Lovers and Liars (91 page)

There was nobody there. He looked this way and that, counting seconds. There was no sign of the man, no sign of anyone. The minaret’s door was solid, and it was locked. He looked up and could see nothing, just the edge of the parapet wall

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around the minaret’s platform, and the pillars which supported its roof canopy. He could see nothing and no-one up there. He listened. Only silence, a tight tense silence in the courtyard, a silence intensified by the hum of passing traffic beyond.

I was wrong, he thought; and then he saw it, tucked in under the bushes at the edge of the courtyard - an old dark green rolled-up Barbour jacket. He crossed to it, moving quietly and stealthily now. The jacket was just a jacket: whatever it had been used to conceal had been removed. Quietly, Pascal laid it back down. He edged back to the foot of the minaret tower, and pressed himself against its walls. He moved around it, until he was directly beneath the side of the platform overlooking the residence gardens. He looked upwards, the sun dazzling his eyes. At first he could see nothing but stone, and beyond it white sky. Then, slowly, something appeared. He could glimpse it only when the sun glinted on its metal. From where he was standing, so far below, it was infinitesimal, but Pascal knew what it was, this thin metal object, narrow as a blade of grass.

He shouted then, loudly enough to give warning, loudly enough to spoil an aim. Nothing happened. He shouted again, McMullen’s name this time, and as he shouted, he ran back to that locked door.

He hurled himself against it with his full weight. It did not move. He threw himself against it a second time, and still it did not budge He drew in his breath. Silence sped past him. In the second before he hurled himself against the door again, he heard a minute sound from above him. It was a sound he had heard many times in the past, the click of a safety catch being released on a rifle.

‘Can you make out the patternT Hawthorne was saying. They were fifty yards from the bench where Lise had been sitting, with the open lawn behind them, and the low, neatly clipped box hedges that made up the knot garden directly in front of them. The sky was cloudless, the sun dazzlingly bright. Hawthorne gestured to the hedges, separated by miniature paths of immaculately kept gravel. ‘There are many different traditional patterns,’ he went on. ‘They date back to the sixteenth century and beyond. I designed this one with a dual function. The pattern is decorative, but if you look closely, you see it’s also a maze. Mazes are very interesting, you know. Originally they appear as tiled patterns on church floors. Penitents had to negotiate them, on their knees. It was an allegory of the soul’s search for redemption . He glanced at her with a

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smile. ‘I like that kind of thing. I’d have fared much better in the medieval world, I sometimes think.’

‘Why do you say thatT Gini asked, watching him intently. ‘Oh, I don’t know. The connection between morality and religion was very strong then. People had very clear beliefs - perdition, salvation. Damn.’ He bent to examine one of the box plants. ‘The frost has damaged some of these … ‘

He leaned forward, looking closely at the tips of the plants. Gini looked down at him. She thought: Another minute, then I’ll speak. ‘I’ve always been interested in gardens,’ he went on. ‘As were

my grandfather and my father. Another inheritance, you see.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Shall we sit here for a while, or would you like to go in?’

He gestured to another white-painted bench, just on the edge of the lawn, overlooking the knot garden. As he looked up at her, the sun shone directly on his face. It lit his fair hair like a helmet. A trick of the light, Gini thought. For an instant he looked dazzlingly young and invincible, like some warrior prince.

He straightened, and moved across to the bench. Gini watched him, then glanced over her shoulder. Two of the security men, ever vigilant, had stationed themselves twenty yards back. Shading her eyes from the sun, she saw that one was Romero, the other Malone. Romero’s eyes were fixed on her, Malone’s gaze constantly moved. She saw him check the ambassador, scan the gardens, look back towards the house.

She followed his line of sight, taking in the lawn, the trees, the brilliant horizon. There was a gap in the screen of trees that marked the boundary between the residence and the park, no doubt the result of the pruning and felling activities she had overheard earlier that week. The day she had stood there, listening to the whine of the chain-saw and Lise Hawthorne’s instructions to the workmen

- that had been the day she found Napoleon dead.

She felt her throat tighten. Through the gaps in the trees she could see the glittering gold dome of the mosque; against the bright white sky rose the thin silhouette of its minaret. A beautiful view, a fine garden, a sequestered place. The privileges of power, she thought. She crossed to Hawthorne, and sat down next to him on the bench.

