Lovers and Liars (32 page)

19.

s not one of those? What does he look likeT

afraid not. And very recognizable - you won’t be able to him. Last time I ran into him he was having lunch with s. He was wearing a white suit, a mauve shirt, and a pink

,He’s not always that flamboyant, but he’s a snappy dresser. ium height, slight build, fair hair. Heavy on the peppermint -spray. Been known to wear a carnation. Thinks he’s Oscar

d he isn’t?’ Pascal was smiling.

s scripts let him down. Also,’ Gini hesitated, ‘he’s not a nice . Malicious. Always screwing around.’

r Stevey in New York, you meanT

s. He sounded very unhappy, poor Stevey.‘Gini looked away e spoke. Pascal saw her eyes scanning the other tables. He ed.

and Gini had worked from his hotel room that day, because strusted her phone. He had concentrated on James McMullen, on Lorna Munro and the question of her clothes. At the end

the afternoon, they had returned to Gini’s flat, so that Gini d change. In honour of Mary’s party later that evening, she wearing a new dress. It had been a Christmas present from

ry, and it was the first time she had worn it, she had said. It de her a little nervous, she had explained, because she so rarely re dresses of this kind, but she would wear it for Mary, who uld be pleased. Pascal had said nothing. He might have liked it, hought, had Gini said she was wearing the dress to please him, he pushed this idea aside quickly. It struck him as petty.

t was a very beautiful dress, a narrow column of black silk e, which left her throat and shoulders bare. It fastened on shoulders with two slender straps as narrow as knife-blades.

kgainst the folds of the silk crape, her skin looked pale. There We two bluish shadows, just above her collar-bone. She looked

delicate, Pascal thought, fragile, very young, and very pure.

He rested his eyes on the oval of her face. She had drawn back her pale gold hair. She was wearing only one small gold ear-ring, his ear-ring. Gold and ivory and a dress like shadows. He had a sudden image of that pale hair, loosened, spread out beneath him across the floor. The image burned in the recesses of his mind, and he looked quickly away. He had said nothing to Gini, but it troubled him deeply that the story they were working on centred on appointments with blondhaired women, and presumably an obsession with such women. He thought of the shoe she had been sent, and the black silk stocking, and the handcuffs and for an instant he wished, devoutly wished, that Gini had dark hair.

He pushed that thought away, and glanced around the room. Time was passing and there was still no sign of Appleyard. Gini had taken her notebook from her bag, and was turning its pages, head bent, unconscious of his gaze. He looked at the smooth coil of her hair. It was twisted, then fastened in some invisible and ingenious way. Pascal felt he would have liked to reach across the table, remove that fastening, and watch that hair uncoil. It struck him suddenly that here was the scene he had envisaged four days before. They were in a restaurant, and even if it was one he would never have chosen, it had candles, it had wine. He, also in honour of Mary’s party, was wearing that jacket he had bought at the hotel, that white shirt, that damn tie. Here, more or less precisely, was the scene he had imagined, and what was Gini doing? She was reading a notebook. She was working. Did she ever stop working? Pascal gave a sigh.

Gini looked up, and smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Pascal. He’ll turn up soon. Any minute now. I just thought - while we’re waiting .

She tapped the notebook. ‘Would you mind if I went over some of these details? I think I’m reading them correctly, but I might have missed something.’

Pascal lit a cigarette. He said, ‘Now? Why not? Sure.’ His reply was terse. Gini looked at him uncertainly.

‘Would you rather talk about McMullenT she asked.

‘No, no. We can go over that tomorrow on the plane to Venice. We’re seeing the Hawthomes soon. Let’s concentrate on them or on Lise anyway.’ He refilled her wineglass.

‘I’ll come to Lise in a minute. I found out something very interesting there . Gini flicked back through the pages of the notebook. ‘First, this Loma Munia—2

‘She still hasn’t called back?’

o, she hasn’t. And she’s moved on, from Milan to Rome. Is doing a try-out for Italian Vogue, apparently. I have her new

number. I’ve left more messages there … ‘ She paused, .g. ‘The more I think about this, Pascal, the more certain I - Loma Munro isn’t closely involved. I think she was hired by someone. Come to London, wear these clothes, r these parcels - like a modelling job, an unusual modelling

s possible, I suppose. Presumably we’ll find out when we speak to her. Go on … ‘

ell, having drawn a blank there, I moved back to the clothes.’ sighed. ‘Someone once said to me that the secret of journalism detail - check and then cross-check again.’ She paused. ‘So, d. I went back to all the people Lindsay spoke to yesterI tried a more indirect approach - not that it got me that You want a summaryT

re. Why notT Pascal glanced over his shoulder. Still no of that damn Appleyard. He was over half an hour late

tried every major furrier in London. There are so few now, glad to say. I despise furs. No luck. Not one would discuss t purchases, not with Lindsay yesterday, not with me today. same with Bulgari. But they implied that the pearl necklace red in Vogue had been sold.’

scal shrugged. ‘Was Lorna Munro even wearing that particular ace? One string of pearls looks much like another, doesn’t it? fake, cultured - they all look the same.’

