“Come on, now, Lise,” Mary said in an encouraging tone. “You shouldn’t resent them. They’re only doing their job.”
“Oh, I know, I know…” Lise gave a tiny, impatient gesture. “Better him than Frank, anyway.” She turned to Gini with an inquiring look. “Was it Frank who brought you, Gini?”
“Yes, it was.”
Lise made a face. “Horrible man. He’s had the whole weekend off, thank heaven. I like him the least. Always creeping around on those crepe-soled shoes of his. Still, John won’t hear a word against him. They go back a long way. He served with John in Vietnam, you know. He was sergeant in John’s platoon. Then he worked for John’s father for years and years.”
Her voice had risen slightly. Mary’s face became uneasy.
“Now, Lise, come on. Forget about him. Forget about all of them.”
“You’re right.” Lise smiled and held up the menu. “Gini, look at all these amazing cocktails they have. Which would you like? Mary?”
Both Lise and Gini ordered mineral water; Mary, with a wry glance at Gini, ordered a double scotch. The drinks arrived, the tapas were served. The noise was deafening: background music, conversation, laughter. Lise looked around her and gave a slow smile.
“How nice,” she said. “I like this place. Excuse me…” She stopped the waitress. “Would you just remove these? We won’t be needing them….”
She indicated a small vase of flowers, two containers for salt and pepper. The waitress stared at her, then removed them. The moment the table was clear, Lise seemed to relax. She chatted away for a while, then suddenly rose to her feet.
“I must pop into the ladies’ room for a moment,” she said.
Gini watched her make her way through the press of people by the bar. The rest rooms, she noted from the signs, were next to the telephones. She remembered that tape she had listened to with Pascal, and a similar ploy used by Lise on a former occasion. Could she intend to telephone someone? And why remove the objects on the table—unless she suspected they were bugged? She met Mary’s eyes. Mary sighed and took a hefty swallow of her drink.
“Don’t say it, Gini, I know. You’re going to think I was imagining the whole thing. She seems perfectly all right. Well, I just hope it lasts that’s all. If it doesn’t, there’ll be all hell to pay when John finds out”
“I thought it was a good idea to humor her,” Gini said.
“Darling, I hope to God you’re right.” Mary broke off. “Oh—I’ve just remembered. You wanted to see me—you wanted to talk. I’d completely forgotten. What was wrong, darling?”
“Nothing. I’m fine now. Really.”
“You certainly look fine. You’re looking better than I’ve seen you look in months.” Mary gave her a narrow look. “I wonder why? Any particular reason, darling? New job, new man, something like that?”
“Don’t fish, Mary.” Gini smiled.
“Would I?” Mary gave her a wide-eyed look of innocence. She took another sip of whisky. “I meant to tell you,” she continued in an offhand way, which did not deceive Gini in the least, “I was pleasantly surprised by your paparazzo. Not that I spoke to him for very long. But he seemed rather nice. How old is he, Gini?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Really? Yes, well, I thought he had very nice eyes. A man’s eyes are very important, and—”
“Who are you talking about?”
Lise had returned. She removed her coat and slid into her seat.
“Gini’s friend. Pascal Lamartine,” Mary replied.
Lise’s face instantly lit. “Oh, yes, Gini, what a very nice man he is. So intelligent. So French.” She gave Gini a teasing, almost mischievous look. “You know I was reading his palm—I hope you didn’t mind, my little party trick…well, his was most interesting. A deep life line, a strong fate line, one marriage, one very strong attachment, four children in all….”
“Four?”
“Well, I gather he has one already. So there are three still to come. Oh,” she paused, “and some very significant event, midlife—between thirty-five and forty, around then. It was quite clearly marked—a strong break in his fate line. I told him it could be bad or good, but it was a major alteration, some radical change.”
“Really?” Gini said, realizing with some self-disgust that she was listening intently to this.
“Oh, most definitely.” Lise nodded. “I never make a mistake. I told John that this would be a very difficult year for him, even a dangerous one, and I was right.”
“It’s January, Lise….” Mary put in.
