They scented warmth and they scented food and they began to climb, twisting their way up the elevator cables. The empty shaft echoed with their twittering and squeaking, and the scratching of their claws on the steel wires. Eventually, they reached the ninth floor, where the doors were wedged open by the gilt settee, and they ran out of the elevator shaft and on to the landing. The upper fire doors had been left open, and they wriggled and pattered up the stairs, sniffing at locked apartment doors and over-running floor after floor.
In three hours, the stairs and landings of Concorde Tower, right up to the roof level, were a scampering mass of ravenous rats.
*
Dr. Petrie was deeply asleep when someone touched his forehead. He stirred, and unconsciously tried to brush the hand away. He had been dreaming about Miami, and he thought he had been eating a picnic lunch on the beach with Prickles and Anton Selmer. He opened his eyes, and found himself in the den of Ivor Glantz’s condominium, lying on the settee now converted into a double bed.
Esmeralda whispered, ‘Sssh.’
He could see her in the gloom, her face pale and sculptured. She was wearing her black curly hair tied back with a ribbon, and she smelled warmly of Arpège.
‘What is it?’ he whispered back.
‘Sssh,’ she repeated.
He looked quickly to one side, and saw that he was now alone in the bed. He had been sleeping with Kenneth Garunisch, while Adelaide and Prickles and Mrs. Garunisch shared the master bed in the main bedroom.
Esmeralda said, ‘Garunisch couldn’t sleep. He’s in the kitchen, having a smoke and reading a book.’
‘He reads books?’ joked Dr. Petrie. ‘You amaze me.’
‘Don’t talk,’ said Esmeralda, laying a finger across his lips. ‘Even walls have ears.’
Without another word, she lifted the bedsheets and climbed in beside him. The bed creaked, and she suppressed a giggle. Then she curled her arms around him, and she was all soft and warm and slithery in her pure silk nightdress.
‘We can’t do this,’ hissed Dr. Petrie, in spite of the fact that his body was all too obviously saying he could.
‘Don’t talk,’ said Esmeralda. ‘Just remember what I’ve been through and give me a chance.’
He sat up, and held her wrists. He could see her moist lips gleaming in the dim light of the den.
‘Esmeralda, we can’t do this.’
‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you?’
‘Sure, but—’
‘But nothing! If you’re a doctor, you know the importance of therapy after a psychological shock. I don’t want love, Leonard, I just need a few moments’ oblivion!’
He didn’t release her wrists. ‘Thanks for the compliment,’ he whispered. ‘Now I’m only good for a few moments’ oblivion!’
‘You know I didn’t mean that.’
‘Well, what did you mean?’
‘I mean that this is an emergency. A medical and psychological and romantic emergency. For Christ’s sake, Leonard, we could all be dead tomorrow. Don’t you believe in final grand gestures?’
‘If I believed in final grand gestures, I’d be lying dead as a door-nail in Miami, Florida.’
‘What’s that got to do with us making love?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, kiss me,’ she said, ‘and I’ll show you.’
He could have resisted. He could have said no. But her long warm thigh moved against his bare leg, and her hand reached down and cupped his tightened balls, and her sexuality washed over him like a wave of drunkenness. He leaned forward and kissed her, and their tongues touched, and their teeth bit.
They didn’t say a word. She pushed him back against the bed, and sat astride him, lifting her glossy silk nightdress around her hips. He reached up and felt her hardened nipples through the slippery material, and she sighed, and kissed his forehead, and raised herself up so that he could socket himself between her thighs. Then she slowly sat down on him, squirming her hips as she did so, so that he felt a massaging warmth rising up him.
The door of the den was still ajar. They knew that anyone could walk in at any moment. But they made love slowly and relished every sensation it brought, until they couldn’t suppress their urgency any more, and they were panting at each other with bright eyes and expressions of something like pain.
Esmeralda twitched and shook violently. Leonard Petrie felt something grip him between the legs, and they both achieved the few moments of oblivion they were looking for. Then they were lying side by side, quiet and wet, and even if it wasn’t a final grand gesture it was at least a kind of temporary therapy for traumatized minds that had been through more emotions and horrors than it was possible to take.
Dr. Petrie kissed her. ‘You’d better go now,’ he said gently. ‘Mr. Garunisch is a fast smoker.’
Esmeralda cuddled him close, and pressed her lips against his side.
Kenneth Garunisch, in blue-striped pyjamas, put his head around the door and said, ‘Hey, you two. Don’t hurry on my account. I’m just going to finish this chapter.’
He was wakened by the sound of a helicopter. He sat up, listening. Esmeralda had long since gone, and Kenneth Garunisch was lying next to him with his face buried in the pillow, snoring. The helicopter noise came and went, as if it was circling around somewhere in the vicinity. He climbed out of bed, tugged on his pants, and went to the window.
At first, he couldn’t see where it was. The noise of the rotors was bounced off buildings in all
