Lovers and Liars Trilogy (74 page)

“That shocks you?” he said. “You look shocked.”

“No. I’m not shocked. It’s not a word careful politicians use too often. Maybe it’s that.”

“I’m not speaking as a politician. I’m not speaking carefully. I thought you understood that.” He met her eyes. “It’s a common enough word. It’s exact.”

“It is that.”

“You find it distasteful all the same.” He half smiled. “Don’t deny it, I can see it in your face. There…” He leaned across the space dividing them and touched her forehead very lightly, between her brows. He withdrew his hand at once. “There. The smallest frown. And in the eyes too. I can see it. You disapprove.” He sighed. “Why, Gini. Is it so bad? Just to want to fuck someone? Isn’t it honest to admit it, at least?”

“It isn’t that.” She rose hastily to her feet.

“Would you approve more if I told you I’d been looking for someone to love?” He looked up at her, still with that tired half-smile, then he also rose. They were now standing very close to each other. His expression became serious.

“Would you rather hear that? Most women would.”

“No. Why should I? It makes no difference.”

She began to move away. Hawthorne touched her arm lightly and drew her back so she faced him. “Wrong,” he said. “Wrong, Gini. It makes all the difference. You know that….”

Gini gave a small, quick defensive gesture of the hand. She had the sensation that events were moving, turning, speeding up. They were flashing past her eyes very fast, like a succession of lights on a freeway.

“Listen,” she began in a rushed way. “It’s very late. I think perhaps you should leave now, and—”

She stopped. Hawthorne had taken her hand in his and raised it to his lips. At exactly the moment she felt his breath against her skin, the telephone rang on her desk. She jerked her hand quickly away and turned. She stared at the telephone.

Hawthorne said in an even voice, “I imagine that will be Pascal Lamartine, who is now some two and a half hours late coming for you. You’d better answer it, don’t you think?”

She crossed to the desk and picked up the receiver. There was silence at the other end; she turned to face Hawthorne, still holding the receiver. He was watching her closely. “Pascal?” she said into the silence. The line crackled. Then she heard not Pascal’s, but another male voice, a familiar voice.

“Gini,” it whispered. “Gini, is it you?”

She caught her breath. She felt the blood drain from her face. She realized that she was afraid, suddenly very afraid, of both these men, the one who had just kissed her hand, and the one who whispered his secret wishes in her ear. Were they alike in those wishes, or not? She froze, staring at Hawthorne. The voice whispered on.

Hawthorne frowned. He moved closer, then closer still. His eyes never once left her face. When he was two feet away from her, then one foot, she knew he could hear the whispers too. She saw those scratchy obscenities register in his eyes. He showed little surprise, but she saw his mouth tighten with anger. He listened for a moment or two, then held out his hand.

“Give it to me, Gini,” he said.

She handed him the receiver. He listened a moment more, then said in his clipped, cold East Coast voice, “Are you monitoring this call? Do you know who this is?”

There was a click, then silence. The recording must have been terminated, for the whispering stopped.

“You call again, and you’ll regret it. You’ve got that?” Hawthorne spoke clearly and succinctly, as if in no doubt that he was being heard. His face was now wiped of any emotion. Reaching around her, he replaced the receiver with a click.

He moved back, so he was directly in front of her once more, and Gini was backed up against her desk. He looked down into her face, and when she looked into his eyes, she could see anger in them, way back, like burning ice.

“Has that happened before?”

“Yes.”

“When? Since when have you been getting calls like that?”

“This week. I forget when they started. Tuesday. No, Monday. The day I got back from Venice—”

She broke off. That word, and that admission, had been made before she had time to think, when all she was conscious of was Hawthorne’s proximity, and the pressure behind her of the edge of her desk. She saw it dawn in his eyes the second she said it She crimsoned. Hawthorne gave a small sigh. She felt his whole body relax.

“Gini. Gini,” he said in a low voice, half amused, half sad. “I know you went there. I know why. It doesn’t matter. Just trust me a little. A few more days. If you’d only do that. I—” He broke off. “Don’t believe all the lies. Dear God…”

He lifted his hand and touched her hair. “You have amazing hair, such beautiful hair, Gini—and—Gini, when I look at you …”

“Don’t.” She put her hands between them, and tried to push him back, but he pressed closer against her then, his hand grasping the nape of her neck so her face was turned up to his.

