“I don’t think so,” Raynaud said. “How was your luncheon?”
“Excellent. Charming girl. And of course you are coming, Charles. I insist upon it. Besides,” he said softly, “you are being paid to go with me, wherever I go.”
“And that includes dates?”
“It’s not precisely a date,” Richard said. “We’re going north. On M-one. They haven’t put a speed limit there yet. All the other M roads have them: seventy. Bloody seventy miles an hour. But M-one is still wide open. How about it? You can drive, if you want.”
“All right,” Raynaud said.
“You’ll come?”
“I’ll come.”
The world was snowy-white, glaring and bright. They were whistling down a narrow track, banked on one side, and the toboggan hissed as it sped over the snow. Raynaud, was in front; behind him was Jane, who held his waist tightly; next was Richard and then Lucienne.
“We’re going too fast,” Jane said.
“We’re going too slow,” Lucienne said.
“We’re going,” Richard said, and laughed.
The toboggan screamed through a curve, then shot down a straight track. The wind tore at his face and goggles, burned his cheeks.
“Why do you stare at me?” Jane said.
“He likes you,” Lucienne said.
“He wants to get laid,” Richard said.
Raynaud could not speak. He opened his mouth, but it filled with chilling, blistering wind.
“I’m afraid of you,” Jane said.
“He loves me,” Lucienne said.
“Old buddy, old buddy,” Richard chanted.
The toboggan careened through another curve, sliding up the embankment, and Raynaud felt that it was going to pull loose, that it would pull loose, and then it did, flinging them high, up toward the clouds, at a tremendous speed, with the wind still in his ears, carrying the voices.
“You disappoint me,” Lucienne said.
“How do you make your money?” Pierce asked.
“Stop staring at me,” Jane said.
They were in the clouds, flying, floating. And always at a breath-taking speed.
“I had him first,” Lucienne said.
“But I’m younger.”
“Shut up, girls,” Richard said. “I’ve had you both, and mother’s better.”
Below them lay the earth, the fields of England, verdant and rolling. For some reason, there was no snow. The ground was warm and moist.
“He scares me,” Jane said.
“Richard is a prick,” Lucienne said.
“I am a prick,” Richard said. “I agree.”
Raynaud wanted to talk. He wanted to say his last words, his final comments before he struck the ground which rushed up.
“I have money,” Lucienne said.
“I have love,” Jane said.
“You have nothing,” Richard said. “Either of you. Just stupid broads.”
As they fell, Dominique appeared, and calmly passed out parachutes. They all struggled into them, their eyes on the on-rushing ground….
“You take one, too,” Dominique said.
Raynaud shook his head.
“But if you do not take one, you will be killed.”
Raynaud shook his head. He tried to speak; but there were no words. His lips worked soundlessly.
“Take one!” Dominique stamped her foot impatiently on a cloud.
“No!” he bellowed. It echoed through the sky like a thunderclap.
“When I land,” Richard said, “I’m going to take Jane.”
“Yes,” Jane said, panting. “Yes, oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes…”
Harold Wilson passed by in a helicopter. He leaned out, smoking his pipe, and surveyed the falling people.
“You don’t like my shoe polish?” he said.
And then, quite suddenly, the sky was filled with planes. Kenneth Tynan circled in a private jet, screaming “Fuck, fuck, fuck” over a loudspeaker. A woman’s voice from a Piper Cub said, “Keep America Bea-u-ti-ful. Plant a buush, or a shruuub, or ah tree…”
“Ve shall bury you!” snapped another voice.
The air was thick with voices.
“Don’t pay any attention,” said Lucienne.
“There will be a scandal,” snapped Harold Wilson. “I warn you…”
“I am the Lord Mayor of London. I am the Lord Mayor of London!” shouted another man, who fell to the earth more rapidly than anyone else, and died immediately.
“I love you,” Jane said, as her parachute opened into a pure white dome, curved like a breast.
“I love you, love,” said Richard, kissing her.
