Lovers and Liars Trilogy (34 page)

“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 I, Pascal.”

“Is he alone?”

“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 right?”

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 toward her.

“That break-in, 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.”

T
HE DINNER HAD GONE
well. The pheasants were excellent, the pears and the chocolate mousse delicious. It was now ten-fifteen, Gini would be here soon and Mary was in the process of weeding out the bores, a process at which she was skilled. Two were now departing; two more remained in the drawing room, but she could see that John Hawthorne, as adept as she was in this respect, was maneuvering them toward the hall, where a dour Bulgarian first secretary and his wife were being helped into their coats by the American security man stationed there. The new thug, Mary thought to herself, Malone—yes, that was his name—was proving highly useful. The Bulgarian shook her hand.

“Lady Pemberton,” he said, “such a very excellent evening.” His English was good; his wife’s less so.

“The pheasant birds,” she said. “These I will have enjoyed.”

“A most interesting conversation with Ambassador Hawthorne,” the Bulgarian went on. “He was fully cognizant of our latest export figures. A most well-informed man.”

“
Isn’t
he?” Mary said, with animation, edging him toward the door. The Bulgarian was one of the guests invited at John’s behest. During the requisite ten minutes she had spent in conversation with him, he had explained, at length, Bulgaria’s iron ore industries. Mary opened the door.

“
Such
a pity you can’t stay. So
very
nice to have met your wife. Of course. Of course.
Absolutely!
Good-bye…” Mary closed the door and raised her eyes heavenward. Beyond her, this new man, Malone, gave a smile.

“Two more to weed out, ma’am?” He nodded toward 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 humor. 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 glass that had contained Perrier. She was staring into space, turning the glass around and around in her hands.

Malone, Mary realized, had not replied. She turned back to him. One more try. “Still, even you have to take a break sometimes. I expect Frank was due some leave?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s not on duty this weekend.”

“How nice for him…”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I always think it must be so exhausting for you,” Mary continued with a vague and incoherent gesture of the hand. “Always on the alert. Ever watchful…”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Rather like Cerberus, you know…” She broke off. This was not the most tactful comparison, the dog Cerberus, eternally standing guard over the gates of hell. She attempted to cover her confusion, told herself that Malone was unlikely to be well versed in Greek mythology, had probably never even
heard
of Cerberus…and then realized that he had. She saw amusement way back in his eyes, then the bland, blank look they all assumed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You wouldn’t like a drink or anything, Mr. Malone? Some Perrier, perhaps?”

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

He had moved away a few steps. He was doing another thing they all did, something at which they were all skilled. He was making himself invisible. He was fading into the wall.

“Well, yes, of course, indeed,” Mary said, feeling flustered, feeling she had just made an idiot of herself. She glanced down at her watch. Ten-thirty: Gini and that Lamartine man would be here any minute. She felt suddenly very anxious, but her instincts as a hostess came to the fore. Going back into her large drawing room, she edged past her other guests, around the backs of the two remaining bores, and crossed to the fireplace. Lise was still standing there alone.

“No Dog?” she asked as Mary bent and put another log on the fire. Lise held out her hands to the flames. Mary saw that Lise was shivering, although she was three feet from the fire and the room was warm.

“No. He’s been banished upstairs.” Mary smiled. “He will beg for tidbits. Besides, I have to face facts. I may adore him, but he’s old and he smells.”

“He’s sweet,” Lise said, without great conviction. Lise had never liked dogs. “Terribly sweet. So…” She stopped. Apparently she could think of no appropriate compliment. Her eyes met Mary’s in mute distress, then Lise looked away.

Mary took her arm. “Lise,” she said firmly. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, of course not. I’m having a perfectly lovely time.”

Mary regarded Lise carefully. She looked very beautiful tonight in a white dress, which, like all Lise’s clothes, was austere in design. It was long-sleeved, high-necked, plain. As the right frame sets off a painting, so this dress by its simplicity, by its exquisite cut, emphasized Lise’s loveliness. She wore the necklace that had been her birthday present from John, and very little other jewelry; her black hair, worn loose, framed her face. That face, with its large dark blue eyes, now wore an anxious expression, like that of an apprehensive child. Today was Lise’s thirty-eighth birthday. She was approaching forty, had admitted to Mary on numerous occasions that this watershed filled her with dread, and she looked, Mary thought, no more than twenty-five.

Except…she was looking strained. She was becoming painfully thin, and her long, beautiful hands, adorned only by her wedding ring, were still clasping that glass tightly. Her knuckles were white. As Mary looked at her, she shivered again.

“Come on, Lise. Don’t pretend, not to me.” Mary patted her arm. “You’ve been on edge all evening. I know there’s something wrong.”

Lise bit her lip like a little girl, lowered her eyes, then gave Mary a shy sidelong glance. “Oh, Mary. All right, I’ll admit it. I know it’s very stupid, but I worry so about John. All this horrible Middle East business. I just know they’re on a high-security alert, though, of course, John will never admit that. There was a bomb, you know, outside our embassy in Paris. They defused it tonight.”

