Krysalis: Krysalis (5 page)
On Saturday she got up early and agonized over what to wear. In the end she chose a dark blue suit and—an impulse, this—a rather bold hat, hoping that the contrast in styles would end up transmitting only nonsensual messages.
She felt virtuous about her early start, but she soon discovered that virtue, as well as being its own reward, can also exact a special kind of price. She parked the car and was just stepping onto the pavement, when she glanced up in time to see a girl who looked scarcely older than Juliet walk out of Gerhard’s front gate, shouldering a tote bag as she did so.
Anna folded herself back inside the BMW and watched the teenager slouch off down the road. God, he likes them young now, she thought savagely.
God …
The intensity of the pain surprised her. That was all over so long ago. The thought of another woman in Gerhard’s arms still had the power to affect her like a blow to the stomach, and she hated herself for that.
But it wore off quickly, she found. The past might be able to hurt her; it could not keep her in thrall. She had David now—David whom she loved more than any other man in the world. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine his strong arms around her, hear his patient voice whispering in her ears.
She got out of the car again and went up the path.
When she rang the bell, to her surprise June opened the door; loyal, efficient June, who had been Gerhard’s receptionist ever since he put up his brass plate, but whose hair sadly no longer matched the plate’s sheen. June, untrue to her name, had turned autumnal.
“Hello, my dear,” she said.
“How lovely to see you again. I wasn’t expecting that, at the weekend.” Suddenly a great light dawned across Anna’s horizon. “Does he work Saturdays now?”
“Not often. There’s this kid he’s been assigned by the court, you know, one of
those.”
So Gerhard wasn’t into teenagers yet, then. Why be relieved about that, Anna thought?
Idiot!
But: “Oh, yes,” was all she said. “Those … can I go up?”
“Of course.”
She knew her way; she had visited this aggressively red-bricked house off Keats’ Grove many times. Gerhard refused to be separated from his beloved Hampstead; even when young, and comparatively poor, he had found an attic somewhere under the eaves of Fitzjohn’s Avenue to practice as a psychotherapist. She had known her way there, too. She felt as though she had always known where to find Gerhard Kleist.
Anna climbed the oak stairs, relishing their dull gleam as a sign of homecoming, and pushed open the door to his room.
It was like entering the studio of a seventeenth-century master, Pieter de Hooch, perhaps, or Francken the Younger. Anna knew those names because Gerhard had used them to describe the effect he was after. Light poured into this south-facing room through high windows, onto a herringbone parquet floor the color of honey. Beneath the windows stood a long table of pale
oak, on which were the half-finished model of a Spanish galleon and the canvas-backed plans for it, weighed down by a lump of abura, Gerhard’s favorite carving wood. Gauge, pinchuck, callipers and glue were neatly aligned, as always. The priceless Laux Maler lute rested in its usual place, against the side of the floor-to-ceiling bookcase that ran the length of one whole wall. Yes, everything was just so; she had time to absorb that comforting knowledge before his voice coiled out to caress her:
“Hello.”
Anna walked toward him, her shoes tap-tapping across the varnished wooden floor, and Gerhard rose. He had decided to wear white today, wanting to project the cleanness of new beginnings: linen shirt open at the collar, white shoes, even the belt holding up his white slacks was white. He stood with legs slightly apart, hands in pockets, watching her. His casual stance belied the stew of intense, conflicting emotions that sluiced around inside him, but he was already sensitizing himself to the nuances of her mood.
“You look like Coco Chanel,” he said. “In those photos of her when she was young.” His voice broke. For a moment he could not go on: she seemed so beautiful still, so much the woman he’d always wanted. “Chic personified, only softer.”
All the breath went out of her and then she laughed. “You really know how to lay it on, don’t you!”
“Yes.” He smiled, hoping his nervousness wouldn’t manifest itself in a tic. “But it takes practice.”
“It’s been rather a long time.” Her voice sounded artificially bright in his ears, like that of a bereaved
widow preparing to say, “Won’t you come back to the house after the service …?”
“I’ve been terribly busy,” he confessed. “And—”
“No apologies. Not today. But June said you’d been working, are you sure I’m not in the way?”
“Of course not. Relax.”
“Oh dear. Now you’ll be categorizing my insecurities again.” She surprised him by raising a hand in the solemn gesture of one who intends to take an oath. “Freud said … or are you Jung? I never could remember.”
“I’m Pisces, actually.”
“Two fish swimming in opposite directions, how appropriate.”
And they laughed, glad to find the spell broken, although, yes, of course she knew he was Pisces, and what’s more, Gerhard knew that she knew; his birthday fell on March 3. There were some things Anna would inevitably transfer from one year’s diary to the next, no matter how redundant they might seem to her, and that indisputably was one of them.
“What’s been happening?” He tried to sound, in his own word of yesterday, concerned.
He had to win back her confidence!
But there were other, less tractable factors at work. He had not been prepared for the reality of her loveliness, her subtle charm; he had forgotten how much he had loved Anna, once. Yet now his duty was to manipulate her, bend her to his will, and he found himself loathing the necessity.
“When we spoke, I sensed a regression,” he said quickly. “We seem to have lost some ground.”
“Ah,
we
do, do we?” Anna made a rueful face. “Yes. You’re right. Give me, us, give
we
a drink, will you?”
“Good idea. Wait a moment …”
He retreated to a small kitchen at the back of the room, leaving the door ajar. The adrenaline was flowing now. The prospect of imminent action buoyed him up, which was as well, because if he failed, Barzel would ruin him. Nothing,
nothing
short of the prospect of imminent ruin could have induced Kleist to tangle with this woman’s psyche again.
“What’s the holdup on the galleon?” he heard Anna call. “You’re still stuck on the rigging.”
