Confessional

by Anthony Masters

  Alison told them about her home, her relationship with her father, her struggle to succeed as a woman in the British police force and, glancingly, the greater struggle back from the physical shock and pain that Hooper had given her. She did not, however, mention the fire in the family home, the vengeful gardener and the mental scars of the shooting.

  Larche described the murder of his father, the subsequent murders in St Esprit, and the unmasking of Alain, but he naturally said nothing of Jean-Pierre.

  Blasco listened as Larche had never seen anyone listen before, and he and Alison found themselves talking well into the night, not being self-indulgent but with genuine, if edited, feelings of confession and renewal. In Larche’s case he felt a catharsis, and knew that he wanted to speak to Blasco again, this time alone. Gradually, as he half listened to Alison, he realized that he wanted to tell Blasco more, that he wanted to touch on his own personal dilemma, that despite his loyalty to Monique he had a right to, for Blasco was a holy man, a monk, could have been a priest – was a kind of priest to whom he could, should confess.

  Larche relaxed as the good wine went down, and he observed Blasco listening to Alison intently, with gentle concentration. It was a considerable ability to be such a good listener, he thought.

  Eventually, after coffee and an ethereal local liqueur, they parted, bid each other goodnight and went to bed.

  But Larche found sleep impossible; he spent hours tossing and turning, oblivious of the case, of the tragedy, even of Monique. He just couldn’t get Alison Rowe out of his mind, and eventually his gathering erection forced him out of bed to wander restlessly to the window and then back to the four-poster, where his desire continued to grow. This is ridiculous, he thought. I’ve never felt this way in my life before. What was so special about this British policewoman? What had she finally awakened in him?

  Eventually Larche drifted into a light sleep, dreaming that Monique was watching him make love to Alison Rowe while Anita Tomas’s cello accompanied their gyrations. Monique pleaded with him to stop as she sat on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands, but her entreaties were ignored.

  ‘Haven’t I had to bear enough?’ she cried, but rather than leaving the room, she pushed him aside and began to caress Alison Rowe.

  Larche groaned, waking to find himself lying on his back, his erection gone but no sign of the climax he had shared. Instead, he was shivering and the sweat lay cold on his chest. Sometime later, he heard a noise outside the window and sat up, his head throbbing and his mouth dry. Wasn’t that a door being lightly shut?

  Hurrying to the window, Larche looked out into the moonlit garden and saw Alison Rowe walking slowly past the statue of a centaur.

  ‘God! You terrified me!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Larche had followed her on to the rocks that overlooked the Medes, the lazy swell rolling up to the reef without vigour, combing them with a lethargic sheet of water.

  ‘I don’t think it’s wise to walk about on your own at night.’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’ She decided not to be annoyed or patronized. ‘It wasn’t very clever, but I couldn’t sleep,’ she explained. ‘I found the bedroom oppressive. I mean – it’s very luxurious but claustrophobic somehow. I had a job to open the window.’

  ‘Do you normally have difficulty sleeping?’

  ‘Off and on – yes, as a matter of fact, I do,’ she admitted. ‘Ever since I was shot by Hooper. The months after I came out of hospital were pretty bad. I’ve been better recently but sometimes …’

  ‘Particularly since he’s emerged again?’ suggested Larche gently.

  ‘Yes – I find it very difficult playing this role. Although I’m sure he’s miles from here, maybe not even in Barcelona. But it’s not that – I feel him inside. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a dreadful feeling.’

  ‘Do you dream about him?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Do you want to tell me about the dreams?’ Larche was very hesitant now and his question was followed by a long silence.

  ‘I dream that he’s screwing me,’ she said at last, her voice stilted, restrained.

  Larche said nothing.

  ‘Have I shocked you?’

  ‘No – no, of course you haven’t. Do you … have the dream a lot?’

  ‘I do at the moment.’ She looked up at him, and in the shadowed moonlight Larche could see that her eyes were bright with disgust and anger. ‘It’s so fucking revolting.’

