The Persian Price (16 page)

The window mesh was taken down by the Algerian who had driven them from the airfield. He didn't look at her and he didn't speak. He prized the wire away from its battens on the wall, picked up his tools, spat as he passed Eileen and went out, locking the door. She ran to the window. Now she was able to lean out and to see the distance from the sea below. She could have wept with disappointment. The villa was built on a rocky protuberance. Down below her was a sheer wall of rock and then a jagged outcrop, round which the sea foamed and battered in a powerful undercurrent. She waited, trying to judge the exact footage to the ground. It was obviously beyond knotted bedsheets and a jump into the sea. Peters had known what he was doing when he had the protective mesh taken down.

She pulled herself up and leaned further out, looking for anything which might serve as a hold if she tried to climb down. She didn't hear him come up behind her. He caught her by the waist and dragged her back into the room. She twisted round, struggling, and he pinned her arms behind her. For a brief moment they faced each other and Eileen felt the impact of his body.

‘What the hell were you doing?' Peters said. He moved her away from the window. She was breathless and he was holding her tighter than was necessary. He let her go suddenly. ‘What were you doing leaning out like that?'

Eileen faced him defiantly.

‘Looking down,' she said.

‘You won't get out that way,' Peters said. ‘There's not a toe hold and it's fifty feet, so forget it. Otherwise I'll have the wire back on.'

‘How do you know I won't jump out?' she said.

Peters looked at her.

‘I don't,' he said. ‘That's up to you. All you have to do is wait.'

She turned away from him.

‘I'm going mad shut up in here,' she said. ‘Isn't there any way I could have some exercise?'

‘No,' he said. He pointed to the bed. ‘I brought you some books. Try reading.'

There were three books, the biggest she recognized as a best seller, written by one of the popular purveyors of sex and sensation.

‘You've told me nothing,' Eileen said. ‘Hasn't my husband been contacted?'

He lit a cigarette.

‘I guess so.'

‘But you've no news? Or you just won't tell me!'

He saw her turn quickly away and realized that she was crying. She had lost a lot of weight; he noticed that when he held her. She had felt very slight. She looked as if she were sleeping badly and often the trays came back with most of the food untouched. He had said so to Madeleine, who disgusted him by suggesting that she be left to starve for a few days as a hint not to sulk. When he came in and saw her at the window, he had thought for a second that she was going to jump. Ten days could be a long time when you were a prisoner. He remembered the times he had been in jail himself.

Eileen turned and faced him; she wiped her eyes.

‘Has he said anything? I can't believe there's no news.'

‘So far as I know,' Peters said, ‘he's negotiating.'

‘Negotiating?' Eileen got up slowly. ‘I don't understand. What have you asked him for? Why couldn't he just say yes?'

‘Why don't you take a look at those books,' Peters said. ‘You'll know when there's any news. And don't go hanging out of that window again.'

She picked up the second book and the third. A travelogue about an expedition to Katmandu and a novel by someone whose name she didn't know.

‘Do you want anything?' Peters said.

‘I haven't a change of clothes,' she said. ‘I feel filthy dirty. I haven't even a toothbrush.'

‘Madeleine will get some things for you,' he said. ‘I'll tell her.' She didn't look up at him.

‘Thank you for the books.'

‘There wasn't anything else in English. Except some smut magazines. I didn't think you'd want those.'

He left and she heard the door lock.

