Lovers and Liars (18 page)

h my God, Pascal… ‘

Precisely.’ Pascal’s face was now pale with excitement. ‘But e’s more than that. This is a very special kind of glove. Highly orable. Look closely. Smell … ‘

He held the glove close to her face. Gini recoiled. The glove Red of a heavy musky perfume, but also something else. She not be certain, but it might have been blood. She took a backwards.

‘It smells foul .

“I know. Not a smell you’d forget. Also, if you touch it,’ he ed her hand to the soft leather. ‘You see? As if it had been

Gini gave a small shiver. She glanced over her shoulder. Someere on this floor, muffled by thick walls and corridors, a door d. She touched Pascal’s arm.

Tascal, I don’t like this. We’ve been here more than half an r now. Let’s go.’

;“Fine. I agree. There’s nothing else here anyway. I’ve been ugh everything. We’ll go. But this . he held up the glove, n pushed it into the pocket of his jacket, ‘this, we take with

.,..‘One right-handed glove? Why? It doesn’t prove anything, not sure-!

“It tells me something. Something I don’t understand … Come

on.’ He gripped her arm firmly, and led her back towards the fireescape window. Gini was about to argue, then, looking down, she saw the waters of the rising tide gushing below. She climbed out of the window. The wind gusted; a squall of rain washed against her face.

They descended the fireescape, negotiated the now fast-flowing water, and regained the safety of the alleyway steps. Gini tumed to him.

‘OK/ she said, ‘explain. What does that glove tell you? I want to know, Pascal. I want to know now.’

‘It tells me there are connections here - connections I don’t understand.’

He looked down at the grey of the Thames. The water sucked at the shingle. His face was troubled. Gini caught at his arm. ‘I have the pair to this glove/ he went on, frowning. ‘Identical in every way. The same smell, the same texture, the same faint creases on the palm … ‘

‘You have its pair?’ Gini stared at him in astonishment. ‘But how can that be?’

‘It was sent to me - anonymously.’ Pascal’s voice was suddenly grim. ‘It arrived yesterday, in Paris, by special courier. In a neat brown-paper parcel. The address was stencilled. It was fastened with string, and - what’s the matter?’

‘Just one little question.’ Gini’s skin had gone cold. She raised her eyes to his. ‘Did the sender use sealingwax - red sealingwax?’

124

AMN/ GINI said. ‘Damn, damn, damn.

She slammed down the telephone receiver. From across her -room, Pascal watched her. He was holding the pair of dcuffs she had been sent. In a thoughtful way he weighed from hand to hand.

` They won’t co-operateT

“Won’t or can’t. The woman who took delivery of the parcels ,‘t there this afternoon. Her mother’s ill apparently - so they her go home. She’ll be back first thing tomorTow morning. Her e’s Susannah. We can talk to her then.’

‘Can’t someone else help? It must all be on computer-!

‘Of course it’s on computer. ICD is a huge firm. But this Susannah her authorization, apparently. All transactions are *dential … We’ll have to go down there, Pascal. Tomorrow. tell we’ll get precisely nowhere on the phone.’

‘That’s OK. I’ll go down there, first thing-!

“We’ll go down there/ Gini said, a little sharply. ‘We’ll both go. ant to talk to this Susannah as well.’

sure.’ Pascal hesitated, then glanced away; Gini frowned. They had returned here, to Islington, straight from McMullen’s artment. It was now past three in the afternoon, and the wintry

t was fading. Gini’s clothes were still soaked, but she couldn’t

be bothered to change them. She could still feel it, that adrenalin rush, the sensation that one more phone call might bring a vital lead they needed and she couldn’t understand Pascal’s reaction: surely he felt this too?

He gave no sign of it. Indeed, from the moment she showed him the handcuffs, she could sense a change in him, a withdrawal, a slowing-down.

She looked at him uncertainly. There was something he was keeping back from her, she felt sure of it. He was still standing, holding the handcuffs. All the energy and drive of the morning seemed to have left him. For the past hour, while she explained, and telephoned, he had remained silent and thoughtful. Now he looked up, with a frown.

‘You should change your clothes, Gini - take a warm shower. You’re soaked through. There’s nothing more we can usefully do now anyway. We’ll just have to wait. And that’s no bad thing. It gives us time to talk this over, think it through .

‘Pascal, is something wrong?’

