Текст книги "Love's Sacrifice"

Автор книги: Georgia Le Carre

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

Twenty-Three

Blake Law Barrington

“How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know that he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is no concealment possible. When, then, did he come?”

–Sherlock Holmes, The Sign of the Four (1980)

My mother lives overlooking Central Park in an apartment that takes up three entire floors. The ceilings are twenty-three feet high, the windows are ceiling to floor, and the endless views are quite literally breathtaking. Darkness has already fallen and the city lies a glitzy carpet of lights below me. I gaze down at the beautiful sight and feel crumpled and jaded.

A maid brings sage tea flavored with honey and warm brioches filled with foie gras and bacon curls. By the time my mother makes her fantastically elegant entrance, I have already been cooling my heels for fifteen minutes. I turn around to watch her sweep dramatically into the room, porcelain white, blonde and flawless, and remember her, when she used to dress in floor-length evening gowns and was what you would call an all-star beauty. Among other things she wore coats made out of ocelots. The memory leaves a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

She smiles ruefully. ‘Have I kept you waiting long?’

My mouth twists. ‘Not at all.’

She sinks languidly onto a sofa, and after dutifully kissing either side of her smooth and perfumed cheeks, I take the seat opposite hers. She curls her fingers delicately into a half fist and lifts it to her mouth to conceal a sigh. Everything about her is designed to disguise the predatory gleam in her eyes.

‘There is a Byzantine church in Syria, called The Heart of the Almond. Imagine such a name for a church.’

‘Did Marcus call you?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Well, are you going to tell me who my father is? Or are we going to discuss obscure churches in Syria?’

She thinks for a moment, her eyes secretive slits of blue. ‘Have you ever dreamed of a bird or an animal with glowing red eyes?’

I am unprepared for the question. If I had, my reaction would have been totally different. I would have schooled my expression. But as I wasn’t, she saw the unguarded expression of shock. Even though I shake my head, she pins me with her eyes, suddenly avid and glittering with excitement.

‘You have, haven’t you?’

Why she would be pleased about such dreams, I don’t know, but I consider them nightmares. Since I was a boy I have been trapped in dreams where I am being chased by a massive black horse with red eyes. It chases me through open fields, I can hear it snorting and breathing hard on my heels. Sometimes I will make it into an abandoned house or barn and I will lock myself in there and cower while the horse thunders its hooves at the door. Petrified, I will stare at the door as it rattles and shakes. That is usually when I wake up in a cold sweat.

‘Do you know how lucky you are?’

Lucky? I am robbed of all words.

‘That is the ultimate goal. To allow the master to inhabit our souls. Your father allowed it.’ Her eyes become misty with the memory. ‘Sometimes you could see Him looking out of his eyes. He would look out at you, alive and living, in a human form. It is the thing we do for Him. We allow him to walk the earth in human form. It is why we keep our bloodline pure. If we sully it by mixing our blood with impure lines he will no longer be able to possess us. It is the reason we have all this power. It is our reward. Ultimate power over all of mankind.’ Her voice changes, becomes wheedling. ‘You don’t know what it feels like. You must allow him to take you over.’

I stand and take a few steps away from her. ‘But I’m not a bloodline, am I?’

She laughs suddenly. The sound is sarcastic and taunting. ‘You’re a fool, Blake. I never imagined you would be so blind. Can’t you guess that your bloodline is by far purer than the Barrington bloodline?’

I stare at her with surprise. My chest feels as if it is on fire. ‘Who is my real father?’

‘Do you really need me to spell it out for you?’ She seems genuinely surprised that I don’t know.

‘Yes, God damn it,’ I say harshly. ‘Spit it out.’

‘Your biological father is Hugo.’

‘Hugo?’

‘Yes, Hugo Montgomery.’

Hugo Montgomery! For a moment nothing makes sense. Time stops. The whole world outside my mother’s living apartment ceases to exist. We are splendidly isolated and perched high in the sky. I stare at her. She stares back with an expression remarkable only for its lack of emotion. Her eyes are indifferent blue stones. Then the antique clock on the mantelpiece above the seventeenth-century fireplace starts again.

