They were playing a game after all. Question and answer. Truth or consequences!
Hard to believe that this same bland-faced man with the polite voice had actually threatened her a few moments before. If she told Craig, it would sound as if she was being evasive. He might even think she was exaggerating it all.
Anne licked her dry lips, looking from one face to the other, finding no help in any of them.
Craig sat on the arm of her chair, touching her shoulder, leaving his hand there.
"Anne? It might help. Something you know-maybe without knowing its significance.
Anybody you can think of who might have seemed curious about your job. And I'll be right here to make sure Mr. Barnes doesn't get out of line."
They were all part of a conspiracy against her-Barnes and his cohorts with their threats; and now Craig with his kindness. No help-she had to muddle her way through somehow.
Anne swallowed dryly, almost gagging. "I-how can I remember? No one seemed especially interested in my job. Not the one at Majco. They-the people I met-seemed to want to know more about how it felt to be a model!" She looked up at Craig, and his eyes were hooded, thoughtful. "I honestly don't know what this is all about! I hadn't even read the newspapers until after I called Duncan. I still don't understand ..
."
Barnes took charge again. "You don't? What about your friends, Miss Mallory?
You've heard them express their views, surely? Didn't you join in? Did you argue with them or disagree?"
Stung, she sat up straighter. "The people you call my friends were social acquaintances! We met at the same places and partied together, but I can't recall that anyone discussed politics seriously. What are you accusing me of?"
"We're making an investigation, Miss Mallory." Craig's fingers pressed warningly into her shoulder as Barnes continued, "There's been a serious breach of security, and it's my job to get to the bottom of it-I think you understand that? Now if you weren't responsible, and I'm willing to listen to Mr. Hyatt's assurance that you aren't, you should be anxious to help us find who is. We're asking for your cooperation ..."
Then, as if his speech had been designed to lull her into security, he suddenly snapped out, "Where were you yesterday? And all of last night? With whom?" His pale eyes shuttled to Craig, and back to her. She could sense Craig's slight stiffening as she hesitated for a moment before staring defiantly back at her inquisitor.
"I had a modeling assignment. I'm sure you can check that up easily enough. And I spent the night in Guildford, with-with an old friend. He drove me up there and brought me back this afternoon. I think you know that already, don't you?" She gave a jerk of her head at Grimsby. "Your man here followed us up there and back! Or is it that you are particularly interested in the details of my private life, Mr. Barnes?"
Barnes let that slip by, his eyes opaque, unmoving from her white face. "Sorry, Miss Mallory. All the details are important. And women-men too, for that matter-have been known to be more than usually talkative when they're between the sheets, to put it bluntly. Now if you'll tell us ..."
Anne tried to pretend that Craig wasn't there beside her. But she couldn't prevent the shaking of her voice as she said: "All right. I was with Webb Carnahan. Craig can tell you we've known each other before. And, in case you're taking a prurient interest in all this, no-we didn't spend much time talking-about anything!"
She didn't dare wonder what Craig was thinking. She felt his unmoving hand still on her shoulder, and she almost felt guilty, which was ridiculous! Her fingers tightened against each other on her lap as she watched their faces-carved, Contemptuous masks, all of them. Watching her, waiting until they could trap her into some admission of guilt. But she wasn't guilty of anything-this was all a nightmare, unbelievable!
There were a few more questions-obviously, the search of her room and Violet's (had poor Violet had to go through this too?) had yielded nothing important. Anne repeated what she had said before. She hadn't committed any breach of security ("Sorry, but you're the only one without an official security clearance, Miss Mallory"), and she hadn't discussed her job at Majco with anyone. No one had questioned her about it either. And no, she was not in the habit of getting drunk when she partied!
Brown-coat, whose name was Grimsby, had discovered a stash of grass in one of Violet's dresser drawers. No, it wasn't hers. Yes, she had smoked the stuff occasionally, socially, but that was all. What did that have to do with anything?
Finally, when Craig protested, Barnes told her he'd probably be getting in touch later.
The other men who had followed him in followed him out. So did Craig, with a hastily muttered, "I'll be back in a moment, Anne. I've got to find out what brought this on."
