Bella walked slowly and hesitantly on, half carrying the stumbling, trembling Chrissie, tensing her backbone against a possible bullet.
She was only a few yards from the shadow of the trees now, and she realized once more the strength of the operation — the dog handlers, the armoured cars, the television cameras, the ambulances, the hordes of policemen. Next moment she had reached the sandbags and collapsed into the arms of a waiting policeman, feeling his silver buttons against her chest, and a hundred arms seemed to be pulling them both to safety behind the sandbags. Then there were people all round her, and photographers flashing and cameras whirring.
And suddenly there was Lazlo, and she hardly recognized him. She had remembered him catlike, sunburnt, exotic-looking in that white suit. Now he was deathly pale, unshaven, his face seamed with exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot, his jaw quilted with muscles to stop himself breaking down.
‘Oh Lazlo,’ sobbed Chrissie, and collapsed, coughing and sobbing, into his arms.
‘It’s all right, baby,’ he said shakily. ‘It’s all over. You’re going to be all right. You’re safe now.’
Over her shoulder, his eyes met Bella’s.
‘Everything’s all right now,’ he repeated mechanically.
The next moment, like a dog that’s been deprived of its master’s company for days, a figure threw himself on Chrissie, tugging her away from Lazlo, cradling her in his arms, kissing her face over and over again. ‘Oh my darling, my only love.’
It was Rupert.
‘You’re all right? You’re not hurt?’ he went on, pausing and looking down at her.
Chrissie started to laugh and cry at the same time.
‘I’m all right, but I’m so dirty and horrible and revolting.’
‘You’re not, you’re not; you’re mine and you’re lovely.’
Bella turned her head away to stop herself breaking down. And then Lazlo was beside her, and she was overwhelmed with shyness. For a moment, as the crowd pushed him forward and he held her tight against him, she could feel his shirt drenched with sweat and the frantic thudding of his heart. Then she pulled away. There were so many people around and she was so filthy and stinking, and she was so ashamed of her terrible hair. She had rehearsed this reunion with him so long, and now she couldn’t say anything because she was so terrified of saying too much.
‘Chrissie,’ she blurted out. ‘She’s ill. You must get her to a hospital.’ She swayed. Lazlo caught hold of her. Then everyone was round her, offering congratulations. A senior policeman in a peaked hat fought his way through the crowd.
‘Thank God you’re safe,’ he said. ‘What’s happening in there?’
‘It’s quite safe,’ said Bella. ‘They’ve thrown out all their guns.’
‘Are they all alive?’
‘Three of them. Eduardo’s dead. Pablo killed him because he was going to shoot us.’
‘Do you feel up to answering a few questions?’ said the Inspector.
Bella nodded. ‘But I don’t think Chrissie ought to; she needs a doctor at once.’
‘And how’s my star attraction?’ said a voice in her ear.
Bella swung round, and there beside her was the wonderfully familiar freckled face of Roger Field.
‘Oh, Roger,’ she said, her control snapping, and, sobbing, she flung her arms round his neck.
Chapter Twenty-three
They had to fight their way out. Photographers were snapping frenziedly, journalists pressing forward, but a row of policemen made a gangway, and the next moment, she, Lazlo and Roger were bundled into a police car and driven off.
She clutched on to Roger all the way, shaking uncontrollably, still feeling hopelessly shy of Lazlo who was sitting beside her. Two other policemen in the car inhibited her even further.
Speechless, she gazed out of the window at the countryside she thought she would never see again — at the angelic greenness of the trees, the wild roses hanging in festoons from the banks, the buttercups golden in the fields. Every time a car passed them coming from either direction, she ducked down. She couldn’t get used to the fact that no-one was pointing a gun at her any longer.
‘How’s everyone in the company?’ she said to Roger.
‘Worried stiff about you.’
‘I was quite worried myself.’ Her laugh wasn’t quite steady enough. She half turned to Lazlo. ‘Is Diego all right? He got through to you?’
Lazlo nodded.
‘And his wife and little boy?’ said Bella.
‘They’re being flown over here tomorrow or the next day. I’ve alerted all the right people at Great Ormond Street, they’ll get the best attention.’
‘Oh I am pleased.’ She still couldn’t look him straight in the eye. ‘It wasn’t too much of a problem? You didn’t mind my saying you’d do that for him?’
‘Christ no,’ said Roger. ‘It was the best hand you’ve ever played darling. You obviously knocked him for six. I said to Lazlo it’s the old Parkinson sex appeal working again.’
She started to laugh, but it strangled in her throat and she started to cry. Roger squeezed her hand harder:
‘It’s all right, sweetheart. We all know what you’ve been through. Give her a slug from your hip flask, Lazlo.’
At the police station there were incredible mob scenes: people standing on each other’s shoulders, hundreds of reporters and television cameras: ‘Let me look at her.’ ‘That’s the girlfriend.’ ‘Look at her hair.’ ‘Good old Bella.’ ‘What was it like?’ ‘Did they hurt you?’
They were all trying to touch her, pulling at her clothing.
Four policemen hustled her inside, where she was allowed to have a cup of coffee and a wash before they started interrogating her. The room was absolutely jammed with cops firing questions from all sides. Roger sat beside her, holding her hand tightly, de-fusing the whole thing when it became over-emotional. Lazlo seemed temporarily to have disappeared.
When they got on to the shooting, she started trembling again.
‘You’re sure it was Pablo who shot Eduardo?’ said the Superintendent.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But you were blindfolded,’ said an Inspector with a big moustache.
‘I could tell from the direction the shots came from,’ said Bella. ‘And besides, he was the only one with a machine gun.’
‘But at first you thought it was Eduardo who had shot Chrissie.’
‘I know, but only because I was expecting it.’
‘And two machine guns were thrown out of the window.’
‘Well they were only using one at the time, and I
‘But you didn’t actually see him fire the shot?’ persisted the Superintendent.
The possibility that they might not believe she was speaking the truth became too much for her. Suddenly they seemed indistinguishable from Ricardo and Eduardo slapping her face back and forth to get information out of her.
‘It’s worse out than in,’ she said, and laying down her head on the table, she started to cry. ‘I’m not up to it. I’m simply not up to it.’
Next moment Lazlo walked in. He had shaved and put on a clean shirt, and seemed to be his old forceful self once again.