‘What?’ I ask incredulously.

‘It’s not that startling, surely?’ she sighs.

‘But he’s Victoria’s father!’

‘Of course.’

‘Victoria is my sister?’

‘Half-sister.’

‘I was supposed to marry her?’

‘Which you didn’t do,’ she reminds in a silkily bored tone.

‘It would have been incest if I had,’ I counter angrily.

‘I never suspected you of being tedious.’

‘Why did the families want us to marry?’

‘For the bloodline. In your offspring would have run the purest blood of all.’

‘Does Victoria know?’

Her voice is very dry. ‘I believe she is still recovering from the shock of it even as we speak.’

‘Does Hugo know?’

She nods.

‘And… Father? Did he know?’

She looks at me disdainfully, and I marvel at her heartless, carefully expressionless mask. She is like one of those nimble mountain goats. Even on the most precipitous crags she never loses her nerve or her footing. She moves so casually yet so surely as she nibbles on tufts of grass among dangerously loose rocks.

‘We all did,’ she exclaims. ‘You didn’t imagine I had a sordid little affair with Hugo, did you? We planned it and we executed it for the good of the family.’

‘My God! You’re all mad.’

‘Madness is a subjective thing. At any rate, it would appear we failed, wouldn’t it?’

Twenty-Four

Lana Barrington

Julie comes to see me.

She hugs me. ‘I’m so sorry, Lana,’ she says.

But I am hollow-eyed. I don’t give a damn about people being sorry that my son has been taken from me. I want what I don’t have. I want information. I want to know what Vann has told her.

I offer her coffee and she accepts. We sit next to each other drinking coffee.

‘Blake will get him back,’ she tells me.

I put my cup down. ‘How do you know that?’ I ask.

She is not daunted by my question. ‘Because I understand what you do not.’

‘What? What do you understand?’ I demand, both my voice and manner more aggressive that I intended.

‘I know that Blake is special. Once when you were not there I saw him interact with someone that Vann said is very frighteningly powerful. He didn’t give an inch, and yet that frighteningly powerful man bowed to Blake. He has something they covet, Lana. They want or more likely need him. They will never let anything happen to him or Sorab.’

I look at Julie. ‘You know their agenda, don’t you?’

She nods unhappily.

‘Tell me what it is?’

She looks at me with pity in her eyes. ‘Oh, Lana. Blake does not tell you because it will grieve you.’

My fist connects with the table, so hard the coffee cups rattle. ‘Do you think anything you tell me will grieve me more than what I already feel?’

She looks me in the eye. She is brave. I’ll give her that. A lot braver than I gave her credit for. ‘There is always room for more grief.’

I crumple in shame. ‘Blake believes I am weaker than I am. I want to know.’

‘I hassled Vann for ages. I wanted to know. And in the end he told me and now I am not the same. I wish I had not asked. I wish I didn’t know.’

‘Why?’

She looks at me sadly. ‘Because there is not a single thing I can do about it.’

‘I’m not a child. I deserve to know.’

But Julie just shakes her head. ‘Trust Blake, Lana. He truly loves you. Everything he does is to protect you.’

I lean back in frustration. ‘OK, OK. Forget I asked. The truth is, I don’t care. I just want Sorab back.’

‘And you will,’ she says with total conviction. Conviction I wish I had.

By the time Billie arrives with a bottle of vodka, Julie is gone. She doesn’t say anything, simply finds two large water glasses and fills them up, spilling quite a bit. I can see that she is already more than half sloshed. She comes to the table where I am sitting and pushes a glass toward me. I shake my head.

‘Didn’t think you were afraid of a little vodka,’ she slurs.

Oh, what the hell! She’s right. Maybe this will help dull the pain. I take the glass and start drinking it like it is water. I can see Billie’s eyes widening.

Halfway down the glass, I have to stop. I feel sick. I put the glass down and look at Billie. ‘This is not going to help.’

‘You’re strung up tight like a bow. You need to loosen up.’

‘Loosen up? For what?’

‘It’s not your fault,’ she says.

