– 16 –
Madeleine stood among the conservatory plants, gazing out onto the roof garden. There had never been a time in her life when she had stopped to think about what she was doing, or the consequences her actions might have for others. All she had known was her own beauty, her own needs, her own desires. But in the past two weeks her dreams had been distorted by a monstrous image of herself, as she now began to consider all she had done to those who loved her. She was certain that what had happened now was a punishment, and as she struggled to understand, to make some sense out of the devastation, her longing for Marian had become so intense that she had gone as far as to pick up the phone and dial the number in Devon. But at the last minute her courage had deserted her, and instead she had turned to her work for the release she so desperately craved. At every function, photograph session or press interview she attended, she parted her glossy lips, narrowed her eyes and looked sensuously into the camera; she laughed and flirted, drank champagne, and displayed her long legs for all to admire. There was never a minute in the day when she wasn’t being pampered, photographed or beautified. Stylists, hairdressers, designers – everyone was at work on her; and like a puppet she reacted to every pull of the string. But no matter how hard she worked, how much she drank, or how late into the night she danced, there was no getting away from Paul, from what he had done or the way it was tearing her apart inside.
They’d slept in separate rooms since the night Harry Freemande had climbed from her bed, put on his clothes and left the house. Once he’d gone Paul had tried to make her listen, had insisted he could explain, but she had locked herself in the bathroom and refused to come out until he swore he would never touch her again. But being repelled by what he had done, and hating him for having done it, had not stopped her loving him. Nor did it stem the swell of dread that swept through her each time that horrible, mocking voice inside her head told her that if he truly was a homosexual, there was nothing she could do to keep him. She had tried so hard not to think about it, had kept herself so busy that when she came home at night all she wanted was to sleep. Her only hope lay in the fact that he was always there; but she couldn’t speak to him, she couldn’t even look at him.
In the end she had become so desperate to speak to someone that she had called Shamir in Los Angeles. It hadn’t helped, because Shamir had only told her to do all the things she knew she ought to do, but was afraid to.
‘Throw him out!’ Shamir said vehemently. ‘Throw him out and change the locks.’
‘But he says there was a reason . . .’ Madeleine objected, sounding pathetic even to her own ears.
‘What reason can there be, except that he’s a faggot. Get rid of him, Maddy.’
‘But I still love him, Shamir.’
‘You’ll get over it. Look, he treats you badly enough as it is, and this has got to be the final straw. I don’t know why you’ve put up with him this long, I know I wouldn’t have. And I don’t trust him, Maddy. He’ll do it again, or something equally vile, you mark my words.’
Madeleine sighed. ‘Oh, I just don’t know what to do.’
‘Do as I tell you and throw him out.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
That was three days ago, but despite what she’d told Shamir she hadn’t thought about it, she had pushed it away from her and carried on working. But now, as she gazed out at the garden, the shutters of her mind were again sliding open and she knew that somehow she was going to have to make herself face it.
Hearing him move about in his study downstairs, she opened the door and walked out into the garden. The heat was like a solid mass beating down from the sky, and all around her the rooftops of Holland Park rippled in the shimmery haze. She wandered over to the hammock, sat down and started to rock gently. After a while she closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would come, but just like the solution to her problems, it eluded her, and instead her mind churned up images of Harry lying in her bed, and Paul’s hand touching his shoulder to waken him. The gesture had seemed so intimate, as if Paul really cared for him. Then, when Harry opened his eyes and saw her standing there, he had turned immediately to Paul, and the look that passed between them had made her feel like an intruder.
‘Get dressed,’ Paul had told him, and while Harry picked up his clothes and started to put them on, not looking at Madeleine once, Paul had stood beside the bed, doing nothing to cover his own nudity. For her part Madeleine had simply stared at them, rooted in shock and feeling strangely detached from herself, as if she were an invisible being who had stumbled upon two people she didn’t even know. Then somewhere deep inside her, revulsion and denial had started to heave, surging upwards from her gut, past her lungs and into her throat until it had vomited forth on a scream of pure torment and confusion. Paul swung round and made to grab her, but she had backed away, snarling and clawing like a wild animal. As she ran down the stairs she heard him coming after her, but then Harry called out and Paul had gone back. A few minutes later she had heard the front door close. She’d wondered then, as she did now, whether Paul had dressed to see Harry off, and whether they had kissed as they parted.
