The Angel (21 page)

Chapter Forty-Four

K
halil was in the common space when Isabella emerged from the room. He was in a corner, passing around a joint with a group of two girls and another boy. Isabella dismissed thoughts of Claudette and made her way to the bottles of booze on the table. She watched Khalil in the corner of her eye. He saw her, smiled and disengaged himself from the group and came over to meet her at the table.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Daisy.’

‘You’re new, right?’

‘Yes. The new girl with no friends.’

‘I saw what happened at dinner last night. Don’t worry about Claudette. She’s a bitch. Her friends are, too.’

She saw Claudette emerge from the corridor, still
rubbing her wri
st. She saw that Isabella was talking to Khalil and glared at
her. Isab
ella held her eye for a moment until Claudette looked away.

Khalil noticed the exchange. ‘You and she had an argument?’

‘We just set a few things straight. I don’t like bullies.’

‘Good for you,’ he said. He still had the joint in his hand. He put it to his lips and inhaled deeply. He held the smoke in his lungs for a long moment, tipped back his head and then exhaled toward the ceiling.

He offered it to her.

‘No, thanks.’

‘You don’t?’

‘I used to. Got into trouble. I try not to now.’

He gave a nod as if to say that he understood, carefully extinguished the joint and slid it behind his ear.

‘You know my name?’

‘You’re Khalil,’ she said with what she hoped would be a suitably flirtatious smile.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I asked.’

‘Is that right?’

She disguised her awkwardness by reaching down for a
plastic cu
p.

‘Let me,’ Khalil said, unscrewing a bottle of Grey Goose and pouring out a very generous measure. She set out a second cup and he filled that, too, collected it and made a show of touching it against hers.
‘Santé.’

‘Cheers.’ She put the cup to her lips and drank. The vodka was sharp and acrid, and she had to fight the urge not to wince.

He noticed her discomfort. ‘You don’t drink either?’

‘Not for a while.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Sixteen,’ she lied. Her enrolment forms said that she was
sixteen
. She knew she looked older than fifteen. There was no
reason
why he would suspect unless she gave him reason. She cursed herself for the gaucheness with the drink and, to compensate, said, ‘Fuck it,’ and indicated that he should give her the joint.

He did. Isabella put it to her lips; he took a lighter and flicked flame. She puffed hard until the hashish and tobacco caught light, and then inhaled. The smoke tickled her throat, and she thought she was going to cough. She mastered it, taking instruction from his example, and exhaled. She felt woozy almost at once, and then a little nauseous. It made her feel vulnerable.

Khalil put a hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the table to a quiet corner of the room that had been scattered with pillows and cushions. He sat down, his back to the wall, and
indicated
that she should sit next to him.

‘What do you think of the school?’

‘Haven’t had much of a chance to look around yet.’

‘Where were you before?’

‘Collège Alpin Beau Soleil.’

‘In Villars-sur-Ollon?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Why did you leave?’

She thought of the lie she had told Claudette. She had to double down on it, just in case he spoke to her. ‘It wasn’t my choice.’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘They threw you out?’

‘Something like that.’ She shrugged helplessly and then grinned at him. He laughed. She was pleased. She felt that she was
doing well
.

He pointed at her arm. ‘Nice tattoo.’

‘Thanks.’

He traced the tip of his finger down her arm, across the tattoo, and she let him. ‘Does it mean anything?’

It means I killed a man. It means I pressed a pistol against his chest and pulled the trigger.

‘Not really. Just something I liked the look of.’

He started to talk. She found small talk very difficult, so it was a relief that he was evidently so self-obsessed he could keep up the conversation by himself. She found it all so inconsequential. Khalil regaled her with stories about the things that he had done. She learned that he had just been bought a new BMW as a present for his forthcoming birthday. He told her that his father owned a house on the shore of Lake Geneva and that he was planning on buying a jet ski in the summer. He told her about a skiing trip he was planning for the winter, the nightclubs that he preferred in Paris and London, the places he liked to shop. How was she supposed to pretend to be interested in the pointlessness of his rich, cosseted life? He was vain and egotistical, but she realised that he was telling her all of this because he wanted to impress her.