‘What, no flip remark! You’re losing your touch, Billie.’

‘Um, yeah. Maybe.’ She looks sheepish.

I take a deep breath. The alcohol is already singing in my head. But I don’t feel any happier. In fact, I feel a bit sick. I put my head in my hands. ‘I don’t feel so good, Bill.’

‘Did you eat today?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Oh shit. Do you want something to eat now?’

‘No.’

‘Come on, I’ll put you to bed for a bit.’

In my bedroom I fall on the bed and lie on my side and groan.

‘Fuck, Billie, the room is spinning.’

‘It’s not really.’

I close my eyes and I feel Billie lie down beside me.

‘I miss that kid,’ she says and hiccups.

My heart does a little somersault. ‘Me too.’

‘He has the clearest, sweetest eyes. You could dive in and drown in them.’

‘Yeah.’ I smile to think of them. ‘I think of them as pieces of sky boiled down to fit into his irises.’

‘And he has this great cartoon chuckle.’

‘Cartoon chuckle? He has a great laugh.’

‘Oh God, don’t you go all “my son’s poo’s a better color than yours” on me now.’

My laughter is both drunken and sad.

‘I never wanted children until Sorab,’ she says.

That sobers me. We are both silent for a while. My limbs feel heavy and my head feels odd.

‘What the hell am I doing, Billie? Getting drunk at a time like this?’

‘Nothing. It was a bad idea of mine. Just go to sleep.’

‘Big stinking pile of smug. That was me.’

‘Stop it.’

‘Things between me and Blake are not good.’

I feel her body stiffen. ‘Did you argue?’

‘No. That’s just it. All the passion is gone from our relationship.’

Her body relaxes. ‘You’re a silly muffin, Lana,’ she chuckles.

‘You don’t understand, Bill,’ I insist.

‘When he comes back tomorrow, tell him you went to bed with me and we’ll see how far banker boy’s passion has fallen.’

I feel her hand come around my waist and her body spooning mine. Her big new boobs push into my back. They feel warm and firm and not uncomfortable. ‘Thanks, Billie,’ I mutter and wriggle closer to her. Almost immediately I feel myself slipping into sleep.

Hours later I feel Billie’s hand being removed and I half-open bleary eyes. My head is throbbing. Blake smiles at me.

‘You’re home early,’ I mumble.

‘And what a lucky thing I am.’ He carries me to the spare room, tucks me under the duvet and climbs in beside me.

‘Nobody gets to sleep with my little angel except me,’ he whispers and spoons my body exactly as Billie had.

Twenty-Five

Victoria Jane Montgomery

I lie on my bed and look at the moonless night and desperately wish the phoenix would come to me. There is no more peace for me since I found out that Blake is my half-brother, and I can’t have the revenge I had so carefully planned. When I think of what he has done to me, my blood boils.

Once I loved him. Now I want nothing more than my revenge. I keep dreaming that I am pouring boiling oil into Blake’s bitch’s belly button. She screams like crazy as her skin peels and her flesh and fat bubbles and cooks like a piece of steak on a grill.

God, I hate her so much.

If only the phoenix would come again to me. I can ask it for its blessing. For I am frightened. I feel that something strange is happening to me. I hear the sounds of knives being sharpened in my head and I’m afraid I am losing my grip on my sanity. Perhaps it is because I am locked up here with all these crazies that I am becoming one too.

There are voices in my head now.

Every day these disembodied voices grow stronger and more relentless. They madden me with their harsh cackles and calls for revenge. They want blood. Blake’s blood. I no longer dare attend group sessions. Fortunately, the policy here is that it is not compulsory. I dare not talk to anyone. What if I lose control and one of the voices takes over?

All of a sudden I hear a voice, a sweet, lost child voice. The questing innocence beguiles me, irretrievably draws me to her. She is in direct contrast to the usual threatening, sordid, obscene, and often downright menacing voices I am forced to listen to. I listen out for the unspoiled new voice and realize that all the other voices seem to have hung back.

