Heritage (42 page)

Everything was going according to plan, he thought. She preferred his company to that of her contemporaries, she obviously found him attractive, so it was time to move on to the next stage.

‘Why don't we skip the coffee today and have an early lunch? There's an excellent place in La Boca where I often dine. It's not fancy, but the food is superb.'

She agreed without hesitation.

He'd deliberately chosen El Pelicano, a small
cantina
by the docks a block or so from the clinic where, during the week, he regularly had lunch. It was not yet midday, the place would be quiet. They knew him well at El Pelicano – the proprietor always made a fuss of him when he arrived. It was his intention to impress her without appearing ostentatious.

‘Claudia!' Marcello bellowed for his wife. He was a big man with a big voice and the several other early diners winced, but Marcello didn't care. ‘Come, come, Claudia, Doctor Pellegrini is here!' And his fat wife waddled in from the kitchen beaming proudly.

‘It is a Saturday, you don't come here on a Saturday, never have you been here on a Saturday,' they both gabbled simultaneously in the hybrid Italian-Spanish they'd adopted thirty years ago upon their arrival.

‘I have brought a special guest,' Klaus said and he introduced Gabriella. ‘Marcello and Claudia Coluzzi,' he said. ‘Good friends and great chefs.'

Marcello roared with delight and escorted them to the Doctor's favourite corner table by the window, where the red-checked curtains were drawn back to display the ever-busy passing parade of dockside workers. Claudia followed, confiding in Gabriella.

‘Such a fine man,' she said. ‘The work he does for the
barrio
…' She flapped her plump hands in the air as if words couldn't express her admiration. ‘He is a dedicated doctor, we are all so grateful …'

‘What is on the menu today that you would especially recommend, Claudia?' Klaus interrupted the woman's flow kindly, but with an apologetic look at Gabriella.

‘Ah yes.' Claudia rattled off several Italian and Spanish dishes, describing every ingredient and method of preparation, while Marcello fetched a bottle of the Doctor's favourite wine.

Gabriella was intrigued. Umberto was well off, Renaldo had told her so. He could have taken her to any number of exclusive restaurants if he'd wished to impress her, but he had chosen El Pelicano, a favourite among the dockside workers, run by a working-class family just like her own.

When they'd ordered their food and the couple had left them, she urged him to tell her about his work at the clinic. She hoped he didn't think she was presumptuous, she said, but she was eager to learn.

He talked at length about the clinic and its purpose in serving the poor. It was easy to sound committed: his work there was enjoyable, as well as being a distraction from the single-minded obsession of Fritz von Halbach.

Gabriella was enthralled. She asked him questions about his background, and he invented a whole scenario, deriving pleasure from the fabrication. His Neapolitan parents had not been wealthy, he told her, and even as an impoverished student at university in Rome, he'd viewed medicine as a ‘calling'. It was an opportunity to serve humanity, he said. He'd practised in major European hospitals, but he'd never been more fulfilled in his work than he was here in Buenos Aires at the Rosario Medical Clinic. He had her in the palm of his hand, he could sense it, and he said everything he knew she wanted to hear.

The food arrived, a huge dish of steaming paella which Claudia ceremoniously placed at the centre of the table, and they gave her a round of applause. She served them individually, setting out side bowls for the mussel and clam shells, and then she fetched a crusty loaf of bread on a wooden cutting board.

When she'd gone, Gabriella cut the bread and they ate, but the arrival of the food had not distracted her from her interest in his career. She asked more questions, encouraging him to talk more.

Klaus obliged, and as he did, he recalled his one-sided conversations with Ruth. He remembered how he had told Ruth about his devotion to the preservation of human life. He hadn't meant it at the time; he'd been distancing himself from Mengele, and she hadn't been paying attention anyway. But it was different now. This was how it should have been. She should have been hanging on his every word, just as Gabriella was. The thought inspired him, and he spoke with passion.

Gabriella was captivated. Umberto's dedication paralleled her own youthful ambition. She had always longed to be a doctor, even when it had seemed an unattainable goal for someone of her background. But she had worked hard, winning a scholarship, and her family had joined the struggle, contributing whatever money they could towards her education. She admired Umberto – he symbolised all that was noble in her chosen profession.