Oh God! Silence. Like an automaton, Anne stood up and fixed herself a drink. Then one for Craig-he fancied vodka and tonic, as she remembered. She handed it to him without a word when he came back in, his face tightly controlled.
"You see-I do have a good memory, don't I? And now you can tell me if all this was real or not. I must thank you too, mustn't I? For rescuing me in the nick of time."
"Anne, I can't really blame you for being upset. Thank God you called Duncan when you did! Those men who were here today have no scruples. My God! If -"
"You seemed to recognize each other. What about you, Craig? You know-that's something I never thought to ask you. Are you part of the Organization too?" Not waiting for his reply, Anne turned away from him blindly; holding her glass with both hands, she stared into the empty fireplace.
"I said I didn't blame you for being upset. But, Anne-it's time you faced facts. Above all, the fact that you are your father's daughter, like it or not, and because of it you have to be careful! Careful of your friends, your associations. I don't for a moment think that you were responsible, even inadvertently, for the leak the British are investigating with such heavy-handed zeal. And neither does Dune. You've refused me any rights over you, Anne, as your husband. But as a friend, at least, you've got to listen to me! Don't trust everyone you meet. And remember that the fact that you've changed your name and embarked on a career of your own doesn't mean a damn thing; you can't change who you are, Anne! For God's sake, exercise some caution!"
She had a feeling of claustrophobia, of velvet walls pressing in on her. "What are you trying to tell me, Craig? That I'll never be entirely free? That I must always watch everything I say, doubt everyone I meet?"
His head jerked in a parody of a nod. "Yes. I'm sorry, Anne, but you might as well realize that you aren't the average girl who's made good. It's high time you faced reality. Anne ..." He touched her arm, held it, turning her towards him. Remembering how his touch had upheld and comforted her earlier, she could not bring herself to wrench away.
"Why don't you come back, Anne? You've proved something-whatever you were trying to prove to yourself and to everyone else in the first place. Why don't you come home now? You'll be safe there-you'll be able to really be yourself. Jesus, Anne! You and I together, we could-" He must have sensed the instinctive withdrawal in her.
"But you aren't ready to listen yet, are you? You think you've found something that I couldn't give you-something you wouldn't let me give you, Anne! Have you found it in Harris Phelps's bed? Or Webb Carnahan's? Is that all you're looking for, my dear-purely physical sensation that lasts for a moment, no longer?" Craig's mouth twisted in fury. "I wonder how much you really know about your actor friend. The big movie star, the international stud. Have you wondered why he decided to pay you so much attention? How much has he told you of his background? Oh Christ, Anne! How naive you really are. If you'd only listened to me in the first place .. ."
But she had had enough for one afternoon. Goaded, she sprang to her feet, with tear-bright eyesand clenched fists. "I won't listen to any more! Do you hear? I've had enough -heard enough. Stop preaching at me, Craig!"
THE FEW WORDS CRAIG had forced her to listen to colored Anne's evening; even after Craig had left, hurt and huffy. She double-locked the door after him, but what good was that? Those men could get back in anytime they wanted to-and there was no way she could put a padlock on her thoughts.
"You're looking lovely, Anne," Harris said. He, at least, seemed the same as usual ...
no hint in his voice or manner that anything was different. No questions. "Are you looking forward to the evening?"
Ready for Carol's intimate dinner and Carol's searching, all-too-knowing eyes. But facing Carol would be comparatively easy after everything she'd been through this afternoon.
She wore a long black chiffon tunic over black pants woven with silver thread. The tunic was see-through-nothing underneath it but Anne herself, and a silver chain that hung between her breasts as if calling attention to them.
Yves Pleydel looked at her hungrily through heavy-lidded eyes, Claudia sulked, and Senator Markham was charming. His perfectly even teeth flashed in an attractive grin when he held both her hands, kissing her on the cheek.
"Anne Mallory-Harris has confided that he has great plans for you. I can only hope that you're a Democrat!"
They all laughed and Anne joined in politely. "Of course I am-how could I help it?"
"So you're going to go 'on' for real, are you, love?" Carol whispered, hugging her.
"Lots of luck-and I mean it!"