The lovely new voice thrusts forward eagerly. I embrace it with all that I am. Perhaps I will be all right. Perhaps this new voice will keep me safe and guide me to the right path. Perhaps the phoenix sent this voice to me. Immediately I feel stronger.

You can’t trust anybody, it says in its uniquely fresh and wonderful voice.

I nod enthusiastically.

And you can’t give up on divine plans.

I nod again.

The phoenix has sanctioned them.

Of course the phoenix did. I listen intently as the beautiful voice elaborates on what must be the truth of the matter.

Blake must die just as you planned—a car crash on his way home from the hospital after signing over all his rights to the Barrington fortune. Then it will be the turn of his bastard child to die.

Afterwards, as planned, we will pay a little visit to the lying, cheating, cock-sucking cunt he married…and watch her die, slowly and painfully.

Twenty-Six

Blake Law Barrington

She comes toward me, her eyes huge, her face pale and drawn, and I feel a stab of guilt. When I found her she was bursting with life, an innocent thing in an orange dress. Look how careless I’ve been. Look what I’ve done to her.

‘What is it?’ I ask, holding her. She seems so small, her bones so breakable. She was not always like this, was she? No. Once she fought me on her terms.

‘Blake,’ she calls.

‘What is it?’

She swallows hard.

‘Tell me?’

‘Oh, darling. You don’t really want me anymore, do you?’

‘What?’

‘I know you love me, but you don’t desire me anymore.’

I shake my head. I will never understand women. How they can be so intuitive and so dense at the same time. I run a finger down her beautiful, beautiful nose to her plump lips. I remember the first time we kissed. I remember how they looked when that fucking pervert abused her at the party. I remember them when she was laughing at that drug dealer party she invited me to, and I remember them when she told me on our honeymoon that she was my captive slave. Seems so long ago. So much has happened. I wish I could go back. I can’t. Here and now is what I have.

‘Lit matches,’ I whisper.

‘What?’ she asks.

‘That night I met you I thought your eyes were like lit matches. So blue. The impression of something cool and yet it’ll burn your fingers.’

She bites that plump lip. ‘Have I burned you?’

‘Never.’

‘I’m so confused, Blake.’

‘Come here. I want to tell you something.’ I lead her to the sofa. We sit together, our thighs touching. If only she knew. Maybe I need to spell it out to her. Maybe I’ve been too distant. It’s my upbringing. Stiff upper lip. Better in than out.

I take her hand. It’s cold. I grasp it between my palms.

‘Your hand is warm,’ she murmurs.

I smile at her.

‘Tell me the truth, Blake. I can take it.’

‘Oh, Lana. Tell you the truth? Here’s the truth. Right now, I want to fuck you until you can’t remember your name.’

Her head jerks. She didn’t expect that. Of course not.

‘The only thing that stops me is your grief. I don’t want my method of dealing with grief to intrude on yours.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean the only time I forget that Sorab is gone is when I am inside you. That is the only time I don’t feel the guilt that I did not protect him. I did not protect you. I let my guard down. I was careless, Lana. I didn’t see her as she really was.’

‘So you still want me?’

I gaze at her. In time we will learn everything there is to know about each other. For now I will just have to show her. I take her hand and put it on my groin. It is hard and throbbing for her.

Tears gather in her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I really, really thought you had gone off me.’

‘Gone off you? Are you totally blind? There is no one else for me. From the day we met again at the bank I have never looked at another woman. Let alone wanted one. You’re the only one for me. I could take you right now if I thought you were up for it.’

She looks at me with her big, electric blue eyes. ‘I’m up for it.’

I take Sorab from my head and store him safely in my heart and I start to unbutton her top.

I drink her in. Glazed doe eyes, flushed cheeks and reddened lips. Oh yes. That’s my Lana. Her hands go to the front of my trousers and find me hard as a rock.

I smile. ‘See? Nothing has changed between us.’

‘Oh, how I’ve missed your body,’ she whispers as I lift her up.

Her legs wrap around my body tightly. I can feel the wetness between her legs seeping into my clothes. Damp spot on my shirt. It’s a good feeling.

‘I was so afraid your passion was gone.’

