Authors: Sally Beauman
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Romantic Suspense, #Contemporary Fiction, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense
He paused, sitting upright and very still now, his gaze fixed on her face. ‘What I would like you to understand, before we continue, is this. When my son came to your apartment with you on Friday, when he spoke to you as he did, and acted as he did, he was directly contravening my instructions and advice.’ He paused, and again looked her up and down, in that brutal assessing way. ‘Now that I see you, Ms Hunter, I’m disappointed.
You’re pretty enough, but the world is full of pretty women, most of them obliging if’one offers them enough. Personally, I cannot understand what my son sees in you. However, he sees something. He is probably influenced by the fact that as of now you are unavailable. He has always been attracted to what he cannot have. As I say, had it been up to me, you would have had a little traffic accident a week ago. There would have been a brief fuss, and then you would have been forgotten, because you are neither greatly memorable, nor greatly important.’
He paused. ‘However, my son persuaded me to wait. He attempted by various means of his own, first through pressuring your paper’s proprietor, then your editor, then by enlisting your fatherfs assistance, to persuade you to drop this. He failed. Then he compounded his own foolishness by going to your apartment, and speaking to you in a very open and unguarded way.’ He gave her a long, cold glittering look. ‘You should understand my son’s character before we continue. He is highly intelligent, very able, very ambitious, but he has two very great weaknesses, Ms Hunter, particularly where women are concerned. Here and here.’ He touched his groin, then his heart.
‘As he told you himself, he has a very strong sexual drive. It’s perhaps rather stronger, and rather more unusual in the way in which it can manifest itself, than he admitted to you. That I understand. I have a similar drive myself. What I find less easy to understand … ‘ he pressed his hand to his heart once again, ‘is his occasional weakness in that area. It is, I’m glad to say, very occasional, almost bred out. So I assumed, when he interceded on your behalf that he intended to fuck you, Ms Hunter, and then to forget you. That would be the normal pattern. However, since that conversation in your apartment the other night, I have begun to see that rather more was involved. Never mind. No doubt John will come to his senses shortly. If you could be persuaded to go to bed with him, the entire thing would be over by the morning - but since I rather doubt that possibility short term, we will do it this way. I will explain, Ms Hunter … ‘ He gave her another penetrating look. ‘I want your silence, obviously. Beyond that, I want you out of my son’s orbit, mind and imagination. He has more important considerations than a girl such as yourself. So, I’ll talk, Ms Hunter, you’ll listen. And when I’ve finished you can tell me what your co-operation will cost.’
There was a silence. Gini looked around the room, wondering if this conversation too were being recorded, or even filmed. She looked at that large mirror above the fireplace, then at the crippled man in the wheelchair, and wondered, once this kind of insanity was begun, where it could ever stop.
She sat down in the chair opposite Hawthorne. He turned his cold gaze towards her, Iwaited, then began to speak.
‘In Venice,’ he said, where those two degenerates were killed, you found one of Frank’s buttons, I think - am I right? That was careless of him, but Frank enjoys killing, and he can get careless on occasion. Did you note the design on that buttonT
‘Yes, I did. It was like a garland, or a wreath.’
‘I chose that device, years ago now. All my staff wear buttons of that kind on their various uniforms. It depicts the kind of garland put on the brows of . He paused. ‘You know the term, victor ludorum?’
‘The winner of the games. Yes.’
‘The winner of the games. The victor of the games. Precisely. I have always set great store by winning games, Ms Hunter, all games, the trivial ones and the serious ones. I do not like to come second. I like to win, as does my son. Now,‘he leaned forward, for most of my adult life I have been playing one very serious game. I want to see my son fulfil his destiny. I want to see him win the best prize of all - and I shall do that yet. There have been set-backs, delays - well, you know about those, John described them to you the other night. The illness of his own son, and so on. He faltered then. Now, however, he is back on course. Another year or so here, then a return to America - you understand, I’m sure.’
‘I understand what you want for him - and for yourself. Yes.’ ‘Every father wants his son to go further down the road than he did,’ he said sharply. ‘I don’t pretend altruism here. But that is what I want, and John wants, and it’s what I intend to get. I don’t intend to be thwarted by John’s sick neurotic bitch of a wife, or by the pathetic machinations of a nobody like James McMullen, or I should make clear - by the efforts of some paparazzo and his girlfriend reporter. Is that clearT
‘Oh, more than clear. Yes.’
