that hospital. Anyone nosing around, journalists or anyone, I want people in their faces, I want to know exactly what they’re doing there. We need this damned story closed down before it gets out of hand. You hear me?’
‘Yes, boss. I hear you.’
I
The Island was boisterous and crowded, all the tables taken, the barstools too, with several more people milling around just inside the door, waiting to be seated. The moustached head waiter flinched a little when he saw Gaille and Knox arrive, as though this level of success was too much for him. He looked around, perhaps hoping that some miracle would create space for another table, but there seemed little chance of that. Apart from anything else, it was an awkward shape for a restaurant, all arches and alcoves and sharp corners, and every possible square inch was already pressed into service, the diners packed so close together that the larger ones had their table-edges jammed into their midriffs.
‘Here!’ yelled Nico, getting to his feet in the farcorner, enthusiastically waving them over. They sucked in their stomachs and wended between tables to an alcove that allowed Nico a bench-seat all to himself. ‘Wine?’ he asked, holding up a half-empty carafe.
‘Please,’ said Gaille.
‘Not for me,’ said Knox.
‘I took the liberty of ordering,’ said Nico, slopping the resinous yellow wine into all three glasses, despite Knox’s answer. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’ He put a hand upon his stomach, as if it were days since he’d last eaten.
‘I’m sure you know what’s best.’
‘I’ve taken another liberty too.’ He reached into his jacket pocket, produced some stapled sheets. ‘Augustin’s speech,’ he said, passing them to Knox, the white paper smeared with sticky fingerprints. ‘In case you should want to read it through later.’
‘Thanks,’ said Knox, folding the pages away. ‘That’s very thoughtful.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ His gaze slid past Knox; his face lit up. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘What perfect timing.’ A waiter and a waitress cleared space upon their table, then began setting down brushed steel platters of succulent seafood, baskets of warm crusty bread and a palette of dips and side-dishes. Nico rested his fingertips upon the edge of the table for a few moments, like a priest about to give a blessing, then reached with surprising grace for thefried taramasalata, scooping a good third of it straight onto his plate, garnishing it with three grilled king prawns, their blackened pink skins glistening with garlic-butter glaze. He picked one up, bit straight through its crisp shell, his lips glossing with juices. ‘We have the best seafood in the world here in Greece,’ he declared grandly. ‘You know our secret?’
‘What?’
‘Salt!’ he exulted, waving his hand. ‘The Mediterranean is like a great marinade of salt, preparing these fish all their lives for our tables. And still there are people who don’t believe in God!’
Knox smiled. ‘Just a shame we’re not supposed to eat salt any more.’
‘Speak for yourself, my dear boy. Speak for yourself. The great privilege of a condition like mine is that you no longer have to worry about such things.’
‘Condition?’ asked Gaille. ‘What condition?’
‘Forgive me,’ frowned Nico. ‘I assumed you knew. Everyone does. It’s hardly a secret. My heart, you see. Too many steroids as a youth. I was a weight-lifter. A good one, though I say so myself. I had the physique, of course: more wide than tall. Not quite as wide as I am now, admittedly. Useless for football, my other great love, but perfect for weights. We always had weights around the house.A family tradition. I started lifting before I started reading. I was something of a prodigy, if you can be a prodigy at something so prosaic. I made the national squad when I was fifteen. My coach started talking about the Olympics. I began dreaming of medals. I began dreaming of gold . I’d have sold my soul
‘Yes, boss. I hear you.’
I
The Island was boisterous and crowded, all the tables taken, the barstools too, with several more people milling around just inside the door, waiting to be seated. The moustached head waiter flinched a little when he saw Gaille and Knox arrive, as though this level of success was too much for him. He looked around, perhaps hoping that some miracle would create space for another table, but there seemed little chance of that. Apart from anything else, it was an awkward shape for a restaurant, all arches and alcoves and sharp corners, and every possible square inch was already pressed into service, the diners packed so close together that the larger ones had their table-edges jammed into their midriffs.
‘Here!’ yelled Nico, getting to his feet in the farcorner, enthusiastically waving them over. They sucked in their stomachs and wended between tables to an alcove that allowed Nico a bench-seat all to himself. ‘Wine?’ he asked, holding up a half-empty carafe.
‘Please,’ said Gaille.
‘Not for me,’ said Knox.
‘I took the liberty of ordering,’ said Nico, slopping the resinous yellow wine into all three glasses, despite Knox’s answer. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’ He put a hand upon his stomach, as if it were days since he’d last eaten.
‘I’m sure you know what’s best.’
‘I’ve taken another liberty too.’ He reached into his jacket pocket, produced some stapled sheets. ‘Augustin’s speech,’ he said, passing them to Knox, the white paper smeared with sticky fingerprints. ‘In case you should want to read it through later.’
‘Thanks,’ said Knox, folding the pages away. ‘That’s very thoughtful.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ His gaze slid past Knox; his face lit up. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘What perfect timing.’ A waiter and a waitress cleared space upon their table, then began setting down brushed steel platters of succulent seafood, baskets of warm crusty bread and a palette of dips and side-dishes. Nico rested his fingertips upon the edge of the table for a few moments, like a priest about to give a blessing, then reached with surprising grace for thefried taramasalata, scooping a good third of it straight onto his plate, garnishing it with three grilled king prawns, their blackened pink skins glistening with garlic-butter glaze. He picked one up, bit straight through its crisp shell, his lips glossing with juices. ‘We have the best seafood in the world here in Greece,’ he declared grandly. ‘You know our secret?’
‘What?’
‘Salt!’ he exulted, waving his hand. ‘The Mediterranean is like a great marinade of salt, preparing these fish all their lives for our tables. And still there are people who don’t believe in God!’
Knox smiled. ‘Just a shame we’re not supposed to eat salt any more.’
‘Speak for yourself, my dear boy. Speak for yourself. The great privilege of a condition like mine is that you no longer have to worry about such things.’
‘Condition?’ asked Gaille. ‘What condition?’
‘Forgive me,’ frowned Nico. ‘I assumed you knew. Everyone does. It’s hardly a secret. My heart, you see. Too many steroids as a youth. I was a weight-lifter. A good one, though I say so myself. I had the physique, of course: more wide than tall. Not quite as wide as I am now, admittedly. Useless for football, my other great love, but perfect for weights. We always had weights around the house.A family tradition. I started lifting before I started reading. I was something of a prodigy, if you can be a prodigy at something so prosaic. I made the national squad when I was fifteen. My coach started talking about the Olympics. I began dreaming of medals. I began dreaming of gold . I’d have sold my soul
Similar Books
