فصل 28

28

So this is the kitchen. As you can see, there are spectacular views on three sides over the river and the city itself. To the right you can see Tower Bridge, down there is the London Eye, and on sunny days you can press a button here – is that right, Mrs Halston? – and simply open the roof.

Liv watches as the couple gaze upwards. The man, a businessman in his fifties, wears the kind of spectacles that broadcast his designer individuality. Poker-faced since he arrived, its possible he assumes that any faint expression of enthusiasm might disadvantage him should he decide to make an offer.

But even he cannot hide his surprise at the receding glass ceiling. With a barely audible hum the roof slides back and they gaze up into the infinite blue. Wintry air sinks gently into the kitchen, lifting the top sheets from the pile of paperwork on the table.

Dont think well leave it open too long, eh? The young estate agent, who has not tired of this mechanism in the three viewings so far this morning, shivers theatrically, then watches with barely concealed satisfaction as the roof closes neatly. The woman, petite and Japanese, her neck secured by an intricately knotted scarf, nudges her husband and murmurs something into his ear.

Liv, standing mute by the fridge, finds she is chewing the inside of her cheek. She had known this would never be easy, but she had not realized she would feel quite so uncomfortable, so guilty about these people trailing through, inspecting her belongings with unfeeling, acquisitive eyes.

All the appliances are top of the range and included with the sale, the estate agent says, opening her fridge door.

The oven, in particular, is almost unused, a voice adds, from the doorway. Mo is wearing glittery purple eye-shadow, and her parka over the Comfort Lodge Care Home tunic.

The estate agent is a little startled.

Im Mrs Halstons personal assistant, she says. Youll have to excuse us. Its almost time for her meds.

The estate agent smiles awkwardly, and hurries the couple towards the atrium. Mo pulls Liv to one side. Lets get a coffee, she says.

I need to be here.

No, you dont. This is masochism. Come on, grab your coat.

Its the first time she has seen Mo in days. Liv feels unexpected relief at her presence. She realizes she has craved the vague impression of normality that now comes with a five-foot Goth in purple eye-shadow and a wipe-clean tunic. Her life has become strange and dislocated, fixated on a courtroom with its two duelling barristers, its suggestions and refutations, its wars and looting Kommandants. Her old life and her own routines have been replaced by a kind of house arrest, her new world centred around the water fountain on the second floor of the High Court, the unforgiving bench seats, the judges peculiar habit of stroking his nose before he speaks. The image of her portrait on its stand.

Paul. A million miles away on the claimants bench.

You really okay about selling up? Mo nods in the direction of the house.

Liv opens her mouth to speak, then decides that if she begins to talk about how she really feels shell never stop. Shell be here, burbling and railing, until next Christmas. She wants to tell Mo that there are pieces about the case in the newspapers every day, her name bandied about within them until it has become almost meaningless to see it. The words theft and fairness and crime appear in them all. She wants to tell her that she no longer runs a man had waited outside the block just to spit at her. She wants to tell her the doctor has given her sleeping pills that shes afraid to use. When she explained her situation in his consultation room she wondered if she saw disapproval in his expression too.

Im fine, she says.

Mos eyes narrow.

Really. Its just bricks and mortar, after all. Well, glass and concrete.

I had a flat once, Mo says, still stirring her coffee. The day I sold it, I sat on the floor and cried like a baby.

Livs mug stills halfway to her lips.

I was married. It didnt work out. Mo shrugs. And begins to talk about the weather.

There is something different about Mo. Its not that her manner is evasive exactly, but there is some kind of invisible barrier, a glass wall, between them. Perhaps its my fault, Liv thinks. Ive been so preoccupied with money and the court case that Ive hardly asked anything about Mos life.

You know, I was thinking about Christmas, she begins, after a pause. I was wondering if Ranic wanted to stay over the night before. Selfish reasons, really. She smiles. I thought you two might help me with the food. Ive never actually cooked a Christmas dinner before, and Dad and Caroline are actually pretty good cooks so I dont want to mess it up. She hears herself babbling. I just need something to look forward to, she wants to say. I just want to smile without having to think about which muscles to use.

