Lovers and Liars (26 page)

don’t think theft was the point.’ [

e e spoke flatly, and Gini knew there was something in his tone, e

e warning, but her mind couldn’t catch it. Events were too fast, h

s sharp. Her home felt invaded; she felt invaded. She gave a little r

e er, gazing around her with mute distress. This hurt: it hurt to k

k of strangers rifling her cupboards, going through her desk. t

h the floor, scattered, were all the bits and pieces that made a It

letters, postcards, tapes, books, photographs, diaries. Had r

read her diaries, read her letters? She hesitated, then looked z

at Pascal’s white intent face. He was watching her closely, fully, an

d she felt an instant’s sudden panic, a sensation of n( e

ncel ssness. She looked away: was that due to the breakin, ipa

s scal’s momentary closeness, his embrace? JShe

he took a few steps forward. In a flat voice, she said, ‘I Wvpoe I’d better call the police.’

,eNo. Pascal moved, so he stood between her and her desk. ‘No. pon’t do that. I wouldn’t call the police.’

‘Whv noff

P’Becuse this isn’t an ordinary breakin, Gini. There’s no sign of d entry for one thing. No broken glass, no broken locks.’ ini starred’ at him. Her mind seemed to be working very slowly. mean they used the key?’

Gi’ I think so, yes. if so, they were good enough to replace it. [k

tGini, it’s more than that.’ His face was troubled. He hesi.t

. ‘In a minute, I’ll show you. They’ve been everywhere. In kitchen. The bathroorn-!

W ‘My bedroom?’ She swallowed; she began to feel sick.

P”Yes. There too.’ He paused. ‘But before we go in there …

1here’s something else you have to look at. These were unusual kieves, Gini. Thieves don’t usually leave gifts.’

‘Gifts? I don’t understand .

IIThey left you something, Gini. They left you this.’

He mo%,ed slightly to the side as he spoke, and she saw it then, it the desk behind him. Another parcel, larger than the first. As Wore, it was neatly wrapped in brown paper; as before, the string Ins sealed with scarlet wax.

6 Owcal cut the string with a knife. Inside the wrapping paper, there *a a box. Inside the box were sheaves of black tissue-paper. Inside k nest of paper was a shoe: one shoe, a woman’s, made to fit ke left foot. It was black patent leather; it had a four-inch stiletto kel. Inside the shoe was a stocking, also black, very sheer. She

laid it out on the desk in front of them, her hands trembling slightly. There was a sharp intake of breath from Pascal. Gini stared down at the stocking, puzzled. It had a pretty lace-edged top. At first she thought it had been looped together in some odd way. Then she realized what Pascal had already discovered: the black stocking was tied in a noose.

She gave a low exclamation. Pascal’s face became set. He picked up the shoe, then the stocking, and examined them closely. Both appeared new. The sole of the shoe was leather, and unmarked. Neither shoe nor stocking bore any maker’s name.

Pascal turned to look at her. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said grimly. ‘I’m thinking the same thing. You’d better try it on.’ Gini removed her own shoe. She inserted her foot into the

black patent leather. It pained her instep, for she never wore heels this high. Even so, it was at once apparent to them both: this shoe might have been made for her. Cinderella’s slipper. Gini looked down. She hated this shoe, she loathed this shoe, but she couldn’t deny it was a perfect fit.

‘I feared this/ Pascal said. ‘I feared this .

Gini kicked the shoe off. She bent, replaced her own, then straightened. ‘They’re trying to frighten me, Pascal. They want to frighten me off. Well, I won’t let them do that. I know what they thought - they planned it very carefully. They thought I’d be alone, that I’d come home, alone, in the dark, and find this … ‘ She hesitated; an expression she did not understand crossed his face. Impulsively, she reached for his hands. ‘Don’t you see, Pascal? That’s how they planned it? And they were wrong. I’m not alone. You’re here, and – 2

‘Oh no, Gini. I’m afraid you’re wrong. I think they knew I’d be here. This message is for both of us.’

‘They can’t have known that. How? It’s not possible.’

‘I don’t know how they knew, but they did. Gini.’ He hesitated. ‘Come into the bedroom. You’ll understand then .

