Lovers and Liars (21 page)

ways knew/ she said, on a tight, shrill note of control. ‘Right the very beginning. Before you married me - I knew then. there was someone else, at the back of your mind. Well,

st she has a face now. I’m glad I’ve seen her. And she has teresting face, I’ll say that much. A lover in tow, of course, I’m sure that won’t worry you. He was so much older than was, and your little Genevieve didn’t seem very keen.’

er use of Genevieve’s name made him flinch. His face became with anger. He turned, and moved towards the door. ‘That’s gh.’ He could not bring himself to look at her. ‘I’m going out. not listening to this any more.’

st tell me, was it really an accidental meeting, Pascal? Or did know she was in Paris? Was it plannedT

, it damn well wasn’t planned. I told you. I had no idea she here. I haven’t seen her in years.’

m sure you’ll make up for lost time.’ She smiled. ‘Take my ce. Pursue her to London. Maybe then you’ll learn the lesson learned, the hard way.

“,,Pascal was in the doorway. He stopped. ‘Lesson? What lessonT “Perf

ection doesn’t exist, Pascal. And if it does, it doesn’t last. fuck around in London. Have your affair. Then you’ll find out it feels.’

I do not understand. I do not damn well understand .

will. Because you’ll find out she’s not the person you gined, just the way you weren’t the person I imagined. Try I

PP !Pascal.’ She gave a thin tight laugh. ‘Find out how it feels to a drearn.’

He could stiff hear the words, their precise intonation. They repeated themselves, and again repeated themselves. They invaded Gini’s living-room. Pascal looked around him blankly. He had been asked a question, and he had not answered it. Gini was still watching him expectantly. In the interval how many centuries, how many seconds, had passed? Helen’s advice had never been taken, and one of the many reasons for that was a residual fear, still with him, that her final remark might be true.

He turned back to face Gini. She continued to stroke her cat; Napoleon purred. Gini bent to him affectionately; one gold strand of her hair mingled with his marmalade fur. Pascal thought: She does not look like a dream, or an invention; she looks as I remember her: actual, exact, real. ‘London?’ he said. Gini smiled; the time-gap then must have been short between question and reply. How odd, the distortions of the mind.

‘Yes, London/ she replied. ‘You must have come here, very often. You never called.’

‘I know.’ He gave an awkward gesture. ‘Superstition, maybe.’ ‘Not angerT

‘No, not anger. Never that. I was angry when you left Beirut. Not afterwards.’

‘Truly?, ‘Truly.’ She gave a sigh. ‘I’m glad.’

There was a silence. Outside the rain still fell, and Gini listened to the rain. It was lulling, peaceful; she could feel a new contentment, creeping up on her. She closed her eyes, then opened them. Pascal was still standing, watching her, his manner awkward.

‘You’re tired/ he said. ‘It’s late. I ought to go … ‘ But he hesitated. ‘You’ll lock the door after me? Bolt it? You promise meT ‘Of course.’

‘Gini, I mean it. I don’t like to leave you alone, in a basement flat.’

‘Pascal, I’ll be perfectly fine. I told you. I’ve never had a breakin, and-!

,And you’ve never been sent a pair of handcuffs before/ he said. ‘Gini, take this seriously. This story on Hawthorne. It’s a story about sadism. With women as the victims.’

‘We don’t even know if the story is true … ‘

‘Maybe not. But someone knows where you live. Whoever sent those handcuffs knows where you live. If they know that much, they probably also know you live alone.’

scal, don’t.’ She rose and crossed to him. ‘You’re adding and two and making ten.’

no.’ He looked down at her gently, touched her face, then away. ‘I have an instinct for trouble. And I can feel it coming. .1

re was an obvious concern in his voice and his eyes, and was touched by it. Looking up at him, she said, ‘No-one’s not these days, Pascal. Not me, not you … ‘

ething flickered in his eyes, some glint of amusement or ‘Oh I know that,’ he replied. ‘Believe me, I know.’ There a tiny pause, a beat, as if he waited for her to pick up some .g in this remark, then Pascal turned to the door. ‘I’ll call in the morning, at eightT

t would be fine.’

pick you up around eight-thirty. We can be down at that r office by nine.’

he lingered. Gini, who wanted him to linger, stared at the

ventually, still awkwardly, he touched her hand. ‘Good night/ id.

night, Pascal.’

closed the door behind him, and bolted it, as promised. she stood for a long while, looking at her own warm, familiar . Something about it puzzled her, and it took her some time to rstand what it was. Then she realized. It was the same room depleted. It lacked Pascal’s presence. It felt a thousand times tier than it had ever felt before.

