Lovers and Liars (94 page)

And she herself had learned too: somewhere in these past weeks, she had lost her dependency on her father. She had seen, by way of example, the destructiveness of Hawthorne’s father’s influence on him; her meeting with Sam had been a final reckoning; a burden long carried had been lifted: she no longer felt like a daughter; she felt she was her own woman now. She had little wish to see her father again; if she did, she knew she would have no illusions and make no excuses. It’s over, she thought; I’m free.

As the Sanctus reached its close, the service ended and the congregation rose. Hawthorne’s family left first, proceeding slowly down the centre aisle. As S. S. Hawthorne came closer, she could see clearly that these eight weeks and the loss of his elder son had affected him like the passing of twenty years. He sat hunched in his chair, which was pushed for him. His hands were trembling uncontrollably. He looked like a lost and frightened old man.

Lise, walking beside Hawthorne’s brother Prescott, clutched tightly at his arm. Her white face wore a dazed expression, as if she did not understand where she was, or what her purpose was here. She walked stiffly down the aisle, staring straight ahead of her, like a woman in a trance. Her two small sons, Gini saw, had been detached from their mother - and she suspected that this arrangement was likely to continue in a more formalized way. Behind Lise, the rest of Hawthorne’s family bunched: they gave the impression of a clan. Hawthorne’s two boys now walked with his eldest sister, flanked by her sons. Both Hawthorne’s father, and his wife, Gini realized, were the outsiders here as the rest of the family closed ranks, defending his reputation, and his children. Gini looked at the pale set faces of the two young boys; the elder, in particular, was very like his father. She looked away, and let the music from the organist calm her. Mozart. She thought of John Hawthorne, playing her a Mozart opera in his car. The music gives me hope, while it lasts.

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Turning, she took Mary’s arm. Mary was wiping her eyes. Gini put her arm around her.

‘Pascal will be waiting for us outside, Mary,’ she said. ‘We’ll take you home.’

‘What I believe, what I truly believe/ Mary said, ‘is that John’s father was to blame. You remember that story I once told you, Gini - about how John struck his father, when he was only a child?’

She gave a little sad gesture; Gini said nothing. That story could be interpreted in more than one way, but she had no intention of hurting Mary by saying this.

Mary gave a sigh. ‘I always hated John’s father/ she went on. ‘Still, I shouldn’t judge him, perhaps. If he made John suffer, he must be suffering himself now . . - ‘

She bent towards the fire, stroked Dog, and gave him a chocolate biscuit. Pascal and Gini exchanged a quiet glance: Mary knew some of what had happened, but by no means all.

‘What I do know/ Mary continued in a firmer voice, ‘is that I have lost a friend. All those people who still imply John was arrogant, cold, manipulative. That wasn’t the John I knew. He was a good man, a kind man, a fine man … ‘ She sighed. ‘I hate it now, watching all these petty little people, picking over his soul. And as for that McMullen - I know I shouldn’t say this, but I can’t regret that police marksmen shot him. He can’t have been sane, but even so - the malice of the man! Even before all this, Gini, when Sam was here and he and John explained all those allegations, McMullen had been making it was so desperately perverse. John was an idealist. He was harder on himself than anyone I know. He hated to fall short of his own ideals. It tormented him to fail. How could that man spread such malicious rumours about John’s marriage, about his service in Vietnam?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s so desperately unfair. You have an American president who gets pilloried because he didn’t fight, and didn’t believe in that war, and then you get a politician like John, who did fight, who was decorated, nearly killed - and that’s not acceptable either. Someone like McMullen comes along and starts querying every incident. You can’t do that. Surely in a war no soldier can be entirely blameless or innocent. Am I not right, PascalT

‘Possibly,’ Pascal said, in cautious tones. ‘It’s certainly very difficult for an outsider to judge. Particularly twentyfive years later.’