Mo looks down at her hand. A telephone number in blue biro trawls its way along her left thumb. Yeah. About that —

I know what you said about it being crowded at his place. So if he wants to stay Christmas night too its totally fine. Itll be a nightmare trying to get a taxi home. She forces a bright smile. I think itll be fun. I think — I think we all could do with some fun.

Liv, hes not coming.

What?

Hes not coming. Mo purses her lips.

I dont understand.

When Mo speaks, the words emerge carefully, as if shes considering the ramifications of each one. Ranic is Bosnian. His parents lost everything in the Balkans. Your court case – this shit is real to him. He – he doesnt want to come and celebrate in your house. Im sorry.

Liv stares at her but Mo doesnt even meet her eyes. As Liv waits, she adds, Okay, well, if were doing this — she takes a breath — Im not saying I agree with Ranic but I do sort of think you should hand the painting back too.

What?

Look, I couldnt give a monkeys who it belongs to, but youre going to lose, Liv. Everyone else can see it, even if you cant.

Liv stares at her.

I read the papers. The evidence is stacking up against you. If you keep fighting youre going to lose everything. And for what? Some old blobs of oil on canvas?

I cant just hand her over.

Why the hell not?

Those people dont care about Sophie. They just see pound signs.

For Chrissakes, Liv, its a painting.

Its not just a painting! She was betrayed by everyone around her. She had nobody at the end! And shes — shes all Ive got left.

Mo looks at her steadily. Really? Id like a whole heap of your nothing then.

Their eyes lock, and slide away. A rush of blood prickles around Livs neck.

Mo takes a long breath, leans forward. I get that you have trust issues right now because of the whole Paul thing, but you need to take a step back from it all. And honestly? Its not like theres anyone else around whos going to say this to you.

Well, thanks. Ill remember that the next time Im opening up the morning bundle of hate mail, or showing another stranger around my home.

The look that passes between the two women is unexpectedly cold. It settles into the silence between them. Mos mouth compresses, holding back a burst dam of words.

Right, she says finally. Well, then, I might as well tell you, seeing as this probably couldnt get any more awkward. Im moving out. She leans down and fiddles with her shoe so that her voice emerges, muffled, from near the tabletop. Im going to stay with Ranic. Its not the court case. As you said, me staying at yours was never going to be a long-term thing.

Thats what you want?

I think its best.

Mo takes a last swig of coffee and pushes her cup away. Well. I guess thats it, then.

Right.

Ill head off tomorrow, if thats okay. Ive got a late shift tonight.

Fine. She tries to keep her tone even. Its been — enlightening. She doesnt mean it to sound as sarcastic as it does.

Mo waits just a moment longer before she stands, hauls her jacket on and pulls the strap of her rucksack over her shoulder.

Just a thought, Liv. And I know its not like I even knew him or anything. But you talked so much about him. Heres the thing. I keep wondering what would David have done?

His name hits the silence like a small explosion.

Seriously. If your David had still been alive, and this had all blown up then – all the stuff about the paintings history, where it might have come from, what that girl and her family might have suffered – what do you think he would have done?

Leaving that thought suspended in the still air, Mo turns and walks out of the café.

Sven rings as she leaves the café. His voice is strained. Can you stop by the office?

Its not a great time, Sven. She rubs at her eyes, gazes up at the Glass House. Her hands are still trembling.

Its important. He puts down the phone before she can say anything else.

Liv turns away from her home and heads towards the office. She walks everywhere now, her head down, a hat pulled low over her ears, avoiding the eyes of strangers. Twice on the way she has to wipe tears surreptitiously from the corners of her eyes.

Hows the case going?

Not great, she says. She is irritated by the perfunctory way in which he has summoned her. Her mind still hums with Mos final comment what would David have done?

And then she notices how grey Sven looks, almost hollowed out, and the slightly fixed way in which he is staring at the notepad in front of him. Is everything okay? she says. She has a moment of panic. Please say that Kristen is okay, that the children are all fine.

Liv, I have a problem.

She sits, her bag on her knee.

The Goldstein brothers have pulled out.

What?