Lise dismissed this blithely. “I know—and it’s begun the way it means to go on. Have one of these tapas, Mary. They’re delicious, don’t you think?”
For twenty minutes Lise continued to chat. She ate nothing, taking one of the tapas now and then, and crumbling it on her plate. Apart from this she seemed calm and relaxed. Gini found herself wondering: Was Lise a very good actress—and if so, had she been feigning hysteria earlier, or was she acting now? Which was her true self?
Mary, who seemed exhausted, took little part in this conversation. Lise told Gini about her work on the residence in London, the redecorations at her country house, the work John had organized in the gardens there—her husband was passionate about gardens, she said. She discussed her two sons with no sign of distress; she spoke warmly of their uncle Prescott, and how good it would be for the boys to spend some time back in the States. She described the party to be held shortly for her husband’s forty-eighth birthday, and pressed Gini to attend, as her husband had done. Her conversation was lively, even amusing at times, and the only unusual feature of it that Gini noted was the frequency of her references to her husband. She quoted his views constantly. His name punctuated every sentence. John thinks, John says, John feels, John hopes….
Gini glanced covertly at her watch. She intended to leave soon, and before she did, it was time to give this conversation a little push.
“Tell me,” she said, “when this posting to Britain is over, does your husband intend to return to political life?”
“Oh, yes.” Lise glanced at Mary. “Poor John. He took this position only for my sake. He thought it would give me a role, you see—and also that we would be able to see more of each other. He knew I hated living in Washington. Such a one-horse town, politics morning, noon, and night.” She paused, and glanced at Mary again.
“I hope he’s beginning to understand that he should never have done that. It was a sacrifice I never wanted him to make. I pleaded with him not to resign from the Senate. But John can be so immovable. I knew he would regret it, and he has. When you’re born for high office, as John was, there’s no escaping your fate.”
“Why did he resign?” Gini said. “I’ve never understood that.”
“Oh, Gini, no one did.” Lise sighed. “You’d have to know John terribly well to understand. I think, basically, he felt terribly guilty.” She gave Gini a small glance. “Our little boy Adam had been so ill, he nearly died, you know—it was the most terrible time. John felt he should have been with us more, that he’d failed in his responsibilities to us. So he just made the decision. He didn’t even consult me. And that was that….” She hesitated, and her lovely face clouded. “Since then he’s changed. I know he’s not happy. Not fulfilled. Ambassador!” She gave a dismissive gesture. “Anyone can be an ambassador. John was always destined for greater things than that.”
There was a silence. Mary raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Gini leaned forward.
“So, you think he’ll return to full-time politics in due course?”
“Oh, more than that.” Lise’s face took on an earnest look. She resembled a child repeating a well-learned lesson.
“John will run for the presidency eventually, just the way his father always planned, the way he always planned. And he’ll be elected, of course.”
She said this with an air of absolute certainty, as if she could look into the future. There was no trace of boasting.
“I see.” Gini was shaken by her manner. “And how would you feel about that?” she said carefully. “What about your objections to Washington?”
“Washington?” Lise’s face became blank.
“Well, that’s where the White House was the last time I visited.”
“Oh, I see.” Amusement lit her face. “Well, I never really objected to Washington, not as such. John thought I did, but that was all in his mind….”
Gini frowned. “But I thought you just said…when you lived there before, you found it limiting, a one-horse town?”
“Did I say that?” Lise looked genuinely surprised despite the fact that it was less than five minutes since she had made the remark. She gave a small shrug, glanced down at her watch, then across at Mary. She sighed. “Perhaps I’ve had some reservations in the past. I used to be so shy. It took me years to get used to such a public life. But now…well, I mustn’t stand in John’s way. That would be wrong of me, I think. Besides …” Her voice faltered. “I could be an asset to John—he used to say that. It would be such a boost for all my charities, and then I could redecorate the White House, restore it, the way Jackie Kennedy did. I’m quite good with houses, even John says that….”
She gave a sweet, childlike, and slightly anxious smile. Then, lifting her hand, she made little waving gestures as if trying to attract their waitress’s attention.
