Okay?"
He hung up before she could ask any more questions, leaving her staring at the dead receiver. Not quite understanding anything, but starting to listen to the silence in the empty flat.
All of a sudden, the startling transition from normalcy to fantasy made Anne feel as if she had stepped into a part in a spy melodrama. Oh no! Duncan was merely trying to frighten her-bring her back to heel. Maybe he wanted to find out just how neurotic she was, in spite of her vehement denials. So cling to reality, Anne! Why hadn't Webb given her a number where she could call him? Because Claudia might answer?
Don't call me, I'll call you . . . Now she was really becoming paranoid! Cling to that thought. There was no one in the flat with her, waiting behind the closed bedroom doors. The usual mess that Violet invariably left-nothing different. And the telephone was working.
It rang then, making her jump, and she grabbed for it with a feeling of self-disgust.
Carol, taking her back in time.
"Darling, where on earth have you been? You promised to call, you know!"
Good-talk to Carol. Keep her on the line. "I'm sorry, Carol! I know I did, but I've been out of town, on a modeling assignment .. ." Carol never gave her a chance to finish her sentences, thank God!
"Well, at least you're back! Have you talked to Harris yet? Or Yves? Your roommate is terribly close-mouthed, isn't she? I couldn't stand to live with another woman. Don't you get on each other's nerves sometimes?" With her usual magnificent disregard for continuity, Carol went on, "Listen, sweetie, I have something planned for this evening, and I'll never speak to you again if you back out! I'm giving a small dinner, very intimate; and you've got to come. Did I tell you that Venetia Tressider was sweet enough to lend me her Mayfair flat? She's coming too-she knows some divine men, and she's bringing one of them. He's a real Arab, of all things! Some fiercely romantic name-can you imagine Abdul-Karim Hakem? But Venetia says everyone calls him Karim, and he's an actor. Very big in Egypt." Carol gave her husky, wicked laugh.
"Very big, period, Venetia gave me to understand!"
Anne sat there holding the telephone to her ear, with nothing to say. "Harris will be there, of course; he said he'd pick you up. And Jimmy Markham-he's dying to meet you again since the other night, so wear something stunning again, will you, love?
Let's see"-Anne heard the crackling of paper before Carol went on-"Oh yes, Yves, of course. And Claudia-I had to include her; the poor girl's been giving us all fits since Webb brought her here and just dumped her. She says he promised her a part in his next movie, although of course Harris has the final say-so!"
"It sounds like an interesting, if not too intimate, gathering," Anne heard herself say dryly, surprised that her voice sounded steady.
"Then you will come?" Carol hadn't mentioned Webb-not yet.
"Of course I will, how could I possibly resist such a mixed bag?"
Carol sounded amazed-and then amused. "Darling, I can hardly get over the change in you! You see? I haven't tried to warn you even once this time, have I?"
"Warn me about what?" She should have said "whom," sensing what Carol's answer would be.
"About Webb, of course! But you've seen through him, haven't you? I did ask him, because of Claudia. I don't think she understands what's happened yet. Curtain time.
Of course he might tum up with another chick in tow; it's the kind of thing Webb does.
But I believe he's going to be dancing all night at Princess Mary Victoria's favorite discotheque, which would hardly give him time, thank heaven! Webb has a way of-of disrupting things."
Anne let some of her angry frustration come to the surface, surprising both Carol and herself. "Perhaps, of us all, I've been the only one to take Webb in perspective!
You've been engaged to him a couple of times, haven't you, Caro? And I haven't noticed that you give him the cold shoulder, exactly, even now. So why don't we admit among ourselves that Webb has a-a certain something for all of us females that we find difficult to resist, even when we know better ... and leave it at that? I mean, I don't feel protective towards Claudia del Antonini; why should you? Let her learn for herself, like the rest of us! And-and I don't really have much more to say.
Are you sure you still want me for dinner?"
Anne heard Carol's exaggeratedly expelled breath in her ear. "Whew! You have learned jungle tactics, haven't you? And do you know what, darling? I'm glad! I've always liked you, Anne, although sometimes I haven't understood why. Now I think I really look forward to our being friends. Of course I'm still expecting you! In fact I'm really starting to get excited about the evening. You and I against Claudia! Won't it be fun?"
