Lovers and Liars Trilogy (89 page)

He did wait, for ten or fifteen minutes. At nine-twenty, unable to stand it any longer, he crossed the courtyard again, vaulted over the fence and back into the ring road. He hesitated, then went into the park.

He was now, he realized, in the place where Gini had been the day McMullen first approached her. He was standing, as he knew she had, on a small knoll, a rise of ground, under a clump of young chestnut trees. He could see both the mosque and the residence gardens clearly. He could see that high fence around the residence gardens, with the camouflage netting Gini described strung between its bars. He could see the gaps in the tree cover that were the results of the tree-pruning Gini had mentioned. He frowned at the fence, glanced over at the mosque behind him, moved across to a nearby bench, and sat down.

His eyes scanned the park. It would be another beautiful clear winter’s day, but it was still early for a Sunday, and it was cold: The park was as yet almost empty. He could see some joggers making the circuit, several people with dogs, a couple by the boating lake, a father with two children in the small playground, and beyond that, where a bridge passed over a conduit from the lake, two people, an elderly man and a woman, feeding bread to the ducks.

He could feel something edging its way forward from the back of his mind. There was a sense here, a meaning in the apparently random views, and he was very close to it, could almost grasp it. He lit a cigarette and began to think very hard.

James McMullen was alive—that was the first thing. He might not know it for certain, but he felt very very sure. If the dead man on the rail line were wearing McMullen’s signet ring, had been carrying McMullen’s ID, then that suggested McMullen had staged his own death. But why?

If Gini had been certain he had done so by the time she placed that call, why direct Pascal here to the mosque? Was it simply that she herself was nearby, in the residence, and she wanted him to know that? Or was there another reason, a hidden message?

Time was passing, passing. Pascal stared around him with infuriated despair. Joggers, a father with two children, an elderly couple, a perimeter fence, a mosque. Pascal rose, he began to pace. He looked back at the mosque, but it was still deserted. Should he go back and try to gain admittance to the residence? He would almost certainly not be admitted—and why were those two ambulances there?

He walked deeper into the park, closer to the lake, then turned, frowning, looking back the way he had come. It was nine forty-five now, and more people were entering the park. Pascal stared back at the gate by which he had entered: He saw a group of teenagers with skateboards, a pair of lovers hand in hand, two men, one in a track suit, one in a Barbour jacket, a woman pushing a stroller. He thought:
At ten. I’ll go to that lodge at ten, and I’ll make them let me in.
But even as he thought that, he could still feel that comprehension inching its way forward from the back of his mind.

He began to walk back toward the gate, and the mosque, and as he did so, approaching that grove of young chestnut trees, it came to him. He stopped dead. He thought:
a knoll; rising ground.

Little hints, little clues he had overlooked began to fall into place one by one. Why had McMullen taken him and Gini to that hideout in Oxfordshire? Because it was
misleading,
that was why. It directed their attention away from London, away from
here.
This was the place where Lise had met McMullen in the past: Pascal had suspected some collusion between Lise and McMullen before—but supposing that collusion went further than he had realized? Could Lise have been planning an attempt on her husband’s life with McMullen from the first, even in the days when they walked in this part of the park together? Had McMullen, when he met Gini here, had a dual purpose: Had he intended to contact Gini, and at the same time finalize his plans?

I’ve been an idiot, I’ve been a fool, Pascal thought, and he ran down from the knoll to the perimeter fence of the residence gardens. He could see nothing beyond the camouflage netting and the shrubbery, but he could hear voices in the garden beyond. He swung around, white-faced, frowning, looking at the lay of the ground. No, he thought; no, it isn’t possible; the ground doesn’t rise sufficiently, the cover around the gardens is too thick and too high. In the distance, a church clock tolled ten times. Pascal stood there, frozen, trying to see how McMullen might have planned this, how it might be done.

Not from inside the gardens, surely—any attempt at entry would set off a million alarms. From outside, then? But from where? And how could McMullen know of a time when the ambassador would be in the gardens, unless that was something he could arrange, for certain, using Lise. Pascal stared around him: the grass, the rising ground, the mosque, the ring road, the high white arch of the brilliant winter sky.

He understood about one minute before he saw James McMullen in the distance. He understood when he looked at that newly made gap in the garden’s protective tree line, the gap Lise Hawthorne had instructed be made. He understood when, turning his eyes a few degrees farther to his left, he looked at the mosque and its minaret, a minaret that was over one hundred feet high.

