'You're Simplicius—you really are! Sidonius Simplicius to the life, darling—sort of in reverse.'
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Lexy love—'
'No, you
'You've read the book, Jilly—you tell him, he'll believe you!'
Tell him what?'
'You remember! How he's always on about wanting to write a book about that boring old saint who was martyred by some emperor or other— Saint Somebody-or-other of Somewhere—'
'Saint Vinicius of Capua? The one Diocletian parboiled?'
That's him! And he's always saying—Simplicius is always saying—that Vinicius lived in much more interesting times ...' Lexy spread her gaze round them '... but of course he never does write the book, because he's far too busy running the whole show from behind Galla Placidia's skirts, which is much more interesting.'
Jilly nodded. 'You're quite right. That's the whole point of the book— 'What the Lord God, our Emperor, and Jesus Christ, his Caesar, purpose for Their servants'—that's right.'
'Huh! Audley grunted derisively. 'This fellow Simplicius sounds . . . doctrinally unsound!'
'I don't know about that, darling—all your heresies and things are beyond me. But what he's saying is that taking part in the real world
'You've read the book, Mike—isn't that so?'
'Yeah. He sure as hell didn't regard life as a spectator sport.
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He wanted to run with the ball.'
'That's exactly what I mean.' Lexy turned back to Audley.
'And you want to run with the ball too, David—and get your head down in the scrum, and do all those other beastly things you get so worked up about. So you're Simplicius, don't you see, darling?'
Roche saw.
And, suddenly, in seeing, saw more than that.
Saw Lexy, enchanting Lexy, half embarrassed at the sound of her own voice, the lamplight catching the slight sheen of perspiration on her face—
Saw Jilly . . . and on Jilly's plain little features it was the sheen of intelligence which animated that face into something close to beauty—
Saw the handsome blond Israeli, the compulsive pilot; and the dark angry American . . . both his adversaries —
But saw Audley most of all, and at last.
'Here's Steffy!' Lexy held up her hand, listening. 'I can hear her on the steps outside.'
'And about time too!' said Audley irritably. 'I just wish she'd regulate her love life more thoughtfully—' he cut off suddenly, frowning at the scrape of hobnails on stone, which was followed by a thunderous knocking. 'But that's not our Steffy, by God!'
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Jilly peered at her wrist-watch. 'It's past midnight, David.'
'So what? We argued until three last time over Stein's esoteric prehistoric gobbledegook, and Madame didn't turn a hair.'
'She thinks there's safety in numbers,' said Lexy, smiling up at Roche. 'She believes we wouldn't call it 'an orgy' if it really was one.'
The knock was repeated, even more heavily, and they looked at each other like guilty children, each waiting for the others to move.
'Well, someone bloody answer it,' snapped Audley. 'I'm too far away.'
'Yeah. Well, someone's got to,' said Bradford. 'Otherwise she'll think we really are screwing around.'
The knock was repeated a third time.
'All right, then,' Stein stood up. 'Muggins does it.'
Roche craned his neck round Lexy to get a better view, but the angle was awkward and the light confusing.
'Gaston?' Stein injected a masterly mixture of ninety per cent innocent inquiry and ten per cent surprise, as any man with two girls but a clear conscience might employ after midnight. 'It's old Gaston,' he called unnecessarily over his shoulder.
'Old Gaston?' Audley's equally unnecessary repetition substituted a rather forced heartiness for Stein's tenth of surprise. 'Well—don't stand there, man! Ask him in! Get dummy5
another glass, Lady Alexandra.'
But Old Gaston did not seem disposed to be drawn into the Tower. Rather, he drew the Israeli out into the darkness beyond with an urgent, indecipherable mutter of words.
'What's he want, for God's sake?' Audley called through the doorway, at Stein's back. 'Stein?'