She nodded and made the appropriate noises to show how she was impressed, and as he reached out and looped his arm over her shoulders, she did not demur. He leaned over to close the distance between them and moved to kiss her. His lips brushed against hers. She smelled alcohol and stale weed on his breath. She pulled away, smiling coyly.

‘What?’ he protested. ‘You don’t like me?’

‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘I don’t know you.’

‘Come on.’

‘We only met tonight.’

‘I thought that was what we were doing. Getting to know each other.’

His hand was still on her shoulder. She reached up and squeezed it. ‘We are.’

‘You have a boyfriend?’

‘No. But I don’t like rushing into things, that’s all.’

‘Fine.’ He took his arm away. Isabella could tell that she had hurt his feelings. She guessed that he was not used to anyone saying no to him, and unless she moved adroitly, she would spoil any chance of developing their relationship so that she could further her objectives.

He started to stand. Isabella put her hand on his shoulder and held it there. ‘Don’t be like that,’ she said.

‘You don’t like me,’ he said haughtily. ‘Fine. Plenty of other girls do. Claudette does.’

She followed his gaze across the room. Claudette was watching them with a look of displeasure on her glossy face.

‘I didn’t say that. I just said I prefer to move more slowly. And my parents are coming to see me tomorrow. Early. I wasn’t going to stay out as late as this tonight. I need to get to sleep.’ He sighed but he relaxed, sitting down again. She reached across and ran a finger down his cheek, feeling his downy hair. ‘You’ve got a birthday party soon, don’t you?’

‘Who told you about that?’

‘People are talking about it,’ she lied.

‘It’s Monday.’

Isabella touched his cheek again and gave him another coquettish smile. ‘I haven’t been invited yet.’

He turned, saw the way she was looking at him, and found his confidence again. ‘You’d come?’

‘It’s at the house on the lake, right? The others told me. They said it was spectacular.’

He grinned. ‘It’s pretty cool.’

‘I’d love to come.’

‘All right.’ He nodded. ‘It’s invitation only. Not everyone is going to be there. But I can get you one.’

She sensed that now was the time to go. She wanted to leave him with the impression that she was a challenge, more difficult than the simpering girls who fawned over him, but a challenge that would be worth the effort. She stood, finished her drink, and then stooped to kiss him on the lips. He arched his back to push his face at her, trying to press his tongue into her mouth, but she withdrew.

‘Give me an invitation,’ she said. ‘And then we’ll see.’

And then, knowing that his eyes were on her body, she walked out of the room and out of the building into the frigid cold of the night beyond.

Chapter Forty-Five

S
he had more lessons the following morning. She took a seat at the back of the room again and made a show of listening, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She had wondered whether she should report her progress to Snow and Kelleher, but she had decided against it. All she had done was make contact with the
target
. The meeting had been encouraging, but there was still a long way for her to go.

There was a small courtyard between the classrooms, and she was gazing out of the window into it when she saw Khalil arrive there. He sat down on a bench, and when he saw that she was
looking
at him, he raised his hand in a friendly wave.

He was still waiting for her twenty minutes later as the class spilled outside.

‘Good morning,’ he said.

‘Hello.’

‘Did you enjoy the party?’

‘It wasn’t bad. What time did it finish?’

‘I think it’s probably still going on.’ He grinned. ‘My father is coming to see me today, so I had to call it quits.’

‘He wouldn’t approve?’

He shuffled a little. ‘Not really.’

Isabella wondered whether she was trespassing on something he was not comfortable discussing. ‘If it’s any consolation, my parents would be the same.’

‘I don’t know, Daisy. Unless you’re going to surprise me, I’d be surprised if your parents were well known in the Muslim
community
.’

She shook her head and made to laugh with him.

‘You still want to come to my party?’

‘Sure.’

He reached into his bag and took out an envelope. It was made from heavy stock. It felt expensive. She opened it and took out a card, similarly creamy and expensive, with an invitation to the party and directions to get to the house by the lake.

‘Keep it to yourself,’ he said with a grin. ‘Like I said, I haven’t invited everyone. Don’t want people to get too jealous.’

‘No. Don’t worry. I will.’

‘And I have to keep it quiet. If my parents found out . . .’

‘They don’t know?’

He laughed. ‘No! There’s no way they’d let me have a party.’

‘They won’t stop it?’

