'What do I want?' He smiled mockingly, his features shadowy, gleaming with a silvery sweat in the darkness. 'I wanted you to know the truth, Luisa, what else? I think you should do, don't you?'
'The truth?' She stared at him, frozen by the menace in his voice, and felt fear prickle along her spine.
'About why Julius married you—among other matters. I always think the wife has a right to know these things don't you?'
'No, I don't.' Suddenly she felt strength return to her. She tried to push him aside, but he was immovable, rocklike. 'I don't want to listen to anything you have to say, Kit.'
'But you're going to.' He leaned forward, with a sudden movement, lifting his arms so his hands, palms resting against the walls on either side of her, were trapping her.
'Didn't it all strike you as a little peculiar, Luisa? Well, of course it did. I'm surprised a woman of your intelligence should go along with such a thing. Unless, of course, it was what you really wanted all along—to marry Julius. There is that possibility.'
'Get out of my way!' Fiercely, surprised by her own strength, Luisa pushed at him. Instantly he caught her wrist; he twisted her arm up and back behind her, so she cried out in sharp pain; then he pushed her roughly back against the wall.
'Don't do that.' He jerked her arm again, so pain shot through her like a knife. Kit smiled, his face lowered close to her own. 'I might hurt you if you make me angry, Luisa, and we don't want that, do we, not you and I? Now,' he straightened, still holding her tightly, 'a few explanations. They involve your precious sister, so I'd listen if I were you.' He saw her tense instantly, knew he had her attention now, and his hold on her slightly slackened.
'I don't know, but I'd take any wager that dear little Claudia didn't quite tell her gullible sister the truth. Did she tell you that we'd had an affair, she and I? Not a long one nor a particularly successful one. But then it was never Claudia I really wanted. She was very much second best.' He leaned forward, so his breath, sweet with whisky, enveloped her. 'Though I admit it gave me a kick sometimes, in bed with Claudia, pretending it was her sister…'
'You're foul! Let go of me…' Luisa struggled desperately to free her arm, her eyes blazing at him. Then, realising suddenly that he liked her to struggle, she stopped. In the dim light she could see his eyes now, and she saw in them something she recognised in the far recesses of her mind; something that filled her with a slow sick dread, a fear that welled up inside her out of the past. It flared in his eyes, that rapaciousness. Then, as quickly as it had come, it went. He looked at her coldly.
'Little Claudia and I came to a few arrangements then. Business arrangements shall we say? You see, Luisa, until my dear brother came on the scene, I had an interesting little sideline going—a profitable one. So easy, you see, in these inefficient old-fashioned family firms, especially when one's father is half in his dotage, and one happens to be the trusted son and heir…' He smiled. 'I like money, you see, Luisa. More than one is likely to receive from a solicitor's salary. And your little sister likes it too. So we had that in common. When I suggested to dear Claudia that she could be helpful to me, that she might like a little piece of the action, as our American friends would say, she was very quick to agree. And as it turned out, quite able. Until Julius arrived, and she panicked, of course.'
He paused, looking down at her, his eyes glittering like water in the darkness. Beyond, somewhere, the storm circled. Luisa heard thunder roll; for a second, but more weakly than before, lightning flashed.
'All might have gone well, even so, if you hadn't interfered.' He laughed softly. 'And predictably, of course, you went to Julius, didn't you?'
'I…' She hesitated, and he interrupted her.
'Well, then I was really in trouble. Because mixed though my feelings about Julius are, I have to admit he is rather intelligent. I don't know what Claudia said to you, or what you said to Julius, but before you could draw breath my dear brother had been through the accounts, and there it all was, as clear as daylight. Rather a lot of money. And most of it residing in wicked Kit's bank account. Now wasn't that a terrible thing? The family honour was suddenly involved, and Julius is rather keen on honour, have you noticed?'