THE NEXT morning, they were at the ICD offices in the City at nine. Susannah quickly gave them the information they needed.

‘Handcuffs?’ She looked first at the woman journalist, then at her photographer companion. Both looked pale and strained, as if they had slept little the night before. The woman worked for the News and this little episode was not the kind of publicity ICD needed.

‘I’m most awfully sorry,’ she began. ‘Obviously, if I’d had any idea … And she seemed such a nice woman, as well. Anything I can do, in the circumstances … of course. I remember her very well. And I have the details on computer, right here.’

The meeting lasted half an hour. Pascal and Gini were in Belgravia shortly after ten. It was raining again. Pascal parked the motor bike. They walked the length of Eaton Place twice before they admitted the obvious. The beautiful blonde claiming to be Mrs J. A. Hamilton had given a plausible, but false address. There was no 132 Eaton Place. They tried Eaton Square and Eaton Terrace without success. They returned once more to Eaton Place. The rain stopped, then started again.

‘Merde/ Pascal said, looking along the line of discreet expensive white-stuccoed houses. ‘Merde. We might have known it. I’ll check the phone number that Hamilton woman gave - if her name was Hamilton, which I doubt. You try knocking on doors. Describe

1141,4, mention the coat. It’s worth a try. She could live in the ‘%lioibourhood. Something might jog people’s memory.’

tere was a telephone box across the street. Pascal made for Gini walked slowly along the road. She examined the houses

Oight and left. Their white facades were immaculate, their N*?raihngs perfectly preserved. There were window-boxes here, ,;nsive curtain

s and blinds, an atmosphere of affluence. A few tes’ walk from the fashionable shops of Sloane Street, a brief e to Harrods or Harvey Nichols, it was the perfect address, bt carefully selected, for a woman delivering parcels dressed i4a fashion-plate in Vogue.

lp idea was coming to her, a route she could explore next. lontime, she would try knocking on doors. She could see Pascal e street, on the telephone, gesturing. When he had arrived flat that morning, he had looked tense and exhausted,

she had wondered if he, as she had, had spent a wakeful *t. Now, even at a distance, she could see the familiar energy `jjning. He seemed to be arguing with someone; she saw him

down the receiver and re-dial. She smiled to herself, and ii into the gate of the end house. Like its neighbours, its `ft was new its curtains smart.

owner finally answered on the third ring: a slender welld woman with short dark hair. ‘If it’s about the jumble h

s e said rapidly, ‘you’re too late. I did ring and explain. k,,*,spent weeks waiting for you to collect them. Now I’ve taken

* to Oxfam. Including the Ozbek evening dress which is really ‘F

*most awful waste—2

s not about the jumble sale/ Gini began.

h God, it’s not religious, I hopeT The woman looked harassed. u’re one of those Mormons, or those Witness people, I’m . it’s no good. We’re all C. of E. here.’

explained. The woman looked inclined to close the door, re

w more interested as Gini described the coat. abl,

ble? Good Lord … Tall - and blonde?’ er

Aery recognizable.’ Gini smiled. ‘We roomed together in col-

*

She always was vague. Such an idiot, giving me the wrong Ms

wo an frowned. ‘Well, it could be one of the other Eatons, %ppose. There’s quite a few. Eaton Square, Eaton Terrace-! tknow. I already tried them. No luck.’

k,,7x)ell, we’ve lived here three years, and there’s certainly no-one your friend in this street. Actually, most of the neighbours are

getting on - or foreign. You know how it is - oh, sorry I don’t mean Ameri Ican.’ She smiled. ‘Arab. Quite a lot of Japanese. That sort of thing.

‘Could she have stayed here some time - or visited … T ‘Well, of course, it’s always possible. Hamilton, Hamilton - no, I’m sure there’s no-one of that name that I’ve met. Why don’t you try Lady Knowles across the street? She knows everyone. She’s lived here yonks … ‘

‘Yonks’ turned out to be thirty years, and Lady Knowles knew no resident by the name of Hamilton either. The description evoked no response. Gini tried five other houses, then returned to the bike. Pascal was astride it, the helmet under his arm. He looked gloon-tily up at the sky.

‘Does it ever stop raining in this country?’ he said. ‘Not in January. No.’

‘No luck?’