“Pay no attention,” Lucienne said.
Raynaud floated through an air filled with aircraft, shrieking voices, and billowing white parachutes.
“We are falling too fast,” Jane said.
“We are falling too slow,” said Lucienne.
“We are falling,” Richard said.
Raynaud awoke and felt himself covered with the white parachute. He opened his eyes and saw the sheet. He was sweating and shivering. Cold moonlight poured in through the window.
“Are you all right?”
He looked over. Dominique, naked, stood in the doorway.
“I guess so.”
“Here.” She gave him a glass. “Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Cold water. You were having a nightmare.”
“I guess I was.”
He drank it. It tasted good; his mouth was dry and thick.
“Are you all right now?”
“Yes.”
“Not falling anymore?”
He was startled. “Did I say anything?”
“Just words.”
“Where is Richard?”
“Asleep. I woke and heard you. Are you all right now?”
“Yes,” he said.
He lay down again, and slept soundlessly.
10. A DRIVE IN THE COUNTRY
RICHARD SAID, “RISE AND shine, Charles.”
Raynaud got up, blinking his eyes in the morning light. Pierce stood over him with a drink in his hand.
“That for me?”
“Right.”
“What is it?”
“A martini.”
“Christ, no.”
Raynaud got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Pierce said, “The car’s here. You’ve got to see it.”
“When I’m dressed.”
As he showered and shaved, he thought about Richard. It was unusual for Richard to drink before noon; he usually waited ritualistically for twelve before pouring the first drink of the day. Yet today he was drinking, and offering one to Raynaud.
Why?
He sighed. Such a lot of whys, and so early in the morning. He wondered how Jane would act toward him, and toward Richard. He wondered what the hell he thought about her, and if he liked her. He decided he did like her, but he didn’t know why. Something about her. She held back something, and it made her interesting. And she had a kind of tough but wounded quality, like a limping soldier. That made her interesting, too.
He smiled. Besides, she was sexy as hell.
Ah, he thought, there we are, back to essentials. He bashed dressing and went out to the garage to join Richard. The car was there. Richard beamed proudly.
“Like it?”
The car had been repainted, from a deep red to a bright, mustard yellow. The color went well with the black seats.
“Very much.”
Pierce gave Raynaud his drink. “Cheers. We pick up Jane in an hour.”
Raynaud glanced at his watch. It was ten. He waited until Pierce was not looking, then poured his drink on the concrete floor of the garage.
“I think it’s a perfect color,” Pierce said. “Just perfect. And they did a good job on the body.”
They went back into the flat. Pierce looked at Raynaud’s glass. “Finished already? Make yourself another. I’ve got to dress.”
When Pierce came back, Raynaud sa
w that he was dressed casually but elegantly. Blue blazer, red foulard kerchief, tattersall check shirt, and dark gray flannels.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked.
“Occasion? No occasion,” Pierce said, touching his foulard and straightening it. “Though I must admit I’m rather struck by the girl. Quite a stunner, isn’t she? And such very soft breasts. We had a lovely lunch together. Shall we go?”
Jane finally showed up at noon, an hour later than planned. Richard had waited for her impatiently, smoking cigarettes and swearing under his breath. But when she arrived, he could not speak for several moments.
“Good Lord,” he finally managed to say. “Good Lord.”
She stood in front of the car and turned around. She was wearing a simple, pink and yellow dress made of some fabric that clung tenaciously to obscene places and came to an abrupt stop just below her ass. Raynaud liked it immediately. He also liked her hair, which was short and simple and direct. He was amused to see how she moved and acted. It was different, as different as she looked.
“The new me,” she announced.
“Marvelous,” Richard said. He got into the car and held the door open for her. Raynaud said nothing.
“By the way,” Richard said, “where have you been?”
“I had some business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Oh,” she said lightly, getting into the car, “agents and models, that sort.”
“Ummm.”