  ‘Have you had any help?’

  ‘A shrink? Yes – but she didn’t do me any good.’ Alison looked down at the gently moving sea. ‘In fact I thought about Hooper more after I’d seen her than I did before.’ She laughed. ‘Thank you psychiatry.’

  ‘Are you – do you have a boy-friend?’

  ‘Yes. Tom. I’m thinking of packing in this damn job and marrying him.’

  Larche felt the pain of his need for her acutely, its intensity a shock; he had not expected to feel physical desire for more than one woman. Monique had been difficult enough. ‘What’s stopping you?’ he said coolly.

  Alison hesitated. ‘I used to pretend to myself it was because of the job, but the real problem is that – every time I go to bed with Tom …’

  ‘Hooper comes between the sheets too?’

  ‘It’s horrendous.’ A single tear ran down her cheek and Alison angrily wiped it away. ‘Goddamn it! Why am I telling you all this?’

  ‘You don’t have to. Shall I go away?’

  ‘No. Please stay. It’s just that – I’m being so unprofessional.’

  Larche shrugged. ‘You can’t be on duty all the time. Besides, if you don’t talk about these things …’ He let his voice fade away. ‘Have you spoken to Tom?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that help?’

  ‘I feel so ashamed,’ she said bitterly. ‘It’s all so bloody squalid.’

  Larche looked at Alison Rowe in her jeans and sweater. If anyone was being squalid, it was himself, for he knew he was about to take advantage of her.

  ‘But it’s good to tell someone,’ she continued. ‘Specially now. I suppose once I get back to London, maybe these – feelings – the dreams will lessen.’ She paused and then said quickly, ‘I hope you don’t mind me telling you. The point is – I think I can. You’re very sympathetic, monsieur.’

  ‘Please call me Marius. I’m glad that you can confide in me. I think we work well together and –’ His words were coming too fast but she didn’t seem to notice. Larche slowed himself up. ‘I want you to go on talking to me about this dream. Maybe that will drive him out.’

  ‘We’re on a case,’ she said blankly.

  ‘And the case involves you.’ He was calmer now. ‘You’re part of the whole dark business.’

  ‘Hooper may be irrelevant.’

  ‘Certainly. But you’re not.’ Larche reached out and touched her shoulder, watching the outline of her legs against the rock, the erotic charge inside him making him want to take her now.

  ‘Thank you.’ She took his hand very briefly and her touch was soft and cool. ‘I’m not going to be a liability.’

  ‘Why should you be?’

  ‘There have been enough confessionals,’ she muttered.

  For a moment Larche was thrown and then quickly marshalled his thoughts. ‘You mean …’

  ‘Eduardo.’

  ‘Yes – but I doubt if he was confessing at the time. Father Miguel had asked him to come.’

  ‘Do you have any ideas?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. Not until we’ve started interviewing. But I’m still more inclined to the political assassination theory than the internal problems – even if Eduardo did have some kind of brothel on his doorstep.’

  ‘With a built-in concierge?’ she reminded him.

  ‘Lorenzo’s obviously an unsavoury and manipulative character but nothing points to him. Maybe there’s someone in Sebastia who re
sents being under Lorenzo’s yoke sufficiently to kill Eduardo, but it would have been easier to kill Lorenzo – it all seems a bit far-fetched.’

  ‘So we come full circle,’ said Alison.

  ‘To Hooper? We might do.’ Suddenly Larche knew he couldn’t be with her much longer without doing something stupid – something that he would very much regret. ‘We’d better get back.’ He yawned artificially. ‘I’ll be good for nothing tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’ She stood up and they began to clamber away from the slippery rocks with their strong smell of seaweed, leaving the black velvet of the Mediterranean gently nudging at the reef.

  ‘I wasn’t sleeping too well myself. I feel better for the fresh air. But what about you? Will you sleep now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Hopefully. It was being shut into that damn room with Hooper. I couldn’t get him out of my mind unless I left.’

