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Chapters (45)
  1. The Man With No Face
  2. Also by
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. INTRODUCTION
  9. CHAPTER ONE
  10. CHAPTER TWO
  11. CHAPTER THREE
  12. CHAPTER FOUR
  13. CHAPTER FIVE
  14. CHAPTER SIX
  15. CHAPTER SEVEN
  16. CHAPTER EIGHT
  17. CHAPTER NINE
  18. CHAPTER TEN
  19. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  20. CHAPTER TWELVE
  21. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  23. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  25. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  26. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  27. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Finally there had been the night, long silent hours after the raised voices and the scream, when he had gone through to find her naked body. It had almost been a relief. The twist of pain on the fleshy red lips, the wide, staring eyes, the whiteness of her flesh and the sagging of her breasts. An end to it all. No more strange men, no more wet kisses, no more sobbing through dark, lonely nights. But he had not known then, could not have known, that there were greater horrors in life.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

I

The house stood discreetly behind a long sweep of lawn, screened from the Avenue de la Grande Armée by a row of poplars. A broad driveway opened off the road and ran around the edge of the lawn, past the side of the house to a wide double garage. Floodlights were cleverly concealed among the evergreen bushes that bordered the drive and the far side of the lawn, picking out the house against the black of the sky behind it.

It was a long, two-storey white house with green shutters and a red-tiled roof. A place you might buy if you had money and wanted people to know it. Gleaming limousines lined the avenue for thirty metres along either side, and Slater pulled his car over just beyond the house. He stepped out into the light drizzle that was drifting gently across the lawns and opened the passenger door.

Bannerman watched Marie-Ange climb out and wave aside Slater’s offer of help. She was tall and elegant, long tawny hair falling carelessly across the hand-embroidered silk shawl on her shoulders. She wore a full-length white dress that flared from a band at the waist below a daring neckline.

When they had met earlier, at Slater’s flat, Bannerman had realized immediately how right he’d been to interpret Sally’s description of her as slumming it. She reeked of money. And breeding. And not in a good way. There was a brittleness about her, a standing on ceremony that remained a constant presence, even in her relationship with Slater. Bannerman had taken an immediate dislike to her. The condescending smile, the limp hand offered to be shaken that Bannerman had squeezed too tightly. Though if it had hurt just a little, she had not shown it. She was not a woman to reveal anything of herself.

He had to admit, however, that she was very beautiful, at least on the outside. Large cobalt-blue eyes, a long aristocratic nose and wide, full lips. A smooth, lightly tanned skin, and a distant enigmatic smile. She had a long slender body, a sexual creature, and aware of it. Bannerman recalled Sally’s words – a strange couple. Her relationship with Slater seemed unlikely, even incongruous. And Slater himself appeared ill-at-ease in her company. Or was it just the presence of Bannerman that made him so awkward?