‘Good God, listen to me, I haven't stopped talking,' he said finally. ‘I'm so sorry, Gabriella, I hope I haven't bored you.' He knew that he hadn't.

‘No, no,' she insisted, ‘you're an inspiration, Umberto. And I'm the one who should apologise, I shouldn't have asked all those questions. You've barely touched your food.'

He poured her another glass of wine and tucked into the paella.

She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘One day,' she said, ‘if and when I graduate –'

‘When,' he corrected her, ‘not if.'

‘Yes,' she agreed firmly, ‘when. When I graduate I'd like to do the work that you do. I'd like to practise at a place like the Rosario clinic.'

‘Well, as it happens, I'm dining next week with the director,' Klaus said. The opportunity which suddenly presented itself was irresistible. ‘Doctor von Halbach is a very close friend of mine. Perhaps you'd like to join us?'

‘I'd love to,' she said eagerly.

‘Excellent. Thursday night, I'll pick you up at eight. Are you ready for coffee?'

How simple it had been, he thought. He hadn't intended to ask her out for an evening, not yet: he'd felt he might be rushing her. But the lunch today had changed everything. She was more than attracted to him – she was a young, impressionable woman suffering a severe case of hero-worship. It would be so easy to seduce her. He'd moved on to that stage far sooner than he'd expected to.

Klaus went to Oswaldo's that night. And he took Elizabeta home with him. He'd slept with no-one but Elizabeta since the day he'd met Gabriella. He had trained Elizabeta, or rather she had trained herself. She no longer spoke as they coupled, but she caressed him the way Ruth would have done had she loved him. And she gave herself to him the way Ruth would have given herself, tenderly, deeply, engulfing him. And each time, she departed in silence, leaving him in the dark, alone with his fantasy.

But tonight, the fantasy became blurred. One moment Elizabeta was Ruth, welcoming him into her, the next she was Gabriella, consuming him with her desire. And afterwards, when Elizabeta had gone and he lay in the darkened bedroom, the images of his fantasy became intertwined. He could no longer distinguish between them. Ruth and Gabriella had become one.

Klaus's impatience grew intolerable during the days that followed. He couldn't wait for Thursday. On Thursday they would both be his, and there would be no need for darkness.

 

‘Where are we going?' she asked as she climbed into the car. She'd been waiting for him in the street outside her apartment block, an ugly modern high-rise building, one of a number which jarred among the plazas and parks of Palermo.

It was a sultry night in mid June and she was wearing the lightest evening dress with shoestring straps; she looked very beautiful, he thought. He was delighted to see that her hair was no longer pinned up. Held back from her face with combs, it tumbled down to her shoulders, flaxen gold, just like Ruth's. Soon he would feel it run through his fingers, just as Ruth's had, soft and silken.

‘We're dining at my place,' he said, ‘Fritz will be joining us in about half an hour.' There was probably no need to continue the charade of a meeting with von Halbach, he thought; she had worn her flimsy dress in order to please him, she would be happy to find that they were alone. But he decided it was best to play it safe.

‘Oh.' She was surprised: she'd presumed they'd be going to an upmarket restaurant.

‘I hope you don't mind.'

‘Of course not.' She didn't, but she felt a bit silly in her best evening dress.

 

‘What a glorious apartment.'

‘Yes, it is, isn't it,' he agreed as she wandered about looking at the works of art. ‘I don't own it, of course,' he lied, feeling it wise not to appear too extravagant. ‘The rental is a shocking indulgence, but it's my weakness, I'm afraid. I like beautiful things.' He looked at her meaningfully, but she was too busy examining her surroundings to notice, so he crossed to the bar and poured two glasses of Dom Perignon from the bottle in the ice-bucket. ‘The owner is an art collector. Feel free to have a wander around.'

She peered into the dining room, with its crystal chandelier and huge oak table with seating for twelve, and she walked out onto the stone balcony to look down at Avenida Alvear. It surprised her that Umberto Pellegrini lived in the lap of luxury. Although she knew he was well off, it seemed at odds with his choice of work at the Rosario Medical Clinic. But then, she recalled, at their first meeting he'd struck her as a man of style.