‘Tell me,’ she said quietly, ‘there’s something I don’t understand. Why did you kill my catT

His reaction was very quick. Just a tiny and momentary hardening of the eyes, then the puzzled smile.

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‘I’m sorry. You’ve lost -me. What cat, Gini? I didn’t know you had a cat.’

10h, I think you did. And he scratched you, didn’t he? I can see the marks. There, on your arm. And on your neck.’

‘What, thatT He gave a gesture of bewilderment, then sighed. ‘You want to know how I got these scratchesT

‘Yes. I do.’

‘Then ask Mary.’ His voice hardened. ‘She was there in the room the day Lise inflicted them. Didn’t she tell you about thatT

Even then, for a moment, she very nearly believed him. It was so perfectly judged, so well timed, the tone so correct. She looked at him, and he looked back at her. She glanced down at his arm, then back at his throat.

‘No woman did that,’ she said quietly. She raised her eyes to his. ‘You’re lying.’

‘Gini, I’m not. I told you - I’ve had enough lies to last me a lifetime.’ He hesitated, then took her hand.

‘Can’t we move beyond thisT he went on, in a low voice. ‘I thought you understood. I wouldn’t lie to you. Not now. You know me too well. We’ve been through too much.’

‘Oh, but you would lie/ she replied. ‘You’d lie to me just as easily and as well as you lie to anyone else. Your wife lies too, nearly as well as you do, And your father … ‘ She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure how much your father lied to me. Not a great deal, maybe. You didn’t tell him, did youT She touched the scratch on his arm. ‘Your father doesn’t know about this.’

There was a long silence, Hawthorne continued to hold her eyes, and Gini waited. Then, at last, there was the tiniest alteration in his face, a tightening around the eyes, before he covered her hand with his.

‘No/ he said. ‘You’re right. My father doesn’t know about this and he wouldn’t understand if he did.’

He released her hand then, and leaned against the back of the seat. He turned his eyes away, and looked across the gardens towards the park.

‘it was Wednesday morning,’ he said, in a quiet level voice. ‘I had seen you at that dinner at the Savoy the previous night. I couldn’t steep. I was thinking about some of the things I’d said in that speech. I thought of you, once or twice, Early that morning, my father played me one of his damn tapes. It was you, in your apartment with Nicholas Jenkins. You agreed to drop the story on me. That didn’t satisfy my father, of course, but it should have

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reassured me. It had the opposite effect. I wanted to see you then, very much. I wanted to tell you some of the things I finally told you last Friday - about my marriage, all that. So I went to your apartment. You weren’t there, of course.’

He glanced towards her in an odd, frozen way, as if he scarcely saw her. ‘I was in a very strange state. Desperate, perhaps very pent up. I don’t know why. I think I wanted you to know

- who I was, what I was. I wanted soineone to know … ‘ He produced a tight smile. ‘A life-long Catholic, you see? It’s been a long time since I went to confession. And I can’t take communion. Maybe it was that.’

He paused. Gini said nothing. From behind them she heard the crackle of radio static. A bird began to sing in the branches to their left, then flew off. In the distance, a very long way away, a universe away from this conversation, she thought she might have heard a shout.

‘When you weren’t there,’ Hawthorne said, ‘I was appalled. I had to get into your apartment. It wasn’t difficult - you have locks a child could force. When I was inside, I wanted you. I started to look for you. I went into your bedroom. I touched your clothes, and your sheets. I could smell your skin and your hair. I went through all your papers, the drawers in your desk. I thought, if you weren’t there, I might find you in a letter or a diary. Then I thought that maybe I would write to you, leave you a message, or just wait, and then I looked at these things I’d found in your desk - the handcuffs, the stockings, the shoe, and I didn’t know why they were there. I knew nothing about how they’d been sent. But they made me think of my wife, of things I’ve done with my wife, and other women too, sometimes, and that … excited me, I suppose, though it never feels like excitement - it feels black. I wanted you then. And one part of my mind wanted you the way you are, but another part wanted you wearing those things, even the handcuffs, especially the handcuffs, so you were just like all the other women, and I could make you do what I like … ‘

‘I can’t explain.’ He lifted his hand then let it fall. ‘It’s something that happens. I have to find out what’s on the other side of the worst. Sometimes I can control it, but sometimes I can’t, and that day it was very intense. If you’d come in then, I’d have made you wear those things. Anything could have happened. I might have killed you. I might have killed myself. But you didn’t come in, and your cat was there watching me, and 1

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had the stocking in my hands, so I killed an animal instead. Then I put everything away. Then I got rid of all the pain and agony and want. Then I left.’