For one tiny instant he traveled back to his own past. Beirut. Belfast. The snipers who could position themselves with such lethal efficiency high up, on a tall building, firing down—a perfect line of fire.

At exactly that moment he saw McMullen one hundred yards away from him. He was removing his Barbour jacket; he wrapped it around something else which he had just picked up from the ground. He moved out of the gate, beyond the park hedge, and into the ring road. Pascal began to run. He thought:
It’s Sunday. It’s the third Sunday in the month. That’s how they planned it. It’s now.

As Hawthorne led Gini out onto the terrace at the back of the house, there was a crackle of radio static. The group of people watching Lise had swelled: There were at least ten of them, Gini realized, as they parted to let Hawthorne through. Two nurses, a woman in a maid’s uniform, who was crying, a manservant, the paramedics, and no less than three security men. Malone was standing at the edge of the terrace, looking toward Lise. Gini saw him frown, lift his arm, and speak into the microphone in his cuff.

“Get these people inside,” Hawthorne said in a voice icy with anger as they passed through. Gini glanced back and saw that the command had been given to Frank Romero, who began to usher these bystanders indoors. Only one nurse and one paramedic remained, waiting. As Hawthorne led her down the steps from the terrace and onto the lawn, both Romero and Malone moved into place behind him, about twenty yards back.

“Just stay there, for Christ’s sake,” Hawthorne said, swinging around and speaking in a low voice. “Just let me deal with this, will you? Wait there.”

Romero hesitated, Gini saw, then stopped. Malone ignored the directions. He fell back a little, halting only when Hawthorne and Gini halted. Gini saw him frown again, then scan the gardens, that perimeter fence. Following Hawthorne, she approached the white bench.

Lise did not move until both of them had walked around the bench and were facing her. She looked at them blankly for a second, then—as if she were a hostess at some embassy party, she rose to her feet. She clasped Gini’s hand with icy fingers.

“Gini,” she said, “you’re here. How lovely. Isn’t it the most wonderful day? Such sun—it’s quite warm here in the sun, look.”

She sat down again on the bench, motioning Gini to sit beside her. Gini looked at her uncertainly. Her face was chalk-white, but two patches of color came and went in her cheeks. The sun was out, and very bright—that was true—but it was still bitterly cold. Lise looked as if she had a fever. On the side of her face, Gini saw, there was a darkening bruise. Lise stared at her closely, then gripped her hand in her thin fingers. She shivered again.

Gini hesitated. She looked closely at Lise’s eyes. The pupils were huge, so large, so dilated that her eyes appeared black. What the hell is she
on,
Gini thought.

“It’s cold, Lise,” she said gently. “Would you like me to get you a coat?”

“Oh, no”—Lise gave a high laugh—“I’m not cold at all. It’s just such an amazing day. John, Gini and I will just sit here for a while in the sun. Why don’t you fix us a drink?”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning, Lise,” he replied in a quiet voice. “I don’t think Gini wants a drink just yet.”

“Nonsense.” Her voice rose on a strained, almost coquettish note. “I’m sure she does. Champagne. A glass of champagne. You can drink champagne at any time of the day or night.”

Hawthorne frowned. He looked at Gini, who gave him a slight nod. He hesitated, seemed about to argue, then changed his mind. He turned away abruptly and strode back across the grass. At the terrace he stopped and beckoned to Malone. From across the lawn Gini heard a familiar sound, half-whine, half-hiss. Lise heard it too. Her grip tightened on Gini’s hand.

“Is his father there?” She shivered again.

“I think so. I can’t see him. Maybe he’s just inside the terrace doors.”

“We don’t have long. Listen to me.” Lise fixed those black eyes on Gini’s face. She stared at her very closely, frowning, as if she were finding it difficult to focus. She gave an odd little gasp.

“Tell me,” she said, “tell me quickly. Did you sleep with him? Have you slept with him?”

“With your husband, Lise?” Gini said gently. “No. Of course not.”

“Oh.” Lise gave a low moan. “Thank Christ.” She tightened her grip so her nails dug into Gini’s palms. “And you won’t sleep with him, will you? You promise me? As long as you don’t, you’ll be safe. I think you’ll be safe. He won’t harm you then. He won’t let his father harm you—” She broke off. The black eyes narrowed. “You are telling me the truth?”