Luisa drew in her breath sharply. An odd familiar fear crawled against her skin. 'I don't believe you,' she said fiercely, her voice low. 'You're lying. And anyway, this has nothing to do with me…'
'Oh, but it has everything to do with you. Why do you think Julius married you? Oh, come, Luisa, don't tell me you still cherish all those foolish notions of yours about a childhood romance? Did you think, at the back of your sweet innocent little mind, that perhaps Julius loved you? Was that it? I'm sure he didn't say so, did he? Julius is terribly righteous about these things. He might quite like to go to bed with you, of course, given the opportunity. It might make a nice change from women like Vittoria… but love? Oh no, Luisa. It's quite simple. Julius married you to shut you up.'
'What?' She stared at him, mesmerised by the soft insidious threat in his voice, its secret whisperings, and in spite of herself, she could not close her mind to it.
Kit laughed again, and moved a little closer, so his chest pressed lightly against her, his face a few inches from her own.
'But of course. What did you do, Luisa? Threaten to expose the whole thing, go to the police? That's just the sort of thing you would do, wouldn't you? And you see, that was the last thing Julius wanted. Because Julius, you see, had decided to hush the whole thing up. He told me so, Luisa. He was very angry. Julius is rather frightening when he's angry, don't you think? But he had some strange idea that he had to protect us. Not me, of course, he hates me—I can't think why—but our father. He got terribly melodramatic about that, said it would kill him if he found out. Well, I didn't argue, needless to say. Julius was to pay back most of the money, because I'd been rather extravagant. And I was getting off scot-free. Rather a good arrangement, I thought, in the circumstances. Much better than a cell in Wormwood Scrubs. There was only one problem, Luisa. You.'
'That's not true!'
'I'm afraid it is. Julius knows you, you see. He knew once you'd married him that even if you found out, you'd keep quiet, out of loyalty to him. You'd do anything he said once the ring was on your finger. He knew that. You're pliant, aren't you, Luisa? You always were. Pliant.'
As he spoke he suddenly twisted her arm again, sharply, so she cried out. With a little almost teasing jerk, Kit pulled her tighter against him, so she could feel the hardness of his thighs pressing against her own. He lowered his face, so their mouths were close, and with a sick disgust she realised it was arousing him, the pain he caused her, the fact that she could not free herself.
'Luisa.' He nuzzled his mouth wetly against her neck, bent her body back so her breasts were lifted, pressed against him. She struggled, a sudden blinding fear of him pounding through her body, and he pulled her tighter, so he could hold her arms pinioned behind her back. With his other hand he reached up, pawing at the thin material of her dress.
'Come on, come on.' He rubbed his body up against her, pushing his thigh between her legs. 'Come on!' His voice was coarsened suddenly, his breath coming fast. 'I know what you want. I've always known what you want. You're like your mother, aren't you, Luisa? She was nothing but a whore, and you're not much better. Come on. Don't you remember, Luisa? All those years ago, in Scotland—even then. And you were only fifteen…'
'Get away from me!' Desperately she tried to kick out at him, and with a quick movement he smashed his palm flat across her face.
'I told you, don't do that!'
Her head reeled back against the stone; pain seared through her skin. Kit reached his hand to her hair, jerking her head back, pulling it so the pain brought tears starting to her eyes. She stared at him, unable to speak, as her mind began to race, as old images, jumbled and imprecise, seemed to accelerate through the recesses of her mind.
'What are you going to do, scream? No one will hear you. But just in case…'
He slid his hand round the base of her throat, half choking her, and then up, so the damp palm covered her mouth. She couldn't breathe. Air choked in her throat.
In that instant she remembered. Something must have shown in her eyes, because she saw him smile.
'So, you do remember. I thought so. You put up a pretence then, of course. Fought me off, didn't you? But I wasn't deceived. That's the way you like it, isn't it, Luisa? Isn't it?'
With a sharp pull he half lifted her off her feet, and then he was pushing her, pushing her back and down. Her leg twisted under her, and she fell, hard against the wet stones, so her head was against the pile of black cushions from the gondola. Kit laughed.
'Please…' she heard herself say. 'Please, Kit, don't, don't…'
'Shut up!' He smacked her hard across the face again, so the pain was like red light behind her eyes. She screamed. The sound echoed, beat back off the walls, terrifyingly loud. For a second both of them froze.