Pierce put the car in gear. Jane sat in the front seat, next to Richard. Raynaud sat in the back and looked at her neck, which was slim but somehow strong-looking, a very interesting neck. He slid over in the rear seat until he was sitting behind Richard. That way, he could look at her profile. Very nice profile. True, the nose was a little too long, and she had a slight tic in her left eye which was exaggerated when she was drunk, but still in all, a nice profile.
She glanced back at him. “Still staring?” She gave him a bemused smile.
“Just my tourist’s gawk.”
She laughed.
They drove north toward Edgeware, and then west to pick up the first of England’s high-speed thruways, the M-l.
With three early-morning scotches under his belt, Pierce drove badly. He ground his gears and allowed the car to shift all over the road. Once or twice, Raynaud saw concern in Jane’s eyes, but for the most part she seemed very calm. As they pulled onto the motorway, Pierce said, “All right. Here we go.”
He stepped on the accelerator. The car shot forward with incredible, startling speed, the engine growing from a low whine to a deep growl. They passed 70 before Pierce put the car into fifth, and from there they moved smoothly to 120, 130, and finally 150 miles an hour. The wind shrieked through the open windows. They closed them.
“Like it?” Pierce asked. “Bet you’ve never gone this fast before.”
“Never,” Jane said.
The car rushed down the road. In the right lane were Volkswagens and lorries. In the left were Jags and Porsches, which hurriedly got out of the way as they approached. Far ahead was a blue Porsche 911.
“We’ll catch it,” Pierce said. He held the wheel at nine and three; good racing form, arms locked in front of him. “That car’s top speed is only one thirty.”
They approached the Porsche swiftly; like the others, it ducked into the right lane. Pierce laughed.
“This is the fastest car on the road,” he said. “Absolutely the fastest. The Lamborghini may do better, but not much. Not bloody much.”
They screamed down the motorway.
“Where are we going?” Jane asked.
“North. To a little inn I know.”
Richard was chuckling as he spoke. Clearly, the power and speed were affecting him, on top of the scotch.
“Charles has never seen this inn. Not surprising: I only take girls there.”
Raynaud said nothing. So, he thought, the goading begins already. Well, let it start. Richard was going to be a very surprised fellow. Very soon.
“Eh, Charles, old buddy?”
“That’s right,” Raynaud said.
“Actually,” Pierce said, honking as he approached a Ferrari, “actually, Charles hasn’t seen a hell of a lot. He’s still a hick at heart.”
“That’s right,” Raynaud said. “Now you’d better slow down.”
“Jane,” said Pierce. “You may be wondering why I brought Charles along in the back seat. It was for appearances. Actually, when we get to this inn, we will drive Charles to the train station, and send him home to mother. If he doesn’t have any money—which he won’t, since he never has any money—I will lend him enough to get back to London. Then you and I—”
“Watch the road,” Raynaud said.
He looked quickly at Jane. She said nothing. Her face was blank, expressionless.
Pierce honked at a lorry passing another, slammed on his brakes, and barely missed a collision as the slow-moving truck lumbered over into the right lane.
“As I was saying, we will rapidly dispose of my old buddy here, and be by ourselves at last. You’ll adore this inn. It has a thatched roof, and whitewashed walls, and an adorable little garden. And, of course, the beds. Most excellent beds, with those thick feather fluffy quilts to put over you.”
Jane said nothing.
Raynaud said, “Maybe she doesn’t want to go.”
“Are you deciding for her, old buddy?”
“No,” Raynaud said. “But don’t you think you ought to ask her?”
The Maserati tore down the road, streaking past the other cars, its engine screaming.
“Jane wants to be with me,” Pierce said flatly.
Jane said nothing. Her eyes were on the road. She seemed fascinated, mesmerized, by the pavement rushing up toward them.
“She doesn’t.”