“Time. The enemy of everything.”
Gerhard took three deep breaths in succession, holding the last one as long as he could, then carried in a tray on which stood two flute glasses and a bottle of Laurent-Perrier’s Ultra Brut. He poured two frothy glasses, allowing them to settle a moment before he touched Anna on the shoulder. “Here …”
“You’re like an elephant, you know that? You never forget.”
“Of course not.”
“I hardly ever drink Laurent-Perrier now.”
Gerhard smiled, raised his glass. She was inclined to be sentimental today, he saw that at once. Well, the champagne would help that. “Here’s to you.”
“And to you. To your perfect taste. As always.”
She sat on the special posture chair he used, the one with no back. For a moment he watched her rock to and fro while he read the evidence and tried to analyze it. Then he said, “How far down have you gone?”
“What do you think?”
“A long way.”
“No.” Anna tossed her head, sweeping strands of hair out of her eyes, and knocked back the drink. “Things have been getting on top of me, that’s all.”
“At work?”
“At work, yes. And …” She heaved a long sigh. “Juliet’s being tiresome.”
“In the usual way?”
“Yes.”
So Anna had problems. Good!
“How many times do I have to tell you? The fact that someone happens to be your child—”
“Doesn’t guarantee she’ll turn into a wonderful human being. I know. She’s just so difficult.”
“Some people are. It’s almost certainly a phase she’s going through.” Yes, he thought, reassure her. Our old roles, nothing has changed.
Trust me, Anna.
Help me to help myself. “Adolescence is such a bore, especially for the adolescent.”
“Especially for those around her, you mean.”
“She’ll grow out of it.”
When Anna said nothing, Gerhard felt a brush of panic return. He was too fond of Anna to want to go through with this thing. But he knew that life in prison, Barzel’s ultimate sanction, would swiftly, surely kill him. So he took another deep breath and set out on the next stage of his reluctant journey across the tightrope.
“What else is wrong?”
“Oh … David’s never
there,
somehow. Not like he used to be.”
Ah, better! Gerhard refreshed her drink.
“He got this wonderful promotion last month. There’s some standing committee, ultra hush-hush, you get onto it and you’re like God. The trouble is, he has to fit it in with all his other work, and the committee meets every day. Or it seems like every day. Some weekends they troop off to the country, and … oh, I don’t know. I love him so much.”
“Still?”
“Yes, still. He’s so fine. So perfect.” She paused, then, as the sense of his remark filtered through to her, said, “Why the surprise?”
Good, things were definitely starting to drift his way. All she might need now was a subtle prod. “You understood what you were getting when you married him,” he said smoothly.
“You never really approved of David, did you?”
Gerhard repressed a twinge of jealousy that was suddenly more than any mere twinge. “I thought you could have done better.”
“I could have, then. Before I got to know David properly.” She smiled affectionately at him. “But you weren’t free … oh, God, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“I mean, with Clara …”
“Dying.”
“It was tactless of me. Sorry. I haven’t seen you since she …”
“No.” Mention of Clara induced in Gerhard a resurgence of the desperation that had haunted him ever since Barzel’s visit. One minute he seemed in control, the next he had lost it. There had been a time when he loved this woman opposite, loved her enough to want to divorce Clara and begin a new life…
Christ!
The last thing he could afford today was nostalgia.
He watched Anna casting around for a change of topic. “What did Seppy say when you rang?” she said at last, the words tripping out too quickly.
“He was thrilled.” Gerhard forced himself to smile. “He’s keeping us the usual table at the usual time.”
“You’re an angel.” She paused. Something about her expression told him that the dice were about to roll
again and inwardly he tensed. “I need to talk to you, Gerhard. I hope I’m not using you—I’ve kept my distance over the past two years, haven’t I?”
“I always assumed you had a valid reason.”
“In a way. I never told David I’d been in therapy. You advised me not to and so I never did, even though I often wanted to. And somehow keeping my life in watertight compartments just became … well, too difficult. Can you understand that?”
God yes, he thought.
God!
“Easily.”
“I think that really the only reason I’ve come to see you is that David’s gone away, you see. And I feel a bit cheap. As if I’m carrying on behind his back.”
He saw that she was waiting for him to prompt her, but he knew when to keep silent. At last she said, “I need help.”
Gerhard managed to keep his smile intact, but he imagined she must surely see the relief in his eyes. “My dear, whatever is the trouble?” he made himself respond at last.
“I’m worried. No, not worried. Frightened.”
“Of?”
“Losing the man I truly love.”
4
David Lescombe let the phone ring twenty-seven times before hanging up, which he did by replacing the receiver on its rest with almost excessive respect, seemingly anxious to preserve British Telecom’s equipment for as long as possible. Behind him, people were emerging from the refectory in ones and twos, their chatter an irritant. What was Anna up to? Then a hand descended on his arm, and he turned away from the phone booth, remembering just in time to fashion a neutral smile.
“I suppose I really ought to ring mine up. You romantic types give the rest of us a bad name.”
The speaker was a fat Welshman in his upper fifties who derived obvious satisfaction from being obliged to spend most weekends away from the demands of family and garden. While David was trying to think of something to say they were joined by a woman, much younger than either of them.
“Leave him alone,” she said tartly. “I think it’s beautiful. We need more like him. Come on, you old
romantic.” She put one hand through David’s elbow and clasped it with the other. “I want to hear all about NOCC.”
“Thanks, Sylvia,” he murmured, as she shepherded him away.
“No problem. I rode to the rescue because he’s right; you
are
romantic, and I love it.”
David flushed.
“Is everything okay, though? You look a bit upset.”
“I’m fine. Seems my wife forgot an errand I asked her to run, that’s all.” His voice was tight. “Well, here goes …”