Then his mouth came down on hers, silencing her. His hand wrenched her head so she could not turn away. Her skin was wet, blood mixed with saliva, and she felt as if she were suffocating. Instinctively, with the force of fear, she reached her arms up around him, reaching for his hair, trying to pull it, to wrench him off her, trying to scratch at his skin, his eyes. Her mind seemed to be working very slowly, in a dream state of slowed consciousness; each second was like an hour. He was winning, she could feel it; he was sapping her strength; pain numbed her muscles. With some odd part of her mind she saw it all as if from the outside, with a hideous clarity; this awful parody of an embrace. Summoning her last reserves of strength, she clawed at his skin.
His breath was so loud in her ears that she heard nothing. Then, quite suddenly, without sound or warning, as if by a miracle, Luisa felt his weight pulled off her. He was off balance, still on his knees; she saw him raise one arm as if to ward off a blow. The lightning flashed, and she saw Julius.
He had Kit by the neck, wrenching him back and up to his feet. In that second of clarity she saw Kit stand, the two dark bodies sway together. Neither spoke, but suddenly as the dark came again the stones were loud with the sound of their breathing. They struggled; she could not move; her breath came in long shuddering gasps; she felt blood, or perhaps water trickle over her face; pain was clouding her eyes.
The thunder rolled, overhead again, immensely loud, and almost at once came the lightning. It lit them up for a second, the two black figures, their shadows huge and distorted against the walls, their arms locked together as they fought. Then, in the second before the dark came again, Luisa saw Julius break free. His arm came back. The light went, and she heard the crack of the blow. Dimly she saw Kit's body reel back, lifted off its feet by the force with which he had been struck, then he fell, very slowly it seemed, crumpled, awkward. He slumped back against the wall, slid down against the wet stones, and Julius stood above him, towering, motionless, watching him fall. Luisa gave a cry of fear, and as the lightning flashed again, Julius turned slowly towards her. Kit did not move.
'Julius!' she cried out, jerking herself upright.
He stood looking down at her, not moving, looking at the dress pulled up over her pale thighs, the black velvet ripped across her breast.
'Do you think he's dead? Is that what you're afraid of?'
The hatred in his voice cut off the words she had been about to speak.
'You needn't be concerned. He's not dead. I wish you were.'
Pain more acute than anything Kit had inflicted twisted in her heart. Tears burned and blinded her eyes.
'Get up. I can't bear to look at you.'
'Julius, please…' With pain she managed to stand, and reached out to him. 'It's not as you think… let me explain…'
'I don't want to listen to your filthy lies.' He cut her off, his face pale with anger, the dark eyes blazing coldly at her. 'You and Kit began something once, and obviously you both decided to finish it off.'
'That's not true!' She swayed, and she saw him make a tiny half-movement towards her, then draw back.
'Here.' With a quick movement he took off his jacket and tossed it to her. 'You'd better cover yourself with this. At the moment you look like what you are.'
She stared at him for a moment, and then slowly bent and picked up the coat. Carefully, slowly, trying to keep her hands from trembling, she wrapped it around herself.
'Right, now listen to me. I shall take you out the back way. I'll take you back to the hotel. Then I never want to lay eyes on you again. Never. Do you understand?'
'Julius…'
'Don't touch me!'
He turned, without looking back, and disappeared through the archway. For a moment Luisa stood still, paralysed, trying to understand. Memories mixed and jumbled in her mind; she felt an aching numbness, a void. Flashes of words came to her; from the past, from now. From what Kit had said. An image of a perfect couple spinning to a perfect waltz and a white dress belling out on the air passed before her eyes. Kit stirred, and gave a low groan. She followed Julius.
No one saw them leave; the Principessa's gondolier ferried them back across the lagoon as impassively as he had brought them. Julius never spoke. In the hotel he hurried her to the stairs, pushing her ahead of him, as if he could not bear that anyone should see her. Only when they were in the room and he switched on the lights did he seem, for a second, to hesitate.
The tears were coursing down her cheeks unstoppably; she clenched her hands, but she could not stop them shaking. She saw him look at her face, and thought, surely he will understand now—there must be bruises, blood on the skin. She turned her eyes to him pleadingly, and instantly she saw something shutter in his face.
