Lovers and Liars Trilogy (44 page)

Gini said nothing. She drank her tea, and put the cup back on the tray. She looked around this elegant room. The house was silent; it was now just past six o’clock. Pascal intended to catch the five o’clock flight, Paris time; there was an hour’s time difference in the winter months. That meant he would be reaching Heathrow Airport at around seven
P.M.
London time. Allow an hour from the airport into London. Around eight
P.M.
he would be arriving at Mary’s house. She did not want to miss him, but she could see that the meeting with Lise might not be as cursory as Mary seemed to expect. There were many reasons she could think of, pressing reasons, why Lise might want to speak to her. …But not here, surely? She looked at the room: Would you wire a drawing room for sound? In your own home? Four days ago, she would have dismissed that thought as absurd, as paranoid; not now.

At that moment the door opened, and Lise entered. She was dressed from head to foot in exquisite pale beige cashmere: over a cashmere dress she was wearing a cashmere coat. She looked radiant.

She crossed the room and kissed Gini warmly on both cheeks. Mary stared at her in astonishment.

“Come on, Mary, Gini…” She looked from one to the other. “We’re going out.”

“Out?” Mary rose to her feet. “Lise, that’s not a good idea, you know.”

“It’s a very good idea. I’m sorry, Mary, for all I put you through, but I realize now, I was just being stupid and neurotic. I think I had a bad reaction to whatever that quack of a doctor gave me yesterday. Well, it has worn off, and I feel absolutely fine now. I’ve had a bath, a little sleep. I feel like a new person. I’ve told them to bring the car around. We’ll go out. I thought I’d buy you both dinner. My treat, Mary, my way of thanking you for being so sweet.”

“No, Lise.” Mary spoke firmly. “I promised John you’d rest. He’ll be home soon.”

“Nonsense. He won’t be back before eight at the earliest. I know! If you won’t come to dinner, will you let me take you out for a drink? Please say yes. I’ve been cooped up all weekend. I need a change of air. There’s this marvelous new place, not far from you, Mary. A friend of a friend runs it. They serve those delicious tapas things—just for an hour. Okay?”

Mary gave a sigh, and turned away. Lise looked at Gini intently. Silently, she mouthed the words:
Say yes.

“I think that’s a good idea, Mary,” Gini said quickly. “Just for an hour. It might do Lise good. …”

Lise smiled and began to move toward the door. Mary gave Gini an exhausted look.

“Come on, Mary,” Gini said in a low voice. “It could do her good. You never know. She seems fine now. They’ll drive her there, then drive her back.”

Mary gave her a puzzled glance, then shrugged. “On your head be it,” she said.

The Kensington wine bar Lise had selected proved to be only two blocks from Mary’s house. It was chic, fashionable, and packed. They were driven there by a uniformed driver, with the security man from Mary’s party, Malone, in the other front seat.

He did not speak once. When they arrived outside the bar, he climbed from the car and went in first. He was inside five minutes, and Lise began to show signs of irritation.

“Oh, heavens,” she said. “How they do
fuss.
I wish he’d hurry up.”

Malone’s time, it seemed, had not been wasted. When they entered the crowded wine bar, a table had been made available for them, close to the fire exit, Gini noted. Malone hovered for a few seconds, then disappeared. Lise gave a sigh.

“Thank God. He’ll wait outside, and check I’m still here every ten minutes. You can set your watch by them.”

“Come on, now, Lise,” Mary said in an encouraging tone. “You shouldn’t resent them. They’re only doing their job.”

“Oh, I know, I know…” Lise gave a tiny, impatient gesture. “Better him than Frank, anyway.” She turned to Gini with an inquiring look. “Was it Frank who brought you, Gini?”

“Yes, it was.”

Lise made a face. “Horrible man. He’s had the whole weekend off, thank heaven. I like him the least. Always creeping around on those crepe-soled shoes of his. Still, John won’t hear a word against him. They go back a long way. He served with John in Vietnam, you know. He was sergeant in John’s platoon. Then he worked for John’s father for years and years.”

Her voice had risen slightly. Mary’s face became uneasy.

“Now, Lise, come on. Forget about him. Forget about all of them.”

