His Frozen Heart

by Georgia Le Carre

  In fact, I had the impression of a secret forest. There must have been hundreds of plants in there—they grew up the walls, hung from the ceilings and covered all available spaces that had not been designated as paths for walking on or a small patch where there was a small metal table and a canopied swing seat. Ferns tickled my legs.

  I rubbed my hands together. It was actually warm in there, the atmosphere a little bit foggy and redolent with the smell of earth moss. The gentle sound of water dripping was soothing.

  She flicked a light switch and clusters of round white lamps came on and threw their diffused light on the plants, walls, the geometrically patterned floor and on her beautiful face.

  ‘Isn’t it perfect?’

  ‘Yes. It reminds me of a place of worship, like a chapel—cool, dark, quiet.’

  She looked at me, surprised. ‘You go to church?’

  ‘I was an altar boy when I was a kid, but I’ve given up God.’

  ‘What happened?’

  I didn’t tell her about my children screaming, then burning to their deaths just yards away from me, about the little shoe that dropped close to me as if straight from the sky.

  ‘The real truth is,’ I said carefully, ‘I could not have resisted Christianity if the story had ended with, “Why hast thou forsaken me?” But the happy ending made it less interesting.’

  She frowned. ‘That’s rather morbid.’

  ‘You think so?’ I shrugged. ‘It’s the real condition of humanity. Our lives are ones of pure abandonment. Somewhere trampling through the universe are trillions of unanswered prayers still looking for God.’

  She touched the edge of a green ceramic pot and ran her finger, the nail pearlescent in the glow from the lamps, along the ridge. ‘I like the idea of God. Someone to turn to when things get really bad.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a nice thought,’ I conceded.

  ‘But it was this place that saved me. When I first came out of hospital I was like a caged creature. Every day I paced the confines of my cage and came upon bars in exactly the same place, and unable to realize why I could go no farther.’

  She looked around her.

  ‘But one day Ivana wheeled me in here and I found it so peaceful and soothing that I wanted to spend more and more time here. And then I began to realize that I could make it more beautiful. There were not so many plants here then and I set about redesigning everything. Now this is where I spend most of my time. When you have your hands in dirt you don’t think. You become a part of the earth.’

  I stared at her. God! She was heartbreakingly beautiful. Her little face lit up about a bunch of plants. It was impossible to imagine her in a sex club. I remembered the heady, drug-like feel and the taste of her. And how fantastically our bodies had come together and lust boiled my blood. I was on dangerous ground. Very dangerous ground. What the hell was I thinking of coming here alone with her?

  ‘It’s just a little thing,’ she was saying softly, totally unaware of how she was affecting me, ‘but it makes me happy and I wanted you to see it.’ She clasped her arms, like a child waiting for my approval.

  Hell, Lady Olivia, my approval was a done deal from the moment you walked into my office.

  I knew I should get out of that place. It was too closed. Here she was too much of a temptation. I had a fantasy about her. I wanted to see my cock in her mouth. In my fantasy she struggled to fit it all in. I felt my body start heating up. I needed to get the fuck out now. This was where the rubber met the road.

  ‘Thanks for showing it to me. It’s beautiful. But I should get back.’

  ‘Wait,’ she cried softly, and took my hand.

  She pulled me to a pool. Goldfish swam in pale circles.

  ‘Daphne says it’s a bit bourgeois to have fish, but I like them.’ She bent down to lean against the pool’s edge and her dress seemed stretched around her boyish hips. Unwanted thoughts of my cock slowly disappearing into her body rushed into my mind. Without any warning my erection bulged painfully against my zipper. Fuck. This was nuts. I was venturing into impossible territory. I wanted her so bad she was going to smell it on my breath.

  I needed to get back to my room, like now. Blissfully unaware of what was going on in my mind and body she pointed to some cast iron columns.

  ‘See that there? That is a Victorian rainwater collection system. It’s really clever. It diverts the water from the glass roof into an underground storage tank.’

  I stared at the columns feeling almost overwhelmed by the force of my desire for her.