Fun! After Carol hung up, Anne didn't know what to do with herself. Her conversation with Duncan seemed unreal. People following her ... Webb had put that idea into her head ... and Duncan's sudden switch to seriousness after he'd tried to put her off before. Danger-she'd lived all these months in London, just being herself, without having to worry. Why did she suddenly have to start being afraid?
Duncan had said something about reading the newspapers. Violet usually left them scattered on the floor by her favorite fireside perch. To give herself something to do, Anne sat back on her heels, finding the front pages at least of the Times, the Telegraph, and the Mirror.
Headlines leaped out at her. No wonder poor Duncan had sounded so harried!
MORE CIA EXPOSURES! us HQ OF MAJCO OIL IN LONDON REVEALED AS
COVER. WHAT'S THE CIA DOING IN LONDON? ANONYMOUS TIP-OFF
REVEALS TRUTH AT LAST!
Oh, God-how nasty! And especially now with all those delicate oil negotiations going on. Or was that exactly why? She'd heard that the British press was left-wing these days, but she shrugged off all the political gossip she heard at Venetia's parties without paying too much attention to it. Craig had been very much into it all, and it was another subject on which they'd had no common ground. Now, suddenly ... what did it all mean? The CIA, in disrepute these days. Under fire for meddling where they had no right. But Majco Oil? A well-known firm all over the world. And Duncan himself-surely not Duncan; he didn't fit the role of secret agent some-how. Although she'd wondered ...
Frowning, Anne remembered those messages she had spent so much time decoding, which ended up sounding like gibberish even afterwards. She'd had suspicions that Majco was wheeling and dealing on the sly, getting the oil that was so badly needed. All those embassy parties: the contacts. After Craig had arrived in London she'd begun to ask herself secretly if perhaps her father had something to do with Majco's deals. But her father wasn't connected with the CIA. In all the recent scandals and revelations his name apparently hadn't been mentioned. Reardon the King-Maker. Who knew exactly what he did, what his connections were? And as usual, when she thought about her father, she might have been thinking about a stranger ...
All this is a snowball that has grown into an avalanche! Anne thought wildly. And so fast! Why wasn't Craig here yet? And then the short, authoritative knock on the door brought her with relief to her feet, her earlier fearful uneasiness forgotten. It was broad daylight outside; she lived in an exclusive and very well-patrolled part of town.
And she wasn't involved in some ridiculous spy drama!
Anne fumbled with the lock, and the chain she'd slipped into place earlier.
"Craig?" She threw the door open wide. But it wasn't Craig who stood there. Two dark-suited men, wearing hats of all things, and behind them another man, vaguely familiar, wearing a dark brown overcoat.
They were overly polite, edging her backwards all the same. "Miss Mallory? Sorry, miss. We have a search warrant, if you want to see it." One of them (or all of them?
She couldn't remember afterwards) flashed a badge or some kind of ID at her.
Nothing seemed to register in those first few moments.
The taller one took charge. "My name is Barnes. Like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind. Grimsby, Leach-why don't you look around?" In spite of his surface courtesy he was tough. His eyes, under the hat brim, were a pale, hard gray that pinned her back, fluttering as ineffectually as a butterfly caught on a pin.
"Now, suppose you tell me what kind of work you did for Majco Oil? Whom did you work for directly?" His lips, as colorless as his eyes, stretched over his teeth in a mirthless smile. Anne could hear the others in the bedrooms-the sounds of drawers being pulled open, a thud as something fell to the floor.
She found her tongue with a rush of pure rage. "Look-what is all this? How dare you force your way in here and-"
He didn't seem to hear her. She started to move past him, and he reached out, giving her a very light, almost casual shove that stopped her dead. "No games, please. It would be easier all around if you'll just cooperate, Miss Mallory. Easier for you in particular, because we don't believe in wasting time playing. Now suppose you be a sensible girl and tell me all you know?"
She stared back at the blandly impersonal face that seemed to have turned into a shadowed, menacing mask. Fear was a cold fist knotted in the pit of her stomach.