‘I can’t imagine what gave you such an idea.’

‘I don’t want you to be gentle.’

‘I didn’t plan on being gentle. It’s going to be as hard and dirty as they come. If you don’t shatter then you’re going to pass out,’ I warn, swooping down to crush that plump mouth that I bought another lifetime ago. Once when I was king of the entire realm, for as far as the eye could see.

Twenty-Seven

Lana Barrington

Jack calls me. For an instant his voice confuses me. It seems so near. As if he could pop around for a coffee.

‘Oh, Jack,’ I breathe. ‘Where are you?’

‘In Africa. Billie emailed me. Is there anything I can do?’

‘No. No, there is nothing you can do. Blake has it covered.’ My voice is bitter. ‘Turns out Victoria took our son to punish us.’

‘I can’t hear you properly. Who took him?’

‘Victoria.’

‘Who?

‘Blake’s ex?’

There is a shocked silence as he assimilates this fact. ‘I thought she was locked up in an asylum.’

‘She is.’ I suddenly feel tearful. In my peripheral vision I see a yellow Post-it pad. It has the faint indentation of the message on the note that was above it.

‘Then how can she?’

‘It’s called money and privilege.’ I open a drawer and take out a pencil and start to lightly run the lead over the message. A sentence in Blake’s handwriting starts appearing.

Jack sounds bewildered. ‘What happens next?’

‘She wants Blake to renounce his inheritance.’

There is an electric pause. The line crackles with it. ‘Is he going to?’

‘Yes. Yes, he is.’

I hear him breathe a sigh of relief and then uncomfortable words start pouring out of my receiver. ‘Thank God. It’s not that I doubted him, it’s just—’

‘Don’t worry, Jack,’ I interrupt. ‘They are a cold, calculating bunch and I don’t blame you for thinking that.’ I hold the note up and look at the message.

‘I’m coming back.’

‘Don’t, Jack. You can’t help.’

‘No, I’m coming back because I’m of no use here.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get back.’

‘You’re not in any trouble, are you?’

‘No. I just realized I’m doing more harm than good.’

‘All right, tell me when you get back.’ In my mind another sentence forms. After I get Sorab back. But I don’t say it. It’s unnecessary. As unnecessary as saying I miss kissing the wet crown of my son’s head as I lift him out of the bath. The real pain, the deep pain is in my bone. Hidden in the marrow. A ravenous thing, eating relentlessly, eating up the cells that hold me up. When I put the phone down I tear away the Post-it note. The scrawl reads:

The real target has to be me!

I look in the mirror. My eyes look frozen over.

Twenty-Eight

Blake Law Barrington

‘Wars should be directed so that the nations on both sides should be further in our debt.’

–Amschel Mayer Rothchild, Frankfurt 1774

I swipe my hand on the steamed-up mirror and look at myself. My eyes stare back, a hard blue. I blink. I look the same. The corruption and the ugliness don’t show, but surely I must be morphing into something unspeakably ugly. All my life I have manipulated laws and morals to advance myself and those of my class.

It was all real simple. Fake money, built upon fake money, built upon fake money. We stole it all from right under your noses. How? Simply seize control of the top of any organization and the rest… You followed like sheep.

You were so easily led, so wonderfully predictable. So lacking in vision. Like a herd moving blindly, either with fear or hatred. It was all so easy. Placate the deliberately dumbed down masses with entertainment. Hundreds of channels of mush and the mindless instructions to consume, consume, consume. Like an addict you saturated your minds with violence, pornography, greed, hatred, selfishness and incessant bad news.

Then… Oh look…a terrorist. He’s coming for you.

Let’s put the whole world on militarized high alert. Let’s intimidate!

And you rose to the bait. Or did you just look the other way?

Yeah, it was grotesque. But you bought it. Even now you’re content with your subjugations, right? Your illusions of security. Are your eyes glazing over? That’s why it was easy. You made it easy. Yes, you. Feel the spike of shame? No? See, why it was so easy for me.