He smirked. ‘They’ll be in Paris. There’s nothing I can do about the staff telling them, but it’ll be too late by then. I’ll get in
trouble
when they get back, but I’m going to make sure it’s worth the
aggravation
.’

They sat quietly for a moment. She had the feeling that he was a little awkward, and when she turned to him, his cheeks were flushed.

‘What are you doing for the rest of the day?’ she asked.

‘Not much. You?’

‘Lessons.’

‘Really?’

‘What? You’re not?’

‘Lessons are kind of voluntary. They only care that your parents pay the bills and that you don’t do anything too depraved. I’m going into Geneva.’ His face lit up as he knew what to say to her. ‘You should come.’

She feigned reluctance. ‘I don’t know—’

‘You said you wanted to get to know me.’

‘I do,’ she said.

‘What are you waiting for, then? Let’s go and have some fun.’

Isabella knew what she should do. The school didn’t matter. The whole purpose of this charade was to win Khalil’s trust and get into his father’s house.

‘Why not?’ she said.

‘You’ll come?’

‘Let’s go.’

He called a taxi. It arrived in ten minutes, pulling into the wide courtyard. Isabella was aware of people watching them as they got into the car, but no one said anything. She saw a teacher that she recognised from the refectory, but he just watched idly and did nothing. The attitude toward attendance seemed to be relaxed.

‘They let us come and go as we please?’

‘Not everyone,’ he said, grinning. ‘Just some of us.’

She pretended to be uncomfortable.

‘Relax, Daisy. You’re with me. All right?’

‘If you say so.’

Khalil told the driver to take them to Geneva and Rue du Mont Blanc and then reclined in the leather seat and looked across the cabin at her. His legs were spread wide and his knee touched up against hers.

‘What do your parents do?’ he asked her.

It was the first thing that he had said that wasn’t all about
him. ‘My
father is a commodities trader. He owns his own
brokerage
.’

‘That’s great,’ he said, making an effort to appear interested, but not doing a very good job. ‘Your mother?’

‘She’s into art.’

‘Really? Wonderful.’ There was an awkward silence, and she realised that this was going to be the extent of his efforts to get to know her. He wasn’t very good at it, she decided. Probably didn’t need to be. A young man in his position, with his father’s wealth and reputation behind him, he would be used to other people doing all the running.

‘You’re not very good at small talk, are you?’

Her good-natured rebuke brought his focus back on her. ‘I’m sorry . . .’ he began, saw that she was joking and then smiled. His teeth were bright white.

They were coming into the city now.

‘Have you been here before?’

‘Never. I’ve only visited the airport.’

‘The shops are great. The Swiss love shopping. It’s practically a national pastime. You’ll have a great time.’

Khalil knew his way around Geneva and seemed keen to show off. They set off walking down the Rue du Mont Blanc to the Pont du Mont Blanc so that they might have a pleasant view of the harbour. They crossed the bridge, and Khalil pointed out the little island on their right.

‘It’s the Île Rousseau. There’s a statue of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Never seen it, but I think it’s there.’

They saw the Jet d’Eau, the famous fountain that shot
140 metre
s into the air, drawing water from the lake. They crossed the bridge and headed through the Place du Molard to the ‘Rues Basses.’ They followed Rue de la Confédération, Rue du Marché and Rue de la Croix d’Or, staying parallel to the lakefront. Khalil turned onto a flight of stairs going up to their right, and after ascending, they arrived in the old town. They visited the Cathedral of St Pierre and climbed the tower for a view of the city.

They could see for miles. It was cold at the top, and Khalil took advantage of the moment to put his arm across Isabella’s shoulders and draw her closer to him.

‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked him.

‘A year. And just for school. My father has places around
the world
.’

‘Where were you before this term?’

‘Qatar. Boring.’

‘I’ve never been.’

‘Don’t bother. You can’t drink, you can’t do anything. Everything’s so new and sterile. Lots of money, but nothing to do with it. I hate it.’

‘Better here?’

‘Here’s okay, but it’s provincial. London, Paris, New York. That’s where I’d rather be.’

‘What does your father do?’

‘Stuff with oil and gas. That’s boring, too. It’s all boring.’ He sighed, as if it were the most tedious subject imaginable. ‘We should go and look at the shops. Sound good?’

‘Sure.’