The bedroom, like the living-room, was in a hideous mess. All the wardrobe doors, all the drawers, had been opened. There were clothes tossed everywhere. There was a trail, from door to window, of all her most personal belongings: her underclothes, her nightdresses, make-up, jewellery, all tossed down in a heap. On the top of the pile, near the door, were the two photographs she kept by her bed. A picture of Mary, a picture of her father: their silver frames were buckled, their glass was smashed as if

10 ne had stamped on them, and ground them underfoot.

a], beside her, put his arm around her gently. ‘Gini,’ he

‘Gini, trN not to be upset. They like to smash things, to hurt. r, so predictable, in an ordinary breakin, you might expect this. But look over here.’

kd hesitated as if unwilling to continue, then gestured towards . ‘You see? It’s random destruction, apparently. But there’s ed

ng random about this … ‘

i followed his gaze. She gave a low cry. She felt the blood from her face.

had arranged the display on the bed very carefully, as an ey

m ight arrange a still-life. There, laid out across the duvet, was Re nightdress, the nightdress she had slept in the previous

A rou nd i t a rid upon it were her relics, those sad little secret e

ntoes of her past life. A dried flower, Pascal’s one-page letter,

tcasing,Ithe room-service menu from a Beirut hotel, a copy it

ranger b% Camus. In the centre of the nightdress, carefully d

, was ore small gold ear-ring. She took a step forward; the ng glittered, struck the light.

gave a small incoherent gesture, took another step forward, e

d out her hand. Suddenly, almost harshly, Pascal jerked her

n’t,’ lie said sharply. ‘Don’t touch the nightdress. Don’t, I’ll deal with it … ‘

at? Why? I don’t understand .

put his arms around her, and drew her away. ‘It was a man did t h i s. A t a certain point … it excited him, Gini. He’s used nightdress. Please, don’t look. Come out of here, now.’

rvini broke a%%-a%- from him, she backed into the doorway. Her & felt icy, then-clammy and hot. She felt the room sway, start ishift. Pascal gave an exclamation of concern, and tried to take hand, but she pushed him aside.

n’t touch me,’ she said. ‘Please, just don’t touch me!’

rw ran awav from him, into the bathroom, slammed the door d, locked it. then she knelt on the white tiles, surrounded by pre detritus, broken scent bottles, shards of glass. She could Br Pascal outside, calling her name, hammering on the door. It knelt there shivering; the glass cut her hand, this space was Id and white and hideously shameful. After a while, Pascal loped hammering on the door. There was a long, long corridor adence, then she was violently sick.

She had forgotten how kind Pascal could be; she had forgotten, or not allowed herself to remember, how his kindness conveyed immense strength. When she finally emerged from the bathroom, he took her in his arms like a child. He bathed her hands and her face. He took her back to the living-room, and made a space for her by the fire. He wrapped a blanket around her, and made her sit still. He fetched her sweet tea, and then a little weak whisky to drink.

‘Sit there/ he said. ‘Just sit there quietly, Gini. You’re in shock. I’ll come back in a minute. There’s just some things I need to clear up.,

She listened to his footsteps as he moved around her bedroom, then the kitchen. She heard the backdoor open, the clang of the dustbin lid. Cold air eddied through into the room. Pascal returned. He was carrying Napoleon.

‘Here, Gini.’ He stroked Napoleon, then placed him on her lap. ‘One cat. One wet, bedraggled, forlorn cat. He must have been outside in the yard all this time. Shall I get him some milk?’

Gini nodded. She held Napoleon close. He bristled his fur, and watched her warily with his huge topaz eyes. Then he curled beside her, and began to lick his wet fur into place. Pascal returned with a saucer of milk, which he placed near the sofa. Then he knelt down, so he was directly in front of her, and took her hand in his.

‘Now/ he began, his voice gentle but firm, ‘I want you to listen to me, Gini. Pron-dse? You won’t interrupt?’

Gini nodded.

‘Where did you keep those things - those things from Beirut? Were they in your bedroom?’

‘No.’ Gini swallowed. She lowered her gaze. ‘I kept them in here. In a box. In my desk.’

‘Darling, don’t. Don’t. Don’t cry.’ He leant forward, and drew her against him. He stroked her hair, and waited while she wept. When the little storm of tears was over, he drew back from her gently. Gini couldn’t tell whether he regretted that endearment or not. Perhaps it had been instinctual, accidental, just meant to be soothing. It was not repeated.

‘Listen to me, Gini.’ He clasped her hands. ‘You understand what this means? Someone - whoever came here, or whoever sent them - that person knows a great deal. I think they knew about that key. They certainly know your shoe size. And they know how to hurt you, and me.’ He paused, ‘Gini, they know about Beirut.’

