Lovers and Liars (31 page)

‘$`Great. I mean just great, yesT He poured another bourbon. V meet my daughter for the first time in three years, and what b I discover? She’s a goddamned little liar. She’s a goddamned idle slut. You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you. He got er into bed the day they met. Then they stayed there. For three keks. Thevve been at it, morning, noon and fucking night. She Duldn’t gei enough of it. My daughter. Jesus Christ!’

He swallowed down the bourbon in one gulp, then mopped his face. ‘You know what’s next? Pregnancy, that’s what’s next. She’ll have gotten herself fucking pregnant, I know it - she’s goddamned stupid enough. Fifteen and pregnant. Do I deserve this? Well, if she has, I’ll pay for the abortion, then that’s it. From now on I wash my hands of her. The hell with her. The hell with that goddamned fancy school you chose for her, and the hell with their goddamned fucking fees. I hope they expel her. And I hope you understand, Mary. You look after her. You live with her. I blame you for this.’

And so it went on, for several hours. The bluster, the excuses, the accusations, the obscenities, the abuse. Mary listened quietly, until she had the story straight - or Sam’s version of it anyway.

Lamartine was thirty; he had a bad reputation; he and Sam had had a fight. Sam had half-killed him, and didn’t understand now why he hadn’t gone the whole way, finished off the job. The story looped, looped back. For a second, a third time, she heard about the harbour room, its bed, its sheets.

‘Sam,’ she said finally, ‘he knew how old Gini was? You’re sure of that?’

‘Sure? Of course I’m goddamn sure.’ ‘Did he adn-dt as much?’

‘Not to me, no - you think he would? He’s not a fool. Gini tried to cover up, said she’d lied to him. Lied to him! She’s a goddamned little liar through and through. He knew well enough. He’d been fucking boasting, Mary, in the bars, in the restaurants. How he seduced my fucking daughter. How he got her into bed the day they met. How she was fifteen years old, but under-age girls were best. He told everyone. Everyone. Jesus Christ. The whole press corps, the barman, the fucking waiters. They all knew. I was a laughing stock … He told them everything. Described it. What he’d taught her. What they did … ‘

‘What did they do?’ Hawthorne had said.

The question startled Mary. She looked up, then sighed and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, John. I was miles away. I can still see it so vividly. How I felt, what Sam said … What was your questionT

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ He had been leaning forward, but now straightened up.

She had risen then, and made them both some coffee. Over the coffee, she had told Hawthorne the rest of it rapidly. How she

decided to say nothing, and allow Gini to believe that Sam kept his promise to remain silent. If the privacy of this matter so important to her, then that seemed the best course. Mary

pretend, and had pretended, that she accepted as truth foolish incident - staying out late, coming home drunk reason for their return from Beirut. Then, when Gini was to confide in her, when she needed Mary’s help, when as ready to give her own version of these events, Mary be there, could help.

that moment never cameT Hawthorne had said, and Mary d an intuition that his attention was now wandering, that aspect of the story interested him less. She nodded.

e.’ Hawthorne leaned across, and touched her hand. understand. Now I’ll give you my advice … ‘

n he had done so. The advice, as usual, had been sen’Do nothing/ he had said.

rose now, and looked around the chaos of her kitchen. as running behind; she must get a move on, finish preparing mousse, begin on the pheasants … She began again in a -hearted way, to whisk the eggs. She measured out the cream, the doubts crept back. Was it the best advice? Was it the right

? She had been sure at the time, when he spoke, but then as so persuasive, so cogent, so cool and unemotional - and hard too, she had felt that.

t,’ he had said, ‘this Lamartine’s bad news - that’s obs enough.. The name’s familiar I’ll run some checks, let know what I come up with. . He paused. ‘Second, Gini to discover for herself what Larnartine is. You can’t do that her, and you shouldn’t try. She’s a grown woman, not a I Marv. She’s an intelligent woman, judging from how she s. Not a woman it would be easy to deceive.’ He looked at intently. ‘Am I rightT

suppose so.’

hen let her find out for herself what he is. Don’t interfere. above all, don’t involve Sam. Sam can be guaranteed to make tters a whole lot worse.’

