Krysalis: Krysalis Read online

  “What’s been happening?” He tried to sound, in his own word of yesterday, concerned. He had to win back her confidence! But there were other, less tractable factors at work. He had not been prepared for the reality of her loveliness, her subtle charm; he had forgotten how much he had loved Anna, once. Yet now his duty was to manipulate her, bend her to his will, and he found himself loathing the necessity.

  “When we spoke, I sensed a regression,” he said quickly. “We seem to have lost some ground.”

  “Ah, we do, do we?” Anna made a rueful face. “Yes. You’re right. Give me, us, give we a drink, will you?”

  “Good idea. Wait a moment …”

  He retreated to a small kitchen at the back of the room, leaving the door ajar. The adrenaline was flowing now. The prospect of imminent action buoyed him up, which was as well, because if he failed, Barzel would ruin him. Nothing, nothing short of the prospect of imminent ruin could have induced Kleist to tangle with this woman’s psyche again.

  “What’s the holdup on the galleon?” he heard Anna call. “You’re still stuck on the rigging.”

  “Time. The enemy of everything.”

  Gerhard took three deep breaths in succession, holding the last one as long as he could, then carried in a tray on which stood two flute glasses and a bottle of Laurent-Perrier’s Ultra Brut. He poured two frothy glasses, allowing them to settle a moment before he touched Anna on the shoulder. “Here …”

  “You’re like an elephant, you know that? You never forget.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I hardly ever drink Laurent-Perrier now.”

  Gerhard smiled, raised his glass. She was inclined to be sentimental today, he saw that at once. Well, the champagne would help that. “Here’s to you.”

  “And to you. To your perfect taste. As always.”

  She sat on the special posture chair he used, the one with no back. For a moment he watched her rock to and fro while he read the evidence and tried to analyze it. Then he said, “How far down have you gone?”

  “What do you think?”

  “A long way.”

  “No.” Anna tossed her head, sweeping strands of hair out of her eyes, and knocked back the drink. “Things have been getting on top of me, that’s all.”

  “At work?”

  “At work, yes. And …” She heaved a long sigh. “Juliet’s being tiresome.”

  “In the usual way?”

  “Yes.”

  So Anna had problems. Good! “How many times do I have to tell you? The fact that someone happens to be your child—”

  “Doesn’t guarantee she’ll turn into a wonderful human being. I know. She’s just so difficult.”

  “Some people are. It’s almost certainly a phase she’s going through.” Yes, he thought, reassure her. Our old roles, nothing has changed. Trust me, Anna. Help me to help myself. “Adolescence is such a bore, especially for the adolescent.”

  “Especially for those around her, you mean.”

  “She’ll grow out of it.”

  When Anna said nothing, Gerhard felt a brush of panic return. He was too fond of Anna to want to go through with this thing. But he knew that life in prison, Barzel’s ultimate sanction, would swiftly, surely kill him. So he took another deep breath and set out on the next stage of his reluctant journey across the tightrope.

  “What else is wrong?”

  “Oh … David’s never there, somehow. Not like he used to be.”

  Ah, better! Gerhard refreshed her drink.

  “He got this wonderful promotion last month. There’s some standing committee, ultra hush-hush, you get onto it and you’re like God. The trouble is, he has to fit it in with all his other work, and the committee meets every day. Or it seems like every day. Some weekends they troop off to the country, and … oh, I don’t know. I love him so much.”

  “Still?”

  “Yes, still. He’s so fine. So perfect.” She paused, then, as the sense of his remark filtered through to her, said, “Why the surprise?”

  Good, things were definitely starting to drift his way. All she might need now was a subtle prod. “You understood what you were getting when you married him,” he said smoothly.

  “You never really approved of David, did you?”

  Gerhard repressed a twinge of jealousy that was suddenly more than any mere twinge. “I thought you could have done better.”

  “I could have, then. Before I got to know David properly.” She smiled affectionately at him. “But you weren’t free … oh, God, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I mean, with Clara …”

  “Dying.”

  “It was tactless of me. Sorry. I haven’t seen you since she …”

  “No.” Mention of Clara induced in Gerhard a resurgence of the desperation that had haunted him ever since Barzel’s visit. One minute he seemed in control, the next he had lost it. There had been a time when he loved this woman opposite, loved her enough to want to divorce Clara and begin a new life… Christ! The last thing he could afford today was nostalgia.

  He watched Anna casting around for a change of topic. “What did Seppy say when you rang?” she said at last, the words tripping out too quickly.

  “He was thrilled.” Gerhard forced himself to smile. “He’s keeping us the usual table at the usual time.”

  “You’re an angel.” She paused. Something about her expression told him that the dice were about to roll again and inwardly he tensed. “I need to talk to you, Gerhard. I hope I’m not using you—I’ve kept my distance over the past two years, haven’t I?”

  “I always assumed you had a valid reason.”

  “In a way. I never told David I’d been in therapy. You advised me not to and so I never did, even though I often wanted to. And somehow keeping my life in watertight compartments just became … well, too difficult. Can you understand that?”

  God yes, he thought. God! “Easily.”