  ‘Is he still in your bed?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘If I come in – will he go?’ Larche’s voice was trembling so much that he only just managed to get the words out, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Maybe he would.’ She sounded like a delighted child. ‘But we’d have to be careful – make sure Paco doesn’t see us.’ Alison suddenly pulled herself together and laughed uneasily. ‘I mean – it wouldn’t do for us both to be seen in one bedroom. Unprofessionalism again.’

  ‘I only want to exorcize your demon lover,’ said Larche, hardly knowing what he was saying, his heart pounding and his sexual adrenalin rising to a height he had only known in his encounters with Jean-Pierre. He fought for control but failed, the cold sweat of mixed desire and fear on his back. ‘Let’s hurry,’ he said, conscious that his voice was shaking even more now. Surely she must have noticed.

  But Alison just smiled and continued to climb lithely over the slippery black rocks. Larche had the alarming but exultant vision of tearing off her clothes and rising and falling on the canopied bed that he was sure she had in her room. He stumbled and almost fell, cursing and feeling ridiculous.

  ‘Are you all right?’ A cloud passed across the moon, blotting out her features, leaving only her disembodied voice. He was surprised to find how strong and clear it was, unlike her body, scarred inside and out by that anonymous bastard Hooper. Damn him, he thought fiercely – this dark shadow of an assassin who had touched and tainted her very soul.

  They walked stealthily back into the guest house, surreptitiously closed the door and climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. Once inside, Alison switched on a small lamp on the dressing table and flooded the space with soft, muted light.

  As he had suspected, the room was almost identical to his own. Alison sat on one of the two Regency chairs that faced each other across a low table with Larche in the other. He felt they were at something of an impasse. Then, rather uncertainly, he remembered the so-called avuncular reason for his visit.

  ‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’ he asked. ‘I mean – when Hooper shot you.’

  Alison shook her head. ‘No – it’s pretty hazy anyway.’

  ‘Can I make love to you?’ Larche spoke the words slowly, amazed at the simplicity of getting them out. After he had said them, he felt as if he was in shock.

  Alison stared back at him very calmly, her features composed. There was no trace of any surprise. ‘I thought you might say that,’ she said.

  ‘Did you?’ He was alarmed now, wondering if she was going to laugh at him.

  ‘I think we both felt that – down by the rocks.’

  ‘You too?’

  ‘I don’t know why.’ She paused. ‘I mean – I didn’t feel directly I met you that I was going to … to want to …’

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Larche simply. He got up and walked over to her, taking both of her hands and pulling her up. ‘If we make love, will that help you exorcize Hooper? Will you think about what we did – and not fantasize about him?’

  ‘I don’t know. But that’s not the reason I want to do it with you.’

  ‘What about Tom?’ asked Larche.

  ‘I love him.’

  ‘I love Monique,’ said Larche. ‘We haven’t been married very long.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should think again,’ she replied gently, warily.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’ He hesitated uncertainly, nervous about asking her the same question. Then he said abruptly, ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’d like to have sex with you, providing you don’t think me …’

  ‘Unprofessional?’ He smiled for the first time, amazed but delighted by her bluntness – her miraculous acceptance of it all. ‘You mustn’t keep saying that.’

  She began to lead him towards the bed. They were both trembling slightly.

  ‘I’m getting boring, am I?’ There was a slight tartness to her voice.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Will I be boring if I screw the arse off you?’

  The hardening took hold and suddenly Larche couldn’t fence and cut and parry any longer. They fell on the bed, thrashing, making little muffled noises of desire, pulling clumsily at each other’s clothes but somehow getting them off.

  ‘I’m hot for this,’ she muttered, biting his ear and running her hands over his body.

  ‘Sebastia isn’t in it,’ grunted Larche as they rolled and entwined on the generously sized bed.

  Alison laughed as they grappled. ‘Bedroom farce,’ she whispered. ‘Isn’t that something you French specialize in?’

  ‘Not farce,’ replied Larche, battling not to come to a climax too quickly. ‘Bedrooms, yes.’