  ‘I should go.’ My voice sounded thick and strained.

  ‘Why?’

  I looked at her beautiful face, with its large, shining eyes upturned to me, and that delicious mouth slightly parted.

  ‘I think we both know it’s for the best.’

  ‘Why is it?’

  ‘We’ve been through this before, but it would also be very unprofessional of me to become partial.’

  ‘Is that the only reason?’

  I sighed heavily.

  ‘But you want to…’ She let her voice trail.

  I felt suddenly angry. ‘For fuck’s sake, Olivia, what the hell do you want from me? I’m holding on by my fingernails here.’

  She smiled, a shy, pleased quirk to her mouth. ‘I’m glad to hear that.’

  ‘Goodnight, Olivia.’

  ‘Dr. Kane?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I thought you were impeccably uncivil at the dinner table.’

  I jammed my fists into my trouser pockets. ‘Ah, the Beryl episode.’

  ‘Of course, you realize you’ll never be invited back again,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Oh bugger.’

  She giggled. ‘It sounds funny when you say it.’

  ‘Sleep well, Olivia.’

  ‘Goodnight, Dr. Kane.’

  I turned around and left her among her plants. A mysterious nymph who would haunt my dreams that night.

  Chapter 17

  Olivia

  My sister telephoned. ‘Shall we go for some cold fish?’ she asked.

  I laughed, happy those words sounded familiar. They had come from behind the veil. I did not know in what context, when or where she had said them to me before, but I knew she had. That was how she described Japanese food. ‘Why? Are you on a diet?’ I asked.

  ‘A bit,’ she admitted.

  We agreed to meet for lunch at Nobo in Mayfair.

  I arrived early so I ordered a glass of pale cream sherry and waited for her upstairs. She breezed in looking very Sloaney in a vintage Hardy Amis pantsuit and camel hair coat. I smiled and gave a little wave as she approached.

  ‘Traffic was a nightmare,’ she complained as she plonked down her Gucci tote, took off her coat and dropped it carelessly on the seat next to me. Elegantly she eased herself into our banquette and turned to me with a flick of her head. ‘You look well. Are you off somewhere nice?’

  ‘No, I’m going home after this.’

  She lifted a languid finger at a passing waiter and he made for her, smiling. He obviously knew her.

  ‘I’ll have whatever she’s having,’ she told him and he disappeared with a deferential nod. That was the thing about my half-sister. She was like her mother—no matter where she went, she immediately and effortlessly commanded fawning respect. She was so different when I first met her after my amnesia it surprised me we even shared the same gene pool.

  I took a sip of my drink. When she turned toward me, I said, ‘I saw Maurice the other day.’ Maurice was a friend of hers.

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘At the butcher.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Still reeling from his divorce, I dare say. He asked after you.’

  ‘Did he? I wonder why. He’s a blithering idiot,’ she dismissed callously.

  The waiter came with her glass of sherry and we placed our orders.

  She turned to me resolutely. ‘So how are the sessions with the hypnotist coming on?’

&
nbsp; I shrugged. ‘All right, I suppose.’

  ‘What on earth does that mean? Have you or haven’t you remembered anything yet?’

  I shifted uncomfortably. ‘A bit.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘What, exactly?’

  ‘Well, I remembered a few occasions. The birthday party when I was five, my mother telling Daddy she had cancer. Oh and I remembered finding Jacobi in bed at fifteen with his hardcore German transsexual magazines.’

  We grinned at each other.

  ‘Well,’ she said with a mischievous look. ‘He’s a screaming transvestite now.’

  ‘What?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed briefly and suddenly changed the subject. ‘What else have you remembered?’

  ‘The other memories are unimportant little pieces of the big puzzle.’

  ‘That’s it? Unimportant little pieces of the big puzzle. At his prices?’

  I colored. ‘We are making progress, but Dr. Kane is cautious so there is no question of false memories occurring.’

  She stared at me. ‘I can’t imagine there are any buried memories, can you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I do have the odd unsettling dream.’