Gini gave a low cry. She rose, almost stumbled, and moved blindly away from the bench. Hawthorne came after her, and took her by the arm. He pulled her around, so she was facing him. She stared at him. Her eyes were blurred with tears but just for an instant she thought she saw light move against his face.

‘That is what I am/ he said, in a low voice. ‘You knew earlier anyway. You were asking my father - I heard you, your last question when I came into the room. Who was with my wife once a month, last year? Who watched her with her strangers? I did. Because she liked to watch me watching her, and because that’s the point I’ve reached. I want to know, if you go down far enough, whether you get to a place where you’re really damned, where you’re finally beyond reach.’

He released her and stepped back. Again something moved, glanced, against his face.

‘You know it all now,’ he said in a dead voice. ‘All in all, for better and worse, you know me more than anyone does.’ He smiled. ‘Except for God, of course. If there is a God. He sees. And I don’t imagine he forgives.’

There was a silence then. Gini stood very still, Hawthorne moved away from her, then moved back. Behind them, at a distance, were his two security shadows. She heard a crackle of radio static; she saw one of the men swing around, look towards the boundary, swing back. But that was far away, outside this tight little cone of silence in which she and Hawthorne stood.

‘Why,’ she began, in a low voice. ‘Why did you let this happen to you? You could have been so different. You were given so much. Who made you this way? Was it your father? Lise? Why couldn’t you fight back?’ She broke off. She could see it quite clearly now; something was moving on Hawthorne’s face.

‘Neither of them is responsible/ Hawthorne was saying. ‘I made myself. I found out what I was in Vietnam. Gini, listen tome… ‘

But Gini could not listen to him. She was mesmerized by this tiny moving mark on his face. It reminded her of a game she’d played as a child with a pocket mirror, reflecting the sun’s beams into a tiny patch of dazzling light, then directing them onto a friend’s hand or face. Except this moving thing was not white,

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not dazzling. It was a small red circle, no more than a centimetre wide, moving across Hawthorne’s face.

Hawthorne seemed not to be aware of it. He moved and it disappeared, then he moved again and it came back. It wavered across his cheekbones, moved up to his hair. Hawthorne was continuing to speak. He was saying something about her father, and something about My Nuc, and something about how her father had not witnessed what happened there, though he had possibly guessed.

‘What?’ Gini said. ‘What’s happening here?’

Someone behind them was moving. Hawthorne glanced away, then back. The red circle reappeared, in the centre of his forehead. He gave a sigh.

‘Gini, I killed that girl,’ he was saying quietly. ‘She was a communist agent. Seventeen of my men were dead. She was being interrogated, inside this hut. It was hot. It wasn’t the way McMullen claims. It was war, Gini. One woman and fifteen men who’d just watched their friends die. I was twentythree years old. So, yes, it all went wrong and yes, she was raped, and when it was over, I killed her. She wanted to die, she died holding my hand. I shot her once in the back of the neck-‘

‘Wait/ Gini cried. ‘Stop. Something’s Wrong. Your face … ‘ She stared at him. The red circle moved fractionally. Hawthorne’s expression became puzzled. He frowned, and she saw his eyes take on a look of concern.

‘Gini, what is it?’ he said. ‘Shall I take you back insideT

He made a small movement towards her, then stopped. The red circle reappeared. His frown deepened, and time, already slow, was slowing even more, so the frown took an age to form, and the shout from twenty yards away took hours to reach them, and the fact that someone was running, both Malone and Romero were running, that too seemed to Gini to be happening very slowly and somewhere else. There was the mark, like a caste mark just between Hawthorne’s brows, and as Gini stared at him and the silence lengthened, she saw him start to understand. For one tiny second, something flared in his eyes, a knowledge, perhaps even a relief. She saw his lips move. She felt him start to push her away, and then his face split.