“He never mentioned Hawthorne.”
“Come on, Gini! He and Hawthorne go back a long way. You know perfectly well what your father wants to talk about. He’s going to tell you to stay out of Hawthorne’s private life, and for God’s sake, don’t start digging up anything to do with a certain incident in Vietnam….”
“Oh, you think so?” She swung around to face him. “Fine, well, shall we just wait and see before we decide that? It might be nothing to do with this story at all. You’re prejudging him, Pascal, the way you always do. It could be anything. He could be ill—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Gini.” Pascal waved his hand in exasperation. “He turns you into a child again and he always damn well did. You talk to him for five seconds, and suddenly you have no mind of your own.”
“That’s not true! It’s not fair!”
“Darling, he can twist you around his little finger. One word of praise and you’d die for him. One threat and you toe the line. He knows that—and I’ve no doubt that by now Hawthorne knows it as well…Gini?” He tried to put his arm around her, but Gini pushed him away. Pascal stepped back. He sighed and gave a helpless shrug. “You agreed to go?”
“Yes. I did. I had to. Just for an hour, no more than two—”
“Fine. Okay. I’ll come with you.”
“No, you won’t.” She rounded on him. “Pascal, stop this, will you? Can you imagine what would happen if you came with me? He’d go totally mad.”
“So let him. Are you frightened of that? Why? Let him shout and bluster. You don’t have to listen now. You’re not fifteen anymore.”
“It isn’t a question of that. And I’m not frightened of him. I simply want to hear whatever it is he has to say, and then go. Mary will be there. Please, Pascal, don’t fight me on this. I have to see him. Don’t make it any harder than it is already.”
She held out her hand to him as she said this. Pascal took it. He looked down into her face with an expression of angry concern.
“Darling, why?” he said, and caught her in his arms. “Why? I still don’t understand. Why do you let him do this to you?”
Gini bent her head. She let him lock his arms around her, but she did not reply. Pascal held her close. She could feel the tension in his body; she could feel the beating of his heart.
Then the telephone rang. With a muttered exclamation Pascal went to answer it. Suzy was punctual, it seemed, and was now waiting at the front desk. In the three minutes it took her to reach their room, Gini had time to answer Pascal’s final question—though she did so silently, and to herself.
Why? Because her father indeed made her feel like a child again—and a few other things besides: such as unloved, in the way, irritating, a nuisance, a bore….Maybe this time, she thought, maybe this time it will be different—and then turned away sadly. For that hope, of course, was the source of his power over her, no matter how many times she had hoped, and been disappointed, before.
Suzy, when she entered, looked young and nervous. She was dressed as if for a job interview, in a neat cream suit with carefully matching accessories. Her fair hair was newly washed, her makeup minimal. It was only on closer inspection that the wariness in her eyes became apparent, and only when she spoke that the illusion of youth and innocence was destroyed.
She came into the room with a few light remarks about the hotel, and a slow, measuring glance at Pascal. Then she saw Gini, and her whole manner altered. She stopped two feet inside the door. Her face hardened. She said in a sharp voice, “What is this? I don’t do threesomes. Not for this money. Fuck you.”
It took nearly ten minutes to persuade her to stay. In the end, after lengthy explanations and assurances, she seemed to hesitate. She gave Gini a long, hard look, then gestured at Pascal.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll talk to you, but not with him here. On our own, all right?”
Pascal, at a sign from Gini, left the room. He did not look pleased to do so. Suzy waited until the door closed, then crossed to a chair opposite Gini. She sat down, and lit a cigarette.
“I don’t like men,” she said, in a matter-of-fact way, “I don’t trust men. I screw them, but I don’t trust them. How about you?”
“I trust some of them. Occasionally.”
“It’s your funeral.” She shrugged. “I’d rather talk to a woman any day. Before we talk, let’s get one thing straight. I’m older than I look. I’ve got two kids to support. Okay, so I’m not in a pension plan, but I can make good money doing what I do. It’s a service industry as far as I’m concerned. The clients buy my services—not me.”
“Fine. I understand.” Gini hesitated. “I can’t explain why I’m asking these questions, but they are important. Part of a much larger story.”