She opened her eyes, unable to bear the persecution of her imagination. In front of her, on the table, a magazine lay open, so she picked it up and started to flick over the pages. She could concentrate on nothing, but nevertheless she didn’t hear the conservatory door open, nor did she know he was in the garden until his shadow fell over her.
She turned away, and the magazine slipped from her lap to the floor. For a long time neither of them spoke, only the sounds of distant traffic stole the Sunday afternoon silence, then a lawn mower, then a dog barking. Despite everything, her body ached for him to hold her, to protect her from the torment of what was happening to them. If only it had killed her love, but it seemed only to have intensified it.
Realising that she was holding her breath, she closed her eyes, then let it out slowly.
‘Maddy, we have to talk.’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
His shadow moved and then she felt him sit beside her. She stood up and walked towards the conservatory, but before she could open the door he was in front of her, blocking the way.
‘Listen to me, please, Maddy. Let me explain.’
She turned her head, fixing unfocused eyes on a bay tree he had brought home once to surprise her.
‘You can’t keep avoiding me. We have to face this, Maddy – together.’
‘I can’t,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve tried, but I can’t.’
‘Let me help you.’
Her expression was closed to him, but he searched her face, trying to find a way inside the shells of the Russian doll that were now so firmly closed to him.
‘It was a man,’ she whispered. ‘You went to bed with a man.’
‘I know.’
She looked at him, imploringly. ‘Then where does that leave me?’
‘It doesn’t leave you anywhere. You’re still here. We both are.’
Tears, like two crystal beads, ran down her cheeks. Using his thumbs he wiped them away, then crushed her against him. She didn’t respond, but neither did she try to break free.
‘Come on,’ he said, and with his arms still round her he gently led her across the garden and sat her in the deep wicker chair next to the hammock. Then kneeling in front of her, he took her hands between his. ‘You know why I did it,’ he began. ‘You know . . .’
She snatched her hands away. ‘No, Paul, I don’t know. Any normal man, a man who likes women, couldn’t have done that.’
Resting his elbow on the chair-arm, he pushed his head into the heel of his hand. ‘I couldn’t help myself, Maddy,’ he groaned. ‘I couldn’t see any other way.’
‘But I gave you a name. All you had to do was call him, he could have done it.’
He shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t have worked, Maddy. I thought about it and thought about it until it almost drove me out of my mind, but in the end I knew I couldn’t open you up to blackmail.’
‘What do you mean? How would it have . . .?’
‘The boy would have been suspicious. He would have wanted to know why we were so keen for him to go to bed with Harry. Then he might have threatened to expose what we were doing. At the very best, it would have come out that we were paying men to sleep together. At worst, if he’d got to find out the whole truth, all three of us – you, me and Harry – would have been ruined.’ He paused, giving her a moment to digest this. ‘So do you see now why I had to do it myself?’ he added softly.
He watched her eyes as uncertainty deepened the anguish, yet from their clouded, doubt-filled depths he could see a tiny glimmer of devotion beginning to surface. He waited, watching for the moment when her indecision reached its peak; then just a few seconds more until the light of love began to eclipse the cloud of misgiving; then he whispered, ‘And I needed to do it, Maddy.’
Immediately the light was extinguished. ‘Needed!’ she cried. ‘You need . . .’
‘Stop! Listen to me. I had to do it. For us, for my book, and for the next book I write. I needed, yes needed, the experience. I’ve tried to imagine two men in bed together, but I couldn’t. That’s why, when you told me about Harry, I laughed. I laughed because it was the solution to everything.’
‘And what about me?’
‘It was never meant to change anything between us. If Harry and I hadn’t fallen asleep that night, you’d have known nothing about it. Christ, Maddy, I love you, do you think I’d . . .’
‘Who did it to who?’ she snapped.
‘What?’
‘I said, who did it? Who was the man?’
‘Oh God, Madeleine, does it matter?’
‘Yes.’
His mind was racing. What was she thinking? Why did it matter? Then it hit him. She wanted to know if he had been aroused enough to achieve penetration. ‘He was the man,’ he answered quietly.
Her head fell back against the seat, her lips were open, her eyes closed. ‘Did you have an erection? While he was doing it, were you excited?’
‘Maddy, for God’s sake!’
Her head snapped up. ‘Does his prick turn you on?’
‘Shut up!’ He grabbed her hair and pulled her face down to his. ‘You’re asking things that don’t matter.’
