The Devil's Advocate

by Vanessa James

  Haltingly, both their voices sounding unsteady, they were taken through the responses.

  'With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship…'

  It was a wide gold band; quite plain. As Julius fitted it upon her finger his hands were shaking; the knuckles white. His hands swam before her eyes; his touch felt cold, indistinct. The music had fled, and her mind hurt with a dull ache. He lied, she thought dully, distantly, gazing at his hands, and the knowledge frightened her; she had never felt so close to another person's sin. She raised her eyes to his face, half curiously, still distanced, wondering if he would show something now—knowledge of what he had done, regret, fear. But his eyes were lowered; his face told her nothing.

  They knelt, and were blessed. The tide of the priest's voice swelled in the air above their bowed heads. Then they stood.

  The organ was playing again. Mozart, she thought, from the far recesses of her mind, where she watched all this as if it were happening to someone else. Yes; it was Mozart.

  Julius was turning to her, reaching to her. He lifted back her veil and their eyes met once more, locking out the rest of the world in a complicity that excluded thought. Tears started to her eyes, and she felt as if her heart would burst; hope had sprung, out of nowhere, as he had touched her veil. It died, extinguished like a flame by the look in those cold grey eyes. He leaned towards her.

  'I should kiss you, I think, Luisa.' His voice was awkward, almost inaudible.

  Wordlessly she raised her face to him.

  His lips brushed hers, very lightly, hardly touching them, and she swayed. His arms steadied her; he kissed her forehead, and her heart burned. He kissed her as one might kiss a child, she thought, dismissively; in consolation. It was over.

  Julius had arranged everything. They went back to a small house not far from the chapel; it belonged to a friend of his, she thought he had said, but she did not care who, hardly saw the rooms they entered. There was a fire burning in a long bright drawing room; the air was sharp with the scent from the baskets full of white lilies and narcissus. There was food, canapés, smoked salmon, all exquisitely arranged on a long table; Myers, aided by another silent, discreetly efficient manservant, was handing people glasses of honey-coloured champagne. She looked at it all with dull eyes, feeling she moved even with difficulty, as if the pain in her mind numbed her limbs. There was only a small group of guests, and they stood in an embarrassed huddle by the fire, their voices lowered, their conversation punctuated by awkward silences that not even the copious champagne seemed to ease. Luke was there, of course, talking to Lady Warrender, who had come, without any sign of embar­rassment, at her own insistence. Harry was there, and Claudia, looking pale and tense. There were a couple of men she did not know, friends of Julius's, she supposed, standing together looking desperately ill at ease. Looking at them, Luisa suddenly felt an hysterical wish to laugh; it was ridiculous, this charade that Julius had insisted upon, and she could see no reason for it unless it was a wish to make her more miserable still. If the thing had had to be done, she would have expected some hole-and-corner affair—a small register office; witnesses persuaded in from the street.

  'My dear!' Lady Warrender had crossed to them. She said a few words of conventional congratulation to Julius, some reference to his schooldays, to friends they shared. Luisa saw her keen eyes look at him appraisingly, curiously, and Julius answered her, politely enough, but stiffly and then turned away. Lady Warrender kissed Luisa's cheek. She smiled.

  'You are a dark horse, my dear. I thought you told me you had no thoughts of marriage?'

  Luisa felt her cheeks burn. 'I didn't then,' she said lightly. 'It… this was rather sudden.'

  'Was it?' The sharp eyes, the humorous plain face, regarded her intently. 'But you've known each other since you were children—I think Claudia mentioned that…'

  'Oh. Yes—we have.'

  Lady Warrender pressed her hand.