.smiled. ‘To a man perhaps. Those Bulgari pearls were perfectly matched, and they had a very distinctive clasp. with a cabochon ruby, designed to be worn at the front

the throat. Susannah at ICD was adamant that it was the ace Loma Munro was wearing.’ She turned a page of the ‘book. ‘I gave up on Bulgari. Then I tried Cartier - you reber, Susannah said the woman was wearing one of their tank es, with a green crocodile strap? Hopeless! I tried, but the

d Street shop alone sold fifteen like that in the week before stmas. That’s just one outlet - hundreds of other jewellers up down the country sell Cartier tank watches. So, nothing there er.’

She paused, and looked up from her notebook. An expression

4Xe onto her face that Pascal was beginning to recognize. Its i4gemess touched him and he smiled.

‘I can guess,’ he said. ‘You drew a blank, but then you made a breakthroughT

‘Not a breakthrough, exactly. But I did find out several interesting things. First of all - that Chanel suit. Something about that story puzzled me. I wasn’t surprised that Lise was in the habit of having clothes sent on approval - lots of famous women, rich women, prefer not to try on clothes in public. But French clothes, Pascal? Lise is the American Ambassador’s wife. I checked back through the magazine profiles, and I was right. Lise is careful. On public occasions, she flies the flag - American clothes, American designers: Oscar de la Renta, Calvin Klein, Donna Karan .

Pascal was beginning to look bored. He lit a cigarette. ‘ClothesT he said. ‘Is this important?’

‘Yes, Pascal, it is. Try and understand.’ Gini gave him a patient look. ‘Clothes may not interest you, but they’re important to Lise. Theyfre a fundamental part of her image, her identity even-! ‘More fool her.’

‘Listen, Pascal. Why is Lise Hawthorne so famous? Three reasons. One, she’s beautiful. Two, she’s astonishingly chic. Three, she’s auditioning to be a saint.’

‘You’ve left one out. Four, she’s John Hawthorne’s wife.f Pascal gave her a sharp look. ‘If it wasnft for her husband, she wouldn’t be famous at all.’

Gini hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Yes. You’re right. She’d certainly be a very great deal less famous. I wonder if she minds that? I would.’

‘YOU wouldT Pascal was watching her closely.

‘Of course/ Gini replied. ‘What woman wants her identity to depend on her husband? What woman wants to be seen as … a kind of appendage to her husband? An accessory, like his carT

‘Plenty of women/ he said, somewhat sharply. ‘I’m not agreeing with that attitude, Gini, or disagreeing with it. But it exists, it’s commonplace.’

‘I know, I know.’ Gini looked away. There was a moment of tension which she could sense in the air. More raucous laughter came from the table behind them. Pascal glanced down at his watch, then swore.

‘Damn Appleyard. This is getting ridiculous. We’ve been here an hour. What do you think, shall we order? We may as well eat here.’

Gini agreed. They consulted the menus, which were discouraging.

Steaks?’ Pascal caught her eye, and smiled. ‘Presumably they goItoo wrong with steaks and salads. Even here.’

.I called the waiter over, and ordered. When he turned to Gini, his manner was slightly awkward, slightly sad. rry/ he said, and rested his hand briefly over hers. ‘I’m

being very receptive. It’s not your fault. I’m thinking about g the Hawthornes. This place is getting on my nerves.’ He ted. ‘Take no notice. I’m tired as well, I think. I didn’t sleep

warn you about that sofa/ Gini began, then stopped. She more closely at the expression in his eyes. ‘It wasn’t just she asked, more quietly. ‘It was more than that? Pascal, I you’d tell me. I wish you’d talk to me.’

lo ked away. She saw reticence mask his features. He gave

issive gesture of the hand. ‘Yes, well. It’s not your concern. are certain problems at the moment - residues of my divorce. to talk to my lawyers here yesterday. Anyway, I often sleep … ‘ He shrugged. ‘I dream of war.’