Third,’ he continued, after a pause, and it was this part of his .ce that surprised her, ‘don’t make up your mind in advance. ‘re prejudiced against Larnartine … ‘

Prejudiced?’ Mary stared at him. ‘I don’t think I’m prejudiced. obvious what he did. He exploited Gini, and then waltzed off the next woman. It was cruel and it was inexcusable.’

‘Are you sure about thatT Something in his tone as he asked the question struck her as curious. It was almost as if he sympathized with Lamartine, she realized - and that was the last reaction she would have expected from him, for he could be oldfashioned, even censorious, when it came to matters of sexual morality. The Catholic in him, she had always thought.

‘Are you sure, Mary?’ he said again. ‘Think. You’ve only heard one side of the story. In my experience … ‘ He looked away, frowning. ‘In my experience, that can be very misleading. it distorts. Maybe there were mitigating circumstances.’

‘What nonsense.’ Mary felt angry. ‘The facts speak for themselves-

‘No, they don’t.’ He interrupted her curtly. ‘Facts rarely do that. You’re interpreting those facts you happen to have heard. People do that all the time.’ His voice had become almost bitter. ‘I’ve been on the receiving end of that process. I should know.’

‘All right, all right … ‘ Mary replied. ‘I’ll bide my time. Postpone judgement - is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes. I am.’ His tone was firm. It had a finality Mary did not like, and found difficult to accept.

‘Don’t rush to judgement,’ he continued. ‘Wait. See what you think when you actually meet the man. Meantime … ‘He paused, and a glint of amusement entered his eyes. ‘Meantime, Mary, loosen up. Be a little less strait-laced. Try considering it from Lamartine’s point of view. Think of the temptations involved. He’s under pressure, working in a war zone. It’s a dangerous place, it’s a dangerous time. Suddenly he meets a stranger, who happens to be a very beautiful blondhaired stranger. Come on, Mary. You can understand the dynamics of a situation like that. It has a certain eroticism, you know.’

‘And that excuses his conduct? Not to me, it doesn’t.’

‘Not excuses it, but explains it, perhaps? Be realistic, Mary.’ His voice hardened, became almost impatient. ‘Fifteen-year-old girls can be very provocative sexually - you know that as well as I do. They’re more than capable of leading a man on. They like to test their own sexual powers. It’s an open invitation, Mary, or it can be. And you can’t always blame the man when he responds.’

‘You’re blaming Gini/ Mary burst out hotly. ‘Shame on you, John!’

‘I’m doing nothing of the kind/ he said sharply. ‘I’m saying it’s a possibility, that’s all. For a seduction to be effective, Mary, two people have to be involved.’

had stared at him then, with incomprehension, and a sense morse. Suddenly, they were very close to quarrelling. She saw realization in his face as well, and his reaction was swift.

n’t answer that. I’m sorry, Mary. It’s late and I should go. ntime, I’m not putting this too well … ‘ He rose, and put his around her shoulders. ‘All I’m trying to make you understand

difference between men and women. All right, for Gini, it just the way you describe - a love affair. I’m sure you’re right. sure it was. But from the man’s point of view - just accept Marv, you have to admit it - the temptation was probably strong. Men like sex, Mary. They like straightforward sex no emotional strings. If it’s on offer, they’ll grab it …

ddon’t pretend you don’t know that as well as I do. Or tend that you condemn it out of hand. You can’t. I know much about your past.’

ary hesitated, then, feeling grateful that a quarrel had been ded, she smiled. ‘Oh, very well. Very well. You’ve persuaded though why you should want to play devil’s advocate, I don’t . All right. I’ll try to keep an open mind.’

u know how often men think about sex in the course of ay?’ He was smiling now, and moving towards the door. ‘I d some statistics, just the other week. Every two minutes, ry. Or was it every threeT

‘You har.’ Mary laughed. ‘You’re making that up.’

‘Not so. It’s true. I even tested it out on myself, to make sure easured up.’

e flashed his boyish, appealing smile and said, ‘And now it’s Verv late. And I’d better go home.’

He haa done so, and Mary had congratulated herself. There had n a moment of tension, but that happened in close friendships, fortunately they had both realized the danger in time. When he left, there had been the usual easy and relaxed banter between rn, and the friendship was unimpaired.