  'Well, I wish you both every happiness, my dear. Now, drink your champagne. You look so beautiful, but a little colour in the cheeks might not be amiss…'

  After that exchange, time seemed to slow. The minutes passed in a daze. The warmth of the fire, the excellence of the food, the copious champagne did gradually begin to have an effect, Luisa could sense it. Gradually the atmosphere in the room lightened; people lost their selfconsciousness; all around her voices became more animated; conversation was punctuated by laughter, not silence. Religiously she did what was expected of her; she talked to Claudia, to Luke, to Harry, to the two friends of Julius. Afterwards she could not even recall their faces, let alone their names. Julius himself appeared quite at ease; he circulated among his guests, returning periodically, briefly, to her side, with every appearance of attentiveness. Now he was talking to Harry, in the far corner of the room; drifts of their conversation came to her, phrases about their schooldays, merging with some long story one of Julius's friends was telling her. She nodded her head at his words, did not allow her eyes to waver, kept her face intent, but she heard him with impatience, as if he spoke nonsense, a foreign tongue. The story finished; clearly it was meant to have had a punch line of some kind, and she laughed dutifully. The young man's face widened into a smile.

  'Anyway,' he said, 'all my congratulations and best wishes to you both. I'm so pleased for Julius. This is the best thing that could have happened to him, you know…'

  Luisa was suddenly attentive. He was about to turn away, and she wanted to stop him, ask him what he meant. But before she could do so, she felt a hand on her arm.

  'Luisa? Well, well, well. What a way to meet again after all these years!'

  She swung round, and froze. She was looking into a pair of pale grey eyes, set wide in an alert tanned face. The auburn hair was lighter than Julius's, she saw now, and the mouth still had the old droop to the corners of the lips, giving the handsome face a slightly childish, petulant look.

  'Kit,' she said softly, and he smiled.

  Before she could prevent him, he had drawn her to him, and kissed her on both cheeks, his lips lingering against her skin, his breath smelling of whisky.

  'And I thought you might have forgotten me!'

  'Not at all.' She disengaged herself quickly, and a mocking expression came into his face.

  'Oh, Luisa, don't look at me like that.' He opened his eyes wide, boyishly, favouring her with that look of apparent frankness she had never trusted. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'I'm not supposed to be here, you know. Most definitely not invited. Now, isn't that shocking? The bridegroom's own brother, and such an old friend of the bride's…'

  'You mean Julius didn't invite you?' She stared at him curiously.

  'Quite the opposite, darling. Strict instructions to take myself off. Go elsewhere. Now I wonder why Julius should have done that, don't you?'

  Luisa looked at him coldly.

  'If that's the case then, don't you think you ought to leave? You could. Julius hasn't seen you, I think.'

  She glanced nervously over her shoulder, but Julius had his back to them. He was talking to Harry, and Claudia had joined them. Kit followed her eyes. He smiled impishly.

  'I'm sure you're right, Luisa dear. Frightfully good advice. I never take good advice, though, it's against all my principles…'

  'I didn't know you permitted yourself principles at all,' she snapped, but Kit ignored the hostility of her tones.

  'In any case…' he swept on as if she had not spoken, 'I had to see you, Luisa. Looking so lovely, so ethereal. And Claudia, of course.' He glanced sharply across the room to her sister. 'How is Claudia? That little contretemps of hers… all smoothed over, I gather?'

  'You'd better ask Julius.'

  'Really?' He turned back to her. His voice was still lazy, as affected as ever, and his expression was bland. But there was something in his eyes, Luisa thought, with a sudden wariness—an alertness, a sharpness. Instantly she wished, though she did not know why, that she had kept silent, said nothing. His eyes scann
ed her face.

  'Well now,' he said softly, 'this was all rather a surprise to me, you know. Frankly I thought Julius would never marry. Might cramp his style too much, you know? And this was all so sudden, wasn't it? I wonder what could have happened to make Julius change his mind? And you too, of course. From what Claudia has always said, you were more likely to take vows of quite a different kind…'

  He broke off, suddenly dropping the artificial bantering tone he had adopted, and his eyes met hers. Something flamed in his eyes, briefly, like a dart of light, an urgency, a rapaciousness. Luisa saw it, and something tugged at her memory. Nausea suddenly churned in the pit of her stomach, and she felt her blood rush to her face, pounding in her temples. Quickly she tried to turn away, but Kit caught her arm and drew her to him. Unwillingly, fearfully, she looked into his face.

