Requiem For a Glass Heart (41 page)

F
ROM THE INTERIOR OF THE
L
INCOLN, THE TRANSITION FROM
Sicilian to Asian oversight was hardly noticeable until a large Mercedes sedan passed the car on a thickly wooded lane as another pulled up close behind them. The three cars slowed, their tires crunching reassuringly on the gravel shoulder of the lane.

The Lincoln was immediately surrounded by Asian men wearing headphones with thermometer-size mouthpieces, in the manner of rock stars on stage. Two of these men opened the back doors of the Lincoln, and without exchanging a single word, the Sicilians nodded at the two women. Irina and Cate got out of the back seat and were escorted to the second Mercedes, which Cate now saw was a limousine. Again the doors were opened for them, and they stepped into the spacious interior, which was cold and fragrant, smelling faintly of flowers. Two Asian women were waiting there for them, dressed in scorching mandarin red silk dresses cut in a revealing modern fashion, with high hemlines and low necklines.

As the doors closed and the Lincoln pulled out from between the two Mercedes and disappeared, the two Asian women, moving slowly, produced silk blindfolds, wrapped them around Cate’s and Irina’s eyes, and tied them gently.
Then Cate’s escort sat very close to her and took her hand in a comforting manner, holding it between her own small ones. Cate could smell her perfume, as soft as sachet. The limousine’s stereo played Chopin—at least Cate thought it was Chopin—soft piano notes falling like drops of dripping water into the otherwise silent compartment.

In this way they drove for a period of time that Cate found difficult to calculate. Always poor at gauging the passage of time, she nevertheless guessed that they had driven for something close to half an hour. She could feel the motion of the car and occasionally the gentle pull of gravity as the limousine turned ever so subtly one way or the other. At such moments, she could feel the body of the woman beside her shift slightly, and from time to time, when the woman moved one or the other of her hands, cool air came into the warmth created by their touch, a sensation that for some reason surprised Cate because of the degree of heat generated by the other woman’s skin. She was surprised too at being aware of the preciseness of the woman’s hands, her delicate ringers, her softly shaped nails. Now and then Cate could feel the woman’s long hair brush against her bare shoulder, and, curiously, she could feel the quiver of her breath too, as light as a fleeting thought.

The fact that she noticed such detailed sensations, Cate thought, must be the result of being blindfolded, of having one sense taken from her and thereby stimulating the others to compensate. Whatever the reason for her heightened sensitivity, it was there, surprising and distracting her from the fear that gnawed at her unrelentingly. With her left hand she ran her fingers over the bandage she had surreptitiously put over the implants in her right arm while they were still in the Lincoln. Whatever was going to happen from here on, she was not likely to forget. She could tell Hain and the others what they needed to know and keep the rest—whatever the hell that might be—to herself.

The limousine slowed and began a gentle turn up a slight incline. Immediately Cate’s companion released her hand and reached up and untied the blindfold. As the cloth came away from her eyes, she reflexively looked at Irina, who was already returning her gaze. Cate could tell nothing from the expression on her face.

As soon as she looked out the window of the limousine,
Cate felt her heart, which had calmed some during the ride, begin to pound again. The house was large and modern, built on a slight rise with terraced landscaping, its cantilevered rooms curiously and sophisticatedly lighted, with an attention to dramatic detail that was seldom seen and never achieved without an enormous financial expenditure. Cate looked back briefly as they started up the first tier of stone steps and saw that the grounds were completely surrounded by high walls, the curving drive lighted by soft firefly lights leading to the lane below.

Cate could not help noticing the extraordinary architecture as the four of them entered and started up a flight of red steps between black granite waterfalls, which whispered on either side of them as they ascended to the second level. They proceeded in silence down a spare corridor, its sole illumination being ribbons of glowworm trails along both sides of the ceiling, so that they were guided by the merest suggestion of luminescence.

Midway along this passage a doorway appeared on their left, and they were ushered into a room that was not large, though its furnishings and design made it feel spacious. The floors were white marble, the windowless walls a rich ochre, and the ceiling once again floated in its own sourceless light. The room was empty except for a dozen glass cases positioned at random, each resting at about waist height on a cylindrical carved stone pedestal. In each spotless case an abundance of gold artifacts were displayed, as in a museum.

Irina went straight to the nearest case. Bending over it, she looked at the artifact, gasped softly, and put a hand flat on her chest.

“Good God,” she said. “I do not believe my eyes.”

Cate stepped up beside her, and Irina moved eagerly to the next case, continuing to exclaim softly. After a few moments she turned to Gate, who had followed her to yet another case.

“These are ancient pieces of Jewelry,” Irina explained, “mostly, perhaps entirely, Greek. They are quite likely beyond value.” She looked into another case. “Earrings, ear reels, rings, bracelets, fibulae, necklets … settings of garnet and emerald, crystal, sard, colored glass …”

“A remarkable collection, isn’t it?” a man said.

Cate flinched and turned to see the Chinese standing in
the doorway. He was wearing a white dinner jacket, formal black trousers, and opera slippers. His white shirt had a high wingtip collar set off with a black silk bow tie.

“Incredible, yes,” Irina said, but stopped. The man was looking at Cate. “This is Catherine Miles,” she said. But she did not mention the Asian’s name.

The man approached Cate, took her hand, and smiled, bowing slightly from the waist. He held her hand and brought it to his face as though he were going to kiss it, but he did not, though he did, she believed, smell it.

“I am delighted to meet you,” he said.

Cate nodded, unable to speak. He was much more handsome than she had expected, though she couldn’t have said exactly what she had expected. There was something about his appearance that made her think he was of mixed blood, not entirely Asian.

Continuing to hold Cate’s hand, he took a couple of steps farther into the room, taking her along.