Yves Pleydel impatiently demanded what the delay was. "So this movie Bad Blood is a big success, non? What are we waiting for? I think that now is a good time to announce your next production, Harris, monami." He glanced over his shoulder at Claudia, who was staring moodily into her drink. Dropping his voice, Yves muttered,
"Are you going to give her a part? She keeps telling me that Carnahan promised her the lead. But of course I reminded her that without me, she would soon go back to the obscurity from which I plucked her. She is a stupid bitch! Not quite as dumb as Francoises you will recall she was my last wife before Claudia? Francoise Marly-pah!" His lips twitched with disdain as his hands moved expressively. Anne found his eyes fixed piercingly on her, particularly on her breasts. "You, ma chere, are not stupid! I can tell that already. I think you will follow direction well, and if you do, you will be a bigger star than any of them. I will make you so; I guarantee it-moi, Yves Pleydell"
"And of course Yves is right." Harris, standing beside Anne, slipped his hand up from her waist, to momentarily caress her breast very lightly. "It's about time to start our publicity campaign." He smiled at her slightly bewildered face. "Don't look so apprehensive, love! We're going to pull a switch on the public this time. By the time our campaign gets into full swing, you'll be under wraps, shooting Greed for Glory in California. We'll give them just enough information to intrigue them. The big-talent-hunt story. And we'll release a few-a very few-stills from time to time. While you'll still be appearing in the fashion magazines as a model, of course. That kind of publicity we won't have to pay for."
She remembered the last batch of pictures-with Webb-and winced.
"Harris, you don't ..."
"Of course I know what I'm doing, love." Why did his eyes suddenly look so shiny that she couldn't see into their depths to know what he was thinking? He leaned forward suddenly, his lips brushing her earlobe. "You're cleverer than even I gave you credit for, Anne. I talked with Johnnie Bardini earlier on this evening, and I'm buying all his pictures. You and Webb-a secret romance that would lend enormous credibility to your roles on the screen. Magnificent!"
Struck dumb, she stared up at his smiling face. Harris continued to smile. "And I have a surprise for you when we go to California, sweetheart. A present I think you'll like.
Which reminds me-do you think you'll be ready to leave by the week after next?"
Carol, in a slinky green velvet gown cut very low in the back, came up just then, with an incredibly handsome dark-haired man in tow.
"Here's Karim at last. He's always late-aren't you, darling? And I had to snatch him from Venetia-she's over there, Harris, casting darkling looks at us-do you want to go over and say nice soothing things while I make sure Anne and Karim get aquainted?"
Karim had a cleft in his chin, a sensuous mouth, and smoldering dark brown eyes that gazed at Anne intently. He held both her hands; kissing them French-fashion.
"You are beautiful! I had seen your pictures, of course, but they did not do you justice. So blonde, so white-skinned-if you had been a tourist, walking down a street in Cairo, I think I would have had you kidnapped. You do not mind if I am direct? And if you did mind, I would not care. I speak as I feel. Now that I have seen you, I look forward to playing your lover in this motion picture we are to make together." His teeth, when he smiled, were a white flash in his dark tanned face. "I like it that you look amazed-and a trifle frightened. It shows how feminine you are-a quality that most Western women are sadly lacking in." He spoke fluent English, with only the slightest accent.
Carol, standing by Anne, came to her rescue with a burst of throaty laughter.
"I do think that was a dig at me-or was it Venetia? The trouble is, baby," stroking his arm soothingly, "that we seldom meet any really masterful men anymore. Men with balls like this Jason character in Robbie Savage's book." She slanted a look at Karim's frowning, considering face and added diplomatically, "
... Or like the character that you're going to play. The handsome Mexican General.
When you have to rape Anne, do you think you're both going to enjoy it?"
"Really, Carol!" Anne said crossly, and Karim's cloudy look cleared as he smiled, his heavy lidded eyes seeming to caress her slim body. As if Carol had not spoken, he said slowly, "Ah yes! I think I am going to enjoy all of the love scenes I play with you.
You have sensitivity, and I think under your cold blondness, the capacity for much feeling. And in this book-does not the rape turn into a passion of the bodies? I think I understand very well this Mexican General that I am to play. I am a cynic-as he is-and I, too, in my time have made a trembling woman think she is being raped, only to force response from her. It adds excitement-what you would call spice -does it not?"