“That’s okay.” Suzy exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke. “I don’t care. You’re paying for my time. I don’t mind telling you what happened. Bloody swine…Send the photographs on approval. Sit in a hotel lobby on approval.” She spoke with sudden vehemence; her eyes glittered with resentment. “I mean, this was the third time this guy had booked me, right? And he’d already canceled two times.”
Gini leaned forward. “What happened that third time?” she asked. “You didn’t just sit in that hotel lobby for half an hour, did you?”
“No way. That’s what he told the agency he wanted me to do. That’s what I told them I had done. But it wasn’t like that at all.”
She hesitated, drawing on her cigarette. “Look,” she went on. “Let me tell it from the beginning, then maybe you’ll understand. This was back in December, last year. I was sitting there in the lobby, just the way he asked, all right? For fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. I was wearing this suit—I keep this for my work. I was sort of curious, you know? I get all kinds of requests, but this one was something new. I was trying to work out which of the men in the lobby was my client—and there were a lot of candidates. It was a busy time. Scores of blokes going through. Then I saw this woman, standing by the front desk. Staring at me. Watching me…”
“A woman? Can you describe her?”
“About thirty. Very attractive. She had long, fair hair, cut a bit like mine. She was wearing beautiful clothes—ever such beautiful clothes. A dark navy suit, a cream silk shirt, pearls, expensive shoes—oh, and one of those famous handbags, like that movie star used to carry—”
“A Grace Kelly bag? Hermès?”
“That’s it. In crocodile. Two thousand quid a throw. Plus, she was wearing dark glasses and I thought that was odd. It was December, for God’s sake. Okay, it was a fine day outside, but indoors she still kept them on. She kept them on all the time. …”
“Did she approach you? Talk to you?”
“Yes. She did. She came over, and she said she knew I must be Suzy because she’d called the agency herself. She said there’d been a change of plan. My client did still want to see me, but in his room. Would I mind going upstairs with her?”
“And you agreed?”
“Sure.” Suzy gave her a sharp glance. “I thought, maybe the guy had been in the lobby earlier to check me out. I thought, maybe it turned him on, he wants to screw….” She hesitated. “I thought if he did, keep mum, no need to pay the agency commission. Why give them twenty percent? They need never know. Besides, it was a ritzy place. I’d never been there before. I wanted to see the rooms.”
“So you went upstairs with the woman?”
“Right. First, she says she’ll just show me the way. Then, when we get there, she comes in too. It was a suite. Really glamorous. Lovely thick carpets, silk covers on the chairs, huge great vases of flowers…Then I noticed something weird. It was midmorning and all the curtains were closed.”
“You didn’t notice that right away?”
“No. Too busy pricing the furniture maybe.” She gave a tight smile. “Hotel rooms are often dark. And there were table lights switched on. Only part of the room was dark….” She paused. “This woman, she sits me down, next to a lamp. And then I realize. We aren??
?t alone. There’s this man, sitting over in the corner. In the shadows. Just sitting there. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. Legs crossed, watching me. And the whole time I’m in there, the bastard never says one word.”
“Can you describe him, Suzy?”
“No. Not too well. I’m nearsighted. He was sitting in shadow. Well dressed—a black overcoat, unbuttoned; a dark suit. Fortyish maybe. Tallish. Fair hair.”
“Handsome? Tanned? Blue eyes? Brown eyes?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Okay. What about the woman? She was still there? Did she say anything?”
“Oh, she was still there, all right.” Suzy’s tone hardened. “And gestures speak louder than words, right? You know what she did? She opened that handbag of hers, and inside, it was full of money. She held it out so I could see. She lets me look at it for a bit, then very slowly she starts taking it out. It’s fifty-pound notes. In bundles of ten. She says: ‘Now, I want you to undress, not completely, just down to your underwear. That’s worth five hundred. Then, if you do what I tell you, that’s another five hundred. If we’re pleased with you, there’s a bonus. One more bundle. That’s fifteen hundred pounds. No one will touch you. Then you can leave. Do you agree?’”
