Catch Your Death Part 18

'Thank you,' Kate said when he got back. She handed him a gla.s.s of amber liquid. 'I'm not sure whether you were being super-chivalrous by getting my bag for me, or super-unchivalrous, by making me buy the drinks!'

He managed a smile. 'Oh, chivalrous, definitely. You never know who might be hanging around pub car parks at night.'

'No,' Kate said, serious again. 'I guess you don't.'

They both paused, thinking of the terrifying events of the day. 'Come on, Paul, let's go and lock ourselves out of harm's way for the night, shall we?'

'I can't think of anything I'd rather do,' Paul said fervently.

Their room was cramped and smelled slightly of stale cigarettes, but it seemed clean enough. It was dominated by a large bed with a white candlewick bedspread, crammed around which were a small wardrobe, a wall-mounted television, and two bedside tables. The sound of the jukebox floated up through the floor. Kate switched on the light long enough to put their drinks down and their bags on the carpet, and then switched it straight off again, so the only light came through a gap in the curtains from a streetlight outside.

'Come here,' Paul said, more bravely than he felt, taking Kate into his arms as soon as he had locked the door behind them. They kissed, and immediately toppled on to the bed.

'Ah, that's better,' Paul murmured, as they allowed their clothed bodies to fit together from top to toe. He rolled on top of her, breaking away from their kiss to lean across her and take a swig of the brandy on the bedside table, and as he pressed his weight into her, she felt how hard he was. When he kissed her again, she tasted the sweet fire of the alcohol on his tongue. She thought she had never wanted anybody quite as much even Stephen.

'How are you doing?' he asked, a few moments later, when Kate still hadn't said anything. She was kissing him back with what he thought was enthusiasm, but it was dark in the room, and he suddenly worried that perhaps she wasn't OK.

To his relief, she laughed. 'I'm fine,' she said. 'I'm absolutely fine. Let's have a shower. All that fear got me quite sweaty.'

Paul felt like cheering at the tacit acknowledgement of what they were about do.

'Great idea.'

She pushed him off her, and rolled herself off the bed and into the bathroom. A moment later he heard the sound of water splattering into the bath tub, and the ripping sound of a shower curtain being pulled along a rail. He wondered if she meant for him to come in with her, or if she wanted them to shower separately. It would be awful if he barged in there unwelcome. He dithered, stalling for time by taking off his shoes, socks, and belt, and then she reappeared. In the dim light he saw that she was stripping off her top, and then her bra. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were beautiful, and he groaned with l.u.s.t.

'Can I come into the shower with you?' he asked, grabbing her again, unable to stop himself cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and rubbing his face in them.

'Of course,' she said, giggling. 'I need someone to wash my back for me, and you'll have to do.'

'Oh, you've definitely picked the right man for the job,' he murmured, helping her out of her jeans and underwear until she stood before him naked. 'Was.h.i.+ng backs is my speciality. By the way, your body is gorgeous.'

'Well, thank you. Come on then, get your kit off so I can see yours too.'

Paul liked this a.s.sertive, overtly s.e.xy version Kate. He felt he was getting a glimpse of a side of her that she'd kept hidden from him until now, and it was a huge turn-on. He slipped his hand up the inside of her thigh, and stroked her between her legs. She moaned, and then giggled again.

'Stop it, otherwise we'll never make it into the shower.'

Two minutes later they were both jostling for position, under a frankly very feeble stream of water. In order to even get both their bodies wet enough to wash, a great deal of touching was required.

'Budge up, my back's getting cold,' Paul pretended to grumble, pus.h.i.+ng himself up against her.

'I'll warm you up,' she said seductively, hauling him to her by clasping his b.u.t.tocks, and then putting one of her feet up on the side of the bath, so it just seemed completely natural for Paul to slide himself inside of her. They both gasped with pleasure, which soon changed to shock, as the shower suddenly turned icy. Paul leaned forwards and turned off the taps, without breaking his stride.

'Oh G.o.d, this is wonderful,' Kate said, as his thrusts increased in urgency. Paul was alarmed to see tears rolling down her cheeks, although she hadn't made a sound.

'Kate, what's wrong? Am I hurting you?

She sniffed and laughed and slapped him on the arm. 'Don't flatter yourself! No, you aren't hurting me. It's just so...lovely. It's been so long since I...I never thought....' She dissolved into sobs. Paul pulled out of her.

'Come on,' he said, gently putting a towel around her shaking shoulders. 'Let's go and get into bed. It'll be more comfortable.'

He led her out of the bathroom, and the cool air hit their damp skins, making them s.h.i.+ver. The sheets were even colder, but as Paul started to make love to her again, they forgot about everything except the sensations going on between them. Even the terrors of Sampson shooting Mrs. Bainbridge, and then trying to kill them it all receded, temporarily, and Kate and Paul gratefully embraced the reprieve.

