He looked up and as close as she was Felicite clearly saw the madness in his eyes and was momentarily unsure how much longer she could control him. Another reason for moving on from this inherited group, she thought, recalling her earlier uncertainty about Jean Smet.
‘Not stupid,’ snarled Charles.
It would be wrong to show any fear: wrong to betray it to the man in front of her, to whom she couldn’t surrender control, and wrong, too, in front of the other men who had always and unquestioningly had to accept her as their leader. ‘Stupid!’ she repeated, her voice loud again. ‘Admit to me you’re stupid!’
‘No!’
‘Say it!’
‘Stupid,’ whispered the man.
‘Louder!’
‘Stupid.’
‘Louder still!’
‘Stupid!’ Charles shouted. He began to cry.
‘That’s good,’ said Felicite, soft again, encouraging. ‘Now promise me you won’t do anything like it again.’
‘Promise.’
‘Say I promise I won’t hurt anyone again: won’t kill anyone again.’
‘I promise I won’t hurt anyone again: won’t kill anyone again.’
‘That’s very good, Charles. You won’t forget that, will you?’
‘No.’
Felicite turned to his brother. ‘Your storage basement has a security door, right? And your own cell?’
‘Yes?’ queried Gaston.
To the head-bowed man in front of her Felicite said: ‘I want you to take Stefan down into the basement. And all his clothes. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what you’ve got to do.’
‘Take him downstairs and put him in the cell.’
‘With his clothes,’ she prompted.
‘With his clothes,’ he agreed.
‘No!’ said Gaston, still close to where the drinks were. As Felicite turned again, she saw him pouring more whisky for the agitated Smet. Charles had been straightening but now he stopped, looking for guidance beyond Felicite to his protective brother. Gaston said: ‘I’ll get rid of the body, tonight. Cleanse it with a detergent, a spirit, before putting it naked into the river. It’ll be all right.’
‘No,’ said Felicite. ‘I want it kept, for the moment.’
‘Why?’ demanded the nervous Smet from the window.
‘Because I say so,’ insisted Felicite, who had no clear idea why she’d said what she had but didn’t want to be seen immediately to change her mind. She moved away from Charles Mehre, returning to the others. ‘Gin,’ she ordered. ‘Just ice.’
‘I want to get rid of the body,’ insisted Gaston stubbornly.
‘There might be a use for it. He’s a whore, probably entered Holland illegally in the first place. No one’s going to miss him. Whores disappear all the time.’ She turned back to the hunched man in the corner. ‘I said take him downstairs!’
Charles Mehre looked between Felicite and his brother, like a trapped animal.
Gaston capitulated. ‘Take him downstairs.’
‘That’s better,’ said Felicite. She was becoming irritated by the constant challenge, from too many people. She waited until Charles had stumped from the bedroom, the body heavy over his shoulder, and Gaston had fetched her drink before she said: ‘I don’t want him around Mary any more. Not until I say so. He’s too dangerous.’
‘Who’s going to look after her?’ demanded Cool.
‘Has anyone been to the house today?’ Felicite said, to Gaston.
‘Charles was going tonight,’ said the man.
‘I’ll go,’ decided Felicite. This had to be the last time: the end. Everything was falling apart. She supposed she should talk about the television appeaclass="underline" she’d left Smet telling them when she looked at the body. She felt suddenly tired of them, not wanting to be with them any more that night. Instead she was anxious to get to the beach house. To be by herself with Mary. Her Mary. She said: ‘The pictures don’t look anything like me. Nothing’s changed.’
Mary didn’t intend it to happen – didn’t know why it did – but a tiny mewing sound escaped when she heard the key. She didn’t care who it was, even if it was the woman. When it was the woman Mary was glad the heaviness of the door would have hidden the sound she’d made. She didn’t know how she came to be there but she found herself close to the door, expectantly, when it swung open. She moved back slightly, but the woman didn’t come into the cell. Instead she stepped back, smiling, gesturing Mary out into the larger room.
‘Did you think I’d forgotten you?’ Felicite’s voice was quiet, friendly, with only a trace of huskiness.
‘I don’t know.’ Mary shrugged. She felt better, being with someone. The woman didn’t seem so threatening tonight.
‘You should have known I wouldn’t do that. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Let me go, then.’
‘Soon. You must be hungry.’
Mary was. The last she’d had to eat were the two rolls the snuffling man had brought for breakfast the previous morning. ‘Yes,’ she admitted.
‘I’ve got us both a meal,’ said Felicite, pointing. There was a tray on one of the low tables, by the central dance floor. On it was laid out bread, cold meat, fruit and cheese. There was also a bottle of red wine and a bottle of water and two glasses.
‘Do you eat with your mama and papa?’ asked Felicite, leading the way.
‘At the weekends, mostly. They’re too busy during the week. There’s a nanny. Joyce.’ She decided against telling the woman that mom and dad squabbled all the time.
‘I’m going to enjoy having supper with you.’
‘Yes.’ The food couldn’t be poisoned if the woman was going to eat it as well. She was very hungry, her tummy growling. She was embarrassed, not wanting the woman to hear. Mom said it was rude when your stomach made noises. She liked the woman being kind to her, not shouting or hitting her.
Seeing Mary’s hesitation and guessing the reason Felicite served meat on both plates, tasted hers immediately and said: ‘It’s very nice. Try it.’
Mary did, at first hungrily but then more slowly, not wanting to annoy the woman. The meat tasted wonderful, the first proper food she’d had for days. She’d forgotten how long: forgotten to keep checking the date on her watch. She didn’t mind the way the woman was looking at her, smiling. It was good, just being next to someone: not being alone.
‘How about some wine?’ suggested Felicite, taking out the already withdrawn but lightly replaced cork.
‘Mom doesn’t let me.’
‘Haven’t you ever?’
Mary smiled, guiltily. ‘Once or twice. Bits left over after meals at the weekends.’
Felicite poured into both goblets. ‘I’ll let you, because we’re friends.’
She extended her glass and Mary clinked hers against it. She liked the taste of the wine: like fruit. She felt grown up.
‘How is it?’
‘Nice.’
‘Would you like more meat?’
‘Please.’
Felicite helped her to more and when Mary finished the second helping changed her plate for cheese and fruit. ‘Drink up. There’s a whole bottle for us to finish.’
‘Maybe some water.’
‘I didn’t bring enough glasses.’
‘Where’s the man who usually comes?’
‘I’ve come instead. Aren’t you glad?’
‘I don’t want you to hit me.’ She felt funny. Not ill or sick, as if she’d been poisoned, but dizzy, things going in circles inside her head.
‘I promise I won’t hit you.’ Felicite offered her glass again and when Mary responded said: ‘Cheers. This is nice, isn’t it: just the two of us together?’
‘I suppose.’
‘More than suppose,’ encouraged Felicite.
‘It’s nice. Is there going to be someone for me to play with?’
‘I’m sorry. The girl couldn’t come, after all.’
‘You promised!’ Mary’s face felt numb.
‘I’m sorry.’ Felicite reached out and took Mary’s hand.
It was too much trouble – felt too heavy – for Mary to move it. ‘You broke a promise.’
‘There’ll be boys and girls soon.’
‘When?’
‘Very soon.’ Felicite shared the remainder of the wine between them, pouring more for Mary than for herself.