Negotiating. It was a word she had heard Logan use so often. Dealing, bargaining, pulling something off. Negotiating with the terrorists. She had a vision of him sitting in his office off Cheapside behind the tycoon sized desk with its batteries of telephones and intercoms, negotiating for her life. Giving a little, holding something back; going through the business routine while she waited in the stuffy little room, with people who were under orders to kill her if he didn't give way to their demands. It was an unfortunate word for Peters to use. It explained the ten days without a decision. She couldn't believe it. Logan must know that she was in mortal danger; he had no way of knowing that she was not being ill-treated, kept in some hole underground. But, she reminded herself, her reaction was hysterical. In all cases of kidnapping and hi-jacking and all the other modern means of extortion by terror, negotiations had to take place. As to how the money was paid. In what denomination. How the hostage would be released. It always took time. A little time, but not ten days, for the love of God. She remembered Logan in moments of crisis. They had been in Paris, in the apartment on the Rue St Dominique when the Arab sheikdoms stopped their oil exports to the West. She had seen Logan with his back to the wall then. They had been entertaining when he got the news of the sheiks' action. It was in the middle of a cocktail party in their elegant drawing room, with the Austrian ambassador and his wife as guests of honour and some of the most influential people in French political and industrial life as their guests. Logan had been called to the telephone. When he came back, he walked over to her, smiled and suggested they should select a few friends to dine at Maxim's afterwards. It was not until they came home at one in the morning, after a successful dinner party and a brief visit to Régine's fashionable night club, that Logan had told her what had happened.

‘They've shut off the oil,' he said. ‘The bastards have got us by the short hairs.'

‘What can you do?' she had asked him.

‘Negotiate,' was his answer. ‘Deal with them, give as little as possible and hope to Christ they back off.'

He had gone to bed with her that night, made love and fallen instantly asleep.

She wondered whether he had taken the news of her abduction with the same ruthless calm. She picked up the sex novel and it fell open as always at a well-handled page full of graphic sexual details. She didn't mean to read it. It brought Peters to her mind. There had been a moment while he was pulling her away from the window, when there was something sexual in the way he held her. She had felt it instinctively and fought against him. He had let her go so quickly that it was an indication that he too was aware of it and had been taken by surprise. She tried to close the memory out of her mind. It frightened and disturbed her; it added a dimension of danger to the already terrifying situation of her captivity. He reminded her of a powerful animal; he moved very quietly and he gave the impression of tremendous force, ready to be let loose. She had seen the ugly, merciless side of him when she was kidnapped. It was unrealistic to forget that because he had shown her a little humanity and brought her a few books. Whatever had flared up between them because of the rough physical contact, it had to be forgotten, buried. She had to think of Logan, rely on him to rescue her. He wouldn't gamble with her life; he wouldn't wheel and deal with organized terror. It had been wrong to doubt him and lose faith. She picked up the book on mountaineering and began to read it. The Algerian brought her food that evening and she didn't see Peters again for two days. When he did come, he brought Madeleine with him.

He hadn't told her the reason; it didn't seem necessary to explain. He unlocked the door and Madeleine walked through it. Eileen was sitting in the upright chair; she alternated between the bed and the chair, trying to read, sometimes just dozing in the heat. When it was cool, in the early morning, she walked up and down the narrow space between the walls, trying to exercise. When she saw the Lebanese girl she got up.

‘Well,' Madeleine said. ‘She looks all right to me.' She turned to Peters. Her manner was aggressive. ‘All this about her not eating – I don't see anything wrong with her!' She looked at Eileen with open hatred. She had expected to find her cowed and dishevelled. Instead she was in full control of herself and her look of contempt was stinging.

‘Why have you come here,' Eileen said. ‘Keep out. I'll have nothing to do with you!'

‘You shut your mouth,' Madeleine shouted at her. She swung round to Peters. ‘Are you going to let her talk to me like that?'

He looked angry; the spectacle of Madeleine bristling like a cat annoyed him. He wasn't going to tolerate a scene between two hostile women. He had expected Madeleine to show more self-control.

‘Shut up, both of you,' he said.

Eileen looked at him.

‘That creature would have murdered my child,' she said. ‘I'm going into the bathroom until she gets out of my room.'

It was Madeleine who moved, blocking the way.

‘You do as you're told, you “trainee” or by Allah I'll deal with you!'

Eileen stood still; the other girl's fists were opening and closing; she was coiled like a spring, waiting to lash out at her. She turned and walked back to the chair. She spoke to Peters.

