as I passed him. It’s been many years since I heard that term used. It troubled me: the age of the man who said it, the obsolescence of the insult. It was like stepping back to another time.’
He recovered himself, stretching as though the memory of the insult was a physical thing that he could force from his body.
‘Still, ignorance has no sell-by date. It’s been a while, Mr Parker. It seems that you’ve been busy since last we met. I continue to follow your entertaining career with much interest.’
I had a suspicion that whatever Epstein knew about me, he hadn’t gleaned from the newspapers. Epstein had his own sources, including the senior FBI agent named Ross at the New York field office, a man whose responsibilities included maintaining a file with my name on it, a file that had come into existence following the deaths of my wife and child. A lesser man might have felt paranoid; I just tried to make myself feel wanted instead.
‘I wish that was reassuring to know,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’ve tried to help you here and there, you know that.’
‘Your help has nearly got me killed.’
‘But think of the life-changing experiences that you’ve had as a result.’
‘I’m still trying to avoid the most life-changing one of all: dying.’
‘And making a success of it, I see. Here you are, alive and well. I await the reason why with much curiosity, but first, let us eat. Liat has prepared food for us, I believe.’
And although she could not have heard him, and his back was to her so that she could not read his lips, the woman called Liat emerged from the kitchen at that very moment carrying a tray covered with stuffed cabbage and derma, a selection of sweet and hot peppers, three kinds of knishes, and two bowls of salads. She moved another table close to ours so that we would have space to eat.
‘No fish,’ said Epstein. He tapped a finger to the side of his head. ‘I remember these things.’
‘My friends think I’m phobic,’ I said.
‘We all have our peculiarities. I knew a woman once who would faint if someone sliced a tomato in front of her. I have never been able to discover if there is a medical term for it. The closest I’ve come is “lachanophobia”, which appears to be an irrational fear of vegetables.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I must confess that, on occasion, I have used it as a way to avoid eating broccoli.’
Liat returned with a bottle of Goose Bay Sauvignon Blanc, poured each of us a glass, then a third for herself. She took the glass with her and sat on the counter, her legs crossed before her. She placed on her lap a book, a copy of Norman Maclean’s Young Men and Fire. She did not eat. Neither did she read, although she opened the book before her. She was watching my lips, and I wondered how large a part she was playing in this particular game of Epstein’s.
I tried the wine. It tasted good.
‘Kosher?’ I asked. I couldn’t quite keep the surprise from my voice.
‘You could be forgiven for thinking otherwise as it’s remarkably palatable, but yes: it’s from New Zealand.’
So we ate, and talked of families, and the troubles of the world, and steered scrupulously clear of darker matters until Liat came to clear the table, and coffee was brought with a separate jug of milk for me, and always I was conscious of how she kept her eyes on my lips, all pretense of not watching me now set aside. I noticed that Epstein had turned slightly so that she would be able more easily to see his lips as well as mine.
‘So,’ said Epstein, ‘why are you here?’
‘Brightwell,’ I said.
‘Brightwell is . . . gone,’ Epstein replied, leaving the ambiguity to hang between us; not dead, but ‘gone’. Epstein knew better than anyone the nature of Brightwell.
‘For now?’ I said.
‘Yes. We might have achieved a more permanent solution had you not shot him to death.’
‘It was satisfying nonetheless.’
‘I’m sure that it was. So is hitting a cockroach with your shoe, until it starts to crawl again. But what’s done is done. Why bring him up now?’
So I told him the story that Marielle Vetters had passed on to me, leaving out only the identities of those involved, and any reference to the town in which they lived.
‘An airplane,’ said Epstein, when I was done. ‘I know nothing about any airplane. I