talking on the desk telephone which links with the bedrooms. Meanwhile the only other person in the hall, a youngish man in a dark suit, stands before the desk with a brief-case and a tartan hold-all by his side.
‘Please don’t wake her. It isn’t at all necessary at this late hour. Just show me my room —’She’s on her way down. She says to tell you to wait, she’s on her way.
‘I could have seen her in the morning. It wasn’t necessary. It’s so late.’ The man’s tone is authoritative and vexed.
‘She’s wide awake, sir,’ says the porter. ‘She was very definite that we were to let her know as soon as you arrived.’
‘Excuse me,’ Lise says to the porter, brushing against the dark-suited man as she comes up to the desk beside him. ‘Would you like a book to read?’ She holds out her paperback. ‘I don’t need it any more.
‘Oh, thanks, Miss,’ says the porter, good-naturedly taking the book and holding it at arm’s length before his eyes the better to see what the book is all about. Meanwhile the new arrival, having been jostled by Lise, turns to look at her. He starts, and bends to pick up his bags.
Lise touches him on the arm. ‘You’re coming with me,’ she says.
‘No,’ he says, trembling. His round face is pink and white, his eyes are wide open with fear. He looks neat in his business suit and white shirt, as he did this morning when Lise first followed and then sat next to him on the plane.
‘Leave everything,’ says Lise. ‘Come on, it’s getting late. ‘She starts propelling him to the door.
‘Sir!’ calls the porter. ‘Your aunt’s on her way —’
Lise, still holding her man, turns at the door and calls back, ‘You can keep his luggage. You can have the book as well; it’s a whydunnit in q-sharp major and it has a message: never talk to the sort of girls that you wouldn’t leave lying about in your drawing-room for the servants to pick up.’ She leads her man towards the door.
There, he puts up some resistance: ‘No, I don’t want to come. I want to stay. I came here this morning, and when I saw you here I got away. I want to get away.’ He pulls back from her.
‘I’ve got a car outside,’ says Lise, and pushes open the narrow swing-door. He goes with her as if he is under arrest. She takes him to the car, lets go of his arm, gets into the driver’s seat and waits while he walks round the front of the car and gets in beside her. Then she drives off with him at her side.
He says, ‘I don’t know who you are. I never saw you before in my life.’
‘That’s not the point,’ she says. ‘I’ve been looking for you all day. You’ve wasted my time. What a day! And I was right first time. As soon as I saw you this morning I knew that you were the one. You’re my type.’
He is trembling. She says, ‘You were in a clinic. You’re Richard. I know your name because your aunt told me.’
He says, ‘I’ve had six years’ treatment. I want to start afresh. My family’s waiting to see me.
‘Were the walls of the clinic pale green in all the rooms? Was there a great big tough man in the dormitory at night, patrolling up and down every so often, just in case?’
‘Yes,’ he says.
‘Stop trembling,’ she says. ‘It’s the madhouse tremble. It will soon be over. Before you went to the clinic how long did they keep you in prison?’
‘Two years,’ he said.
‘Did you strangle or stab?’
‘I stabbed her, but she didn’t die. I never killed a woman.’
‘No, but you’d like to. I knew it this morning.’
‘You never saw me before in your life.’
‘That’s not the point,’ Lise says. ‘That’s by the way. You’re a sex maniac.’
‘No, no,’ he says. ‘That’s all over and past. Not any more.
‘Well you won’t have sex with me,’ Lise says. She is driving through the park and turns right towards the Pavilion. Nobody is in sight. The wandering groups are null and void, the cars have gone away.
‘Sex is normal,’ he says. ‘I’m cured. Sex is all right.’
‘It’s all right at the time and it’s all right before,’ says Lise, ‘but the problem is afterwards. That is, if you aren’t just an animal. Most of the time, afterwards is pretty sad.’
‘You’re afraid of sex,’ he says, almost joyfully, as if sensing an opportunity to gain control.
‘Only of afterwards,’ she says. ‘But that doesn’t matter any more.’
She pulls up at the Pavilion and looks at him. ‘Why are you shaking?’ she says. ‘It will soon be over.’ She reaches for her zipper-bag and opens it. ‘Now,’ she says, ‘let’s be lucid about this. Here’s a present from your aunt, a pair of slippers. You can pick them up later.’ She throws them on the back seat and pulls out a paper bag. She peers into it. ‘This is Olga’s scarf,’ she says, putting it back in the bag.
‘A lot of women get killed in the park,’ he says, leaning back; he is calmer now.
‘Yes, of course. It’s because they want to be.‘ She is searching in the bag.
‘Don’t go too far,’ he says quietly.
‘I’ll leave that to you,’ she says and brings out another paper bag. She peers in and takes out the orange scarf. ‘This is mine,’ she says. A lovely colour by daylight.’ She drapes the scarf round her neck.
‘I’m getting out,’ he says, opening the door on his side. ‘Come on.
