Free The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro Page B

steered round a tight corner into another narrow dark street. 'It's just that, well, as I mentioned, I was just on my way somewhere myself. To an appointment. Now let me see…'
    'Your appointment is an urgent one?'
    'Well actually, Mr Ryder, it is rather. It's to do with Mr Brodsky, you see. In fact, it's quite crucial. Hmm. I wonder, if you and Boris were generous enough to wait just a few minutes while I saw to it, then I could drive you wherever you want afterwards.'
    'Naturally you must attend to your business first. But I'd be grateful if there's not too much delay. You see, Boris hasn't had supper yet.'
    'I'll be as quick as I can, Mr Ryder. I only wish I could take you immediately, but you see, I daren't be late. As I say, it's rather a tricky little mission…'
    'Of course, you must see to that first. We'll be very happy to wait.'
    'I'll try and make it as quick as possible. Though to be honest, I don't see how I can take too many short cuts. In fact, it's the sort of thing Father would usually handle himself, or else one of the gentlemen, but well, it's just that Miss Collins has always had a soft spot for me…' The young man broke off, suddenly embarrassed. Then he said: 'I'll try not to be long.'
    We were now moving through a more salubrious district -closer, I guessed, to the city centre. The street lighting was much better and I noticed tram lines running alongside us. There was the occasional café or restaurant closed for the night, but for the most part the area was full of stately apartment buildings. The windows were all dark and our vehicle seemed the only thing for miles disturbing the hush. Stephan Hoffman drove in silence for a few minutes. Then he said suddenly, as though he had for some time been working himself up to it:
    'Look, it's awfully impertinent of me. But are you sure you don't want to go back to the hotel? It's just that, I mean, with those journalists waiting for you there and everything.'
    'Journalists?' I looked out into the night. 'Ah yes. The journalists.'
    'Golly, I hope you don't think I'm being cheeky. It's just that I happened to see them as I was leaving. Sitting in the lobby with their folders and briefcases on their laps, looking very keyed up at the thought of meeting you. As I say, it's none of my business and naturally you've got the whole thing worked out, I'm sure.'
    'Quite, quite,' I said softly, and continued to look out of the window.
    Stephan fell silent, no doubt deciding he should not press the matter further. But I found myself thinking about the journalists, and after a moment I thought I could perhaps remember some such appointment. Certainly, the image the young man had evoked of people sitting with folders and briefcases rang a bell. In the end, though, I could not recall with any definiteness such an item having been on my schedule and decided to forget the matter.
    'Ah, here we are,' Stephan said beside me. 'Now if you'd excuse me for a little while. Please make yourselves as comfortable as you can. I'll be back as quickly as possible.'
    We had come to a halt in front of a large white apartment building. Several storeys high, the dark wrought-iron balconies at each level gave it a Spanish flavour.
    Stephan got out of the car and I watched him go up to the entrance. He stooped over the row of apartment buttons, pressed one, then stood waiting, a nervousness discernible in his posture. A moment later a light came on in the entrance hall.
    The door was opened by an elderly, silver-haired woman. She looked slender and frail, but there was a certain gracefulness in her movement as she smiled and showed Stephan in. The door closed behind him, but by leaning right back in my seat I found I could still see the two of them clearly illuminated in the narrow pane to the side of the front door. Stephan was wiping his feet on the doormat, saying:
    'I'm sorry to come like this at such short notice.'
    'I've told you many times, Stephan,' the elderly woman said, 'I'm always