  ‘What kind of unsettling dream?’

  I bit my lip. ‘Just strange things that don’t make sense.’

  She laughed. ‘Dreams are not supposed to make sense. You should see what mine are like. That’s no excuse for dragging out your…treatment.’

  That tiny pause was meant to tell me she did not think much of my treatment. ‘He’s not dragging out my treatment. He’s just being cautious. He thinks I could be damaged if the process is not done properly.’

  She looked at me in a non-committal way. ‘Like what happened to his wife?’

  He was married! I gazed at her in shock. ‘His wife?’ I croaked, feeling such a fool.

  She leaned forward, her eyes shining with some emotion that I could not figure out. ‘Yes, didn’t you know? She committed suicide in the most horrendous way. Locked herself inside her car in a Starbucks car park with their two children and a few gas tanks and pulled the pin off a grenade. From what I understand the children were just babies.’

  The world tilted to an unnatural angle and my mouth dropped open with horror. ‘What?’

  At that moment the food arrived and Daphne transferred her attention from me to the two waitresses who were standing by us.

  I shut my mouth with a snap. My order of rock shrimp tempura was carefully placed in front of me, and a platter of iced Kumamoto oysters topped with caviar, and a trio of Nobu sauces on the side, was set in front of Daphne. I stared at my food blankly. When I raised my head Daphne was smiling at me.

  ‘Did you remember that you always have the tempura here?’ she asked.

  Again I felt the rug pulled out from under my feet. I had no memory of ever ordering tempura. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever coming to this restaurant. ‘Did I?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, always,’ she confirmed merrily as she picked up an oyster, expertly detached it from its shell, and delicately swallowed it. She pulled a face. ‘The caviar is not very good.’

  I picked up my knife and fork in an effort to be casual. ‘Daphne, you were telling me about Dr. Kane.’

  ‘Yes, it was a terrific shame. He had to leave the States in disgrace. Completely ruined his career.’

  ‘Why?’ I whispered.

  ‘I gather she had planned it so he would see them all burn. Eye witnesses said she looked directly at him and smiled.’ She shuddered. ‘It was one of those revenge suicides.’

  ‘How absolutely awful.’

  She helped herself to another oyster. ‘Yes, ghastly. Especially when you take into account that he had treated her with some experimental new method he pioneered and helped her recover memories of childhood sexual abuse.’ She dabbed her mouth and took a slow sip of wine. ‘I expect he had ruined her and she hated him and wanted him to know that he had. And she took the children with her so he wouldn’t be able to do the same with them.’

  My mind went blank with dismay. ‘How absolutely awful,’ I repeated stupidly.

  ‘Probably why he wants to take it slow with you. He’s afraid that history might repeat itself.’

  I leaned back, my appetite gone, and looked through the full-height windows at Hyde Park. ‘I’m not suicidal.’ I brought my gaze back to her. ‘Am I?’

  She laughed, carefree as a bird, and picked up another oyster. ‘Obviously not, silly. But from his point of view—once bitten, twice shy, and all that. I’d be careful, all the same, that you don’t go falling for him. He is attractive.’ She paused with a conspiratorial half-smile. ‘In an obvious, common sort of way, I suppose.’ The mollusc slipped noiselessly down her throat.

  The remark was so catty it took my breath away and the rest of the meal passed in a daze of gossip about people we knew. I answered all her questions automatically or nodded and shook my head where appropriate.

  The black cod marinated in sweet miso sauce arrived soon after and I consumed it without tasting it. I watched Daphne delicately nibble at razored vegetables and chow down Nobo’s signature dish, yellowtail sashimi fired with a slice of jalapeño in yuzu dressing.

  A waiter tried to get us to look at the dessert menu.

  ‘I couldn’t do pudding, but I wouldn’t mind the Suntory whiskey cappuccino,’ Daphne said sweetly.

  I picked up the bill and then we were outside kissing.

  The valet brought her car around and handed her the keys with impressive sucking up. She passed him a ten-pound note. He seemed happy with it.