“Oh, what a nuisance,” she said. “I can’t catch that wretched girl’s eye. And I can see Mary’s absolutely exhausted. No, Mary, you are, and it’s entirely my fault. I’m talking on and on, and you’re just longing to go home and have a rest. Dammit, she simply will not look this way.” She half rose to her feet, but Mary stopped her.
“No, don’t be silly, Lise. You’re squashed in there in the corner. I’ll get her. Where is she?”
“She’s over there. Just beyond that crush at the bar. The one with frizzy red hair, I think….”
Mary rose and began to push her way through the throng of people. Gini looked around the room. The waitress who had served them, she noted, did not have red hair, and she was not over by the bar, she was standing at the opposite end of the long room. She turned back to look at Lise. The alteration in Lise’s demeanor had been immediate. The expression of somewhat sugary rapture was wiped from her face. Her features were now tense and set; she had paled. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, leaned across the table, and grasped Gini’s wrist.
“Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I had to talk to you. Can you help me? Are you helping me?” she asked.
Gini began to reply, but Lise interrupted her, speaking fast in a very low voice.
“I had to do this. I had to speak to you somehow. I would have tried at Mary’s the other night, but he was watching me all the time. I didn’t dare. I tried to help, did your friend tell you? John didn’t realize what I did, but even so, he was so angry, so angry. I can’t tell you what he’s like when he’s angry. He punishes me—that’s why he sent my sons home the next day, to punish me. Please, please, you have to help me. You’re my last hope.”
She had begun to tremble. Her grip tightened on Gini’s wrist. “Have you found James yet? Have you? You must have looked for him? Where is he? Do you know?”
“No,” Gini said.
“Oh, God, oh, God.” Her face had turned chalk-white. “You must find him. Frank was on leave this weekend. I have to know James is safe. I’m so afraid he’s dead….” Her grip on Gini’s wrist had become painful. Suddenly, she released that grip and began to fumble with the sleeve of her sweater.
“Look,” she said. “Look.”
Her bared arm was painfully thin, and the bruise very large. Gini could see the imprint of fingers clearly, violet-black against her skin. Above the bruise were three round marks; Gini stared, then realized that they were burn marks, made with the tip of a cigarette.
“John did that yesterday. There are other marks. On my neck. On my back. That’s why I broke down. I can’t take it anymore. Mary doesn’t know. No one knows. Listen, please find James. Before next Sunday—you understand? Next Sunday…” Her voice died in her throat.
“I understand. Next Sunday is the third of the month.”
“Find James and go to that house. I gave your friend the address. I think he’ll use it, it’s his usual place—on Sunday, you understand? He’s always watching me. Well, now it’s his turn to be watched….”
She gave a shiver and again glanced over her shoulder. Again she gripped Gini’s wrist. “He’s so clever, Gini—you have to understand that. He makes me see all these doctors, doctor after doctor. Then they give me these pills, and he makes me take them, injections too. He wants people to think I’m having a breakdown, losing my mind. That’s why he got Mary there today, so she’d be a witness. Do you see?”
She trembled violently. “And, of course, it works. I can see what people think. They think I’m a fool, a nervous wreck, a bad mother.” Tears filled her eyes. “Sometimes I almost believe it all myself, all the lies he tells about me. I’m so desperate, Gini. You have to believe me. You have to help me. For my sake and my sons’ sake. They need me so much. You see, he doesn’t care, what it takes…” She made a choking sound, and the tears spilled over down her white cheeks.