Suzy went on, “She had this really quiet, polite voice. It was like she was asking me for some special favor. Every time she said five hundred, she took another bundle out of the bag and put it down on the table next to me. I looked at it and I looked at it. …You know how long it’d take me to earn that kind of money usually? Four clients. Five. A week of them mauling me about, or me jerking them off. Sometimes weeks go by and there are no clients. I have to pay a mortgage. School fees. I like things nice.”
“Tell me what you had to do, Suzy.”
Again that look of angry resentment passed across her face. She shrugged. “First, I had to get bought. I think that was it. It gave her a thrill, buying me. Him too, maybe. He was watching all the time. Anyway, I did what she said. Slowly, the way she asked. I had to stand facing him and take my clothes off. She kind of hovered around me all the time I was doing that. It was like she wanted to touch me all the time. And she stared at me too, really stared, like she was memorizing me for some fucking police lineup. She helped undo my skirt. She even touched my hair—she said I had really beautiful hair. She stroked my breasts a few times—and that turned her on. If I’m honest, it turned me on too. I like to do it with women.” Her eyes slid across to meet Gini’s. “How about you?”
“I prefer men. Generally.”
Suzy shrugged. “Anytime you change your mind, let me know. Anyway, this woman, she starts stroking my breasts, but she does it in this really weird way, standing a bit to the side, so the guy can get a really good view. It’s like she’s displaying me for his benefit, right? And she’s starting to shake. Then all of a sudden he sighs, and she gets control of herself. She tells me to sit down. Facing her friend…”
“She called him that?”
“Yes. Some friend. Fucking deviant. All the time she’s touching me, he’s got his hands in his pockets—and put it this way, he wasn’t checking his wallet. Or finding his keys.”
“Fine. I get the picture. Go on.”
“Look,” Suzy shot her a hard glance. “So far, it’s not that unusual, okay? I get plenty of jerk-off merchants. The ones who want to watch. I figured, sooner or later, he’d want to watch us fuck, the blonde and me. Well, I was wrong. She might have liked the idea, but that wasn’t the scenario. Not at all.
“The woman had to do all the talking,” she continued. “All right? And I had to stay silent. She said that was the rule.”
“She used that term. ‘Rule’?”
“That’s right. So I sit down. She sits down—away off to my right, so she doesn’t spoil his view. Then she starts giving me instructions. And she’s so polite. So odd. Like a bloody robot. Like she’s speaking from some script she’d learned by heart. I’m on this upright chair,” Suzy continued, “about twelve feet in front of him. Wearing my underwear—my professional underwear, if you want to know. It’s white, ever so expensive. Stockings. A garter belt. No bra. No panties…” She hesitated and gave a tight smile. “I’ve learned. Five years on the game, and you learn fast. Turn them on quick, and get it over with. I don’t want hours in bed with those animals. This way, sometimes, you get lucky. You don’t even fuck them. You just let them look at you. Touch your tits. Cop a feel of your fanny. Tell them they’ve got a big cock. Dumb bastards. Some of them are so fucking desperate, that does it. They come.”
She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then sighed. “Anyway, I was obedient, okay? And she told me exactly what to do. So sweetly. So politely. Part your legs. Sit astride the chair. Stroke your breasts…. Then she gave me this pair of gloves. Long black gloves. Put them on. Pinch your nipples. Feel your cunt. Touch yourself. Enjoy yourself. Look him in the eyes. Don’t speak. Close your eyes when you’re going to come….”
There was a silence. Gini rose and began to pace the room. Suzy, unconcerned, continued to smoke her cigarette. Beyond the front window came the hum of the traffic. Looking out to the main entrance five floors below, Gini saw a fleet of black Mercedes waiting. A party of Arab women, robed in black, their faces masked, approached them, black as crows on the wet sidewalk, carrying Harrods shopping bags. She turned back to Suzy.
“And you did all those things?” Gini asked.
Suzy gave a smile of derision. “Sure. Except I didn’t come. I faked it. The same way I always do. Most men can’t even tell when they’re in up to the hilt banging you. Just watching there’s no way he could know.” She shrugged. “I cheat on the deal, okay? They think they can buy me, but they can’t. Collect fifteen hundred quid, good-bye sir, and screw you.”
