The Memory of Blood(15)

‘Come on, then,’ he said, brushing his fingers against the back of her hand.

That’s when she knew she had him.

They found their way to the back of the room, then out into a corridor that led to the rear exit.

Marcus pushed open the fire escape door and stepped out. Rain sprayed through the diamond grating of the black iron staircase above them. It cascaded down the brickwork, rumbled through pipes, bounced from gutters and thrashed into drains, as if the world had sprung a leak and was subsiding into aquatic depths. The building had once been offices, but had been carved into residential apartments. The dead windows of other offices looked down on them, but everyone had gone home hours ago.

They had slunk from the party like thieves, wedging the door with an empty cigarette carton in case it closed and locked them out. Marcus sat on the stairs and inhaled deeply, funneling blue smoke up into the damp air. ‘I love it,’ he said. ‘Anyone who tells you they don’t is a liar. All that attention, of course acting is an ego trip.’

He handed the joint back. Gail had found it in her purse. She had got it from a Spanish waiter at an embassy dinner the week before. Her father would kill her if he thought she was smoking dope, which was why she always asked the waiters where she could score.

‘But you play a murderer every night. How do you get the audience to like you?’

‘That’s an interesting question,’ said Marcus. ‘Of course, every night is different. You never know who you’ll get in.’ He accepted the joint back. ‘I was in California last summer, and I saw this teenaged girl being interviewed on television. She had burned down her parents’ house one night because they wouldn’t let her watch her favourite TV programme, something like The X Factor. They had died of smoke inhalation, and she’d been arrested on suspicion of murder. And this is the terrible part—I remember thinking she was really sexy, even though she was probably a killer. It was the way she looked straight into the camera, and I could tell she was enjoying the attention. She’d realised she could become a celebrity. And she did when the interview appeared on YouTube. She got offered all kinds of modelling jobs. That’s the thought I hold onstage. Plus, I keep the top three buttons of my shirt open.’

Gail sucked on the joint, held the searing smoke in her lungs and tried not to cough as she exhaled. ‘I think you’re a little too pretty to make a convincing real-life murderer,’ she said finally. ‘But you’re very good in the role.’

Marcus reached forward and slipped his hand around her waist. ‘I think you’re too pretty, too.’ A moment later, she moved forward between his jean-clad legs and kissed him, pressing down hard on his open mouth. Unbuttoning his jeans, she climbed the step and lowered her bare thighs onto his as the rain fell with renewed vigour.

Back at the party, Robert Kramer had noticed the water coming in through the window frame and had snapped at a waiter, ordering him to clear up the mess.

‘What’s the problem?’ asked Judith, joining him. She looked a little drunk.

‘You’re supposed to be the hostess.’ Kramer eyed his wife with fresh disappointment. ‘That means keeping an eye on everything. Christ, it’s not a very difficult job. You should be able to manage that.’

‘I thought my job was to look beautiful and encourage those disgusting old men to hand over their cheques,’ she bit back. ‘When can we get rid of them?’

‘It’s too early yet. Did you check on Noah?’ Their eleven-month-old son had almost taken his first tottering step unaided this week, and was asleep in his cot in the upstairs nursery.

Judith took out her pager and showed Robert the screen. ‘Half an hour ago. See for yourself. Not a peep.’

‘That’s because it’s not switched on—look.’ He turned the pager around and showed her the Inactive symbol.

‘Damn. It’s not my fault. It keeps turning itself off in my pocket.’

‘The window isn’t open, is it?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Well, there’s a draught coming from somewhere. Go and check on him. You should have made Gloria stay this evening. It’s her job to look after him.’

‘I couldn’t, Robert, her mother is dying. She has to get all the way down to Kent. She’ll be back by eleven.’

‘Hurry up—I’ll see to this mess.’

Judith pushed away through the crowded room as the waiter came running with a bucket and sponges.

Out on the fire escape, Gail Strong pushed Marcus Sigler back against the metal staircase and licked his lips. They were now both naked below the waist, their clothing shoved down to their calves in a hampering tangle. Rain spattered through the trelliswork of the stairs above, dampening their clothes. Marcus bucked and Gail tightened her hold over him, and the staircase rattled, and something fell or slid—like a can of paint being pushed across a floor—and their bodies shook, and they saw nothing, felt nothing except the core of heat that joined them.