‘Oh, they matter!’ she spat. ‘I need to know, Paul, and you’re going to tell me. Do you get hard thinking about him? Let me feel. Let me feel!’ she yelled. He slapped her hands away and she rocked back in the chair. ‘What next, Paul? You on top of me and him on top of you? Is that what you’re after – for the book! Or doesn’t anything I have interest you now?’
Suddenly his hands were under her dress. She screamed as she slid to the floor and tried to kick him away. The hem of her dress had snagged on the chair, leaving her naked from the waist down. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed them to the ground, then taking her knees, he forced her legs apart.
His breathing was heavy and sweat poured down his face. He stared down at her, his fingers digging painfully into her thighs. Then he tore open his jeans.
As he started towards her, their eyes met. And when his face was over hers she braced herself for the pain of what he was about to do.
‘Oh no,’ he sneered. ‘I’m not going to rape you. You’ve seen it, you know it’s there for you. Now, you tell me you want it.’
She lowered her eyes to his mouth, then gasped as he took her dress between his hands and ripped it from her body.
‘Do you want it?’ he yelled. ‘Look! It’s here, it’s hard for you.’
Her breath panted through open lips, her hands twitched at her sides and there was an ache in her loins more acute than she had ever known before.
‘Tell me, Madeleine. Tell me you want me, or . . .’
‘I want you!’ And her legs locked about his waist, pulling him from his knees. He entered her brutally, but her scream was stifled by his tongue.
She tore at his hair as he pushed his arms under her, hooking his hands round her shoulders. ‘Is this good enough for you?’ he snarled. ‘Is this what you want?’ He was ramming into her so hard that she cried out with every stroke. ‘This is what I thought about when I was with him. Yes, my prick was hard, like it is now. All I wanted was you, your legs around me, your tongue in my mouth, your hands on my balls. I wanted to fuck you, Madeleine, like this. Tell me you love me, you bitch. Tell me you forgive me.’
‘I love you!’ she cried. ‘Oh God, Paul, I love you!’ He slipped a hand between them and pushed his thumb into the soft flesh. And then it was upon her, wave after wave of exquisite pain pumping viciously through her loins, whooshing through her veins and propelling her into the throes of frenzy.
‘OH MY GOD!’ she screamed, and as she arched herself towards him he grabbed her hips, holding her up to him, pushing, stabbing, every muscle on fire as the juice flowed from his body in spurt after spurt of burning, devastating, beautiful gratification. ‘It’s for you, Madeleine!’ he roared. ‘This is for you!’
Finally, as the strength ebbed from his body, he slumped over her, heaving great shuddering breaths as sweat poured from his skin. Her arms were thrown wide, across the ground, but her face was turned to his and he could feel her breath on his neck. After a while he rolled onto his back and they lay side by side on the baking tiles, for a long time too exhausted to utter anything beyond a moan or a sigh.
Madeleine was the first to speak. ‘So,’ she said, turning her head to look at him, and narrowing her eyes against the brilliant sun, ‘did you get the video?’
His jaw tightened and he kept his eyes closed – a small physical reaction to relief – and victory. When he faced her his expression held only love, and he smiled at the smear of dry earth on her cheek. He nodded.
‘When will you show him?’
‘He’s coming here tomorrow night. If you’ll allow it.’
She tensed, and her breasts swung gently against her rib cage as she sat up. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said finally.
‘Do what?’ he asked, smoothing a hand over the breast closest to him.
She pushed it away. ‘I’ll tell him about the video. There’s no need to show him; after all, he knows what you did together.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re going to do this my way. You owe me that.’
The corner of his mouth flickered into a smile. This sudden display of mettle impressed him and he was intrigued to see what she would do with it, especially as he had now proved to himself, by doing what he had with Harry, that he could control his love for her. ‘I’m in your hands,’ he said. ‘I’ll do whatever you say.’
The following evening, when Harry arrived, Madeleine was dressed in a pale silk blouse and matching knee-length skirt; her hair was in a low plait and her face, though pale, was devoid of expression. As she opened the door she registered his shock by the mere flicker of an eyebrow, then stood back to let him in.
He followed her into the sitting-room where Paul was standing with his hands resting on the mantlepiece, staring down at the empty hearth.
Madeleine stepped to one side and waited. At last Paul turned, and as the two men faced each other it was Harry’s face she watched. It had been clear from the moment he arrived that he hadn’t expected to find her at home, and Madeleine couldn’t stop herself wondering how they would have greeted one another had she not been there.