  “I think that really the only reason I’ve come to see you is that David’s gone away, you see. And I feel a bit cheap. As if I’m carrying on behind his back.”

  He saw that she was waiting for him to prompt her, but he knew when to keep silent. At last she said, “I need help.”

  Gerhard managed to keep his smile intact, but he imagined she must surely see the relief in his eyes. “My dear, whatever is the trouble?” he made himself respond at last.

  “I’m worried. No, not worried. Frightened.”

  “Of?”

  “Losing the man I truly love.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  David Lescombe let the phone ring twenty-seven times before hanging up, which he did by replacing the receiver on its rest with almost excessive respect, seemingly anxious to preserve British Telecom’s equipment for as long as possible. Behind him, people were emerging from the refectory in ones and twos, their chatter an irritant. What was Anna up to? Then a hand descended on his arm, and he turned away from the phone booth, remembering just in time to fashion a neutral smile.

  “I suppose I really ought to ring mine up. You romantic types give the rest of us a bad name.”

  The speaker was a fat Welshman in his upper fifties who derived obvious satisfaction from being obliged to spend most weekends away from the demands of family and garden. While David was trying to think of something to say they were joined by a woman, much younger than either of them.

  “Leave him alone,” she said tartly. “I think it’s beautiful. We need more like him. Come on, you old romantic.” She put one hand through David’s elbow and clasped it with the other. “I want to hear all about NOCC.”

  “Thanks, Sylvia,” he murmured, as she shepherded him away.

  “No problem. I rode to the rescue because he’s right; you are romantic, and I love it.”

  David flushed.

  “Is everything okay, though? You look a bit upset.”

  “I’m fine. Seems my wife forgot an errand I asked her to run, that’s all.
” His voice was tight. “Well, here goes …”

  “Good luck. I envy you, incidentally.”

  “Heavens, why?”

  “No one’s offered me a shot at Vancouver.”

  “Nor me.”

  “Don’t be too sure. Your specialty is exactly what they need. Pull out all the stops today, and who knows—a place on the touring eleven could well be yours. See you.”

  David laughed, but his heart was beating too fast. His third Krysalis weekend, his first paper. He did not relish facing the high-powered types who awaited him in the lecture room, especially since his mind was less on the 1983 Montebello Council and its long-term effects on NATO’s Nuclear Operations Command and Control, than on where Anna might be.

  Sometimes he wondered what he would do if anything happened to her. What would life be like without her? But he could never imagine such an existence for more than a few seconds. She was his life.

  As he queued at the electronic door, waiting for the guard to scrutinize his pass, he anxiously ran through the possibilities. A girlfriend. A shopping expedition. An urgent case, necessitating her presence in chambers.

  On a Saturday? But even then, why hadn’t she telephoned the marina, as he’d asked her to? It was so unlike her.

  He remembered her saying quite specifically that she would stay at home all weekend to work.

  Last night, he’d found himself repeating how much he loved her, the kind of declaration that did not come easily to him on the phone, when others might overhear. But Anna had put the receiver down before he could finish, as if there were something more important on her mind, something worrying her. He felt concerned.

  Also—admit it—let down. He could do without this hassle.

  Here he was on probation, attached to Krysalis yet not quite part of it. The Soviet Politburo had “candidate members,” which struck him as a useful phrase. The paper he was about to deliver could change his own status to full voting committeeman. He knew how these things worked. If he performed well, there would be a subtle change in the atmosphere. Suddenly he might belong. And although he had demurred, he felt sure that Sylvia’s words were true; he might even find himself going to Vancouver as an observer of the most crucial superpower summit this decade. But for now he was still only a spectator.

  The guard examined David’s pass, compared it with the face, and handed it back. David entered what had once been a large classroom and made his way to the rostrum. As he placed his notes upon the lectern, he hoped that the audience saw him as he projected himself: a calm, professional, hardworking civil servant, accelerating through the fast lane. The Krysalis Committee … and he, David Lescombe, was on it!

  Nearly.

  Where could Anna have gone?

  He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen …”

  As the buzz of conversation died away David found himself the cynosure of some very hard eyes. He hesitated a moment, then began.

  “The purpose of this paper is to examine several implications of the Montebello Council’s decision to cut stockpiled warheads, having regard to recent developments in the so-called bottom-up command structure. My intention is threefold….”

  Were they listening? Would he be able to answer their questions afterward?

  “… First, to examine what has happened to the AirLand Battle concept in the light of the so-called Gorbachev revolution …”

  What was the matter with Anna? How could he help her?

  Not now. Somehow, he had to eject her from his mind.

  CHAPTER

  5

  After lunch the weather turned cold, making them hurry back to Hampstead, eager for a log fire. When Gerhard dug out a bottle of Rioja the color of black plums Anna at first protested, but he overruled her: “on medical grounds,” as he jocularly put it.

  While they drank, she rounded off the story of the past two years. Because of the Rioja’s strong, oaky taste, she failed to notice the mild sedative in it.

  “I can see why you’re feeling low,” he said when she had finished.

  “But pulling myself out of it …”

  “Ah, yes, that’s another thing.”