“He hasn’t loved me, Gini, not for years—if he ever did. He’s such a cold man. He’s just like his father. He wants me out of the way, so he can carry on with that glorious future of his. I knew, if he ever discovered I’d talked to James, if he found out James had gone to the press, that would be the end. And he does know, I’m sure of it That’s why James left, and now…oh, God, oh God. Mary’s coming back—” She broke off, then pulled down her sleeve. She began to twist her wedding ring. “Listen, quickly. You mustn’t talk on your telephone. Be careful in your apartment. I’m watched. You’re watched. Never let that man Frank near you. The others are all right, they’re legitimate security men, but not Frank. Remember what I said…If you have to talk, use a park, an open space, better still, a crowded restaurant like this one, that’s the safest of all. Dear God…” She fixed Gini with her eyes. Her pupils were huge, dilated, black. She was shaking uncontrollably now, and was white to the lips. “Mary’s nearly here. I’ll try to see you again. It may not be possible. Wednesday. I’ll try then. Walk in the park, just behind my house. I used to meet James there then, on Wednesdays, about ten. You’ll come, you promise me?”
“I’ll be there,” Gini said.
“Thank you.” She grasped Gini’s hand feverishly, and pressed it between her thin, dry palms. “In God’s name, thank you. I shall never forget this. …”
Mary had finally reached their table. She looked down at Lise in consternation. Lise wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, and rose to her feet. She embraced Mary warmly, then kissed Gini.
“I’m sorry, Mary,” she said. “The tears just started, and then I couldn’t stop. I miss the boys so…. I’ll go home now with Malone. Thank you both. This has helped, really it has….”
Without another word she picked up her coat and began to walk through the restaurant. Mary hurried after her, but by the time she reached the door, the car was pulling away with Lise and Malone in the back.
Mary stood watching the car disappear. When she turned back to Gini, there were tears of sympathy in her eyes. She pressed Gini’s hand.
“I fear for her,” she said. “I’m afraid for her, Gini. Two such marvelous people—and now this. All that good work she does, all that love she’s poured into her marriage—and now this. Life is cruel, Gini, don’t you think?”
“People are,” Gini replied.
Chapter 20
PASCAL STARED INTO THE silence for a while, then turned to Helen. She was sitting where he had left her, at the table, her head slumped in her hands.
“I’ll stay, Helen,” he said at last. “It’s all right, I won’t leave you alone. I’ll stay tonight and maybe tomorrow—until we’re both sure she’s better.”
Helen gave him a blank look. Her face was
tear-stained. When Pascal sat down opposite her, he could still detect the faint lunchtime smell of wine on her breath. A clock was ticking. The room was as white, as hygienic, as an operating theater. Upstairs, Marianne was now sleeping peacefully, her English nanny keeping watch. It was half past eight, and it felt like a week since he’d arrived at the house.
“Scarlet fever,” Helen said in a dull voice. “I don’t understand. No one gets that. Not anymore.”
“It’s unusual, but it responds to penicillin. Helen, don’t cry anymore. The crisis is over. She’ll be all right now, the doctor said.”
“I wasn’t here.” Helen looked away. “I wasn’t here—and I can’t forgive myself for that.”
“Helen, you can’t be here all the time. I was here. And I wasn’t a great deal of use either….” He gave a helpless shrug.
“I wouldn’t say that” She raised her eyes to look at him. “You did your best It’s never happened before. I wouldn’t have known what to do either. Sponge her down, give more aspirin sooner…I wouldn’t have known that.” She hesitated. “Would you make me some tea, Pascal? It might stop me feeling sick.”
Pascal made the tea. All the time he was doing so, he could feel her watching him.
Eventually, in a stiff way, she said, “I haven’t always been fair to you, Pascal. I do realize that. In my better moments.” She gave a shrug.
“I realize too.” Pascal passed her the tea. He produced a tired smile. “In my better moments, I do see where I went wrong. What I did.”
“Do you?” She sipped the tea, gave him a long, considering look. “Well, it’s in the past now, Pascal, anyway. It’s just…” She hesitated. He watched her fight back the tears. Helen hated to show weakness.
When she had succeeded in controlling the tears, she said, “I’m not good at showing affection anymore. Even with Marianne. I’ve lost the knack.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“No, you’re wrong. It is.” She paused, her color deepening, then began speaking again, rushing past the words, as if she had to admit this but hated to do so. “It’s because I’m afraid. That’s why. I always think, if I show any love, sooner or later it will get thrown back in my face. No, don’t say anything. It’s not your fault. I was always like that. Long before I married you.”