  'Luisa.' His voice was quite different now, urgent, lowered. 'You look exquisite, do you know that? But you're not happy, are you? How can you do this? You should have let me see you, before, when I asked Claudia to arrange it. You could have given me a chance, you know—to talk, after all this time. If we could have met, just once…'

  She could feel his breath warm against her skin, sweet with its overlay of alcohol, and it sickened her. She met his eyes stonily.

  'There was nothing to say.'

  'I shouldn't have needed words.' He said it silkily, suggestively, and the dart of light flared in his eyes again, then was gone. His hand on her hand felt too hot, clammy; she was stifling, and the room felt suddenly crowded, airless. It was as if his hand were not on her arm, but across her mouth, shutting out the air, suffocating her… she swayed against the black material of his jacket, saw blackness before her eyes, and some part of her welcomed it, the blackness of obliteration that was coming down over her mind, over her memory, like a thick tide of blood.

  'Get out!'

  It was Julius. His hand was on Kit's, prising his brother's fingers from her arm, and as the dark receded and Luisa looked up into his face she saw it masked with a terrible anger. His eyes blazed at Kit with an undisguised hatred, but his voice was low. Julius's back blocked the scene from the rest of the room; no one else witnessed the exchange except the three of them. Kit stepped back, then recovered his nerve. Their eyes met.

  'Make me.'

  For a moment none of them spoke. She saw Julius clench his fist, and for one moment thought he would hit him, that the two of them would fight, there and then, in the middle of the room, among the guests, the champagne, oblivious to everything but the hatred that crackled like electricity in the air between them.

  Then Julius broke the moment. He glanced at Luisa's white face, then back at Kit, who was breathing heavily, with a look of murderous contempt. He took her arm brusquely, and without further word let her away. His mouth had set in a tight line, his face was white with anger, and at least one of the guests, Luisa saw, noted it. Luke stepped quickly forward, a look of concern on his heavily lined face, and raised his glass. People turned, and there was a sudden silence. Luke smiled.

  'There should be no speeches, I think,' he said quickly. 'I abominate speeches. But I think we should have a toast. To Luisa and Julius. And to their future happiness…'

  Glasses were raised, clinked together. There was a murmur of laughter and conversation, amidst which, to Luisa's horror, Myers suddenly appeared, majestically, bearing before him-on a huge tray a most amazing cake, an exquisite edifice, tier upon white tier, latticed and scalloped with glistening white icing, its top decorated with white roses. She saw Julius stiffen; clearly he had been unprepared for this. But the pride and pleasure on Myer's face was unmistakable. He had made it himself, Luisa did not doubt it, and it was magnificent, a labour of love. She stepped forward quickly, as she saw Julius's brows draw together in an ominous frown.

  'It's beautiful!' Shyly she kissed Myers' withered cheek, and he flushed with pleasure. 'Thank you.'

  'It's nothing, madam.'

  Carefully he laid it on the table before them; people crowded round them, laughing and talking, and Luisa forced animation into her face and her voice. She made herself look up at Julius, smiling, apparently happy. Next to the cake a long silver knife glittered on the white cloth.

  'We must cut it, Julius.'

  With difficulty, Julius collected himself.

  'But of course.'

  Her hands shaking, she fumbled for the knife, picked it up and held it poised, feeling ridiculous, an actor in a black farce, forced to play her part. Julius's cold hand came down over hers and gripped it. He guided the point of the knife into the very heart of the first tier, then, his fingers gripping hers tightly, pressing them painfully against the cold metal, he forced the knife in. It cut deep, and Luisa saw that his eyes turned at once from the mess of crushed white sugar and dark fruit before them, to the back of the room. He was looking at Kit, who was standing nonchalantly there, leaning against the door. As she looked Kit raised his glass in an ironic salute. Quickly she looked away.

  After that first cut, Myers had taken over the dispensing of the cake. Expertly he was passing it to his helper, who was handing it to the guests. Julius was watching the scene coldly, with an expression of boredom. He looked at his watch.