‘Wrong? Wrong?’ He gave her an odd glance. ‘Oh no, there’s nothing wrong. Someone sends you a pair of handcuffs. It’s the most normal thing in the world . . - ‘

‘So? They sent you a glove. There’s a direct fink to McMullen. it has to be some kind of signal, some kind of clue. Four parcels were sent out altogether, the courier told me. One to you, one to me - and two others, which both went abroad. Don’t you see, Pascal - if we can just find out who sent them, where the other two went … ? It has to be a lead. It just has to … I

‘Oh, I agree. We’ve been handed it on a plate. And I don’t like that at all.’

‘So it’s too convenient, too pat - who cares? We still have to check it out. As soon as we can-!

‘Who cares? I care … ‘ He gave her an angry glance. ‘And if you thought for a second, instead of flying off the handle like this, you’d care too. Do you usually work like this - it’s your method, is it? - to act first and think afterwards? Well, it isn’t irtine. just slow down.’

Gini started on some quick sharp reply, then stopped herself. The accusation stung, particularly coming from Pascal. Also, there was some truth in it, as she knew. She could be impetuous when she worked; sometimes that had paid dividends, but not always: it could lead to errors, to trouble, as well.

Her father had always said that the secret of journalism was

a passion for detail: ‘I check/ he used to say, ‘then s-check, then cross-check again. I put the pieces of the puzzle ther. very slowly and very carefully. Then, when I’ve got

piece in place - every piece, mind you, not just some them … Well, then I’m home and dry. That’s the good He grinned. ‘That’s when I nail the lying bastards to the

e felt herself colour, and looked away. Both her father, and , were right. In a careful voice, avoiding Pascal’s eyes, said, ‘Sure. Maybe you’re right. I can rush at things. Go fast. I do know that … ‘

ascal seemed to ignore the implicit apology. He shrugged. . n we’re starting out/ he said, ‘we all do … ‘

swung around to look at him. There was a small loaded rice.

rting out?’ she began. ‘I’m not starting out, Pascal. I know ven’t reached your exalted heights, but I have been a reporter nearly ten years. I’ve worked on some big stories. I’m not

oolgirl now. For God’s sake … ‘ She felt a sudden spurt anger. ‘I’m not some kid out of journalism school, Pascal. twenty-seven years old.’

t’s not likely I’d forget your age.’ His face too, had become ‘I’ve every reason to remember it, given past circumstances.’ don’t believe this . - . ‘ Gini rose angrily to her feet. ‘Do you ve to bring that up nowT

didn’t bring it up/ he snapped. ‘You did. And in any case, you nderstood. When I said “starting out”, I wasn’t suggesting lacked experience. I meant starting out on a new story, that’s

‘The hell you did. Don’t he. You were patronizing me. You were tting me down.’

damn well was not. ‘His eyes glinted with anger. ‘You’re .g to conclusions again. You’re getting things wrong. Look, if we’re going to work together—2

? IfT She took a step towards him. ‘I was damn well assigned this story. No “ifs” and no “buts”. If you don’t like that, Pascal, bad becaus&—!

‘Jesus Christ …

ascal began to swear, at length, and in French. They were only a few feet apart. The warm air in the room felt acrid sudden anger. Gini felt flushed and hot, almost blinded by

ntment, and a horrible weakening distress. She never wept -

it was years since she had wept - but she could feel now that tears were close.

She was about to launch herself on some new angry reply, when something in his eyes stopped her. The anger fell away. She gave a small resigned gesture, and to her surprise Pascal suddenly took her hand, and drew her towards him. He, too, was no longer angry, she saw. There was sadness and bewilderment in his face.

‘I’m sorry/ he said. ‘We’re arguing about the past, aren’t we, Gini? Not this story at all. We’re fighting about something that happened twelve years ago.’

Gini gave a sigh, and looked away. ‘Yes. You’re right. I guess .1

we are

‘We mustn’t do that. Gini . His hand tightened its grip ‘Look at me. If we let that happen … We mustn’t make that mistake .

‘I know that. I know that. It’s just sometimes … Pascal, it’s not so easy to put it aside, to forget .

‘I know that too. It spills over, and then . His tone was gentle now. ‘Listen, Gini. You’re right - that time, it was my fault. I expressed myself badly. I’m not used to working with anyone else, I expect. I’ve been a loner too long. I get irritable and impatient. But there is a reason, Gini, can’t you see that? You’re a woman - no, listen to me. You’re a woman, living alone, and someone’s sent you an anonymous gift. A pair of handcuffs. Now, that may not alarm you, but it alarms me.’