“You mean that?” he said. “You’re sure you mean it? Gini, look at me. No, don’t turn your face away. Yes. Like that.”

Gini became absolutely still. She looked up into his face. He was breathing more rapidly now, and she knew he was aroused. That made her very afraid. There was some desperation deep in his eyes, and a new urgency in the way he held her. He began to speak, then stopped, then began again in a low voice. He took her hand in his.

“This is what you do to me….You must know. It happened the first time I ever set eyes on you—and it shocked me then. It happened again, the other night, at Mary’s. What were we talking about then? I can’t even remember what we were talking about. I knew exactly why you were there, and even that made no difference. A whole roomful of other people made no difference. Tonight, when your father went to hit you. We’re alike. We’re kin. I know you can feel it. I can see it in your eyes. This is what they say to me—and this.”

He gripped her hand tight, and pressed it against his chest. She felt the beat of his heart through her fingertips. Then he gripped her more tightly still, and drew her hand down between their bodies. His penis was erect. He shuddered as he made her touch him.

“Gini, listen to me. Look at me.”

He began to press her harder, back against the desk. Gini struggled to free her hands. She wrenched her face away.

“Stop this,” she said. “That isn’t true. Get away from me. Stop this, now.”

“Look at me and say that. You can’t…” he said, but when she turned her face, he bent and kissed her hard on the lips. He pushed her back; he groaned, and began to caress her breasts. Gini gave a cry; he drew back just a little, and she saw his face change, become both urgent and triumphant. He twisted her arm behind her back and bent her against the desk, bearing down with his full weight, so he half straddled her, and his erection thrust against her crotch. He pulled her blouse open. She felt the shock of his hand on her skin. His hand closed around her breast.

“Don’t speak. Stop struggling. Darling—don’t…” He caught her hand as she raised it to push him back. Then he was half lifting her, one hand easing up her skirt. He pushed her down and back against the desktop. He pushed her thighs apart, jerking her body up against his penis. Then he crushed her against him, caught her by the hair, forced her head back. She cried out again, and he pressed his mouth against hers and pushed his tongue between her lips.

He was very strong, and these moves were swift. There was no hesitation, no suggestion that she might find his actions unwelcome or would resist. Gini fought to free her hands which were now trapped between their bodies. The pressure of his mouth was painful, and the more she struggled, the harder that pressure was. She let her body go limp, and he responded at once to that.

“Yes,” he said. “Darling, Christ, yes…”

He began to kiss her throat in a frantic way. Gini freed her hands. She waited; she tensed; she thought:
When he lifts his head…

“You have the most beautiful mouth,” he was saying. “Such lovely breasts…”

He moved his head lower. His hands were now gripping her waist, arching her back under him. He began to kiss her breasts, more gently now, touching the nipple with his tongue and sucking it between his lips. First her right breast, then the left. A tremor ran through his body. Gini waited, waited, then he straightened.

His hands moved to the waistband of his pants, and then—when he was half upright, urgent, looking down at her with a blind concentration, she bunched her fist. She swung her arm and hit him with all her strength. The blow landed in the perfect place, just on the pressure point at the side of his neck. Hawthorne gave an exclamation of pain. He released her and stepped back.

He recovered almost immediately. He stood there, his breath coming rapidly. A look of bewilderment, then anger, passed across his face.

“I thought you understood,” he began. He took a step toward her. “Gini…”

“Oh, I understood I understood very well. You’ve been explaining all evening—I see that.”

There was a silence. His face hardened. “Not clearly enough,” he said. “Evidently.”

“Look—will you just get out of here now. Please?”

Gini was trying to refasten her blouse. Her hands were shaking, and she was terrified he would see this.

“You’re afraid….”

He was staring at her. Gini stared back. She saw comprehension begin in his face.

“Your hands are shaking. I thought—” He took another step toward her. He lifted his hand and Gini flinched. She put up her arm instinctively, to shield herself. Hawthorne stopped. His face became set.

“I see. I begin to understand. Just what in God’s name have you been told about me?”