“I hadn’t heard that. It wasn’t on the news.”

“It will be tomorrow. John told me this evening, when we were getting dressed to come here. There’s a news blackout, I think. But, you see, if the Paris embassy, why not here?”

“You mustn’t think like that, you know, Lise. I’m sure John’s perfectly safe.” Mary gave her an encouraging smile. “Look at his security! Men everywhere—that nice Mr. Malone outside in the hall…”

“Is he nice?” Lise gave her an odd look. “I don’t think he’s nice, not at all. They’re all so grim and silent. I hate them. Especially Frank. He’s the worst of all.”

“I thought you liked Frank?” Mary looked at her in surprise. “Don’t you remember, Lise, when we had lunch before Christmas? You said then how much you liked him. You said he was very efficient and polite.”

“Did I say that? I don’t remember.” Lise shivered again. “Well, if I did, I’ve changed my mind. He’s
too
efficient. It’s like some horrible shadow, always following me around.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about him anyway,” Mary said in a comfortable way. “It’s his weekend off, I gather, so—”

“It is?” Lise swung around to look at her. “Who told you that? John? Where’s Frank gone?”

“Lise, how would I know?” Mary stared at her in surprise. “That Malone man mentioned it just now. I don’t know where they take off to—I can’t imagine. Maybe they get drunk for two days. Chase girls. Ring up their aged mothers in Omaha. God knows.” Mary smiled. “What do ex-marines do with their free time? Parachuting? Target practice? Fifty-mile runs?”

“Ex-marines? Frank isn’t an ex-marine. What made you think that?”

The question was sharply put, but Mary was distracted. Across the room there were some new arrivals, she saw—the more entertaining guests, who always started to arrive around this hour. She made out the features of a well-known poet; there was someone else with him. Really, she must get some glasses. …But no, it was not Gini, or that Lamartine man. A couple of actor friends, and—yes—that amusing little journalist man, editor of one of London’s more scurrilous magazines. She must remember to keep him well away from John.

“I’m sorry.” She turned back to Lise. “I was just looking for Gini. What did you say, Lise?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, what was it?”

“Oh, just Frank. He isn’t a marine. He was never a marine.”

“Oh. I thought they all were….” Mary looked back across the room. The two remaining bores were now by the hall. Time to detach them…

“Frank used to work for John’s father. Didn’t you know that?” Lise was now staring at her in a fixed, almost suspicious way, as if she thought Mary was hiding something from her.

“No. No, I didn’t,” Mary said, frowning.

“Oh.” Lise shivered again. “Well, he did. John’s father wasn’t satisfied with the security arrangements when John took this post. You know how he is.”

“I do indeed.”

“He insisted the official security people be supplemented. Frank was one of the ones who came over.” She stopped, and looked directly into Mary’s eyes. “John never mentioned that to you?”

“No, Lise. He didn’t.”

Lise gave a tremulous sigh. Her gaze fell. “Oh. I just wondered. It’s just…you and John are such good friends. You see each other all the time.”

Mary stared at her in astonishment. For a moment she had sounded almost jealous. “Lise,” she said firmly. “I’ve known John since he was ten years old. I’m a fat, frumpy old widow, and John’s been very kind to me since Richard died. When he comes to see me, he does it to cheer me up. Which he’s very good at, incidentally. We don’t sit here talking about his security people. Why on earth should we?”

Lise sensed the reproach at once. She gave Mary a shy smile, and took her arm. “Oh, Mary, Mary, I’m being such an idiot tonight I didn’t mean—I’m so glad you
are
John’s friend. He gets very tense, and he needs someone to talk to.”

“He has you to talk to, Lise.”

Lise did not reply. Her dark eyes met Mary’s, and for one appalling moment Mary thought she was about to cry. Mary watched her fight back the tears, then Lise moved away with an odd, defensive gesture of the hand. She was carrying a small evening purse under her arm. She opened it, and began to fumble inside.

“Actually,” she said. “Actually, I think I have one of my headaches coming on. Those hideous migraine things…”

“Are you sure you’re all right? Would you like to go home? Let me have a word with John—”

“No! No. Don’t do that.” For a second Lise looked terrified; she almost dropped the purse. “No. He’d be so cross. I know he’s looking forward to meeting Gini properly. And, of course, so am I. I have these wonderful little pills. My miracle pills…Ah, here they are. Truly, Mary. One of these and a glass of water, and I’ll be just fine.”

Her manner had grown hectic, and her hands were shaking. Quietly, feeling troubled, Mary fetched her some water. She glanced back toward the hall, checked the room as she did so. The last bores, thank heaven, had left—and without saying good-bye. Bores
and
bad-mannered, she thought. John was talking to the two actors; she heard the words
Academy Awards.
Everyone was occupied, had a drink; someone else was just arriving now.

She handed Lise the glass of Malvern water. Lise appeared calmer now. She swallowed the small white pill and gave Mary a grateful glance. She too looked across the room.