‘So, when John told me last summer that his problems with Lise had worsened, and when I understood that she had enlisted McMullen in her private war of attrition against John, I moved very quickly.’ The icy blue eyes glittered. ‘John and I came to an arrangement years ago, Ms Hunter. His hands need to be
clean - mine, well, the cleanliness of mine is of no importance now. So, when he encounters problems, I deal with them. If at all possible, John knows nothing of my actions, or my techniques for dealing with those problems. He can, on occasion, have a conscience - another weakness of his - and besides, in politics, genuine ignorance is almost as good as total innocence.’
He leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands across his lap. ‘So, without going into all the tedious details, I had both Lise and McMullen very closely watched. I wasn’t yet quite sure just how far they intended to go. They are both unstable, especially Lise. They both believe they have a grievance against John - and I wanted to be certain in my own mind whether they intended to injure his reputation, or worse. It had occurred to me that Lise might enjoy being John’s widow. She would retain her prestige, even enhance it with decorous grief. She would have sole control over their sons - or so, no doubt, she thinks. So I was interested to see, McMullen being army trained, an expert marksman, just how far she would push it, and him. I waited, Ms Hunter, and while I waited, I took out some insurance against Lise … ‘
‘You mean those photographsT Gini gestured across the room at the envelope.
‘I mean those photographs, yes.’ He gave her a cold smile. Use has always had rather unusual sexual tastes. John is simultaneously repelled by that, and attracted by it - I think he neglected to mention that to you the other night, but it was one of the reasons he married her. In those days, Lise’s little exploits were rather tamer, more predictable. She liked the milder forms of bondage, being tied up, beaten - you can imagine the kind of thing-‘
‘I don’t want to hear these details,’ Gini interrupted.
‘You don’t?’ The cold eyes moved from her mouth to her hair. He shrugged. ‘As you like. John found that erotic, briefly. Then he became bored, then repelled. From then onwards, his marriage was much as he described it to you. He sought solace elsewhere. What he did not explain to you, is that Lise did likewise, in fact, there is a slight question as to the paternity of their second son, but never mind that. In the last four years, Lise’s tastes have hardened - I had once warned both her and John that they would. Those seeking satisfaction by such routes inevitably become more desperate, and more disappointed. In the last six months or so, Lise has become very desperate indeed. Hence those muscular young men.’ He gestured towards the photographs. Use gave a garbled account of her own tastes to McMullen, and claimed her own weaknesses were
John’s. McMullen, who is a fool, believed her. So, last autumn, they launched themselves on their very amateurish and feeble campaign against my son, first via that gossip columnist whose name I forget, then via your newspaper and you.’ He paused, and frowned. ‘To begin with, I was a little puzzled by that.’ ‘You were? WhyT
‘Well, McMullen may be gullible where Lise is concerned, but he has had some discipline, some training - and Lise, while being profoundly stupid, as John said to you, has a certain manipulativeness, a certain cunning. It was obvious to me that their scheme would not succeed. If it advanced a little way, it could be easily dealt with/ he continued with brutal nonchalance. Use would take an overdose. Simple. Quick. Lise would be no loss to the world whatsoever, and John would be free of her for good. But then I began to understand - and I wonder whether you have yet, Ms Hunter? All of this, the allegations about blondes, the approaches to newspapers, McMullen’s alleged disappearance, those four parcels Lise dreamed up and he sent out - all of that was designed to give credence to Lise’s story of sexual misconduct. And yet it was still only a distraction from the main event. James McMullen and Lise intended to kill my son, and that was their intention from the first.’
Gini began on a question then, but he held up his hand.
‘I’ll come back to that later,’ he said. ‘I’ll explain to you how I knew, when I knew, and what their plan was. Before that there are some details I want to make clear to you. I want you to understand that from last summer onwards, I took action. Apart from those actions I have already described, my son did not. I arranged, first, that when Lise kept her monthly appointments with tlese virile young men, she would do so in a place of my choosing, where she could be clearly photographed doing so, in flagrante.’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the fireplace and gave a narrow smile. ‘She met with them in hotel rooms, and those rooms all had mirrors not so very different from this one. Frank Romero may not be a Pascal Lamartine, but put him the other side of two-way glass with the right equipment, and he can perform perfectly well.’ He stopped and looked at Gini.