“She does,” Pierce said. “She does.” He laughed a harsh, sarcastic laugh. “You’re deluding yourself, old buddy. Jane is a young model, and she digs money. I have money. And you? You’ve got the Mexican jungle. Nothing else: just the jungle. It’s not for her, believe me. Her beautiful skin would be chewed by mosquitoes.” Richard sighed.
“No, the jungle is not for her. All the snakes and natives and stinking swamps—not for her. This is a young woman of breeding and refinement.”
He reached over and caressed her knee.
“Take your hands off me,” Jane said coldly.
Raynaud felt an instant of pure, deep pleasure. “You heard the lady.”
“Lady?” Richard laughed.
“You heard the lady,” Raynaud said.
Jane, sensing the rising tension in the car, said, “Let’s take it easy, fellas.”
“That’s right,” Richard said. “You heard the lady, Charles. Take it easy.”
“Take your hand off her knee.”
“She likes it.”
“She doesn’t.”
Jane was watching the road. Raynaud glanced at the speedometer. It was up to 170, and the engine sounded capable of much more.
“Richard,” Jane said, “please drive with both hands. We’re going very fast.”
Richard immediately took his hand off her knee. He held the wheel and stepped on the accelerator. The needle moved forward, nudging 200 miles an hour.
“If you touch her again, old buddy,” Raynaud said, “I’ll beat your brains in.”
Richard laughed.
The car streaked down the road at a flat 200 miles.
“I’m serious, old buddy,” Raynaud said.
Jane turned back to him. “Please stop,” she said. “Just forget it.”
Raynaud said, “This is between us. Just the two of us.”
“He’ll kill us all,” Jane said.
Richard laughed. “Me? A superb driver like me?”
Up ahead was an Aston Martin, doing 150. They approached it with frightening speed, as if it was standing still.
“Whee!” shouted Richard, as he honked the Martin into the right lane, betw
een two slow-moving lorries. “Isn’t this fun?”
“Please be careful,” Jane said.
Raynaud said nothing.
“What’s the matter, Charles? Scared?”
“No,” Raynaud said.
“Afraid I’ll walk away with your girl?”
“She’s not my girl.”
“You’d like her to be, though, wouldn’t you?”
“No,” Raynaud said. “I just don’t want her hurt.”
“In that case,” Richard said, “better leave me alone. We’re doing two hundred.”
Raynaud watched the traffic in the right lane. It was a continuous stream of Minis, Volks, lorries, and slow MG’s.
“Worried, old buddy?”
“Of course I’m worried.”
“That’s good.”
Pierce put his hand very deliberately on Jane’s knee. He caressed it, and pushed back the skirt to touch her thigh.
“She feels good, old buddy.”
Jane stared forward. “Better watch the driving, Richard.”
“I am.”
His hand continued to stroke her skin.
“Very, very good, old buddy.”
Raynaud sat back in his seat. He was thinking hard, trying to remember the Mexican trick, the thing they did with the neck. There was something…
“Deep in thought, old buddy?”
“Maybe.”
“You touch me, and we go off the road at two hundred. Curtains for everyone.”
“Maybe.”
The neck. The carotids, arteries to the brain.
“Forget it, old buddy. Fate has willed it. You will be taken to the train station and deposited. You’ll ride back to London, and Jane and I—”
There was a break in the traffic. Up ahead, a clear stretch of road, two lanes for three miles, and then a bridge overhead.
Raynaud grabbed Pierce around the neck. His fingers squeezed.
“Hey!”
The car swerved crazily.
“Let him go! Let him go!” Jane screamed.
Raynaud maintained his grip. He leaned forward, took the wheel, and steered them into the right-hand lane.
“Charles! We’ll all be killed!”
They went off the road, into the dirt, then back on. Pierce and Raynaud fought for control of the car. They swerved back and forth; the speedometer dropped to 170.
The bridge came closer.
Jane screamed.
Pierce made choking sounds and tried to steer deliberately for the bridge. Raynaud shifted his grip, moving forward and catching Pierce in a hammerlock; with his free hand he tried to maneuver the wheel.
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