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‘I suppose so. I suppose so.’ Mary gave an unhappy shake of the head, then made an attempt to push these events away. She gave a little sigh, looked at her watch, then smiled,

‘Anyway/ she went on, in a brighter voice, ‘there’s no point in going over the past. I don’t want to make you late for the airport. Do you want to ring for a taxi from here?’

‘No.’ Pascal rose. ‘I’ll flag one down in the street. It will be quicker.’ He hesitated, then glanced at Gini, who gave him a tiny nod. ‘In fact, if you like, I’ll just go out and see if I can get one now.’

tn he had left the room, Mary and Gini looked

r: at one a er. There was a silence, then they both rose. Mary took Gini in her arms.

‘Oh, Gini,’ she said, ‘don’t look at me that way. I do like him. I’m sure I’ll come to like him more, when I know him better. It’s just … at the moment, I can’t quite forgive him for all that business with John. I still feel that if he hadn’t influenced you—2

‘You’re wrong, Mary.’ Gini looked down into her kind face, and anxious eyes. ‘I promise you, you’re wrong. I would have acted the same way whoever I was working with. It had nothing to do with Pascal.’ She hesitated. ‘He does influence me - you’re right. And I hope he goes on influencing me. Mary, when you know him better, you’ll see. Pascal’s good. He’s a rare man.’

Mary smiled. ‘Well, well/ she said. ‘Spoken from the heart. All right. I’ll reserve judgement. You can tell your Pascal, he can come to dinner with you when you get back, but he needn’t think I’m a pushover, I’m not easily won over you know.’

‘Yes, Mary, you are.’

‘Well, maybe a little bit. I’m soft-hearted. A sentimentalist. And he does have very nice eyes … ‘ She smiled, and drew Gini towards the door. ‘You won’t tell me where you’re going?’

‘No, Mary. It’s a secret. just for now. We’ll tell you when we get back.’

‘Not even a little hint? Oh, very well, very well . ‘She opened her front door. Pascal, who possessed an uncanny ability to find taxis in most major cities around the globe, even in torrential rain, even in the rush hour, had found one now. It had pulled in at the foot of the steps. Pascal was standing beside it, explaining a route he knew to Heathrow which avoided all traffic jams. He did this with some verve.

Mary watched this tall, darkhaired young man. He made some Gallic gestures; he was speaking very fast. She glanced at Gini, and

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gave her a little push. ‘I do see/ she said. ‘I do see, Gini. Was he like that when you first met him?’

‘All that impetuosity and vitality - and impatienceT Gini smiled. ‘Yes, he was.’

‘Then you’d better not keep him waiting. Call me the second you both get home. And have a lovely time/ she added, ‘in that mysterious place, wherever it is. He’s waiting for you, Gini. Go on … ‘

Gini ran down the steps. In the taxi, Pascal took her hand. He was looking anxious.

‘It’s an hour ahead there,’ he said. ‘I wanted us to arrive in sunlight but we won’t. It will be dark.’

‘That’s fine.’ Gini rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I’ll see it in twilight. Then tomorrow, we’ll get up very early-!

‘Possibly. We might not want to.’

‘Well, one day we could. We could get up early one of the days, Pascal, and see it at dawn.’

It was not a very lengthy journey. With a change of planes it took just over two hours. While they were on the second plane, Pascal talked at great length, very fast. He explained when his ex-wife was moving to England, and so when and how he was planning for Gini to meet Marianne. He was full of ideas as to where he and Gini might live in London, and how often they might spend time in France. He had a million plans for how he would work, and she would work, and how and where they might work together, and when Gini said that she also had one or two plans in this respect, he gave her a glance of delight: fine, he said, they would, of course, incorporate her plans as well.

‘Don’t you think, Pascal” Gini said contentedly, ‘that all these plans of ours might take up a long time? Years and years. We’ll never get through them all, you know.’

‘SoT He gave her a sidelong smile. ‘I don’t want to be through with these plans. I intend to spread them out and keep you busy. I intend them to last us a very very long time.’