"How did you get the job with Majco? What is your real relationship with Duncan Frazier? What kind of training were you given in decoding before you were sent here?" His voice lowered, but was just as impersonally harsh. "Why did you decide to sell out? You have a great deal of money in your bank account, Miss Mallory. And considerable sums transferred here on a regular basis from the States. You should really have stuck to the modeling, you know! And we'd like to find out a little more about your friendship with Venetia Tressider. Do you subscribe to her ideas?"
Anne put one hand up as if to ward off his questions. He caught her wrist, exerting just enough pressure, without seeming to, to make her cry out with pain. "Oh, stop!
You're crazy -all these questions ..."
"Ah, but you'll save a great deal of unpleasantness if you'll answer them like a good girl. Answer them truthfully, if you know what's good for you. Do I have to repeat that we're not playing patty-cake?" His thumb pressed down and her whole arm felt paralyzed.
"You're hurting me! I can't even think!"
"Oh? Sorry." He released her then, and she felt sick with pain and humiliation and sheer, unreasoning terror. They weren't playing, and this was real, actually happening to her! And oh, God, she was a coward, she couldn't stand physical pain.
She'd probably end up telling this cold-voiced man anything he wanted to hear.
Back to politeness, he said, "Why don't you sit down? And then we'll take the questions one by one, shall we? Let's start with your friends-and your contacts. I'll need a list of names, of course." He picked up the penciled note that Violet had left her, digesting it without his pale eyes seeming to leave her.
"Popular, aren't you? Let's start with these. And go on to where you were yesterday, last night, and most of this morning. Your version."
There were sounds outside the door just then, saving her for the moment. Raised voices, then the door flew inward and Craig strode in, followed by yet another man in a dark suit. Maybe it's a kind of uniform, Anne thought crazily, watching Craig through wide, wet eyes as if this was the first time she was seeing him. His face was pale-set and angry.
"May I ask what is going on? Dammit, if you've-Anne, are you okay?"
The man who had let Craig in shrugged apologetically. "He said she was expecting him. And I checked his identification. He-"
"I hope you men have the correct kind of identification tool" Anne had never seen Craig so openly enraged. "Because believe me, there's going to be a formal complaint to the highest authorities about this high-handed piece of work!"
Barnes, impassive, flipped open his wallet. "You would be Mr. Hyatt, I take it? Sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. But you ought to be the first to understand that we're only doing our job. Merely asking a few questions." His voice became heavy with significance. "And you should know why. This young woman here-"
"If you people had done your homework properly, you'd know who this young woman is-and why she couldn't possibly be mixed up in that mess!" Craig's voice was rasping as he jerked his head towards the crumpled heap of newspapers.
There was a flash of some emotion on Barnes's saturnine face for the first time-quickly hidden as he drawled, "Ah? You sound very sure of your facts, Mr. Hyatt, but our facts, coupled with the people she's been mixing with of late, add up to something different. Now, if you have any information that we don't have ... ?"
"She's Richard Reardon's daughter. And if you don't recognize the name, I'm sure your superiors will. Duncan Frazier was on the phone to Sir Andrew when I left him.
And I'm sure," Craig ended grimly, "that he'll agree with us that you've been a trifle precipitate, to say the least!"
Barnes's mask slipped slightly again. His voice deceptively soft, he said: "This is our bailiwick, Hyatt. And we have our job to do, just as you have back in the States, I'm sure. We have a search warrant, all quite legal, and I was merely asking a few questions. Questions to which I'd still like answers." He added tightly, "There was a leak, you know. And it doesn't look good for us, any more than it does for you. I shouldn't have to remind you either that the younger generation has a way of ...
rebelling against the system; isn't that how your press would put it? We merely started with the most obvious source with the most outside connections. A few straight answers could have cleared everything up. Now isn't that right, Miss Mallory?"
Suddenly they were all looking at her, Leach and Grimsby had emerged from the bedrooms to lounge casually nearby. All waited for her reply, even Craig, his face worried. He moved forward, putting his hand on her arm, giving it a comforting squeeze.
"Well, Miss Mallory? You have your protection now, if you need it. If you've got nothing to hide you surely wouldn't mind if I repeated my questions?"