CHAPTER 31.

Kate slipped out of bed into a patch of sunlight. Blue sky was visible through a gap in the curtains, a gentle draft buffing away the scent of last night. Paul was still sleeping, his broad naked shoulder visible above the quilt. She reached down to stroke his face but, not wanting to wake him, thought better of it, and padded to the bathroom instead.

After dressing, she scooped up Paul's keys from the corner table and crept out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

The brightness of the morning hurt her eyes, but it felt like a kiss on her skin. She stretched; yawning, smiling. She felt fifteen years younger, a girl of twenty, a girl in love, just waking up to the beauty of the world. All the aches in her body were pleasant ones. His touch reverberated on her lips, her belly and thighs. She was sore between her legs the kind of soreness that can only be soothed by more s.e.x. She stood still, the pub behind her, and drew in a deep breath When had she last felt this way? Oh, she knew very well. Summer of nineteen-ninety with Stephen. It had never been the same with Vernon. Their relations.h.i.+p was more like a science project; no, a business transaction. Each had something the other wanted. She was lonely, her soul bruised by what had happened in England, and she didn't want intensity, just companions.h.i.+p. Someone to talk to, to go out with. Someone to make her feel safe at night when she woke up s.h.i.+vering, fleeing the fires that roared through her dreams. Vernon, who had been kinder then, wanted somebody to help his career, and Kate, the quiet, English scientist so respected around the university, was perfect. She was sure he had loved her too, for a time, especially when she gave him the son he so wanted. But Vernon had never taken her breath away. He had never made her feel like running down the street, singing, naked.

She headed towards Paul's car, jangling the keys and humming an old song that she hadn't heard for years. What was it? Some song that she and Stephen had danced to in his flat. The Cure, that was it. It was called "Just Like Heaven", and the lyrics came back to her: a song about a girl who loved a boy too much; a boy who lost the girl because he couldn't give her everything she wanted. She had deliberately avoided music from that period for years, because she hadn't been able to bear the reminder of what she had lost. Now, though, the tune made her feel happy again, and it was all because of last night. When she pressed her body against Paul's she didn't feel his brother. When she closed her eyes, she hadn't seen Stephen. It had all been brand new. She had been afraid that making love with Paul would be like making love to a ghost. In fact, it had been more like an exorcism.

Besides, she thought with a little smile, ghosts aren't warm. Ghosts don't leave you feeling tender and sated. Ghosts don't have eyes and hands that pin you to the bed. Ghosts don't make you come like the world is folding in on itself.

Unlocking the car door, she leaned over to the back seat and picked up the envelope that Mrs. Bainbridge had given her.

Kate used to think that Stephen had been stolen from her by fate, by G.o.d or destiny or bad luck. Now, she was sure the thieves had human hands. Sampson, of course. He must have had something to do with it. But who else? And why? She carried the envelope back to the room hoping its contents held some answers; at the same time dreading what she might find.

Paul was sitting up in bed when she got back.

'Were you dreaming about being dragged through a hedge backwards?' she laughed, going over and smoothing down his hair and kissing his stubbly face.

'Eh? I thought you'd done a runner.'

'Hoped?'

'Don't be silly. I was actually hoping that you might come back to bed.'

The quilt had fallen to reveal his naked torso. She almost licked her lips. She wanted to lick his lips. But that would have to wait for a while. She sat down on the bed and held up the doc.u.ments.

'I need to take a look at these - you know, the papers Mrs Bainbridge gave me.'

Paul flung aside the quilt and got up, giving Kate a full view of his body. A few seconds ago, this might have been enough for her to say the doc.u.ments could wait; but by now she had started reading.

HIGHLY CLa.s.sIFIED.

Date: September 17th, 1990 Subject: Fem 634 Personal details s.e.x: F Ethnicity: White European DoB: 14 April 1969 Kate gasped. That was her birthday. She was reading about herself. She tried to read on but her eyes skidded across the text, and she had to take a moment to steady herself and concentrate.

Medical history: contracted Watoto Virus, aged 12. (Note: Parents, known to CRU director Bainbridge, were killed by the virus.) No other history of serious illnesses. Subject is physically fit.

Mental health: subject suffered withdrawal following parents' deaths, but no known recent history of psychiatric problems.

Subject admitted to psych unit following fire at CRU on Aug 27th for quarantine and reconditioning.

Kate, who had started reading the report out loud to Paul, paused. Her voice wobbled. 'Reconditioning?'

He gripped her free hand as she read on, his eyes round with concern.