‘Some of those plans are quite dangerous.’ ‘So? I like danger. And so do you.’

He drank a glass of champagne very fast. He said, ‘I’ve rediscovered who I am. For that I have you to thank, Gini. I think I shall kiss you. I think I shall kiss you for a long time, right now.’

‘On a plane? In front of the stewardessesT Gini smiled.

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‘The hell with the stewardesses. The hell with the rest of the passengers. Lean a little bit this way. No, a bit more, darling. Excellent. Now.’

By the time they landed, Gini felt dazed. She looked at the airport where they landed, and she saw the woman at the car-hire desk, and she saw the streets of the town through which Pascal drove them, surely and fast. She saw all these things, and the narrower, steeper roads which they came to eventually, but they were blurred and made imprecise by the happiness she felt. She leaned back in her seat, and watched the light over the hills around them turn silvery, then mauve. She had waited a long time to come here, and now that she had, it felt momentous but welcoming. She knew this place with her mind. To come here felt like coming home.

‘When we get there - it’s only a few kilornetres more/ Pascal said, ‘I want you to,16ose your eyes when I tell you, and then open them when I tell you … ‘ He broke off and gave her an anxious glance. ‘Maybe you’ll be disappointed .

‘I won’t be disappointed, Pascal.’

He drove on, the narrow road winding upwards. Ahead of them, through the gathering darkness, Gini could see the outlines of buildings, a small church, a farm. She wound down the window, and breathed in the scents of the air. Pascal slowed. She could hear faint music in the distance. To her left, a pale hunting owl swept over the hills.

‘Now you must close your eyes/ Pascal said, stopping the car. So she did. Pascal came around, and took her arm. He led her quietly and carefully a short way. Gini could feel cobbles underfoot, and hear voices. The past weeks slipped away. It felt so good, so immensely good to be alive, to be with Pascal, to be here.

‘It’s just around this next corner,’ Pascal said. ‘And then you can open your eyes.’

He led her on a short way. The voices were a little louder now, and they were accompanied by other noises - music, the clink of glasses, footsteps, the laughter of children. The air smelled of open country and cooking and red wine and the promise of long summer evenings. When Pascal stopped, and told her she might look now, she opened her eyes. She saw trees with their trunks lime-washed white, and their still-bare branches strung with lights. She saw two caf& facing one another on either side of his square. She saw the houses he had described to her, and the small church he’d worshipped in as a boy. She saw a priest in a soutane, and two men who might have been farmers, and a mother with a small

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child. She saw, on the far side of the square, the village’s one hotel, which was where he had promised her they would stay, and she saw the shuttered window on the top floor, which would have a view over the hills, and which he had told her would be theirs.

It was very ordinary and very extraordinary; it was as he had described it and much more than he had described it. Pascal looked at her face, then up at the night sky which was patterned with the most brilliant stars. He kissed her, then he led her across to one of the caf6s, where he was recognized at once, and where together with the priest who had confirmed him, and the two farmers who had been taught by his father, they drank marc. Pascal was teased, and she was teased, and Pascal took this in good part.

When he had had enough of the teasing, he rose, and took her into the hotel, whose owner had been his mother’s cousin. She showed them, with pride, to her room with the best view, on the top floor. And they both looked at that view, which was very beautiful, the next morning. But as Pascal had predicted, they did so long after dawn.

ALL THE characters in this novel are fictional: they bear no relation to any politicians, journalists or diplomats, alive or dead. All the locations, however, are real, although details such as names and street numbers have been changed. Appleyard’s apartment building exists, and is just as described. There is a Palazzo very like the Palazzo Ossorio in Venice, though it does not go by that name. In particular, the details concerning the residence of the US Ambassador in London’s Regent’s Park and the buildings adjacent to it are exact; apart from tree-felling activities, this area is as described.

SB, 1993