When she stepped back inside, he was waiting for her, a glass in each hand, and he'd placed a tray of tapas on the large coffee table in the centre of the lounge room.

‘To you, Gabriella,' he said, handing her a glass, ‘to you and your career.'

‘Thank you, Umberto.' They clinked and drank.

‘Take a seat, help yourself,' he said, gesturing simultaneously at the sofa and the tapas.

She chose to sit in one of the large leather lounge chairs, which rather disappointed him, and he sat on the sofa opposite her.

‘What's he like?' she asked, ignoring the tapas. ‘Doctor von Halbach,' she added when he looked a little vague.

‘Fritz? He's nice enough. A bit short on humour, but then many Germans are, don't you find?' He smiled, inwardly enjoying the joke; his anticipation was making him feel quite light-headed.

He was behaving rather oddly, she thought. ‘I've heard of him – they say he was very famous in Europe.'

‘Yes, he was a plastic surgeon, hugely successful. The rich and famous flocked to him.' Klaus laughed. ‘I think half of Hollywood's been under his knife.'

She couldn't see the humour herself. ‘How wonderful that someone like Doctor von Halbach would give up everything to practise at a clinic like the Rosario. I'm looking forward to meeting him very much.'

She was truly naive, he decided. ‘Shall we have some music?'

He crossed to the gramophone, and as she put her glass of champagne on the coffee table, she noticed that there were only two side plates set for the tapas.

Carefully, he placed the needle onto the record. There was a little scratching at first …

‘Do you like the Comedian Harmonists?' he asked.

‘Schöne Nacht, du Liebesnacht, o stille mein Verlangen …'

Then the voices sang in perfect harmony, soft and non-intrusive; he'd kept the volume down.

“‘Barcarole”, it's my favourite.'

The sound of the German singers seemed to add insult to injury, and she stood. ‘He's not coming, is he?'

He turned to her. Good, he thought, she'd realised. It was time to end the charade. And she obviously had no qualms; he'd worried that she might be a little nervous to start with, but she appeared perfectly at ease.

‘No, he's not. It's a pity, but he was unable to make it – Fritz is such a busy man – so it's just the two of us.' He smiled as he crossed to her. ‘You'll have to make do with me, I'm afraid.'

‘I see.'

Her eyes met his directly, just the way Ruth's had, and he admired her dignity, he loved her for it.

‘He was never coming, was he?' she asked.

Gabriella was not naive as a rule. Brought up among the tough working class of Buenos Aires, she was street-wise and had been aware of men's desire for her since she was fifteen years old. She'd sensed that Umberto had found her attractive when they'd first met, but since then he'd treated her like the eager young student she was and she'd thought no more about it. Now it seemed he believed they shared a mutual attraction, that his feelings were reciprocated. She was annoyed with herself. How could she have allowed this to happen? How could she have been so foolish?

‘No,' he admitted. ‘I didn't invite Fritz. I didn't feel he was necessary.'

She should have been angry, but she wasn't. She was sorry for him and she felt guilty. It had not been her intention to lead him on.

‘I'm sorry, Umberto …' she began.

‘Sssh,' he said, and she remained very still as he took the combs from her hair. ‘I'm not. I'm not sorry at all.'

He ran his fingers through the flaxen gold; it felt exactly like Ruth's, as he'd known it would. ‘You're very beautiful,' he whispered.

She pitied him as he stood there, so focussed on her hair, running his fingers through it reverently as though in worship. It was embarrassing. The man was more than misguided, he was deluded. He truly believed that she desired him.

‘I'm sorry, Umberto,' she said, ‘really I am.' She wanted to save him from his humiliation, and she stepped back, leaving his hand foolishly poised in the air. ‘But I think you've misunderstood our relationship.'

‘Oh no I haven't, my dear.' All he could see was the slender body, the shape of her breasts through the flimsy fabric of her dress, the fall of golden hair on bare olive skin. ‘I've wanted you from the moment I first saw you.' He wasn't sure if he meant Gabriella or Ruth – again they'd become one to him. ‘And you've known it, haven't you?' He reached out and pulled her to him. ‘You've known it all the time and you've felt the same way.'