MORNING SERIAL
“AND I am certain Francis did not send for you just to clear out his rooms. I believe he meant to bring us together.”
It was at this point things were beginning to make sense to me, although I still had no idea where the real dangers lay. I had been lured here, by a dead man.
“I can’t help you,” I said. “But you’re thinking about it,” he said with a wry smile.
“There is nothing to think about. I cannot stay here. I have to get home. I have things I need to attend to.”
“Francis said you were never good with money. Is that what you need to get back to? A job you hate to pay debts you have no enthusiasm to repay?”
“No. I have an apartment and a girlfriend who needs me.”
“I’ll give you ten thousand euros.”
He said this snappily, almost cutting me off. I was not quite sure how to respond to an offer like that, having never in my life had one before.
“You’re offering me ten thousand euros?” I said, almost just to fill the silence. “At first. If it helps.”
“At first?”
“The arrangement I had with Francis was that he would let me know if he needed money, of any amount, for anything. And I would give it to him.”
“But that’s like an allowance, not like a wage at all.”
Prostakov nodded in agreement. “Perhaps our arrangement would be different to that. I understand it might not work for everyone.”
“So, we’re negotiating now?” I said.
Prostakov smiled and dipped his eyes to me. “You are a funny man,” he said. “I understand instantaneously what Francis saw in you.” He put his arm around me – it was thick and cold. “Listen to me,” he said, “you go back to your hotel and have a nice meal and nice drink and think about it.”