.
Gwendolen poked about in Mix's kitchen, paying particular attention to the microwave, whose function was a puzzle to her. Did toast come out of it or music? It might even be a very small washing machine. She found the scissors exactly where she thought they would be and cut out the announcement of his wife's death. Downstairs she would be able to study it at leisure with the aid of her magnifying glass.
She was only just in time. As she was descending the bottom flight he let himself in by the front door.
'Good evening, Mr. Cellini.'
'Hiya,' said Mix, thinking about her getting pregnant and going for help to Reggie. 'How are you doing? All right?'
When he phoned the spa the girl called Danila told him Madam Shoshana agreed to his servicing the machines. Perhap she would like to come along some time and bring one of his contracts with him. Mix concocted on his computer a contract with
Instead of being modified by the passage of time, his fear increased as the days went by. He had never seen the figure on the stairs again, though he fancied sometimes that he heard noises that shouldn't have been there, footsteps in the long passage, a curious rustling sound like someone taking crushed paper out of bags or stuffing it into them, once a strain of music, though that might have come from the street. By night he had to screw up his courage in order to let himself in. And those stairs he had always hated were worse.
Reaching St. Blaise House, he forced himself to put his key into the lock and enter the hall, the dim light coming on. Try not to think about it, he told himself as he began to mount, think about Nerissa and about getting fit, the way she'd like you to be-why not get yourself an exercise bike? Fiterama will let you have it at cost. Go for walks, lift weights. He was always telling clients what marvelous physical benefit they'd get from using the machines. Tell yourself, he thought. And try to be glad about these stairs. Going up them is good exercise too.
Like a kind of therapy, this worked until he came to the landing below the tiled flight. Feeble light, filtered through tree branches and foliage and the grime on the glass, seeped through the Isabella window and touched him with spots ofcolor as he walked up. It lay on the top floor like a pattern donein smudged chalks and quite still on this windless night. Two long black passages stretched away from the landing, emptyand silent, all the doors closed. He switched on the light once more, staring fearfully down the left-hand passage as the cat appeared from out of a door which came open and closed of its own accord. He saw its green eyes glinting as it walked in unconcerned fashion toward him, hissed as it passed him and made for the stairs.
Who or what had opened the door? He plunged into his flat, fumbling for the lightswitch but at last turning it on. The sudden brightness made him let out his breath in a long, relieved sigh. He'd heard of cats learning to open doors, though these in the flat had knobs, not handles. It might be different out there. Going to look was out of the question. The door in question must have a handle, and Otto, who was clever if evil, had learned to stand on his hind legs and apply to it the pressure of his clawy paw. Who had closed it? Doors close of their own accord, he told himself. It happens all the time.
A cheerful film on television, a not-so-old Hollywood musical, a mug of hot chocolate with a drop of whiskey in it, and three Maryland cookies finished the job of reassurance. Still, once he started on his fitness regimen, all that sort of eating and drinking would have to stop. It was warm in the flat but not too hot, 27 degrees. That was the kind of temperature he liked. Warmth, sweet filling food, a thick soft mattress, lazing around, doing nothing-why were all the nice things bad for you?
The cat and its eyes were banished for the duration of the musical. Above his head, outside his front door, he could hear no sound, and when the television was off the silence was disturbed only by the sighing of traffic on the Westway. He feltbetter. He congratulated himself on his-what was the word?-resilience. But in bed, with the bedside lamp off, he thought ofthe cat and the door again and, although there could be nothingto see, kept his eyes shut against the darkness.
Chapter 6
The next morning he woke up to awareness that he had been frightened the night before and for a moment he had to think why. But fear and the memory of fear began to fade when he saw the sunshine and heard children playing in the garden next door to the guinea fowl man. Otto must have opened the door himself and it must have shut behind him of its own volition. He got up, had a shower and, telling himself it was a good start to a workout program, set off for a walk. But before starting he went rather cautiously along the passage toward the door of the room the cat must have come out of. Sure enough, the doors down here had handles. He left, unreasonably relieved, more as if he'd just had a wonderful piece of news instead of only finding out what he already knew was true.
Now for a walk. Blow the cobwebs away in more senses than one, let unlight and energy into his life. There was a big Catholic church near the convent and, about to march on pastit, he stopped for a moment to watch the people going in to mass. A lot of people, more than he'd have thought likely. A kind of regret came into his mind and a wistfulness. Those people wouldn't have his problems, his doubts and fears. They had their religion, they had something to turn to, something or someone to bring them comfort. If they saw a ghost or heard footsteps and doors closing, they'd call out the name of their god or utter the appropriate curse. In stories, that usually worked. He had had religion when he was small and his grandmother was alive to take him to church. But that was long ago and it was all gone now. He'd not thought about it since and didn't believe in any of it. If he went in there and along with them asked someone up in the sky for help, he'd feel such a fool, he'd be embarrassed. Much the same went for asking their vicar-their priest? Mix couldn't imagine how he'd explain to the man or what the man would answer. It was beyond him.
On Monday and Tuesday he was busy at work and for once was relieved he had work to do. There was a new treadmill coming to a ground-floor flat in Bayswater that he had to set up and demonstrate. Half a dozen steps on that and he was breathless, in spite of his walks. Then all the calls for help with brokendown equipment to answer, e-mails, complaining or demanding. On the second evening he managed a visit to Shoshana's Spa and Health Club, where he told Danila he was making a survey and a servicing plan. This was to put her off the scent. Because he was really looking for Nerissa. He was on the point of asking Danila about her, which were her days for coming to the club, was she a regular visitor, that kind of thing, but he decided it would sound funny. It would sound as if his contracting to look after the club's machines was no more than a ploy to meet the famous model-as indeed it was. He handed over acopy of his contract and left.
On Wednesday evening he went to the Coronet cinema with Ed and Steph and afterward to the Sun in Splendour for a drink. When the men each had a gin and tonic in front of them and Steph a vodka and blackcurrant, he asked her what he'dbeen planning, in fact rehearsing, saying to her all day. The elaborate, hedging-of-bets, covert way of asking a simple questiongot lost and he came out with a few simple words.
'Do you believe in ghosts, Steph?'
She didn't laugh or scoff. 'There's more things in heaven and earth… ' she began but couldn't remember the rest. 'I think, like, if there's been an awful thing like a murder in aplace, the dead person or the killer-well, they may come backand revisit the scene of the crime. It's their energy,' she wenton vaguely, 'it kind of hangs around and makes the person well,
Just what he thought. He was going to ask her about the mysterious opening and shutting of that door, but