‘Would you like to kiss him?’ she said to Harry.
Harry’s eyes shot to hers.
‘For Christ’s sake, Madeleine . . .’ Paul groaned.
‘I’ll have a glass of wine, thank you,’ she said, walking across the room and settling herself into a corner of the sofa. ‘Harry, what would you like?’
Harry looked at Paul, then running a hand nervously through his hair, he said: ‘Look, I think I’d better leave. I don’t . . .’
‘Oh no, you can’t leave,’ Madeleine protested. ‘Not yet, anyway. Sit down. Paul will get you a drink.’
As Harry walked to the opposite sofa he glanced at Paul, waiting for some signal that would tell him how they should play this, but Paul was spooning ice into tumblers and didn’t look up. Since the night Madeleine had caught them together they had made love twice more at Harry’s pied-à-terre in Pimlico. He wondered if she knew about that. He wondered, too, how Paul could stand living with someone like her, someone who degraded herself the way she did.
He smiled awkwardly and complimented her on the fashion spread that had been in the Daily Mail that day. Her response was a glance from the corner of her eyes, which surprised him – Paul had said that one thing she couldn’t resist was flattery. Suddenly his defences were up. She was going to hurt him, he knew it; there was a dangerous air in the room which he hadn’t noticed before. His eyes darted warily between Madeleine and Paul.
As Paul handed Madeleine a drink she ran her fingers through the dark hair of his forearm and he stooped to kiss the top of her head. When he stood up again, she looked at Harry. Until now Harry had always managed to keep his homosexuality under control, express it in a way that wouldn’t affect the rest of his life, but seeing Paul respond to this woman ignited feelings in him he was finding it difficult to repress. He recognised the symptoms of love, he’d had them before – but never so quickly and never so profoundly as with Paul. He had even considered what it would be like to live with Paul, openly, but of course that was impossible, and the hopelessness of his situation weighed heavily on him.
As Paul passed him a drink their fingers touched, and Harry flinched as though he had been burned. He looked no higher than the legs that were in front him, he was frozen by the sudden power of his need.
Paul went back to the fireplace. The excitement he felt was unbelievable; for the moment he was unable to drink or even to speak, his tension was so great. He had no idea what Madeleine was going to do or say, nor how Harry would react. The only thing he was sure of was that they were both in love with him.
Folding one leg over the other, Madeleine raised her glass. ‘Here’s to you, Harry. I know you weren’t expecting to see me, but this is my house and Paul is my man.’
Paul winced, and again Harry ran his fingers nervously through his hair.
‘I’ll do anything to keep him,’ she went on, ‘and anything to further his career, as you’re about to find out. It’s not your fault you’re queer, I suppose you’ve got feelings too, but you’re barking up the wrong tree with Paul. The only thing he is after is to get his book published the way he wants, and I told him that going to bed with you would do it. It took me a long time to persuade him, but now he’s done it I’m going to make damned sure he gets what he wants out of it.’
Harry looked to the floor, mentally hunching himself against the possibility of further blows, but she waited until he looked at her again before continuing. ‘Something you may not know about Paul is the fascination he has for watching himself make love,’ she said. ‘You see the videos there, by the TV? They’re mostly of us – there’s even one of us fucking while we’re watching ourselves fucking on the screen.’
Paul’s surprise and curiosity glittered in his eyes. She was lying, and he wasn’t yet following her train of thought.
‘The video there, on top of the TV,’ she pointed, ‘is of you two. I’ve got a copy, so you can have that one to keep. I’d take it if I were you, because it’s all you’re going to have of him after tonight. Except on the professional front, that is. You see, I am going to be famous, very famous, and I want Paul to be famous as well. He needs your help for that, so I’m going to blackmail you.’
Jesus Christ! Paul choked and had to turn away before either of them realised he was laughing.
Only Madeleine saw the deep sadness that seeped into Harry’s eyes as he put his glass down and wiped a hand across his face, and despite everything her heart went out to him.
When he looked up again, it was at Paul, and slowly he shook his head. ‘There was no need to do it like this.’ His voice was barely above a whisper.
‘He’s not,’ Madeleine interrupted. ‘I am. He had no idea what I was going to say to you tonight. He didn’t even know I had a copy of the video. He’s only here now because I wanted him to be. I wanted him to see what I am prepared to do for him.’
Again Harry looked at Paul, but Paul only shrugged and turned away.