  'We should leave soon.'

  'I should go and change,' she said stiffly.

  'Yes, you should.'

  Miserably Luisa turned away. Kit had gone, she saw with relief, and Claudia was making her way across to her, also indicating her watch, and nodding her head to the door of the room in which she would change.

  Luisa went across to join her. She felt better at once when they were alone, when the door was shut on the babble of voices, when she could sit in a stranger's room, in front of a glass, and slowly unpin the veil from her hair. Claudia helped her, busiedly, excitedly.

  'It wasn't so bad, was it?' she exclaimed. 'Quite fun— much better than I expected. And the church looked so beautiful; you looked so beautiful, and when you and Julius… Oh!' She broke off with an expression of concern, and reached for Luisa's right hand. 'Darling!' she cried. 'Look! Whatever's happened to your hand?'

  Dully Luisa looked down at her hands. The left was pale, unmarked, the third finger banded in gold. The right, also pale, was bruised. In the short while since she had picked up the knife and Julius's hand had covered hers, the marks had begun to stain her skin like stigmata. A livid violet badged the pale skin; subcutaneous blood.

  She rubbed at it gently; it did not hurt. The stain deepened at her touch. Claudia kissed it, and laughed with sudden comprehension.

  'Julius doesn't know his own strength,' she said lightly. 'You'd better watch out, darling.'

  Luisa smiled. She was glad to see Claudia restored to happiness.

  'It's nothing,' she said quickly, and folded up the white veil.

  The same great silent car that had taken her to the church took them both to the airport. As they left, Claudia tossed rice after them, and Lady Warrender, unexpectedly, a handful of brilliantly coloured paper bells and hearts. Tiny fragments of colour, pale grains of rice, still clung to her hair. The plane took off just as darkness fell, and as it wheeled and banked over Heathrow, the lights of London lay spread out below them like a pattern of stars.

  The dark man at her side had hardly spoken. Now he said, 'I thought we would arrive by night. We shall have to go up the Grand Canal. Venice is always beautiful, but for the first time, I think, one should see it by night.'

  Luisa did not understand what he meant, and his words made her obscurely nervous; she nodded and looked away, making no comment, clasping her gloved hands tightly together. Julius watched her, also silent, for a few moments, then turned away. He looked quickly at the Italian newspapers the stewardess had given them, then folded them away without offering them to her.

  'If you have your passport, I'll fill in the immigration forms.'

  Silently Luisa opened her bag and handed him the shiny blue document. Julius had arranged that too; a friend in the Home Office,
he said, so it had been obtained within three days, not the usual month. Luisa Morrell, it said on the cover. Luisa averted her eyes from it, and turned her face to the glass.

  Luisa Morrell: the sight of those words suddenly brought the reality of her situation home to her. She was his wife; his name was on her passport, his ring was on her finger, and in the church she had made a solemn promise. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part… The words sang in her head, and she felt cold beads of sweat start to her brow. It was no good, she realised suddenly, speculating on why this had happened, on the obscure and ugly motives that had led Julius to this course of action. No good thinking how she might have behaved differently, avoided all this. It made no difference, either, in what spirit he had made his vows, or how lightly, contemptuously he might regard them. None of that altered one jot what she had done, and what she had promised. Yet at that thought her heart recoiled within her. She could not love him, she told herself dully. How could you love someone who looked at you with a cold contempt, who was using you… She felt nothing for him now, nothing, except sometimes hatred or those odd lurches of pity that would twist her heart unawares that any man could so systematically set out to destroy another person—and never realise that he might, in the process, be destroying himself.

  The pain started up behind her eyes again, and she knew that if she let herself go on thinking, the memories would start to come back… of an old remote house, sited at the neck of a narrow glen; of long hot summer weeks, and two brothers. In the evenings, in her room, she had left the windows open, and lain there on her narrow white bed, listening for hours to the soft lap of the water at the loch's edge; the air had smelled of peat, dry grass, gorse and heather. 'Your hair smells of the heather,' Julius had said to her once…