And you weren’t on it, weren’t even booked, when I checked.”
O’Farrell reached out, pulling her to him, to gain time to think. And not just to think. He wanted to feel her, hold her close and know the reassurance of her being there. She’d always been there. Always would be. What would he do if Jill went out one morning and fired the ignition and literally exploded, simply didn’t exist anymore!
She broke away from him. “Darling!” she said. “You’re shaking! What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” he said, recovering. “Tired, that’s all. Would you believe it! I set out to surprise you!”
“What?”
“After I telephoned I realized I wasn’t going to need as much clearing-up time after all. I got to the airport in time for the TWA flight through New York, so I canceled the original reservation and switched. Got here two hours earlier.”
“You know what?” said Jill, smiling and believing him. “We must have passed each other on the way to and from the airport.”
O’Farrell hugged her again, anxious for the closeness. Mouth in her hair, against her ear, he said, “That’s what must have happened.” It hadn’t occurred to her to disbelieve, to doubt.
“You’re still shaking.”
“It isn’t anything. Tiredness, like I said. Plane was crowded; tour groups.”
Jill moved farther into the kitchen, perching on a breakfast stool. “I had another idea, after the first surprise,” she confessed. “If you’d felt like it, I was going to suggest dinner somewhere instead of coming straight home.”
She was dressed in her newest suit, the one she had picked up at a Saks sale. “Great idea!” he said.
She shook her head. “You’re tired.”
“Nothing a shower can’t fix in five minutes.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “We’re home now. I’ll make something here.”
O’Farrell didn’t want to disappoint her, but he thought it would be dangerous to press too hard. So much for the woman who never did anything unexpected! He said,
“Absolutely positive,” she said.
He didn’t think she was. Effusively he said, “Tomorrow night! Anywhere you like!” knowing it wouldn’t be the same, because there wouldn’t be any spontaneity.
“We’ll think about it,” she said.
It had to be a Lean Cuisine lasagna and she joined him in some wine, and O’Farrell gave the prepared account of what he was supposed to have done and seen in London. Telling her of his call to Ellen made the opening for Jill to talk of her time in Chicago while he had been away. Like O’Farrell, she wasn’t impressed with Patrick’s sudden responsibility. She put at three months the time it would take the man to lose the job or fail with the payments or possibly both. The drug scare at Billy’s school was so long ago they didn’t even talk about it anymore.
It was obvious Jill expected him to make love to her that night and he did, although it wasn’t easy and he had to fake it. He didn’t think she guessed and he was fairly sure she climaxed.
The following night they did go out, combining an orchestral recital at the Kennedy Center with dinner at the restaurant there, the river view making up for the food. The outing really did lack spontaneity, but Jill said it was wonderful. Abruptly O’Farrell said he really didn’t know what he’d do without her, and Jill laughed and said he’d never have to find out, would he?
O’Farrell tried hard for the normality he craved. He found a reference to his great-grandfather in a history of western American exploration to add to the collection and on the first Saturday cleaned the cars, disturbed at how dirty and neglected they had become. There was even a rust stain on the Ford.
The normality didn’t last long. The summons from Petty came the second week, a summons to Lafayette Square itself, which was unusual. When O’Farrell entered, he saw that Erickson wasn’t present, which was even more unusual, but he hoped he knew the reason. The air was thick with the incenselike smell from the perpetual pipe.
“Just wanted to see how you were,” Petty announced at once.
“I’m fine,” O’Farrell said. Thinking that sounded too short, he added, “Thank you.”
“How did you get on with Lambert?”
It was a professional question, and O’Farrell thought the psychologist could have answered that more satisfactorily than himself. “I appreciated the advice, the chance to talk. It was very helpful.” Everything was coming out very stilted. Why was Petty delaying?
“You expect an official inquiry?”
At last! O’Farrell said, “I would have thought it automatic.”
“It isn’t,” Petty said brusquely. “And there isn’t going to be one.”
“Nothing!” Lambert had made it possible for him to live with himself, to accept the accident and justify what he’d done in the past, but O’Farrell still believed what he had told the man, that the Agency would from now on consider him unreliable.
“The circumstances are obvious,” the section chief said. “Nothing happened to embarrass anybody. So it’s a closed matter. Over.”
O’Farrell’s thoughts were disordered, refusing to form, and it was several moments before he could speak. Finally, stilted still, he said, “What then, precisely, is my position?”
Petty frowned, as if the question were difficult. “Your position?”
“Am I considered to be still”—O’Farrell stopped, seeking the laughably absurd description Lambert had used—“considered to be on the active roster?”
Petty’s frown remained. “Of course. I thought I just made that clear.”
Once more there was a long pause, from O’Farrell. Then he said, “I see.”
“Something wrong?” Petty demanded.
“No … I … no, nothing.”
“What is it? You seem unsure.”
“Nothing,” O’Farrell reiterated. “Nothing at all.” A soldier, a lawman; that’s what Lambert had called him. That’s what he
That night Ellen telephoned from Chicago and asked them to come up at once.
Rivera had gone to Henrietta’s twice under escort and the sex had been sensational. He guessed he had been right, that she was stimulated by the thought of the guards being outside. The British detectives remained courteous and formally interviewed him again, admitting they weren’t making any progress and once more pressing him to suggest a reason for the attack. Once more he claimed it to be a mystery to him.
Rivera considered the very absence of any demand from Pierre Belac for final settlement of the arms deal a confirmation, if any confirmation were needed, of the man’s involvement in the bombing. Rivera was curious why the man hadn’t waited until after the last delivery, to get the last of the money.
The ambassador had changed his mind yet again about that final payment, forever conscious of the daily accruing interest. He
Henrietta telephoned on his private line at the embassy at five, to check that tonight was still on, and Rivera said it was. He intended coming straight from High Holborn to collect her after the arrival of the daily communication from Havana. They were dining at the Gavroche.
“Will they be round us all the time, these bodyguards?” Henrietta demanded.
“All the time,” he guaranteed.
The diplomatic pouch was on time and Rivera sat staring down at the official Foreign-Ministry letter. In view of his outstanding ability, he was being considered for promotion to the central government. To that end he was to prepare himself to attend a forthcoming international conference.
TWENTY-SIX