re was a brief silence. Gini wondered if he ever let anypast these defences of his. She hoped, for his sake, that d. She leaned forward.

y are you using lawyers in EnglandT she said gently.

wife has sold her house in Paris. She wants to return to England, with Marianne. I would prefer it if she did not t … ‘ He left the rest of the explanation unfinished, and

0i, who could finish it in any case and who could now read ite clearly the pain at the back of his eyes, did not prompt him Mier.

see,’ she said, just as the waiter arrived, bearing their food. *as ill-cooked. Pascal looked down at their plates with a very Ortch expression of mingled outrage and despair.

,$hall I send it back?’

No, leave it. It’s not worth it.’

rYou’re right. The hell with it. We’ll eat it and go . He faced down at his watch. ‘An hour and a half. You think ‘pleyard intends to keep this appointmentT

qt’s still possible/ she replied, in a placatory tone. ‘With Applerd, you never know .

iey ate for a while in silence, then, by silent mutual consent, shed their plates to one side. Pascal ordered coffee, and lit

a cigarette. The period of silence seemed to have restored his temper. He gave her a wry glance.

‘All right. Now I’ll listen. All my attention. You were telling me about Lise and her clothes. Go on.’

‘Very well.’ Gini opened her notebook again. ‘The question of Lise’s clothes bothered me - why Chanel? So I rang an old acquaintance of mine, who works for the Washington Post, on the Style Section. What she told me was interesting. Very interesting. I wish I’d spoken to her earlier.’ Gini leaned forward. ‘First, the minor things. The clothes. Apparently, Lise Hawthorne always used to wear French couture-2

‘The wedding dressT

‘Precisely. Then, two years into their marriage, Lise had a change of heart. According to Washington gossip, John Hawthorne read her the riot act. He said French couture was just fine for the Ivana Trumps of this world but not for a senator’s wife - or a future Democratic candidate’s wife, for that matter. From then onwards Lise Hawthorne toed the line. On public occasions, that is. In private, at home, she continued to wear the clothes she preferred. French, Italian, whatever. Couture was too public, so she made do with ready-to-wear. For the last three or four years, her pet designer’s been Karl Lagerfeld

- his collections for Chanel.’ Gini paused. ‘It’s a very minor deception, not important at all - except there are other ways in which Lise Hawthorne may not be quite the woman she seems. There has been gossip about the Hawthornes, Pascal. So far, it’s been confined to Washington dinner parties, and a lot of it is pure supposition.’

‘Gossip about Hawthorne himself, you meanT Pascal said quickly. ‘Not the monthly appointments, surely? Damn, damn … ‘

‘No. Relax. Nothing like that. According to my friend - and she’s not the most reliable source in the world - people have been saying Lise is ill. Apparently it started some time back. After the younger child, Adam, had meningitis. Around the same time - the word is Lise had a miscarriage-2 She stopped and looked at him curiously. ‘Pascal, is something wrong?’

‘No. No.’ He passed his hand across his face. ‘Nothing. It’s very noisy in here. Go on.’

‘Well, after the miscarriage, Lise came close to a nervous breakdown. This was around four years ago.’

‘Four yearsT Pascal’s expression was now intent. ‘Exactly when those Sunday appointments began - according to Jenkins, that is.’

actly.’ Gini tapped the notebook. ‘So, you can imagire-I d listening very closely indeed. I prompted - discreetly. It

nt difficult. My friend’s a great gossip. She said it was the talk orgetown, for a while. Then it quietened down. But apparLise refused to sleep with Hawthorne after the miscarriage. y refused, and went on refusing. Separate bedrooms. One maids told another maid - and you know how it is.’

do.’ Pascal grinned.

t - and this is interesting - Hawthorne accepted it. Or so say. Apparently, once the word got out, there were plenty men hell-bent on consoling him. Well, you’d expect that. He’s rful, influential - and he’s an exceptionally handsome man.’ you’ve said. Several times.’

ell, he is, Pascal! You can’t ignore that. It’s a factor … ay, the women were disappointed, according to my friend. made their offers and Hawthorne turned them down.’

scal gave an impatient gesture. ‘You mean he’s supposed to been celibate? For four years? Come on, Gini.’

ell, it may be gossip, but I suppose it is just possible/ she d. ‘Male celibacy isn’t exactly unknown. There are monks, s, for instance … ‘