But had John’s advice been correct? Now, two days later, with Partine’s appearance imminent, she was less sure. Do noth”I or do something? She felt another flurry of indecision. Wait s’

Fd _e what she felt when she actually met Lamartine, she idel Play it by ear. She began to whisk the eggs again. st as they’were reaching perfection, there was a ring at the Roor.

V’llt was John Hawthorne. He was wearing informal weekend Oothes, and was flanked by a new security man, one she did

not recognize. The security man was loaded down with flowers, boxes and boxes of flowers.

‘For you,’ John said. ‘For the party tonight. Malone, take them inside, would you? Yes. The kitchen, that’s fine.’

Mary looked at the flowers and could have cried, they were so beautiful. Daffodils, hyacinths, irises, tulips. Spring flowers, out-of-season flowers, the kind of flowers she could not afford any more. For a moment her vision blurred.

‘You’re very good to me, John.’ She reached for his hand. If he saw the tears, he had the wit and the discretion not to comment upon them. He pressed her hand in return.

‘We’ll see you later tonight. I have to run now.’ He glanced into the house beyond her, made sure the new security man was not in earshot, and then held out to her a large manila envelope.

‘Those details I promised you, on Lamartine. I put two people on it. They came up with a good deal.’

‘Heavens above, John … ‘Mary felt the weight of the envelope. ‘Whatever’s in here? It weighs a ton.’

‘All the press clippings. Details of his past work, and his current exploits. Some things from a few less obvious sources as well.’ He turned, and began to descend the steps. Two security shadows instantly materialized, one at either end of his car.

‘Dinner smells delicious.’ He smiled back at her. ‘I can smell wine, cinnamon - very good indeed. Lise sends her love. Enjoy your read.’

Later that afternoon, Mary opened that manila envelope. When she saw its contents, she gave a gasp. It was not the information per se which astonished her, but the extent of it. Of course she knew, vaguely, that with modern technology, such checks were easily made. She knew that for a man in John Hawthorne’s position to run such checks was easier still. But the speed with which he had done this, and the breadth of information obtained still astonished her - and shocked her.

Here before her were the details of Pascal Lamartine’s birth and parentage, his schooling, his career, his marriage, his divorce, his bank accounts, his earnings, his debts, his tax returns. She could follow his mortgage payments, and where he used his credit cards. She could learn what items he purchased from which shops, which countries he visited, when he flew, by which airline, on which flight, and what hotels he used. She knew the address of his Paris studio, and the name of his concierge. She knew whom he called long-distance from that studio, for it lay

fore her, a long list of numbers, a computer print-out of his PS—

4ary stared down at these papers. She then returned them -

0,the most part unread - to the envelope. She was aware that was trembling. She felt deeply ashamed.

Phe burned the envelope and its contents there and then. It Ide her feel unclean, shabby, like a voyeur or a spy.

XV1

THE RESTAURANT Johnny Appleyard had selected for their meeting was called Stiltskins. It was the last restaurant in London that Gini would ever have chosen, a place much patronized by tourists, by out-of-town businessmen, and by the kind of women that Mary still quaintly referred to as filles de joie.

It was located on the edge of Mayfair, in Shepherd Market. They drove there in Gini’s Beetle, parked a few blocks away, and began to walk through the rain. This had always been a red-light district, and call-girls still operated in the area, though they did so discreetly, by appointment and from upstairs rooms. They passed several male clients, who averted their faces.

The noise emanating from Stiltskins could be heard two streets away. When they reached the restaurant, a party of Japanese businessmen, Western girlfriends in tow, was spilling out onto the pavement. The interior was dark and cavernous, a sequence of hot, red, smoky rooms. A Tom Jones medley was playing full-blast; there were bad jokes in frames on the walls.

A reservation, it seemed, had been made by Appleyard, and the head waiter became deferential at the mere mention of his name. He ushered them through to a rear room, and a table set for four. There was no sign of Appleyard. They sat down. Pascal ordered some wine. Gini sighed.

‘I’m afraid we’re in for a wait/ she said. ‘Appleyard’s notoriously nctual.’

h great.’ Pascal looked around him gloomily. ‘Well, I hope he up soon. I can’t stand this place too long.’

won’t. He’ll keep us waiting - twenty minutes at least. He s being late indicates status.’

al groaned. Raucous laughter came from the table behind where a noisy party was ordering magnums of champagne. I twisted around to survey a new group of people, just