She turned suddenly down an unmarked side corridor, and just like that we seemed to have left the Winter Palace and were moving along an elevated walkway on the exterior of the building, with the ground far and far below. I knew we couldn’t be, because the Winter Palace was after all a giant snowflake, with no smooth exterior anywhere . . . and because I already knew the extreme cold of Ultima Thule would have killed us both in moments. But the illusion was complete and convincing as we walked high in the sky, looking out over the great mountain ranges, set against the purple sky with its dying red sun. Like looking out on the last evening of the world, with the sun getting ready to go down for the last time. A feeling of loss and melancholy settled over me, as if I were saying good-bye to an old friend.
I made myself concentrate on the mechanics of the situation. Either it was just an illusion or we were being protected from the outside by some hidden force shield. It seemed to me that I was feeling some of the cold. Perhaps that was the intention, to titillate the guests with just a touch of what they were being protected from. The Lady Faire glanced back at me, to see how I was taking it all. I flashed her a meaningless smile. I couldn’t help noticing that her breath was steaming thickly on the chilly air, far more heavily than mine. As though she was warmer than me, inside. I wasn’t sure where that thought was going.
We left the outer walkway, and went back inside the Winter Palace. Into a bare and featureless corridor that seemed almost uncomfortably warm. I didn’t have a clue where we were now, in relation to the Ballroom. The Lady Faire led me on, keeping just a little ahead of me, never once letting go of her grip on my hand. Every now and again she would squeeze my fingers lightly, and my heart would beat just that little bit faster. She stepped it out, elegantly, every movement more than usually sensual, sexual, and enticing. She walked like a man but moved like a woman. I could feel my hand sweating inside hers. Her hand wasn’t sweating at all. She seemed perfectly relaxed and at ease, as though she’d done this many times before. As though it came to her as naturally as breathing. My heart was pounding hard in my chest, and my breath was coming more and more quickly. I tried to think of Molly, and my mission, my missing parents and why I was there, but it was hard to think of anything but the Lady Faire when she was this close.
I could tell she knew what I was feeling. She found it amusing.
Finally, we came to her room. The door swung open before us as we approached, apparently entirely of its own accord. And once we’d passed through, into the room beyond, the door closed itself quietly but firmly behind us. I listened for the sound of a lock engaging, but didn’t hear it. That didn’t mean it hadn’t happened, though. Just as I’d expected, the Lady Faire’s room was a bedroom. The great circular bed in the middle was so big it seemed to take up half the available space. The Lady Faire finally let go of my hand, and I stumbled to a halt just inside the door. As though only her encouragement had kept me moving. She moved over to the bed, still not looking back at me.
“Nice place.” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm and steady.
“It suits me,” said the Lady Faire. “Though I’ve known better.”
“Why choose the Winter Palace for your Ball?” I said, just to be saying something.
“I rented it, from the Wulfshead Club management,” said the Lady Faire. “We go way back. They always do me a good deal. And they do have access to such unusual properties.”
“You know who they are?” I said. “The actual people?”
She finally turned around, and looked at me. Her glance, and her smile, was like a caress on my face. “Is that what you came here to talk about, Eddie Drood?”
“No,” I said.
She wandered around her room, quite casually, trailing her fingertips across the various surfaces. Like a cat rubbing its body against the fixtures and fittings, to remind them who was in charge. She smiled at me, quite easily, as though I was just an old friend who’d happened to drop by. Her body seemed to press out against the restrictions of her white tuxedo, as though all the buttons might burst open at any moment, unable to handle the strain of containing everything that lay within.
“Relax, Eddie,” she said. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” I said.
Disturbed that my voice didn’t sound as assured as I thought it should, I deliberately looked away from the Lady Faire, and took an interest in her room. It was large and open and almost unbearably sybaritic, with every conceivable luxury and comfort to hand. Lots of soft surfaces, in soft pastel colours. Modern furniture, in smooth organic shapes. Bare walls, without a single print or painting, and not even the smallest decorative object on any of the furniture tops. The bed dominated everything. The bed was what the room was for.
And yet there was no personality to the room. Nothing to show that the Lady Faire had any interest in impressing her character on it. You couldn’t say it was a woman’s room, or a man’s. No personal touches anywhere, to suggest the kind of person the Lady Faire was, in private. Perhaps there was no private person. Perhaps what you saw was what you got. God knew, that was impressive enough. Perhaps for the Lady Faire, being the ultimate honey trap that she was, a bedroom was just somewhere she did business.
When I looked at her again, she was bent over the mini-bar in the far corner. The gleaming white fabric of her trousers stretched tight across her bottom. And I caught my breath despite myself. She straightened up, taking her time, poured herself a tall glass of Perrier water, and slammed the door to the mini-bar shut with a careless bump of her hip. She took a long drink, her Adam’s apple moving up and down sensuously slowly. She put down the glass, and looked at me again, and I knew immediately from her smile that she knew I’d been watching. Her golden-pupiled eyes were sparkling, teasing. She stood there, not saying anything, to put the pressure on me to talk, to break the silence. An old agents’ trick. I didn’t say anything.
She moved over to the huge circular bed. The fitted sheets had already been folded back invitingly. Waiting. The sheets were a dark pink, almost blood colour. Almost . . . organic. Presumably the Lady Faire just liked to have everything ready, for whatever the night might bring. Or whoever. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked at me. I looked around the room, at anything but the bed. She started to say something, and then stopped herself. I could still see her, out of the corner of my eye. She sat with her back straight, and her legs elegantly crossed. I couldn’t help but feel I was in the presence of a practised performance. For an audience of one. Something she had done so often, she’d refined it down to just the barest necessary essentials. Much reduced, but still a display intended only for me. Aimed at me, like a weapon.
Her interest in me seemed real enough, but I was still sufficiently in control of myself to know I couldn’t trust it. She let her hand move slowly across the taut bedsheet, as though stroking a favoured pet. She caught my glance, and leaned forward a little, to show off her smile and her eyes. I still couldn’t get a sense of what her body might be like, under that expertly fitted white tuxedo. It curved out well enough, to suggest breasts and hips, but there was a masculine strength in the long arms and legs. Broad shoulders, but a swan’s neck. A woman’s grace, but a man’s power. Ladything, omnisexual, male and female and everything in between. Up close, that was just words. She was simply magnificent. Desirable. Turned up to eleven.