‘That’s not possible. No-one knows.’ Her throat felt dry, and it as hird to speak. ‘You. My father. Me. No-one else .

‘Does Marv know?’

‘No. No. fnever told her.’

‘Would your father have told herT

‘No. He swore to me he wouldn’t. He promised he wouldn’t I anyone. If he had told Mary … Pascal, Mary’s so honest, so ct. If she knew, I’d have guessed.’

ascal frowned. ‘Then I don’t understand. I’ve never discussed s. Not with anyone. Not even my wife. Gini, think. You’re ? No-one?’

mi hesitated. She looked down. ‘I told a friend today. At work. at I’d known you before. But that was the first time, ever. Truly, scal. And that can’t have any bearing on this. I only saw her this oon. Late. It was past three o’clock.’

at doesn’t account for it. I was back here just after four. Damn It has to be your father, Gini. He must have told someone - it s to be. Unless … ‘

She saw him break off, hesitate, look around the flat, at the one, at her desk.

‘Unless what, Pascal?’

Nothing. Never mind that now.’ He turned back to her. ‘There’s something more important. Never mind how they knew the moment. Take this.’

He held out to her some tiny thing, in his palm. When Gini ed down, she saw it was a small gold ear-ring.

,Put it on. Will you do thatT ow?,

es.’ watched intently while she fastened the little ring, then he ed across, and smoothed her hair back, took her hand in

d you really think you’d lost iff

o. I lied. I knew I had it.’

y lie, GiniT There was consternation in his eyes. ‘Why he, me of all people, about thatT

don’t know why… ‘ She glanced away. ‘Except, it looks ental. Foolish. I thought you’d despise me if you knew.’ pise you? You can’t have thought that.’

e , I did.’

sten, Gini. I want you to understand something. The person came here today . His voice hardened. ‘So stupid. So

crass. They think they can come in here, and smash something up. Cause pain by doing it. Well, they should learn there are some things you cannot smash. What you remember, what I remember

- they can’t alter that. They can’t touch us, Gini - don’t you see? Not unless we let them. And I don’t plan on doing that.’

‘You mean - they can’t alter what we feltT Gini raised her eyes to his. There was a long silence. As soon she said the words, she regretted their caution, that past tense. A glint of sudden amusement came into his eyes. Leaning forward, he kissed her brow, then quickly rose.

‘Of course,’ he said, in a dry tone. ‘That’s exactly what I meant. And now,’ he gestured around him to the detritus, the chaos, ,now. I’ll get rid of them. Exorcise them. I’ll clean this up.’

They tidied the flat together. They replaced everything, books, tapes, clothes, china. Nothing was missing that Gini could see, but that did not surprise her. Pascal had been right: the reason for this breakin was not theft.

A residual feeling of sick distress remained with her as she packed away her possessions. She tried not to think forward to how it would be, later, when Pascal left for his hotel, and she was alone here. Looking around her when the rooms were restored to their original state, she found them altered. She felt none of the confidence of yesterday. Her home now looked fragile, easily violated, unsafe.

She would have liked to stay in, and eat at home, but Pascal was curiously adamant, insisting they go out to a restaurant, a different restaurant.

They selected, at random, a Chinese one in the high street near by. This Friday evening, as always on Fridays, the place was noisy and crowded. When they were finally seated, Gini said, ‘Didn’t you like the other restaurant, Pascal? The Italian oneT

He gave her a cool glance. ‘No, no. I liked it. It was fine. It just might be a good idea to avoid repetitive patterns of behaviour, that’s all. I also think we should be careful what we say in your apartment.’

Gini stared at him. ‘You can’t mean that.’

‘Oh, but certainly, I can. Someone is very well informed about us. It won’t hurt to make their lives a little more difficult, yesT ‘Are you telling me there’s a wire-tap on my phone, PascalT ‘Gini” he leaned forward, ‘how much do you know about modern listening devicesT

very much.’

11, forget all the films you’ve seen. Forget little bugs behind s, inside phones, under table-tops. They can still be used, sly. But there are other devices too. With the right laser ent someone could be in a car outside your house. They

be in a room across the square. And they could pick up your as cleady as if they were standing three feet from you. Less. when yo’u’re alone, when you’re not speaking, you’re not They can tell which room you’re in. They can hear you a drink. They can hear the tap of your word-processor They can hear you yawn. They can listen to your breathen you’re asleep .