‘An unedited publication,’ Madeleine said. ‘That’s what Paul wants – to begin with. After that, well, you can’t tell me there aren’t ways of making sure books get into the best-seller lists, so I want you to do that too. There’ll be more, you may even need some money, which I’ll give you.’ She stopped as Harry stood up and walked over to Paul.
‘Why?’ he said, his black eyes searching the handsome, impassive face. ‘Surely you must know that . . .’
‘Get away from him!’ Madeleine snapped, and in one quick move she had crossed the room and picked up the video. ‘It’s nothing to do with him. All he wants is his book published, I told you that. Here, take it. Wank over it if you like, but every time you come, think about how much it’s costing you.’
Ignoring the video, Harry looked clear into her eyes, and his distaste was evident. ‘The cheapness of that remark I will ignore, but the fact that you think you love him, I won’t. Because you don’t have the first idea of what it’s like to be in love with someone other than yourself. Paul will have his book published, but not because of you, or what you say you’re prepared to do for him – because you’re doing it for no one but yourself. Oh, I know he doesn’t return my feelings, but he will, in time. Which is something it’s going to be a damned sight harder for you live with than it is for me.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, Harry.’
‘You’re just a child. You know nothing about life. Let me tell you, it’s not easy being homosexual, as Paul is finding out. I’m going to help him.’
Madeleine laughed. ‘You’d better get in tune with the fact that it’s me he wants, Harry. It’s me who can give him everything, like I do now. And don’t think he’ll be sleeping with you again, because you’re the only queer in this room.’
As she turned to the door she missed the quick look Paul shot Harry. Harry understood, and saying no more, he picked up his keys. When they got outside he hesitated. ‘You’re hurting inside, Madeleine, I know that. So am I. Out of kindness I suggest . . .’
‘Just fuck off, will you?’ And thrusting the video at him, she slammed the door in his face.
When she returned to the sitting-room Paul was on the sofa nursing his drink, with his legs crossed and one arm stretched across the back. She stood looking across the room at him.
Paul spoke first. ‘I know what you’re going to say; you want me to understand what you’ve done for me. Well, I do. Whether you’ve succeeded I don’t know, but it was your intention to make him hate you and continue to love me. Am I right?’ She didn’t answer, so he went on. ‘Yes, I’m impressed with the way you’ve thought things out, and shocked by the way you delivered your threat. No, I don’t think there’ll be any problem working with him, I don’t think he’ll blame me for any of this. You’re a genius . . . I see, still nothing to say. OK, I’ve got it. You want me to swear I’ll never have anything to do with him in that way again. I swear.’
‘Now tell me you’re a fucking liar. Tell me what a fucking bastard you are.’
‘Why should I do that?’
‘Because he’s a decent man who’s worth more than a dozen of you, and you made me humiliate him. You stood there and let him shrivel and never said a word. And it was you who fucked him, in every sense of the word.’
Paul smiled. ‘So you watched the video.’
‘I didn’t have to. I’m a woman, for Christ’s sake. I recognised that look on his face. It was the look of someone who’s been used, who’s body has been invaded and abused. But yes, I watched the video, and now you’re going to pay for those lies. I’m not going to leave you because I love you and I can’t help it. But you’re going to pay, Paul O’Connell. My God, are you going to pay.’
His delight was now evident and he took a sip of his drink before saying: ‘I’m waiting.’
She left the room and ran up the stairs. Several minutes later he heard her come down again, then go into the bathroom. He heard the rattle of pots, then she came back into the room. When he saw what she was carrying he stood up, delight giving way to uncertainty.
‘Take off your clothes,’ she commanded.
Slowly, keeping his eyes On her, he did as she said.
‘Now, turn round and put your hands on the fender,’ she said.
His eyes widened. He knew now what was coming, and he was afraid of the pain, but at the same time he would do nothing to stop her. When he was in position she opened the jar of vaseline. It was cool on his skin, and he closed his eyes as the blood started to surge through his penis. Then, hearing the gentle whirr of the vibrator, he braced himself; and as it touched him, started to edge into him, his fingers bit hard into the fender. Then her arm jerked and a high-pitched cry escaped through his teeth. She did it again and again, ordering him to scream, to feel the pain, to beg her to stop. But he did neither, and as her hand closed around his erection the semen started to pump from him and he fell to his knees. She spun him round to face her, then gasped at the look in his eyes. They were blood-shot and swollen, awash with tears, and dazed with an agonising, blinding ecstasy.