“Nothing more than you’ve just told me yourself. Right then.” She gestured furiously at her desk. “If I’d had any doubts before, I don’t now. You’ve just shown me exactly what kind of man you are.”

“Have I?” His voice had become very cold. “I was making love to you. At least, that’s what I thought.”

“Making love? You call that making love?” She turned to face him. “You can’t have thought that. I was goddamn well trying to fight you off….”

“Well, I expect some resistance.” He gave a slight smile. “Under the circumstances. How long would it have continued, do you think?”

“Get out of here now.” She took a step toward him. “And don’t lie. You heard me—I asked you, I told you to stop….”

“Ah, but did you mean it?”

“Yes, and you damn well know I meant it.”

“Then I apologize.” He gave a small shrug and a cool, assessing glance. “In that case, I must have misinterpreted the signals—”

“What signals?” she said furiously. “I never gave you one signal—not one.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“After what I’d heard about you? You think I give come-ons to men like you? Well, I don’t.”

There was a long silence. Hawthorne’s face had gone white. She saw her words register in his eyes like a slap in the face. He gave a sigh.

“Whatever you’ve been told,” he said in a low, tense voice, “it’s still possible. In this situation…” He gestured at her, then at himself. “In this situation, almost anything is possible. Any extreme. Unfortunately. As I’ve learned to my cost.”

He turned away and moved across to the door, then he paused and looked back at her. “I wasn’t lying to you earlier,” he said. “In fact, I haven’t lied once since I set foot in this room—which is quite an achievement when you consider the situation. You, me—all of this. I meant it when I said I liked you. I meant some of the other things I implied—which you don’t seem to have picked up. I don’t expect you to believe me now. But when this is over—I hope you’ll remember that, at least.”

He gave her a long, steady look. “And we were talking about sex too. Love and sex. The two subjects most people lie about most of the time. Especially to themselves. You might think, Gini, about that.”

Gini looked at him uncertainly. The anger and the fear she had felt had now gone.

“I did not want this to happen,” she said in a voice as quiet as his. “You shouldn’t suggest I did. I love someone. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—encourage anyone else. Not now. You should understand that.”

Hawthorne looked at her closely, and sadly. Then he smiled. “You’re young,” he said in an odd, regretful way. “When you get to my age, you’ll realize that even love is no protection at all. These things happen—and they get under every guard. Duty, ethics, vows—yes, even love. None is an adequate defense.” He paused. “You say that now—but can you be sure you’d say it in six months? A year? Tomorrow? Or now—if I kissed you again now?” He took a step toward her; Gini did not move.

“It’s all right. I’m not going to touch you.” He lifted his hand, then let it fall. “You see—quite harmless.” He turned back and opened the door. “Just remember,” he said over his shoulder. “I wasn’t lying. And ask yourself whether you were.”

He walked out and closed the door behind him. Gini pressed herself against it. She was shaking. She let out her breath in a shuddering sigh. She hugged her arms tight across her chest. She listened to his footsteps ascend, then cross the sidewalk. She heard his car engine fire, and he must have opened his car windows, because she heard music—a short fine burst of Mozart—before he pulled away, and there was silence in the street.

When he was gone, she ran across to her desk and picked up the phone. Afterward, looking back, she would ask herself if subsequent events might have turned out differently had Pascal not arrived back at her apartment some six minutes after Hawthorne left. If the gap had been just a little longer, so she had had more time to think; if she had changed her torn blouse, washed her face, tied up her hair, removed the whisky glasses and the coffee cups—would it have been different then?

As it was, she had done none of those things. She had just sat on the floor by her desk, cradling the telephone and dialing Mary’s number again and again. She was so sure Pascal must be there, was perhaps arguing with her father even then, and it was this which explained his absence. That idea had come to her only as she heard Hawthorne drive away, and it filled her with a new agitation. She kept dialing, getting a busy signal, then dialing again.

As she dialed, she was also listening for the sound of his motorbike, but no bikes passed or stopped, just cars, just taxis. She heard one of those taxis pull up outside, but that meant nothing. Her hands would not stop shaking; she dropped the phone, picked it up again, redialed again. It was not until she heard footsteps outside, and she heard him calling her name, that she realized. She sprang to her feet, ran to the door, and opened it.