Lovers and Liars (33 page)

cal smiled. Reaching across the table, he touched her hair. strand had become loose. He smoothed it back into place. ., Gini … ‘ he said, in a kind tone. ‘Think a little. Priests a vow. That’s rather different, you know. Most men - four is a long time. Four months would be quite a long time.’

crimsoned. She looked away. In a flat voice, she said, ‘I e so. I do know that. It’s just … ‘

ni,’ Pascal took her hand. ‘Ifm not making fun of you. But k at this from two different perspectives, you and 1. That’s vitable. I’m a man, you’re a woman. To me,f he hesitated, ‘to

that’s an interesting story, but it’s absurd. I don’t believe it a second. If that’s what Lise Hawthorne did, then sooner later, Hawthorne would have gone to another woman. Not love necessarily. just for sex. Men find it easy to make that nction. Believe me. I know.’

.pulled her hand away. ‘I know it too,’ she began quickly. you’re wrong. Women can do precisely the same. They can e that - distinction, as you call it.’

‘They canT Pascal continued to watch her closely. ‘I’m not sure e with you, but there’s no point in arguing about it. And this you heard . He frowned. ‘It’s rumour, but it’s a very

suggestive rumour from our point of view. Maybe these Sunday meetings were Hawthorne’s solution. It could be.’

He turned away to scan the room, then checked his watch. ‘It’s nearly ten,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here, give up on Appleyard. I Gini looked back down at her notebook. She felt safer when

she looked at the notebook. Words and phrases she had written down jumped out at her. Miscarriage; separate bedrooms; then a direct quote from her friend: Darling, the word is - no sex, for four years.

Suddenly she felt disgusted with herself, with her own questions: was this the journalism she had foreseen for herself, this prying into someone’s marriage, this spying on another person’s most private emotions, actions and thoughts? Quickly she turned the page, then looked up at Pascal. ‘No/ she said. ‘Let’s wait. Give Appleyard ten more minutes. We have time. There’s just one last thing I found out today. This isn’t rumour or gossip. It’s fact.’ She paused. ‘You know those faxes that came through to my apartment this evening?’

‘YesT ‘They were from another friend. He works out of Oxford now, for the Oxford Mail. The Hawthornes’ country house is less than fifteen miles from Oxford .

‘SOT ‘So, look at the tinting on this. That suit was requested from Chanel, by telephone, on the morning of Friday, December thirtyfirst, rightT

‘Yes. According to the manager.’

‘And the manager was convinced it was Lise herself calling. He’s met her, knows her voice. All right, she has a very distinctive voice. But as Katherine McMullen said to you, voices can be changed, accents can be changed. Now, maybe it was Lise calling. On the other hand, maybe it was someone imitating her, and doing it very well. Think, Pascal - the manager at Chanel said that Lise told him she needed that suit because if she liked it, she was going to wear it the following day - New Year’s Day. She intended to wear it to a very special luncheon. At Chequers. The Prime Minister’s country home.’

‘I begin to see . - . ‘ Pascal leaned forward. ‘Naturally, the manager was delighted .

‘Over the moon. But, Pascal, it was a lie, and a very stupid lie, too.’ She tapped her notebook. ‘There’s one advantage to working on a story about well-known people. It’s easy to check their

ements. So I did. I checked where Lise and John Hawthorne for that four-day period. Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Bank ay Monday.’

‘They weren’t invited to luncheon at ChequersT

‘Well, if they were ever invited, they didn’t go. Lise was in fOTdshire, at their country house. Don’t you remember, she ntions on McMullen’s tape that she’s going there the following k? She did. She went down there two days before Christmas, she stayed there until the Wednesday after the New Year. had tea in London with Mary that afternoon when she reed. Mary mentioned it to me.’

She paused. ‘Pascal, take a look at the faxes when we get e. Lise’s movements were extensively documented in the a] Press the entire New Year weekend. On Friday evening she d Hawthorne went to a local New Year’s Eve ball given by their fordshire MP. On Saturday, Lise went hunting - she rides with Vale of the White Horse hunt. On Sunday she and Hawthorne

ed a special mass at their local church - they donated the for its new roof. On Monday she held a massive party at ir home, and on Tuesday-2

‘The dav Lorna Munro delivered those parcels-2

‘Preciseiv. On that day Lise was still in Oxfordshire. She visited children’s home in the morning, and a hospice for cancer victims at afternoon.’ Gini paused. ‘Pascal, she wasn’t in London at all. e wasn’t at Chequers. And I don’t think that was Lise on the lephone either. Someone else called Chanel.’