Theyve pulled the contract. Because of your case. Simon Goldstein rang me this morning. Theyve been following the newspapers. He says — he says his family lost everything to the Nazis, and he and his brother cant be linked to someone who thinks thats okay.

The world stills around them. She looks up at him. But – but he cant do that. Im not – Im not part of the company, surely?

Youre still an honorary director, Liv, and Davids name is very much part of your defence case. Simon is activating a clause in the small print. By fighting this case against all reasonable evidence, you are apparently bringing the company name into disrepute. I told him it was grossly unreasonable, and he says we can contest it, but he has very deep pockets. I quote You can fight me, Sven, but I will win. Theyre going to ask another team to finish the job.

She is stunned. The Goldstein building had been the apotheosis of Davids lifes work the thing that would commemorate him.

She stares at Svens profile, so resolutely unmoving. He looks as if he has been carved from stone. He and his brother — appear to have very strong views on the issue of restitution.

But – but this isnt fair. We dont even know the whole truth about the painting yet.

Thats not the point.

But we –

Liv, Ive been on this all day. The only way in which they are prepared to continue working with our company is if — he takes a breath — is if the Halston name is no longer associated with it. That would mean you relinquishing your honorary directorship. And a change of name for the company.

She repeats the words silently in her head before she speaks, trying to make sense of them. You want Davids name erased from the practice.

Yes.

She stares at her knees.

Im sorry. I realize this has come as a shock. But it has to us too.

A thought occurs to her. And what would happen to my work with the kids?

He shakes his head. Im sorry.

It is as if the very core of her has frozen. There is a long silence, and when she speaks she does so slowly, her voice unnaturally loud in the silent office. So you all decided that because I dont want to just hand over our painting, the painting David bought legitimately years ago, we must be dishonest somehow. And then you want to erase us from his charity and his business. You erase Davids name from the building he created.

Thats a rather melodramatic way of putting it. For the first time Sven looks awkward. Liv, this is an incredibly difficult situation. But if I side with your case everyone in this company stands to lose their jobs. You know how much we have tied up in the Goldstein building. Solberg Halston cannot survive if they pull out now.

He leans forward over the desk. Billionaire clients are not exactly thick on the ground. And I have to think about our people.

Outside his office someone is saying goodbye. There is a brief burst of laughter. Inside the office the silence is stifling.

So if I handed her over, would they keep Davids name on the building?

Thats something I havent discussed. Possibly.

Possibly. Liv digests this. And if I say no?

Sven taps his pen on the desk.

We will dissolve the company and set up a new one.

And the Goldsteins would go with that.

Its possible, yes.

So it doesnt actually matter what I say. This is basically a courtesy call.

Im sorry, Liv. Its an impossible situation. Im in an impossible situation.

Liv sits there for a moment longer. Then, without a word, she gets up and walks out of Svens office.

It is one in the morning. Liv stares at the ceiling, listening to Mo moving around in the spare room, the zipping of a holdall, the heavy thump as its stacked beside a door. She hears a lavatory flushing, the soft pad of footsteps, then the silence that tells of sleep. She has lain there considering whether to head across the corridor, to try to persuade Mo not to leave, but the words that shuffle themselves in her head refuse to fall into any kind of useful order. She thinks of a half-finished glass building several miles away, the name of whose architect will be buried as deeply as its foundations.

She reaches over and picks up the mobile phone by her bed. She stares at the little screen in the half-light.

There are no new messages.

Loneliness hits her with an almost physical force. The walls around her feel insubstantial, offer no protection against an unfriendly world beyond. This house is not transparent and pure as David had wished its empty spaces are cold and unfeeling, its clean lines knotted with history, its glass surfaces obscured by the tangled entrails of lives.

She tries to quell the waves of vague panic. She thinks about Sophies papers, about a prisoner loaded on to a train. If she shows them to the court, she knows, she might still be able to save the painting for herself.

And if I do, she thinks, Sophie will be on record for ever as a woman who slept with a German, who betrayed her country as well as her husband. And I will be no better than the townspeople who hung her out to dry.

Once it is done, it cannot be undone.