know how ruthless these bastards are. Speak soon.’
The phone clicked and brrrd. Simon thought of his brother.
I made a dog hope you like it.
41
The morning was bright and unutterably dazzling. David was woken by a knock on the door. Another employee, explaining:
‘Mistah Kellerman want you to join him on the terrace.’
David glanced across. He must have fallen asleep again, and the exhausted sleep had been profound: they hadn’t noticed the sun rising behind the flimsy curtains.
He tried not to think about the nightmare as they showered.
But Amy sensed something.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes. Yes of course…Thank God we made it.’
She looked at him.
‘Let’s go and find Eloise.’
They changed into clean clothes, sourced from a wardrobe, then they exited into the corridor. Immediately the assistant appeared, and guided them out onto a sunlit terrace, overlooking the sea.
The wind had dropped. The view was austere but pristine: an entirely empty beach, a couple of small rocky islands in the bay. The barking of distant seals. South and north stretched rocky wilderness, echoing coves and cliffs. Only the hulking metal shape of a diamond mine interrupted the abject desolation, far in the distance.
A table was set up on the terrace. Angus was there, drinking coffee. Kellerman was beside him, dressed in a cream linen suit, and a discreet silk tie.
And Eloise was sitting across the table.
Amy ran over, and hugged the young Cagot girl.
Nathan gestured in David’s direction.
‘Please sit.’
They sat. They talked animatedly with Eloise. She seemed relaxed, even happy. Or at least, not afraid.
Someone served a basket of pastries, and more fresh coffee, freshly squeezed juice, and cold meats and bread. The luxury was sumptuous and startling: like they had just checked into a surprisingly good hotel in Hell.
David and Amy both fell upon the food: instantly realizing how hungry they were. But then David stopped, and paused, and shuddered – and slid the glistening pink ham off his plate back onto the serving dish. He chose more fruit and bread. Not meat. He didn’t want meat.
Kellerman watched them, sipping his coffee from a china cup. Silent and aloof. His slender cellphone resting on the table. David had never seen such an anorexic cellphone.
Angus spoke first: ‘Guys. We’re safe here for the moment. I’ve been talking with Nathan. They won’t dare to come into the Sperrgebiet. Not past the guards.’
‘Are you sure?’
Angus flashed a glance at Nathan. Who nodded, rather casually; he was checking something on his phone.
Angus turned back.
‘So we can relax. For a day or two.’
David nearly laughed, with open and outright contempt, at the word relax.
Relax?
The image of Alphonse was cut into his thoughts, tattooed on his neocortex. A man burnt to cinders, screaming his death agony: Miguel inhaling the scent of the meat. The Cannibalistic Cagot…
He suppressed his shudder and finished breakfast. Bread and fruit and cheese. No meat. They talked about the penguins and the seals on the islands offshore. Eloise said she had found a sandrose on the beach the previous day, a beautiful sandrose.
‘And there are agates too!’
Her enthusiasm was touching, and teenage, and winning, but David couldn’t cope. It was all too much. He just couldn’t make small talk. Just couldn’t. He pushed back his chair, and stretched and apologized – he needed to be alone. Amy looked his way and he tried to smile and failed, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to talk about anything.
David walked across the terrace, down some concrete steps onto the empty beach. A big factory ship was way offshore, beyond the islands. The sands were grey and shining in the hot sun. The coastline, as far as he could see, was lunar in its sterility. The coastline of the Forbidden Zone. Last refuge of the Cagots.
‘Hey?’
He swivelled. It was Angus, joining him.
‘David. You OK?’
A brief and piercing pause.
‘I’m fine.’
The Scotsman’s answering smile was sad, and sceptical. He said nothing. David could bear it no longer. He had to confess; he needed to confess.
‘Angus…do you think it is possible…’ He had to force the words out of himself. ‘That I am a Cagot? Of Cagot decent, at least. I’ve been thinking about my grandfather. His guilt and shame. The only thing that makes sense is…that he was a Cagot too. Maybe he found out at Gurs, like José Garovillo.’
The scientist tilted his head, his pale white face even paler in the harsh Sperrgebiet sun.
‘I had wondered if you would reach that conclusion.’
‘So? What do you think?’
‘To my mind, you do not present any of the obvious Cagot syndromes,