  * * *

  After it was over, they lay naked side by side, looking up at the painted stuccoed ceiling.

  ‘That was good,’ she breathed.

  ‘I think it was wonderful. Don’t let’s say much about Tom and Monique. Don’t let’s say that we love them and this is just a one-night stand.’

  ‘It must be,’ she replied. ‘You know it must be.’

  He did but didn’t want to say so. ‘Do you mind if I tell you something?’

  ‘Another confession?’

  ‘I suppose so. It’s just that…’ Larche hesitated and then felt compelled to continue. ‘I’ve never felt this way about a woman – the way I feel about you. The physical way.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly.

  ‘Because – ever since I was a child – I thought I was gay. I had a number of affairs with men – although affair is somewhat glorifying the event. Then I met Monique and I genuinely love her. But not physically. Not exactly. I never loved the men. But you – I feel so physically drawn to you, physically excited by you. It’s incredible.’

  ‘And the sex? Did that let you down?’

  ‘No. It was wonderful, but I know how selfish I’m being – and I’m sorry.’ He winced, knowing he sounded hypocritical.

  ‘Don’t be. You’re a very good lover, Marius. I enjoyed what we did very much.’

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘He’s a good lover too, but he’s not here on the island, and I needed this now.’

  ‘Because you think Hooper’s on the island – in spirit?’

  ‘Maybe in fact. Who knows? But it wasn’t just that. I needed this, Marius, and not to shore me up. I was drawn to you so much.’

  ‘Just physically?’ he asked.

  ‘More than that. But there isn’t a future.’ She stroked his chest.

  ‘No.’ He tried to sound sure. Would he feel differently about Monique now? Would he be able to stop forcing himself, to feel physical as well as spiritual love for her? In the end, wasn’t the latter more important, more binding? But what did Monique think? They made love regularly – she had never indicated she found what they did unsatisfactory.

  ‘Do you want me again?’ asked Alison. ‘I want you.’

  Back in his own room, Larche lay between the cool sheets, and slept dreamlessly for the little that remained of the nig
ht. He woke the next morning completely refreshed – mentally as well as physically. Clear, luminous Mediterranean light stole through the half-open shutters and from somewhere he could smell the aroma of good, strong coffee. For a while he lay on his back, contemplating the powerful events of last night, the miracle of what he had felt for a woman for the first time at forty-eight years old.

  After a while he turned to the bedside phone and dialled the number of the Chateau Letoric. ‘Did you sleep?’ he asked.

  ‘Not very well. I feel Estelle’s hostility to me. I’m going to see your mother today which will annoy her even more.’ Monique’s voice was low and depressed.

  ‘I doubt if Mother will recognize you,’ he said, desperately trying to sound casual yet concerned.

  ‘I’m not sure that she recognizes Estelle.’

  ‘Don’t ever tell her that,’ cautioned Larche.

  ‘I won’t. How’s it going out there?’

  ‘With great difficulty.’ He tried to think of something honest to say to her, and failed. Instead he floundered, casting clumsily about. ‘I met a very unusual man last night – a monk – Eduardo’s brother. He had this extraordinary ability to listen.’ He had wanted to say something profound to her, something unaffected by last night.

  ‘He sounds interesting,’ replied Monique rather wearily. Then she asked impatiently, ‘When are you coming back?’

  ‘I can’t say. Not yet. I know you can’t wait to get away from Letoric’ He inwardly resented the fact that she couldn’t assert herself over the recalcitrant Estelle.

  ‘I’m missing you, Marius.’ Her voice was bleak. ‘Is something the matter? You sound most peculiar.’

  ‘It’s just the strain of it all.’ He was on his guard at once. ‘I’m missing you,’ Larche added gently.

  ‘Despite your British police lady?’ But she was laughing.

  ‘Despite her.’ Larche spoke calmly.

  ‘Do you get on with her all right?’ said Monique curiously. ‘You don’t say much about her.’