‘What was he doing here?’
‘Don’t you yell at me!’
They were yelling at each other, neither listening to the other or answering.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Steve shouldered his way into the room, moving her bodily aside to do it.
‘Get out!’ she yelled.
‘Not until you’ve told me what he was doing here!’
‘Talking. We were talking.’
Suspicions began to colour his mind; he looked at her, eyes hard, angry, remembering what he had thought when he saw the way Gowrie looked at her during the press conference yesterday afternoon. So much had happened since; his first impressions had been overlaid by a hundred others, but now he said curtly, ‘You are his mistress, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ She walked away towards the window and looked out at the cloudy sky, the geometric skyline, roofs, towers, pinnacles, and between them the leafy maze of Central Park like a moving mirage.
He watched her warmly curved body and hated the thought of it in Gowrie’s arms. Looking at her bed he saw the tumbled sheets and his stomach heaved. ‘Have you just had sex with him?’
‘You’ve got a nasty, dirty little mind.’ She didn’t turn to look at him even now, and it was beginning to annoy him, being ignored like that. She couldn’t even be bothered to look at him and he wanted her to, he wanted to force her to acknowledge him. His body was throbbing with awareness of her – how could she be so totally unconscious of him?
‘Something is going on between you and Gowrie. Don’t bother to lie. And somebody tried to kill you yesterday. Why? And who burgled your apartment? Somebody wrecked the place, tore it to pieces. Don’t try to kid me they were both coincidences.’
She turned then; he saw a shudder run down her throat. ‘Wrecked the apartment?’ Her face was white as scraped bone.
He wished he hadn’t told her, but too late now; and maybe she should know. Shouldering out of his overcoat, he dropped it on a chair to give himself time to think what to say to her, then looked at her searchingly.
‘Look, Sophie, you are fishing in dangerous waters. Gowrie is an ambitious man with a lot to lose. If you’re wise you’ll stay away from Gowrie. I know him, I’ve known him and his daughter all my life. My father’s a lifelong Republican, he’s worked with Gowrie for years, Dad knows what sort of guy the man is. Gowrie plays hardball.’ He paused, frowning, visibly hesitating, then said offhandedly, ‘For instance, I knew a guy once who was in love with Gowrie’s daughter, but Gowrie didn’t think he was good enough for her, he didn’t have the right connections, or the money and influence Gowrie wanted for his daughter, so he saw to it that she married someone else, someone Gowrie approved of. The man’s ruthless, you see. He’ll stop at nothing.’
Sophie stared at him, her woman’s intuition making her wonder if Steve’s ‘friend’ had been Steve himself. There had been a harshness, an undercurrent of real bitterness, in his voice while he talked about it.
‘Was your friend badly hurt? I mean . . . was he very much in love with her?’ she gently asked, and saw his face tighten and turn cold.
‘He felt he’d been kicked in the guts, yes.’
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she whispered and their eyes met. She read the truth in his eyes, then he scowled, looking away, angry pride in his face.
‘It was all a long time ago,’ he bit out, his voice rough with what she suspected might be pain. Was he still in love with her? How strange, thought Sophie – he was in love with my sister, with Anya, although he doesn’t know it. She felt a strange intimacy in talking to him about it while he had no idea of the true identity of Cathy – there was a surreal feel to that. Identity was so vital – if you didn’t know who you were or where you belonged you would be lost, alone in a hostile universe. When she was very small she had often felt like that; afraid and isolated. She never wanted to feel that way again.
Angrily, Steve said, ‘We’re talking about you. Don’t try to side-track me. I warned you not to open your door to anyone. Why did you let him in here?’
‘He stood outside and said, “Little pig, little pig, let me in, let me in . . .”’ She laughed wildly; he didn’t.
‘It isn’t funny!’ His voice rose sharply. ‘Tell me the truth, Sophie. What is going on?’
‘I can’t tell you!’
‘Why not? Is it his secret – or yours?’ Steve said, still angry, and saw tears slip into her eyes, shining like a glaze over the porcelain blue.
Steve took the steps between them so fast he hardly knew he was moving, dropped the buff envelope of photos on the table and reached for her.
‘Don’t cry.’ He put his arms round her and felt her trembling. ‘What is all this? Why can’t you tell me?’ he murmured, his cheek against her soft hair, breathing in a fragrance that reminded him of spring, of wildflowers, sweet meadow air. She leaned on him and his heart quickened.
‘I’m scared,’ she whispered, looking up, her pale pink mouth quivering.
Steve kissed it, knowing he had been waiting to do that ever since he first saw her, and felt her lips tremble even more. She had her eyes shut and she wasn’t pulling away, she was leaning towards him. Her breath tasted of peppermint; toothpaste, he thought, his kiss deepening, opening her mouth wider, his tongue slipping between her lips. Her body was shaking more than ever; suddenly he realized she was giving at the knees as if she was about to faint.
Steve picked her up, lifting her feet off the floor, his arm underneath her knees.