Pascal frowned. ‘It’s not conclusive/ he began.

‘I know it’s not conclusive! But there’s just one more interesting fact. Lise may have been in Oxfordshire throughout those four ays. But her husband wasn’t.’

‘He was in London some of the timeT

‘You bet he was in London. It’s an hour’s drive from Oxfordshire, that’s all. He was here, and at highly significant times. He as in London on Friday, because he spoke at some industry

ch. And he was back in London on Tuesday, when those cels were delivered. Another luncheon appointment. With the e Minister. At Number Ten.’

‘You’re certainT

‘Certain. It was a large luncheon, for a visiting head of state. e guest fist was reprinted in full in The Times.’

Pascal gave her a sharp glance. ‘Were wives includedT ‘Yes, they were.’

‘And yet Lise Hawthorne chose not to attend? How very interesting … ‘ He paused, frowning. ‘I don’t understand, Gini - I don’t understand any of this. Let’s rule Lise out - just as a working hypothesis. Let’s say she knew nothing about these parcels.’ He paused. ‘But then why should John Hawthorne have anything to do with them either? Don’t you see, it makes no sense. Why do something designed to lend credence to that story about the blondes? It’s the last thing he’d do.’

‘I agree. But he was in London at the key times.’

Pascal gave a sigh, and rose. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘You’ve done well. Everything helps, Gini. Every tiny bit of information we can find. We’re still not close enough. We’re still too much in the dark.’ He drew back her chair for her, and Gini rose.

‘So, we’re giving up on AppleyardT she asked.

‘Yes. We can’t waste any more time.’ He took her arm. ‘Let’s go and see the Hawthornes for ourselves.’

He steered her past the crowded tables. Just beyond the alcove where they had been seated was a particularly boisterous group of Americans: four dark-suited men and a bevy of redheads and blondes. As they passed, one of the men lurched to his feet, almost knocking Gini over.

‘Where’s the johnT he was demanding loudly. ‘Just direct me to the goddamn john … ‘

Pascal gave him a look of distaste, and moved between them to allow Gini through. They found their waiter finally, paid the bill, and bega -n to make their way through the maze of little rooms to the exit. There, the head waiter stopped them.

‘Mr Lamartine? Mr Appleyard sends his apologies. He’s been unavoidably delayed.’

‘It’s a pity you didn’t inform us of that earlier,’ Pascal began, then he stopped. Gini felt him tense. ‘My name was mentionedT He turned back to the head waiter. ‘The meeting was arranged with Ms Hunter here … ‘

‘Lamartine was the name I was given, sir. Mr Appleyard’s assistant only just phoned … Oh, and he said you’d be needing this, sir. He sent it round by cab for you. It just came.’

He handed Pascal a small package. Pascal drew Gini outside. He walked a little way along the street, and then opened it. Inside it was an audio cassette. Pascal held it up to the light from a streetlamp. Across the road, a man entered a doorway, hesitated, then rang one of its bells. In an upstairs room above him, a light came on. A buzzer sounded; the man entered, and the door closed.

Pascal said, ‘This isn’t an ordinary tape, Gini. Look. It’s too short … Damn.Damn.’

‘We’ve been set up, haven’t weT Gini began slowly. ‘I don’t think Appleyard sent that fax.’

‘Neither do 1. And I don’t think he’s sent this either.’ He glanced down at her. ‘We’ve just done something very stupid. We’ve sat in a restaurant of someone else’s choosing for over two hours. We’ve spent two hours going over this story. What we do know, what we don’t know … How could I have been so stupid? Damn, damn!’ With a furious gesture, he began to walk rapidly away. Gini hurried after him.

‘Slow down/ she said. ‘Pascal, slow down. You’re tired. I’m tired - all right, we made a mistake. But think - it was very noisy back there. It would have been hard to pick up our conversation, surely.’

‘Maybe, maybe. It’s too late now anyway.’ They had reached her car. Pascal waited impatiently while she unlocked it. Before she had got into her seat he had inserted the cassette in the tape-deck.

‘Get in/ he said. ‘Hurry up. Close the door.’

As soon as she had done so, Pascal pressed ‘Play. They sat there in silence. The tape hissed. There was silence on it for several seconds, then the breathing began. First heavy breathing, then pants, then groans. Gini’s skin went cold. Beside her, Pascal gave a low exclamation, glanced at her, and reached for the tape-deck.