'I told you once before, don't look at me like that.'
He turned brusquely away, pulling open drawers, throwing back the doors of the tall wardrobe. In silence she watched him pull out a case, and begin to thrust clothes into it. She watched numbly, her mind seeming to work very slowly, as if the pain she felt concussed her. Then, on the upper shelf inside the wardrobe, pushed to the back, she noticed something. She stood up.
'That's my suitcase,' she said. 'Mine. The one that was lost…'
Julius paused for a second, following the direction of her gaze. Then he smiled grimly.
'Yes. I lied, I'm afraid. I put it there.'
'You did?' Somehow, although she knew it was trivial, unimportant at such a moment, she could not divert her attention from it.
'Yes. I wanted an excuse to buy you something. Stupid, wasn't it? But then I didn't realise you came so cheap.'
His words were like a blow on the face. But they had the effect of freeing her mind from its numbness. Suddenly she felt a wild rush of anger, at his callousness, his injustice.
'Look at me, Julius!' She cried the words, and moved quickly to him, pulling him round so he had to face her where she stood reflected in the long mirrored doors. 'Look at my face, for God's sake! You can't think I went through that willingly!'
He looked coldly at her reflection.
'Oh, come on, Luisa,' he said quietly. 'We know you bruise easily, don't we?'
He turned away, slammed the case shut, lifted it, turned to the door.
'Julius, please…' She reached for his arm, and he shook her off. 'Where are you going?'
'That's none of your business.'
'I'm your wife!'
'Not any more.'
He strode across the room without a backward glance, and impulsively she went after him.
'Please, Julius. You can't go—not now, not like this…'
'Can you think of some reason I should stay?'
Luisa stopped, suddenly ashamed of her own pleading. She drew in her breath.
'No,' she said fiercely, forcing her voice not to' break, 'I can't. Why should you stay? But at least don't pretend. Don't lie. I know where you're going anyway. You think me such a fool. You're going to Vittoria, aren't you?'
Julius stayed absolutely still for a moment, his fac
e darkening.
'Just like your mother,' he said finally, his voice very deliberate. 'Slut. With a slut's imagination.'
He turned back to the door.
'Here's your key,' he said. He tossed it contemptuously across the bed. 'Keep this reservation. I'll pay the bills here. After that, make your own arrangements.'
Then he went out, and slammed the door.
CHAPTER NINE
Alone, the room rang with silence; memories clamoured in Luisa's head. In the bathroom she was violently sick; she could not stop herself shaking, could not control the jumbled flow of her thoughts. She made herself bathe her face with cold water, but she could not bear to look at herself in the glass. Then, trembling with exhaustion, she took off the dress, left it lying on the floor, and lay down between the cool sheets. The room spun, dipped before her eyes; she closed them and sleep came at once, heavily, like a faint, with no dreams she could remember to disturb it.
But in the morning when she woke, then she remembered. The past came back to her, clearly ordered, unravelling itself behind her eyes. She watched it as she might a film, coldly, dispassionately. Each frame in the playback was familiar; it had been there, she knew now, locked away in her mind, but before she had seen only fragments, glimpsed the edges of the images.
She and Julius had come back from the moors; it was the same evening. It had grown humid, the air heavy with electricity, the promise of storm. That evening, before supper, she had been alone in the house. Julius had driven down to the station to collect the week's mail; Aunt Con had taken Claudia to visit the ghillie whose croft was a few miles away; Kit had gone out, no one had seen him since morning. The house was still; happily Luisa had walked from room to room, thinking of the afternoon, of the evening ahead, watching the sun sink towards the horizon at the head of the loch. She had been thinking, I love Julius and when I grow up I shall marry him, and everything will be different, no unhappiness, no wavering, no lies. She had gone upstairs to her room, where the window-glass was gold from the setting sun, and had lain on her bed, her chin resting on her hands, watching the swifts dart and circle over the surface of the loch. The water had looked like gun metal; it gleamed, it was without ripples.
The Devil's Advocate Page 17