“You’re right.” Lise smiled and held up the menu. “Gini, look at all these amazing cocktails they have. Which would you like? Mary?”

Both Lise and Gini ordered mineral water; Mary, with a wry glance at Gini, ordered a double scotch. The drinks arrived, the tapas were served. The noise was deafening: background music, conversation, laughter. Lise looked around her and gave a slow smile.

“How
nice
,” she said. “I like this place. Excuse me…” She stopped the waitress. “Would you just remove these? We won’t be needing them….”

She indicated a small vase of flowers, two containers for salt and pepper. The waitress stared at her, then removed them. The moment the table was clear, Lise seemed to relax. She chatted away for a while, then suddenly rose to her feet.

“I must pop into the ladies’ room for a moment,” she said.

Gini watched her make her way through the press of people by the bar. The rest rooms, she noted from the signs, were next to the telephones. She remembered that tape she had listened to with Pascal, and a similar ploy used by Lise on a former occasion. Could she intend to telephone someone? And why remove the objects on the table—unless she suspected they were bugged? She met Mary’s eyes. Mary sighed and took a hefty swallow of her drink.

“Don’t say it, Gini, I know. You’re going to think I was imagining the whole thing. She seems perfectly all right. Well, I just hope it lasts that’s all. If it doesn’t, there’ll be all hell to pay when John finds out”

“I thought it was a good idea to humor her,” Gini said.

“Darling, I hope to God you’re right.” Mary broke off. “Oh—I’ve just remembered. You wanted to see me—you wanted to talk. I’d completely forgotten. What was wrong, darling?”

“Nothing. I’m fine now. Really.”

“You certainly look fine. You’re looking better than I’ve seen you look in months.” Mary gave her a narrow look. “I wonder why? Any particular reason, darling? New job, new man, something like that?”

“Don’t fish, Mary.” Gini smiled.

“Would I?” Mary gave her a wide-eyed look of innocence. She took another sip of whisky. “I meant to tell you,” she continued in an offhand way, which did not deceive Gini in the least, “I was pleasantly surprised by your paparazzo. Not that I spoke to him for very long. But he seemed rather nice. How old is he, Gini?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Really? Yes, well, I thought he had very nice
eyes.
A man’s eyes are very important, and—”

“Who are you talking about?”

Lise had returned. She removed her coat and slid into her seat.

“Gini’s friend. Pascal Lamartine,” Mary replied.

Lise’s face instantly lit. “Oh, yes, Gini, what a
very
nice man he is. So intelligent. So French.” She gave Gini a teasing, almost mischievous look. “You know I was reading his palm—I hope you didn’t mind, my little party trick…well, his was most interesting. A deep life line, a strong fate line, one marriage, one very strong attachment, four children in all….”

“Four?”

“Well, I gather he has one already. So there are three still to come. Oh,” she paused, “and some very significant event, midlife—between thirty-five and forty, around then. It was quite clearly marked—a strong break in his fate line. I told him it could be bad or good, but it was a major alteration, some radical change.”

“Really?” Gini said, realizing with some self-disgust that she was listening intently to this.

“Oh, most definitely.” Lise nodded. “I never make a mistake. I told John that this would be a very difficult year for him, even a dangerous one, and I was right.”

“It’s January, Lise….” Mary put in.

Lise dismissed this blithely. “I know—and it’s begun the way it means to go on. Have one of these tapas, Mary. They’re delicious, don’t you think?”

For twenty minutes Lise continued to chat. She ate nothing, taking one of the tapas now and then, and crumbling it on her plate. Apart from this she seemed calm and relaxed. Gini found herself wondering: Was Lise a very good actress—and if so, had she been feigning hysteria earlier, or was she acting now? Which was her true self?

Mary, who seemed exhausted, took little part in this conversation. Lise told Gini about her work on the residence in London, the redecorations at her country house, the work John had organized in the gardens there—her husband was passionate about gardens, she said. She discussed her two sons with no sign of distress; she spoke warmly of their uncle Prescott, and how good it would be for the boys to spend some time back in the States. She described the party to be held shortly for her husband’s forty-eighth birthday, and pressed Gini to attend, as her husband had done. Her conversation was lively, even amusing at times, and the only unusual feature of it that Gini noted was the frequency of her references to her husband. She quoted his views constantly. His name punctuated every sentence. John thinks, John says, John feels, John hopes….