  ‘Do you need a ride to your flat?’ she asked.

  I shook my head. ‘It’s a lovely day. I’d like to walk for a bit before I go back.’

  We kissed each other quickly on both cheeks.

  ‘Cheer up, darling. It might never happen.’

  I smiled weakly.

  ‘Will you be home for the weekend?’ By home she meant Marlborough Hall. Even though we both had apartments in London and spent more time there, we never referred to them as home. Only Marlborough Hall was ever called home.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I will,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Well, I’m off. See you at the weekend,’ she called and slipped jauntily into her Audi. I watched her drive away before I set off on my walk.

  It was a cold, crisp day and I turned my collar up and walked past the car showroom. They had a bright yellow Lamborghini in the window. I walked down Park Lane, crossed the road, and entered the park.

  The afternoon sun had come out from behind the clouds. The blades of grass looked as clear-cut and bright as jewels. I strolled to a bench and sat down. The park was peaceful with only a few people hurrying along the path. I looked at the bare trees waiting for spring to clothe them again, and sensed inside me a puzzled wonder.

  Why exactly was I so troubled by what Daphne had revealed?

  And then I knew. It pained me to think of him suffering. More than anything else, I couldn’t bear the thought of him in distress. The sun dipped behind thick clouds again and the temperature began to drop fast.

  I stood and left the park, now filled with lengthening shadows. I made a wide circuit round it and came out of the screen of fluted Ionic columns of Aspley Gate. As I hurried away the last rays of the weak evening sun flared briefly on the windows of the Hilton across the road. Then it was gone. I clutched the edges of my coat, and carried on past Green Park Tube station. Up ahead I crossed the street and entered the Ritz.

  The heat inside brought a delicious languor to my frozen limbs.

  Shaking my fingers to bring some warmth back into them I went up to the concierge’s station. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a booking but…’

  ‘Lady Olivia,’ he greeted so loudly and obsequiously that people turned to look. ‘But of course we have a table for you.’

  He signaled to a passing waiter who escorted me into the splendidly lavish Palm Court with its walls of beveled mirrors, t
rellises, marble pillars and its apricot and cream palette. He led me to a table to the left of the elaborately sculptured gilded central fountain—Ivana’s favorite table, actually. With an effusive smile and a smooth flick of his wrist he lifted the sign that said RESERVED from the table and, pulling out an oval-backed chair, seated me in it.

  Some people I knew waved and nodded and I returned the gesture. I ordered high tea. It was the least I could do after they had given me someone else’s table. Tea was served in a silver teapot with a silver strainer. I poured it out and held the cup in my hands and sighed with the simple pleasure of its warmth. I took a sip and felt the scalding brew flush into my body.

  I planned on staying there under the lofty ceiling listening to a quartet play until my body warmed right through. Lord Merriweather and his wife stopped by my table.

  ‘Hello, dear. Are you here on your own?’ he asked, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

  ‘Yes. I thought I’d treat myself,’ I said, looking up with a smile.

  Both smiled back warmly.

  ‘How are Wombat and Poppet?’ Lady Merriweather asked.

  ‘They’re fine,’ I replied.

  Wombat and Poppet were my father’s and Ivana’s nicknames. We all had infantile nicknames in our circle. We were all Bow-wow, Cookie, Pip or Squeak or something just as babyish. The names were derived from our childhood days and carefully preserved through old age.

  So my father was Wombat, because his first name was William and when he was taken as a toddler to Australia he called himself Willie Wombat. Ivana was Poppet. She was not born a lady. She met my father when she was nursing my mother and it was his nickname for her, so when he married her after my mother died, everyone was so eager to please him they quickly adopted it.

  This immaturity generally served two purposes. Not having one would instantly announce you as an alien to our set. In fact, even the act of using another’s first name would imply a lack of intimacy, a suggestion that you met after their childhood days were dispensed with, and were therefore not of the same class. The second and more important purpose means an outsider could never become part of the set.