He looked down at Gini, as he said this. He watched as colour came and went in her face, and he watched her expression change, as if within her a short and painful struggle took place.

‘I’m not used to that,’ she answered at last, in an odd stiff voice. He could hear pride and pain in her tone. ‘I’m not used to someone’s being protective, maybe it’s that. I usually work alone, and I live alone, there’s no reason for anyone to care where I go, What I do, what time I get back. I expect I’ve made a fetish of that. And then … ‘ She broke off.

‘Tell me/ Pascal said.

She raised her head to look at him. An odd pinched expression had come over her face.

‘Oh nothing… ‘ She made an attempt to sound dismissive. ‘My father always said a woman couldn’t be independent, the way a man could. I used to think I’d prove him wrong. Maybe I have proved him wrong. I’m different, Pascal - I’m not the girl you used to know.’

Tm not so sure of that.’

11 am. I was so weak then, so stupid. I rushed into things. I let , heart rule my head … ‘

W;,That’s not always a sin, is itT

‘Maybe not. just a part of growing up. Anyway/ she released hand, and stepped back, ‘I’m different now, Pascal. I can take of myself. I find any protectiveness from a man hard to deal

ou do?’ Pascal looked at her curiously. ‘Why is thatT

Gini smiled suddenly. ‘Oh, I guess because I’m afraid I’ll get to it. Depend on it–2

-14 d that would be a bad thing?’ .An

judging from past experience, yes.’

see.’ Pascal frowned, then he too smiled. ‘Well, if it helps, of it as a weakness on my part. My French upbringing, an istible impulse to be gallant. I’d be protective to any woman,

these circumstances. It’s my age - it’s a sort of generalized plaint I suffer from.’

There was a silence. Gini, looking back at Pascal, saw an exssion she could not interpret cross his face. Abruptly, he moved y from her. When he next spoke, his voice was much more k.

/ he said, ‘that’s cleared the air, I hope? Maybe if we make w rides? No references to the past. If my protectiveness gets t of hand, you rein me in … I still think you should change

wet clothes. While you do that, I’ll make us some coffee. we’ll sit by the fire, and talk this story through, yesT

‘That sounds reasonable.’

‘Fine. Meanwhile, think this over. There’s one peculiar thing, ething that especially puzzles me.’

`YesT ‘Take a look at the timing on this. We were assigned to the home story yesterday morning. The same morning we re-

.ed the parcels. Who knew we’d be working on the storyT ‘Nicholas Jenkins.’

‘Who elseT

-No-one. Until I went into his office, even I didn’t know. And er did you.’

et someone else did know, don’t you see that, GiniT Pascal ed. ‘They must have known. They sent out those parcels nty-four hours before we were even briefed. They laid out a for us, before we even started work. It can’t be coincidence.

Someone else knew we’d be working together on this. Can you explain that? Because I certainly can’t.’

When the door closed behind Gini, Pascal knew he could stop acting. He ran his hands through his hair. He began to pace the room. He told himself that he had at least managed to disguise it, but his agitation was intense. It had been a mistake to touch Gini. He should never have allowed himself to take her hands. He should not have lost his temper, that was the worst mistake: that made it all short-circuit, brought the past roaring back. Three weeks in a war zone twelve years before, but the time-gap was immaterial. He had wanted Gini now; he had wanted her then. The need was unchanged, still as sharp as ever. It was as immediate, as fierce.

Yesterday, yesterday, he told himself; yesterday, he’d felt safe. He’d been watching her, carefully, right through the lunch with Nicholas Jenkins, and he’d been able to tell himself that he was, thank God, invulnerable now. This was a new Gini, a stranger: of course he could work with this woman - when he looked at her he felt nothing at all.

‘The thing is,‘Jenkins had said, before Gini arrived, ‘she’s a good reporter. She’s quick, she’s got an instinct for leads. She does her homework. You could make a good team Pascal could hear the ‘but’ coming; he waited. Jenkins grinned. ‘But - and it’s a big “but- - she can be difficult to work with. Like a lot of the ladies now … You know, the fen-dnist thing .

Jenkins made a face. ‘Plus, she has one helluva. chip on her shoulder about her father. Every fucking story she works on - it has to be bloody perfect. Daddy might read it, you see - not that Daddy ever does, I suspect, because Daddy doesn’t give a damn, by all accounts. But she can’t see that. She’s trying to prove something, and when she writes an article, she’s writing it for him.’