‘Wait. I know what question you’re going to ask. I’ll return to that in due course. Let me continue, please, Ms Hunter, at my pace and in my way. Very well. I had my insurance, I was monitoring the situation, and I knew that after staging his disappearance, McMullen remained in contact with Lise. At that point, when
Frank and his helpers were finding it difficult to keep track of McMullen, when, in fact, they lost him - you and Mr Lamartine appeared on the scene. Then I indulged myself a little, I’m afraid. I did tell you. I like games.’
He gave her a wintry smile. ‘So you have me to blame, Ms Hunter, for a number of things. For the breakin at your apartment, as I mentioned before, for those additional parcels, a continuation of the four sent by McMullen and devised by Lise. What else … let me think. Ah yes, the little games with the lights in your apartment, and certain telephone calls, which Frank scripted and recorded - another task he enjoyed. Sometimes I was helped, by information about you given to me by John the touching importance you attached to events in Beirut, for instance, or the fact that you were working on a story about telephone sex lines. But before you interrupt - John knew nothing of how I used that information. And when he discovered about the calls, for instance, the other night - well, you saw. John has an unfortunate romantic streak. He was very angry indeed.’ He paused. There was a silence. He leaned forward and adjusted the wheels of his chair.
‘I hope you’re clear/ he said, still in that same cold, clipped, East Coast voice, that voice so like his son’s. ‘Had I had my way, you would have been dispensed with, Ms Hunter - you and your photographer friend. I’d have wiped you out as easily as those two men in Venice, or that model in Paris. And be very sure, Ms Hunter, five minutes later I’d have forgotten you. I don’t have a conscience - it’s an indulgence I dispensed with years ago. I believe and I have always believed that the ends justify the means. So I would have gotten rid of you, and when I was dissuaded from doing so by my son, I decided to indulge in a little harassment campaign. A pity you didn’t heed it, but there you are. I was amusing myself - and also using you, of course, as your lover duly noted. I hoped you might lead me to the elusive Mr McMullen.’
He smiled. ‘It took you long enough. But’in the end, my confidence in you both paid off.’
‘Are you sure about thatT Gini said sharply. ‘That’s not the way I read it at all. I think McMullen gave you the slip. Maybe he’s not quite the fool you took him for.’ She met his gaze. ‘You should watch yourself. You’re arrogant. And arrogant people underestimate others. That can be a mistake.’
‘You think soT He appeared unruffled, almost amused. ‘Well I certainly don’t over-estimate you, Ms Hunter, or that lover of yours. You’ve been comparatively simple to deal with. As for Mr McMullen… ‘He shrugged.
‘You made things rather more difficult for Frank once you moved into that Hampstead house. But not impossible. You led me to Oxford, Ms Hunter, for which I’m grateful. By that time, both you and your photographer friend were learning. So unfortunately by the time you actually met with Mr McMullen you’d been lost … ,
‘I guess so. I’m sure that if you’d recorded my conversation with him, it would have been included on that tape you just played me. So the efficient Frank Romero blew it, rightT
‘Not entirely.’ He gave her a cool stare. ‘As you will know, he located you again later that night. At your Oxford hotel, you recall?’ He smiled. ‘In any case, it was a minor inconvenience, losing you. It told us McMullen was almost certainly in the Oxford region, and sure enough, Lise finally made a mistake. She made two calls to McMullen the evening you saw him. One to his mobile phone, to tell him her husband had just left London, and a second, several hours later to his ex-tutor’s rooms. Both calls were made from the same phone booth. It was one she had occasionally used before. A mistake.’
He sounded, Gini thought, not just arrogant, but also selfsatisfied. It seemed to her more than possible that Lise had intended these telephone calls to be picked up, and that this device was a precursor to McMullen’s staging of his own death. But it was not her purpose to assist S. S. Hawthorne, so she said nothing. She hesitated, then looked across at him.