“Of course, Irina, you are right,” he said. “Greek. Some items came from the Crimea, some from the Greek colonies in Italy and the eastern Mediterranean.”

“I am familiar with the collection of similar artifacts in the Hermitage,” Irina said. “This rivals it. It is quite enviable.”

“I wouldn’t have it if it weren’t enviable.” The Asian smiled, glancing at Cate. “My favorites are the pendants of Ganymedes and the female pendants,” he said, leading them to another case. “The figures of Eros, sirens, Aphrodite …”

The case he stopped in front of was dedicated solely to these nude figures, the ornaments executed in such extraordinary, detail that in some cases the nipples on the breasts were clearly visible even though the object itself was no more than four centimeters in height. One object, the pendant of a necklace, was even mounted on a stand behind a magnifying glass to enable the viewer to see this particular detail.

As they were bending to look at this, a maid dressed in a black uniform with black stockings silently entered the room and offered them tall glasses of champagne. They each took a glass, and the Asian continued to narrate a description of his collection. There was a display case of finger rings, many with erotic depictions, and sheets of what he called appliqués, also with erotic scenes. Even with her unpracticed eye, Cate could
see the dazzling craftsmanship for herself. The collection was breathtaking. »

“When did you acquire most of these?” Irina asked. “Recently?”

“Within the past five years,” he said.

“And you are still adding to the collection?”

“When I can find the right pieces.”

He looked at Cate and smiled, his glittering black eyes falling to her breasts, which he regarded with frank appreciation. She did not find his gaze offensive, though at this point her emotions were so chaotic that she wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling. Nor could she imagine how she was going to feel as the night progressed. Already the events of the evening had created an aura of unreality, and somehow the Asian’s admiration of her breasts seemed trivial by comparison.

She glanced at Irina, whose face showed nothing.

The champagne was very good, and they all finished the first drink rather quickly. Without being summoned, the maid returned with fresh ones. The Asian and Irina continued to talk about Greek gold while the three of them circled the glass cases, admiring the displays. The man continued to hold Cate’s hand. Sometimes in his answers to Irina’s questions he spoke directly to Cate, as if she had been the one to ask. Sometimes as they moved from one case to another he released Cate’s hand and put his arm around her waist, letting his hand rest lightly there, now and again letting it fall lower, to the crest of her buttocks, where she felt his fingers explore the curve and cleavage of her body.

Cate wondered whether she should drink the champagne quickly to dull her inhibitions or whether she should barely drink any at all in order to stay in full control. How in hell could she bring herself to do what she thought she was going to have to do? She had put this moment out of her mind, telling herself that it might not happen, and if it did happen, something would come to her to enable her to avoid it. Well, it was happening, and suddenly she was at a loss; she had no frame of mind within which to play her role. She didn’t feel panic; she didn’t know what she felt, aside from a sense of absurdity tinged with anxiety.

What did come to her was a sudden decision not to drink any more champagne. She would be nuts to sedate herself for this. She
wanted her
inhibitions. She wanted to do this with
her eyes open, her senses alive, her mind engaged, her will tightened down by a tenacious discipline. Whatever was going to play out here, she wanted to be responsible for it. She didn’t want to forfeit anything.

The Asian turned to her. He smiled. “This is enough about gold, isn’t it?” His teeth were very white and absolutely perfect. In fact, the man himself was immaculate. He had no physical flaws, no scars, no moles, no feature slightly out of balance or distracting. He was like a carefully manufactured man, lacking any imperfections that humans normally consider faults. He seemed to be made of porcelain, all blemishes carefully eliminated by repeated inspections.

Smiling, he bent toward her and put his face to her neck, his lips lightly touching her hairline at the nape of her neck. She managed to breathe normally. Then his lips traced around, over the hollow in her neck, across her collarbone, down, down to the tops of her breasts, where she unmistakably felt his tongue dart toward her cleavage. She felt a ridge of goosebumps ripple down toward her navel.

He lifted his head, still smiling. Perfectly.

“I want you to see something upstairs,” he said, taking each woman by a hand. “There’s a beautiful room there. I think you both will like it.”

He walked to the far corner of the room, where a spiral staircase of white marble was embedded in the wall. Since it was narrow, they started up one at a time, the Asian first, then Irina. Cate followed, her eyes fixed on the softly lighted treads, her heart failing to provide all the oxygen she needed.

When they emerged from the stairwell, she thought they had stepped out onto the roof of the house. In fact, they were standing in the corner of a spacious room. The two walls that converged where they were standing were of deep jade-green polished marble, as was the floor. The other two walls, the corner of which was opposite them, were of glass. Through these two walls the city lay before them, glittering in the vast darkness like the glitter in the darkness of the Asian’s eyes. Immediately Cate smelled the fragrance of flowers again, and heard music, a woman’s voice singing in German, accompanied by a slow, solitary, clear-noted piano.

In the center of the triangle created by the two glass walls—a space that seemed to be cantilevered out into the night sky—was a raised oval of polished scarlet stone the size
of a bed, with a collection of dark red damask pillows scattered about on it. The sides of the stone were decorated with a bas-relief, and as they approached, Cate recognized the imagery and saw that the figures represented there were finely and delicately carved. Though she didn’t know the names of the sites, she knew that these were reproductions of erotic stone carvings from ancient temples in India.

On three sides of the elliptical stone dais and within arm’s reach of it were three smaller cylindrical stone pillars, the height and size of small tables. On the flat top of one of these was a stack of thick mandarin red towels. The second pillar consisted of two basins cut into the stone, one higher than the other and with water flowing over its edge into the lower basin. The third pillar held an enormous jade bowl of brightly colored fruit.