‘None. A total blank, just as we expected. YouT

‘Nothing. The number she gave doesn’t exist. No listing for any J. A. Hamilton, male or female, anywhere in London. So. That’s that.’

‘Never mind. That girl at ICD was very useful. We’ve got an address for McMullen now.’

‘In Venice.’ Pascal sighed. ‘That’s three hours away, minimum

- and I’ll bet he’s not there.’

‘And Johnny Appleyard. I told you, I know Appleyard. I can always get hold of him.’

‘He’s a gossip columnistT

‘No. Not really. A tipster for gossip columns, among other things. The kind who keeps in touch with Hollywood gynaecologists, so he can tell the National Inquirer a movie-star’s pregnant about one hour before she gets the results of her tests.’ Gini made a face. ‘He’s ubiquitous. A creep.’

‘Appleyard. Appleyard.’ Pascal frowned. ‘Why send a parcel to him?’

‘I don’t know. But I can call and ask him. He knows me. Jenkins is always using his stuff. I’ve talked to him on the phone several times. I’ve met him once - no, twice.’

‘And McMullen? In Venice? In January? Why would he go there when Lise Hawthorne was so anxious to keep him in LondonT ‘He might have connections in Venice. Besides, it’s a quiet

place in winter. A good enough hiding-place, if he wanted to disappear.’

e hasn’t disappeared.’ Pascal met her eyes. ‘Or not effectively . Someone knows where he is. And sent him a parcel. Just

us.’ He ran his hands through his hair. The worried look ed to his face. ‘Who’s the puppet-master?’ he said. ‘I would to know who’s pulling the strings. Someone is.’

o’s jerking us around, you meanT Gini smiled. ‘No-one ps. It could all be coincidence.’

-think not. I feel manceuvred.’ Pascal glanced away. Further the street, a black car pulled into the curb. Its engine was running; no driver or passenger emerged.

feel watched.’ Pascal frowned.

ni shivered, and drew her greatcoat tighter around her. She ed towards the black car; she could just make out two ocnts, a man and a woman. As she watched them, the man the woman in his arms.

e shouldn’t be paranoid/she said, turning back to Pascal. ‘It’s pational disease. Let’s concentrate on what we do next.’ think I know what we’re supposed to do/ Pascal began. ‘Go sing off to Venice, the same way we came chasing over here.

the feeling that someone’s trying to delay us, or waste our Now, we could go to Venice - except it’s Friday today, and re supposed to be meeting the Hawthomes tomorrow at your other’s house. I don’t want to miss that.’

either do 1. 1 want you to meet Hawthorne. In the flesh.’

, first I’l I check if this Palazzo Ossorio has a telephone. I have end who works for the Italian phone company.’

d at least we do know the Palazzo Ossorio exists/ Gini in. ‘Unlike Mrs Han-tilton and her house here. It must be a] place, it must be there - that parcel was delivered, after

Exactly.’ Pascal frowned. ‘I suppose we could go to Venice today. if we did, we’d be very tight on time. I suppose it’s just possible could go to the palazzo and find McMullen there - but I doubt It’s too simple by far. And if he isn’t there, we’d have no time make enquiries, we’d have to get back. One problem with the n,

t - fog, delays - and we miss Hawthorne. No. It’s not worth it.’ paused. ‘Better to go the day after, Sunday morning, we could an early flight, stay over in Venice, return Monday .

is expr(;ssion altered; a shadow passed across his face. ‘If we hat,’ he went on, ‘I’d have to return via Paris. It’s my visiting t I cannot miss that. I see Marianne then.’

Mere was a silence. Gini looked away up the street. She was

tempted to question him; she would have liked to offer consolation, even if it was only the opportunity to talk. She had tried that the previous evening, on their way to the restaurant: it had been a mistake. All personal questions met.a wall of silence. Eventually, sensing bitterness and pain, she had stayed away from the subject. Pascal’s defences were formidable: she could see he preferred them unbreached.

‘All right/ she said at last, turning back. ‘Let’s plan on that. Venice on Sunday, why not?’ She hesitated. ‘Meanwhile, I think we should split up. I want to go back to the office. I want to check out Appleyard, plus one or two other things .

‘What other thingsT ‘Nothing. Just an idea I had.’

Pascal looked reluctant to accept this. He argued against it for a while, then eventually, with an air of resignation, gave in. ‘Very well. Maybe you’re right. We save time that way. I’ll

go back to my hotel. Make some telephone calls. Try to fix up a meeting with McMullen’s sister. Then I’ll meet you back at your place. Around threeT