‘No.’ Gini stopped him. ‘We’ve been sent a message. Let’s hear what it is.’

‘I can already hear what it is/ he began angrily. ‘So can 1, Pascal.’

‘Is he aloneT

‘If he isn’t, he has a silent partner.’

‘They are silent/ Pascal said in a grim voice. ‘That’s the rule. As we know.’

The tape lasted seven minutes. The man achieved climax, without words, after five. There was then a silence. At six and a half minutes, just before the tape ended, a woman screamed. Pascal reached forward, removed the tape. He glanced at Gini.

‘You’re all rightT

Gini was not all right, but she had no intention of saying so. She let in the brake, and pulled away. ‘I told you before,’ she said, when they were several streets away, ‘someone’s trying to frighten us off. The hell with that. We’ll carry on, the way we

planned. We’ll go to this party. You concentrate on Lise, I’ll talk to Hawthorne. We’ll switch over if there’s time.’

She could feel his tension and unease. It was a while before he replied.

‘Just be careful/ he said finally. ‘Be very careful what you say.’ He glanced towards her. ‘That breakin, the parcels, this missed appointment, this tape. Someone is two steps ahead of us, all the time.’

‘Hawthorne?’ She glanced across; Pascal’s face was turned to the window. He was staring out into the wet darkness beyond. ‘Maybe/ he replied eventually. ‘Maybe. Whoever they are, we

know one thing about them. They enjoy playing games. Nasty games.’

E DINNER had gone well. The pheasants had been excellent, the

0 rs and the chocolate mousse delicious. It was now ten-fifteen, would be here soon, and Mary was in the process of weeding Im

the bores, a process at which she was skilled. Two were now iot t

rting; two more remained in the drawing-room, but she could a

that John Hawthorne, as adept as she was in this respect, was uvring them towards the hall. In the hall a dour Bulgarian

secretary and his wife were being helped into their coats by t

American security man stationed there. The new thug, Mary n

t to herself; Malone - yes, that was his name - was proving u

useful. The Bulgarian shook her hand.

dy Pemberton/ he said, ‘such a very excellent evening.’ His L-Lay.

sh was good; his wife’s less so. s

‘The pheasant birds/ she said. ‘These I will have enjoyed.’

‘A most interesting conversation with Ambassador Hawthorne/ e Bulgarian went on. ‘He was fully cognizant of our latest export L-ures. A most well-informed man.’

&,‘Lsn’t heT Mary said with animation, edging him towards the ‘PO The Bulgarian was one of the guests invited at John’s behest. g the requisite ten minutes she had spent in conversation

ivith him, he had explained, at length, Bulgaria’s iron ore indushies. Mary opened the door.

‘Such a pity you can’t stay. So very nice to have met your wife. Of course. Of course. Absolutely! Goodbye .

Mary closed the door and raised her eyes heavenwards. Beyond her, this new man, Malone, gave a smile.

‘Two more to weed out, ma’am?’ He nodded towards the drawing-room.

Mary gave this new thug an appraising glance. Thug, she decided, was in this case most definitely not the appropriate word. Though Malone was six feet five, crew-cut, and huge, he appeared to have a sense of humour. This was unprecedented. She looked at the broad shoulders, at the regulation dark suit. She wondered in passing, if these men of John’s were actually armed. What did the bulge of a shoulder holster really look like? Could you detect it? Or, if they carried weapons, did they conceal them elsewhere? In their trouser waistbands, perhaps, she thought vaguely. Too ridiculous, she decided, and smiled.

‘I haven’t thanked you, Mr Malone, for bringing in all those lovely flowers for me.’

‘My pleasure, ma’am.’

‘You’re new, aren’t you? I know I haven’t seen you before . ‘I am, ma’am. I flew in from Washington two days ago.’

Mary looked at him in astonishment. In her experience these men never volunteered any information whatsoever. They spoke in two-word sentences. They said, ‘no, ma’am’ and ‘yes, ma’am’. ‘Usually, when John comes here, Frank is with him .

Mary looked at the man hopefully. Since he actually spoke fully formed sentences, a fishing expedition was justified. She would have liked to know just how serious this current security alert was, and whether Frank’s absence and Malone’s arrival signified anything. John Hawthorne would certainly never tell her. And something was going on, she could sense it. All evening its effects upon Lise had been only too obvious. She glanced into the drawing-room; Lise was standing by the fire, alone. Lise never drank alcohol. Now she was holding an empty mineral water glass. She was staring into space turning the glass round and round in her hands.