Quarantine successful. Subject is free of virus. (See separate report on the investigation into errors made.) Subject has knowledge of microbiology and virology, and had embarked on relations.h.i.+p with Dr S Wilson of CRU. CRU security believed subject had become high-risk individual, and interview following fire confirmed this. Therefore reconditioning necessary to allow subject's release into society, at request of unit director.

We embarked upon course of treatment known as the Pimenov Technique. Subject responded well to drugs and hypnosis.

For your reference, the Pimenov Technique is based on Kate turned to the next page. The sentence never finished.

'I don't believe it. There's a sheet missing.

Instead, the next sheet started with the end of a separate, chilling sentence: recommend subject for disposal.

Awaiting clearance from unit director.

ENDS.

Kate dropped the papers onto the bed and clutched her face. Paul picked up the papers and quickly read through them.

'Recommended for disposal.'

He put his arm around her shoulders. 'You're s.h.i.+vering.'

'Disposal.'

He held her, stroking her hair until the s.h.i.+vering subsided. Then she pulled away from him and said, 'What the h.e.l.l is the Pimenov Technique?'

'Kate, there's another sheet you haven't read yet.'

She hoped it might be the missing sheet from the report, but it was a letter, addressed to Leonard.

Dear Leonard I must stress again that I am not at all happy with your decision to allow Kate Carling to leave the unit when we are not yet 100% sure that her treatment has been fully successful. I appreciate that you have an emotional attachment to the young woman and I do not wish to accuse you of being unprofessional; however, I do wish to remind you again that sacrifices sometimes have to be made for the common good.

Having said that, I understand that you have arranged for her to take a place at Harvard. I am happy that she will be leaving the United Kingdom, and it is fair to say that I hope she does not return. This is nothing personal: simply that if reconditioning has not been wholly successful and I am not convinced that it has then it is best that she stays far from the places and people who might cause her memories to resurface. It is fortunate that Dr Wilson and Ms Evergreen are no longer with us.

I seek permission to monitor Ms Carling on return visits to this country. I trust that your people at Harvard will be keeping an eye on her there.

Yours Clive Kate got to her feet and made a few lurching steps towards the bathroom. Paul sprang after her; she toppled and he caught her.

'I think I'm going to be sick.'

'Come and sit down.'

'No, I really am going to be sick.'

She broke away from him and completed her staggering journey to the bathroom. Crouching over the toilet, she vomited. Last night's dinner and drinks. She spat and flushed the toilet, falling back onto the floor, her hair in her face, her mouth sour. Paul, who had been hanging behind her in the doorway, unsure of whether to intrude, came tentatively into the room and crouched beside her. He stroked her hair gently and she grabbed him, burying her face against his shoulder.

'What did they do to me?' she whispered.

'I don't know...'

She pushed him to arm's length, her face contorted with anger. 'What did they f.u.c.king do to me? Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Leonard. He was like an uncle to me. A kindly uncle.'

'It seems to me that Leonard was trying to protect you.'

'But he was involved in it all.' She clutched her head as if trying to dig out the memories that refused to be found. 'And I don't even know what it was. Because I was reconditioned.'

'Let's find out what the Pimenov Technique is.'

'How are we going to do that?'

Paul got up and went back into the bedroom, reappearing a moment later with his laptop. 'I checked earlier. Someone around here has wireless internet and hasn't pa.s.sword protected it. We can surf using their connection.'

'Give it to me.'

'Kate, maybe you should try to calm down a little.'

'Don't order me around! Who do you think you are, my husband?'

'Kate...'

'Just give me the laptop.' She opened it up, but paused before she started typing. She looked up. She was a mess, her hair wild, lips wet, and eyes bloodshot. She said, 'I'm sorry, Paul. This is just such a shock.'

'I understand.'

He got down on the floor and sat next to her, both of them leaning back against the bath.

'I must stink,' she said.

He kissed her cheek. 'Hmm, more of a pong, actually.'

'Hey!'

'Do you want me to do the honours?' He gestured towards the laptop and she handed it over. He Googled 'pimenov technique' but there were no useful results, just a load of pages where the Russian surname Pimenov and the word technique happened to appear in close proximity. Nothing about memory or 'reconditioning'.

'Let me try Pimenov on its own,' Paul suggested.

But that was fruitless too. Pimenov appeared to be the name of a contemporary Russian football player, and there were pages of results about matches he'd played in. Useless.

Kate said, 'Try it with different words, like memory, or, I don't know, reconditioning.'

'Good idea.'

He typed all three words in for good measure. The first few results were rubbish, but Kate pointed at the screen: 'What's that?'

The link was to a site called www.allinthemind.com. Paul clicked the link, and they waited. 'Come on,' Paul urged, watching the blue bar creep to the right. Finally the page appeared.