“Yes, Lise. I am.”

“Did he try? I imagine he did,” she said with a violent shiver. “Did he make you touch him? That’s what he does—at least, he says it’s what he does. He could be lying, of course. Oh. I must think. I must
think.
” She lifted her hand, bunched it into a thin fist, and suddenly struck her own forehead hard, three times.

“There. That’s better.” She gave Gini a radiant smile. “You see, I have to talk to you before they take me away. Once I get in that ambulance, that’s it. He’ll have me certified. All the papers are drawn up. All he has to do is come out to the hospital and sign them….” Tears suddenly swam in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Then I won’t see my little boys ever again. It’s so
wicked,
Gini. And no one can help me now, not even you. Did he tell you? James is dead….”

She gave a low moan of distress. Gini glanced over her shoulder. Hawthorne was still on the terrace, talking to Malone.

“Lise,” she began gently. “I don’t think James is dead. I think you’re wrong about that….”

“He is. He is.” Lise gave a little cry. “They brought him here last night. They killed him right in front of me. That animal Romero did it. They made me watch, Gini. Look. That’s James’s blood, here, on my dress….”

Gini looked down. The thin dress Lise was wearing was made of fine white linen. There was not one mark on it, of blood or anything else.

“Did he explain?” Lise said on a sudden sharp note. “Did he tell you lies about me? Did his father?” She clutched Gini’s hand. “You mustn’t believe him, Gini. He lies so terribly well, he always did. John is very very dangerous—especially for a woman. You must understand that. He can make women do things—he’s made me do such terrible things, Gini, vile things, so he can watch. He doesn’t love me, of course—did I explain that before? I think I did. But even so, when he gets bored with the girls, with the blondes, he always comes back to me. He humiliates me with other men. He likes that very much. I can’t tell you what he makes me do to them, because it’s so foul, so evil—but I don’t have any choice. Gini, look…” She trembled violently, and turned her face to display the heavy bruising. “John did that to me, last night. Tell your friend—Pascal, that’s it—tell Pascal. If he was taking pictures last night, it wasn’t my fault. John made me do it. And after he closed the shutters, then he hurt me so badly, Gini. Listen, and I’ll whisper it in your ear. I can’t speak it out loud, but I have to tell you what he did…”

She pulled Gini toward her and began to whisper frantically in her ear. Gini could scarcely hear her. There was a stream of muddled accusations, and four-letter words. Lise suddenly pulled away. She regarded Gini with an odd, staring look.

“Will you promise me something?”

“If I can, Lise, yes.”

“Now that I’ve spoken to you, I don’t mind leaving. I’ll go away quietly, the way he wants. Maybe it would be good for me to go somewhere quiet and have a long rest. That’s what John says.” She gave a little puzzled shake of the head, then, turning away her face, she sighed. “But if I do that, Gini, I have to know you’ll be safe. You promise me you won’t go to bed with him, will you, Gini? No matter what he says?”

“Look, Lise, that’s not going to happen, okay? You can put it right out of your mind.”

“You mean you’re not even tempted?” A sudden sly look crossed Lise’s face. “Are you sure? You’re not lying to me? Most women are tempted by John. John can be the most wonderful lover. So passionate. So strong…” She gave a low laugh. “You know that phrase ‘
le diable au corps
’? John has that. It can be quite a ride, Gini. He takes you all the way to hell and back.”

Gini frowned and looked at her uncertainly. Lise had suddenly sounded far less mad, and far more devious. Abruptly, she glanced over her shoulder, then turned back and snatched Gini’s arm.

“Anyway,” she went on in a low, rapid voice. “Never mind that. I just want to know you’ll be safe. So when I’ve gone…Gini, don’t go back into the house with him, will you? Don’t risk that.”

“Lise, I do have to leave here, you know. Try not to worry….”

“No. No! Listen to me. I mean it.” Color flared in her cheeks. The black eyes fixed Gini with a beseeching look. “Promise me. Stay in the gardens, then you can leave through the gardens. Stay where the security men can see you—where that man Malone can see you. You see that path over there? That takes you back to the front gates. Just pretend I said nothing. Oh, my God…he’s coming back.” Her face went rigid with terror. Gini looked at her with compassion. She was now hugging her thin arms around herself and fiddling in a frantic way with her watch. “Don’t tell him what I said, Gini. For the love of God, don’t tell him!”