Gini glanced covertly at her watch. She intended to leave soon, and before she did, it was time to give this conversation a little push.

“Tell me,” she said, “when this posting to Britain is over, does your husband intend to return to political life?”

“Oh,
yes.
” Lise glanced at Mary. “Poor John. He took this position only for my sake. He thought it would give me a role, you see—and also that we would be able to see more of each other. He knew I hated living in Washington. Such a one-horse town, politics morning, noon, and night.” She paused, and glanced at Mary again.

“I hope he’s beginning to understand that he should never have done that. It was a sacrifice I never wanted him to make. I pleaded with him not to resign from the Senate. But John can be so immovable. I knew he would regret it, and he has. When you’re born for high office, as John was, there’s no escaping your fate.”

“Why did he resign?” Gini said. “I’ve never understood that.”

“Oh, Gini, no one did.” Lise sighed. “You’d have to know John terribly well to understand. I think, basically, he felt terribly
guilty.
” She gave Gini a small glance. “Our little boy Adam had been so ill, he nearly died, you know—it was the most terrible time. John felt he should have been with us more, that he’d failed in his responsibilities to us. So he just made the decision. He didn’t even consult me. And that was that….” She hesitated, and her lovely face clouded. “Since then he’s changed. I know he’s not happy. Not fulfilled. Ambassador!” She gave a dismissive gesture. “Anyone can be an ambassador. John was always destined for greater things than that.”

There was a silence. Mary raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Gini leaned forward.

“So, you think he’ll return to full-time politics in due course?”

“Oh, more than that.” Lise’s face took on an earnest look. She resembled a child repeating a well-learned lesson.

“John will run for the presidency eventually, just the way his father always planned, the way he always planned. And he’ll be elected, of course.”

She said this with an air of absolute certainty, as if she could look into the future. There was no trace of boasting.

“I see.” Gini was shaken by her manner. “And how would you feel about that?” she said carefully. “What about your objections to Washington?”

“Washington?” Lise’s face became blank.

“Well, that’s where the White House was the last time I visited.”

“Oh, I
see.
” Amusement lit her face. “Well, I never really objected to Washington, not as such. John
thought
I did, but that was all in his mind….”

Gini frowned. “But I thought you just said…when you lived there before, you found it limiting, a one-horse town?”

“Did I say that?” Lise looked genuinely surprised despite the fact that it was less than five minutes since she had made the remark. She gave a small shrug, glanced down at her watch, then across at Mary. She sighed. “Perhaps I’ve had some reservations in the past. I used to be so shy. It took me years to get used to such a public life. But now…well, I mustn’t stand in John’s way. That would be wrong of me, I think. Besides …” Her voice faltered. “I could be an asset to John—he used to say that. It would be such a boost for all my charities, and then I could redecorate the White House, restore it, the way Jackie Kennedy did. I’m quite good with houses, even John says that….”

She gave a sweet, childlike, and slightly anxious smile. Then, lifting her hand, she made little waving gestures as if trying to attract their waitress’s attention.

“Oh, what a
nuisance
,” she said. “I can’t catch that wretched girl’s eye. And I can see Mary’s absolutely exhausted. No, Mary, you are, and it’s entirely my fault. I’m talking on and on, and you’re just longing to go home and have a rest. Dammit, she simply will
not
look this way.” She half rose to her feet, but Mary stopped her.

“No, don’t be silly, Lise. You’re squashed in there in the corner. I’ll get her. Where is she?”

“She’s over there. Just beyond that crush at the bar. The one with frizzy red hair, I think….”

Mary rose and began to push her way through the throng of people. Gini looked around the room. The waitress who had served them, she noted, did not have red hair, and she was not over by the bar, she was standing at the opposite end of the long room. She turned back to look at Lise. The alteration in Lise’s demeanor had been immediate. The expression of somewhat sugary rapture was wiped from her face. Her features were now tense and set; she had paled. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, leaned across the table, and grasped Gini’s wrist.

“Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I had to talk to you. Can you help me? Are you helping me?” she asked.

Gini began to reply, but Lise interrupted her, speaking fast in a very low voice.