  He paused. Despite the excellent rapport they’d reestablished over lunch, he did not know what to do. He felt torn beyond endurance. If he wanted to stay out of jail and continue his beautiful life here in England, he had to manipulate this woman. He had to mangle her and wrench her mind; and then he would have to let her go. Again.

  The last time he’d let her go he’d known that he was throwing away whatever chance of real happiness life held for him. Yet here he was, on the brink of the same mistake.

  If he obeyed Barzel, he would keep his freedom. But he would destroy the one person he had ever loved.

  He remembered the time when, as a child, his father took him to the aquarium. In the largest tank he saw a shark. All that power, confined in a space less than the family living room … and the shark, too, had a theoretical choice. It could swim to the left. Or it could swim to the right. But instead it chose to hang suspended, facing the spectators as if paralyzed, without hope. Looking at the shark, he’d had his first inkling of what happened to someone when life became pointless.

  “Have you considered becoming a patient again, for a short while?” Would she notice the catch in his voice?

  “I really don’t think it’s a good idea. Just chatting with you is enough.”

  “Didn’t you find therapy helpful?”

  “Helpful!” Anna laughed gaily, making him tingle. “When you first met me, I was a total wreck. And look at me now: successful barrister, married, going to work every day like any normal person.” She stifled a yawn. “You did that.”

  “No. You did it.”

  “Oh, come on! You saved me, Gerhard. And you ask if therapy was helpful!”

  She looked so beautiful to him, sitting there, a little tired, maybe, but sparkling with inner life.

  “Then surely a few sessions could be just the thing. After all, you’ve been back for refreshers in the past. Most patients have, there’s no stigma attached.”

  “No, Gerhard.”

  He swallowed. Things were drifting off course again. She had to come back. Had to! “Look, you’ve got three days’ holiday next week, that’s more than long enough for me to—”

  “I was planning to go away, actually. Paris, I thought Paris. Or I might get around to the chores I’ve been neglecting. The car needs a service, my wardrobe’s at an all-time low, I …”

  “You sound frightened of therapy. Are you?”

  She shook her head, without meeting his gaze.

  He studied her face for several moments before trying again. “How are the relaxation exercises going?”

  “Not well.” She sighed, giving him hope. “I do miss them.”

  “Oh, why? I taught you how to self-hypnotize.”

  “Yes, you did. It was so refreshing. That, more than anything else, was what transformed me, you know. Whenever I was feeling down, knowing I could retreat into a beautiful world all my own … but …”

  “But what?”

  “It faded.” She yawned again. “Sorry. Tired all of a sudden.”

  He allowed the silence to continue, desperately wanting her to see that there was only one solution. But she didn’t speak. At last he was forced to say, “I suppose I could … ginger it up for you again? Only the self-hypnosis, I mean, the relaxation exercises.”

  Her face lengthened. “I don’t know.”

  “Think of one good reason why not.”

  “I’m just giving self-reliance a chance, that’s all. Though to be honest …”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s the trances I do miss the most.” She half turned toward him, refusing to cover the final inch that would have caused their eyes to meet. “If I did say Yes, could you pep it up for me in just one session? No repeats?”

  Gerhard made a supreme effort and mastered his breathing. “No repeats. You can still go to Paris on Monday. I’ll co
me with you, if you like.”

  “Part of the therapy?” Her smile was arch.

  “Definitely.” When still she hesitated he said, “We’d better go upstairs,” and rose.

  This sounded like an invitation to bed and so it was, after a fashion. In his consulting room Gerhard had a Z-shaped Corbusier chair, perfect for inducing the relaxation that led to forgetfulness.

  Anna took a moment to sit down in that painfully familiar chair, but then the routine seemed to come back to her without thought or effort, like riding a bike again after years of driving a car. She settled back and arranged her limbs until they were comfortable. Once she was at her ease she looked around, taking pleasure in each little detail. She had never expected to see this place again.

  The room was beautiful, not just because she had helped create it, but because he lived here and it was him. Wood, everywhere. He had become an expert carver; she remembered how he could carve a perfectly straight line without the help of an edge, his eye was that good and his hand, of course, obeyed him, because everyone, everything in the world, obeyed Gerhard.

  Gerhard pulled a chair up close beside her. “Look at me.”

  Anna did so. Within seconds she had no limbs, no body, no head, just eyes. She was floating, no, that was the wrong word, she was suspended in amniotic fluid, weightless, and she, meaning her pair of eyes, was being pulled into another pair of eyes the color of pale blue Curacao.

  He began the soft, lilting incantation that had fallen on her like the summer rain of evening, poignant and sad, a threnody, apart from dear David, the one constant in her tired existence since he had first taken her by the hand nearly sixteen years before and said, “It will be all right. It will.”

  “You are falling deeper and deeper into a refreshing, restful trance, deeper, lower, falling, until your eyelids are so heavy that you cannot raise them, cannot open your eyes, and when you reach that point of heaviness I want you to indicate it to me by raising the middle finger of your right hand … yes, good … and when I say so I want you to open those heavy, heavy eyelids in a blink, just one, now … and again … now …”