Anyway…

One day, I went one step further. I killed a man, one I called Father. Struck Daddy fatally when he least expected it. And now I am being called upon to execute my sister. And still I do not flinch. Is it because I woke up this morning and the pillow under my cheek was damp? I had cried in my sleep. Or is it simply because I am a monster, a sociopath? Or is it rather just the law of the jungle?

Eat your opponent before he lays his table.

I am of the jungle. I saw her setting her table. I saw it in her eyes. That flash of raw, vindictive hatred teetering on hysteria—unmissable.

Once she fooled me. I mistook calculated revenge for hurt and deep sadness, even madness, but now I am older and wiser. I am a husband and a father and woe betide anyone who threatens harm to my little family.

This time I got her number. Yes, she will return Sorab, but that will not be enough for her. She is baying for my blood. Perhaps even theirs. No, when I think about it, her revenge will only be complete when I am dead, and Lana is a struggling widow that she can play with. And she will.

Like a cat with a mouse.

There is no other way around it. I played softly, softly with her, but she will have none of it. Now the kid gloves come off.

When she looked at me, she was not looking at her lost love, but at a piece that stubbornly refused to conform to desire, to meld with her. It was as if I was a part of her that had been denied her and she wanted it back. She wanted it like mad. Until she has subjected me in whatever way her sick mind deemed would complete her she will not stop.

Unless I rehash an old battle.

Unless I stop her.

By killing her…

I leave the bathroom and go looking for my wife. She is in the room she has designated as her new office. She is on the phone and I stand at the entrance watching her. In the last two days some change has come over her. Suddenly she seems to have thrown herself into her charity.

‘Yes, I understand. But we really don’t need them,’ she says, and puts the phone down.

I raise my eyebrows. ‘What’s your charity turning down?’

‘Vaccines that are almost at the use by date. A woman representing the pharmaceutical giants wanted to flog these vaccines to us. And when I said no, she was willing to give them away for free.’ She scrunches her forehead. ‘What’s that all about?’

I smile. Maybe another time I will tell her about that scam. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m keeping busy,’ she says bravely, as two large tears roll down her face.

I wipe them away with my thumbs. ‘Good. You keep busy. Is Billie coming over?’

‘Yes, she’ll be here at ten.’

‘Good.’

‘So you’re off to see Jay.’

‘Yes. I’ll call you after and let you know what’s going on.’

‘Could it be a trick?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Oh, my darling, I love you so much.’

‘Wait for my phone call.’

‘Always.’

I kiss her on the forehead, breathe in the scent of her, to fortify me on the most difficult day of my life.

The meeting with Jay is over quickly. Obviously, he thinks I’ve taken leave of my senses—it is in every ‘uh’, ‘um’ and uncomprehending pause that finds its way into his sentences. But he is too discreet to come right out and say it. I leave his office clutching copies of the papers Victoria requested. Copies of Sorab’s return, copies of my freedom from the world I somehow became trapped in. I feel a flicker of excitement inside me, but I hold back.

Too much can still go wrong.

I get outside on the street and a long black limousine with heavily tinted windows stops in front of me. The back door closest to me opens. I am not afraid of death. I never have been. I’ll do what I have to do to keep my family safe. I bend down, look inside, take a deep breath, and get into it.

‘Monfort,’ I state quietly.

‘And what should I call you?’ he asks tonelessly.

‘Hopefully, you won’t see me again, and that will be a moot question.’

He smiles. In the daylight his skin is particularly repulsive. White and translucent, the veins grass green. Like the damp underside of a frog.

‘But you will see me again.’

‘After today I’m finished.’

‘I’m afraid your services are still required. Stepping off the train is a dangerous business.’

I look at my platinum Greubel Forsey Tourbillion, acquired for a cool half a million dollars at Christie’s Important Watches auction two autumns ago. I take it off and place the timepiece on the console between Monfort and me. To anybody not in the know the gesture is meaningless, but to the true insider and the practitioner of dark esoteric energy, he will understand it perfectly. The gesture is unmistakable.

Then I get out of the car, close the door, and begin to walk in the opposite direction. Ten yards away Brian makes a U-turn and stops beside me. I get in.

‘Take me to that bitch,’ I say.