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.She expected resistance, a violent reaction, but she didn’t get it.Instead, Erin turned her face into Annie’s shoulder, grasped hold of her and sobbed her heart out.3JAFF HAD A ONE-BEDROOM FLAT WITH A BALCONY ON Granary Wharf, down by the river Aire and the Leeds-Liverpool Canal.Tracy had never been inside before, but Erin had pointed out the converted warehouse with the restaurant on the ground floor as they had passed by one night.Very chic.People sat at tables on the quayside outside the cafés under umbrellas advertising Campari or Stella Artois, sipping wine and chatting in the softening evening light.Tracy pressed the intercom button next to his name.Jaff answered and sounded pleased to hear that it was she.He buzzed her in and she took the lift to the third floor.Jaff welcomed her at the door and led her into the modest but open space of the living, dining and kitchen area, where light flooded through a window that led to the small balcony.The place was messy, with newspaper sections, magazines, CDs and empty cups and glasses scattered here and there, dirty dishes piled in the sink, and a few old wine or coffee stains on the fitted carpet.The color scheme, shades of blue and green, was a bit too dark and cold for Tracy’s taste.A number of framed photographs stood on a shelf above the television set, which was tuned to the BBC News at Six.A couple of the photos were of Jaff, clearly in exotic places, but there was one of a beautiful woman in a colorful sari.She had golden skin, long glossy black hair, high cheekbones, large eyes, a perfect, straight nose.To Tracy she looked like a model.One of Jaff’s old girlfriends, perhaps?“Sorry about the mess,” Jaff said.“The cleaning lady doesn’t come till Thursday.”Tracy smiled.“No need to apologize to me.It’s not as if I’m exactly the tidiest person in the world.Who’s that beautiful woman in the photograph over there?” she asked.Jaff looked toward the shelf.“That’s my mother,” he said.“Don’t be…It can’t possibly be,” said Tracy.“It is,” he said.“Honest.She was thirty-six when that was taken.Four years before she died.”“Oh, Jaff.I’m sorry.”“It was a long time ago.She was an amazing woman.Grew up in the slums of Dhaka and ended up one of the biggest Bollywood stars of her day.” As he spoke, staring at the photograph, he seemed choked with emotion.“Sorry,” he said, with a wan smile.“I still don’t find it easy to talk about her.Let’s go outside.”“Okay,” said Tracy, following him.“I understand.”It was clear from the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray and the half-full glass of lager that Jaff had been sitting on his balcony.Tracy sat in the opposite chair.“Good to see you, babe,” Jaff said, touching her shoulder lightly.“I was going to ring you soon as the dust settled.Thing is, I had to go away for the weekend.Bit of business.Amsterdam and London.Just got back an hour or so ago.Drink?”Tracy accepted, more out of politeness than anything else.Jaff went back inside to pour her a gin and tonic.Tracy gazed out over the city beyond the railway tracks.So much had changed since she had first arrived there at university more years ago now than she cared to remember.She could see several distant building sites where the giant cranes had remained stationary for months, since their funds had dried up, the ambitious towers only half-finished.The closer view only confirmed what she had felt before about the canal-side development being claustrophobic and ugly.It was too near to the railway lines, for a start, just at the back of City Station, and below the balcony was the canal, a ribbon of murky, stagnant water on which floated plastic bottles, fast-food wrappers and other things she would rather not think about.There was still plenty of activity.At the moment the area seemed to be one enormous building site.Everything was crammed together cheek by jowl.God only knew what the mishmash would look like when the builders had finished, if they ever did finish.Tracy doubted that the planners had ever thought of sketching out the whole picture.It was a warm evening, but she kept her denim jacket on against the chill that always crept in at this time of year when darkness fell.Jaff came back outside with her drink and sat down.Tracy hadn’t stayed at the Headingley house long enough to get changed after work, and as usual, she felt quite scruffy compared to Jaff, who was wearing designer jeans and a loose white shirt hanging out at the waist.It stood in sharp contrast to his golden skin.Not for the first time, Tracy found herself admiring his long dark eyelashes, gelled black hair, smooth complexion, lean body, loam-brown eyes and the lithe way he moved.He was beautiful, she thought, like some exotic cat, but there was nothing at all effeminate about him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]