Gini ignored the bitterness of tone. She said, “And this man—apart from that one sigh, he never moved, never spoke, all the while?”
“No. Not once. It worked for him though….” Suzy shot her another glance of bitter amusement. “The second it was over they couldn’t wait to get me out of the room. The woman—her eyes were shining, her face was flushed. She was so turned on, she was shaking. She practically threw the money at me. I knew what was going to happen the second I left the room. And I was right.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I listened outside the door. I could hear them clearly. At least, I could hear her. She was all over him, asking for his cock, telling him how big he was, how hard he was. Right then she didn’t sound so sweet and demure.”
“Then you left?”
“A minute or so later. I wanted to see if he’d speak. But he didn’t, even then. She was going completely crazy. Then I heard him hit her really hard.”
“You’re sure he didn’t speak?”
“No. Not a word. Just slapped her. It sounded like he slapped her across the face with the flat of his hand. She cried out. Then there was a thump, like she’d slumped back against the door. Then there was silence.” Suzy shrugged again. “He was fucking her, I think. The way she asked him to, maybe. Which was up against the wall.”
There was a long silence. Gini returned to her chair. She sat for a while, looking at Suzy. Finally she said, “Suzy, this really happened? What you’ve told me is true?”
“Every word.”
“I want you to think really carefully. The woman—you’re sure she was blond?”
“Totally sure.”
“Could she have been wearing a wig of some kind?”
“I don’t think so. It looked like her own hair.”
“And she never removed the dark glasses?”
“No.”
“Can you describe her voice?”
“I told you. Soft. Polite. Careful—like she was reciting a part. English, very. Posh.”
“You’re certain English? Not a trace of anything else? How about after you left the room?”
“No accent, unless you call rich an accent English. Boarding school and ponies. Upper bleeding clas
s.”
“Anything else you can remember? About the way she was dressed, maybe? Was she wearing gloves, for instance?”
“No.”
“What rings was she wearing? An engagement ring? A wedding ring?”
“No rings. Bare hands.”
“What about the man? Can you remember anything else about him? Think, Suzy.”
“I told you. He was sitting in the shadows. Dark suit, dark overcoat, white shirt—no different from a thousand other men.”
“Was there anything in the room that struck you? A suitcase, maybe? Cigarettes, books, magazines…”
“Nothing. The door to the bedroom was closed. The room just looked like a posh hotel room.”
“What name were you given for the client?”
“Hastings, I think. That’s right. John Hastings.”
Gini frowned. John Hawthorne; John Hamilton, McMullen’s alias for the meeting with Lorna Munro; now John Hastings. Again she had the feeling Pascal had described—that she was being manipulated, that a coincidence of initials was intended to imply a connection. A connection that might mislead. She opened her purse and took out three photographs. The first two were of McMullen and of Hawthorne, the third was of Lise. She passed the first two across to Suzy.
“Could either of those men be Hastings?”
Suzy looked at the pictures. She showed little interest and no signs of recognition. Gini could tell that Hawthorne’s features meant nothing to her; presumably she took no interest in politics for she seemed totally unaware that one of these pictures was of a well-known man. She shrugged.
“Either one could be Hastings—or neither,” she said. “They’re around the right age. They both have fair hair. So do hundreds of other men.”
“Okay.” Gini passed the third picture across. “Allowing for the difference in hair color, obviously. Is there any resemblance to your woman there?”
The photograph of Lise, taken from the picture archives at the News, was in black and white. It was the most anonymous picture of Lise she could find. She was, for once, not surrounded by adulatory crowds. She had been photographed on a sidewalk, about to get into a car. As Suzy took the picture, she gave a small gasp of surprise. Politicians might not interest her, but fashion evidently did, and it was obvious she recognized Lise at once. Lise’s features, reproduced in countless women’s magazines, had brought her popular celebrity, of course. Suzy looked down at the photograph in a reverent way; she remained silent for some while. When she looked up, her expression was hard and suspicious.