‘What do you want?'

‘You said you wanted clothes,' he said. ‘Madeleine – for Christ's sake, stop behaving as if you were in a bazaar brawl!'

‘How dare you say that to me?' she blazed at him in Arabic. ‘Didn't you hear her insult me?' She turned to Eileen. ‘As for you,' she said, ‘remember one thing. Your husband isn't in any hurry to redeem you. Maybe he doesn't want you back. And when we know for certain, Madame, I shall be the first to come and see Resnais do his job. And you can guess what that is, can't you?' She put her head back and laughed. ‘We'll see how high and mighty you are then!'

Peters came up to her. He gripped her arm and it hurt.

‘Go downstairs,' he said. ‘Go on. Get out! I'll talk to you later.'

He hurried her to the door and pushed her outside. She slammed it after her. He put a slip of paper and a pencil down on the chest of drawers.

‘Make a list of what you want,' he said. ‘Just the necessities. ‘I'll see she gets them for you. And don't take any notice of what she said.'

‘He hasn't answered, has he?' Eileen said. ‘It's two weeks now and I'm still here.'

‘I told you not to listen to her,' Peters said angrily. ‘She hates you and she'd say anything.'

She looked up at him.

‘Is that Frenchman the executioner?'

‘Get on and make the list,' he almost shouted at her. He went over to the window and looked out while she wrote. He was furious with Madeleine. She reminded him of a wild animal when she spat the threat at Eileen Field and taunted her with Logan Field's delay. It had been cruel and spiteful and these were qualities that repelled him in a woman. Of the two women, it was their prisoner who had come out best in the exchange. He wished above all that Madeleine hadn't told her about Resnais.

Eileen came up behind him.

‘Here it is,' she said.

He brushed against her as he turned. She stepped back quickly.

‘Don't let her come up here again,' she said quietly. ‘Please.'

He went without answering. He found Madeleine waiting on the terrace. She had a drink in her hand and she was no sullen, the explosive temper only just under control. He gave her the piece of paper.

‘Go into Nice tomorrow and buy those,' he said.

She took it from him, looked at it for a moment and then threw it in a crumpled ball onto the terrace floor.

‘Clothes! Toothbrushes and soap and all the little luxuries? Have you gone mad? I'll see her damned in hell before I get her any of them!'

‘I am responsible for her. You'll buy them,' Peters said, ‘and that's an order.'

‘Oh no, it's not,' Madeleine shouted. ‘You've just gone soft! Madame has everything brought up on trays – you come telling me she isn't eating – what does it matter if the bitch starves! She has to have a change of clothes – where is she, in a luxury hotel? What do you think happens to our women in Israeli prisons? What's got into you, Peters? You stood and let her insult me, instead of smashing her face in to teach her some manners! Do you fancy her for yourself? Is that what it is?'

He slapped her sharply across the face. She didn't flinch and no tears came into her eyes. She called him a name in Arabic.

‘I won't do it,' she said. ‘And you can't make me! Get them yourself!'

That night he moved out of her room. She hadn't believed it at first when she came upstairs and found he had left her. She loved him and she was wild with jealousy because her instincts detected that he was losing interest in her and that however she exerted herself to please him in bed, her hold on him had weakened. Now it had gone altogether. She looked at the empty bed and though the physical blow hadn't made her cry, she did so then. She was too proud to go after him, although she padded down the passageway until she saw a light under one of the unused bedroom doors and knew he had moved in there. He had left her and she knew it was because of their quarrel and her refusal to buy a few necessities for Eileen Field. She saw his concern as weakness; while he talked about responsibility, Madeleine dismissed this as an attempt to delude her as well as himself. He had never felt responsible for an enemy before. He hadn't shown the same softness towards the stewardess in the airliner, who had lain bleeding from a bullet wound in the back, or for the terrified passengers. Only for this woman, this hostage taken against a vicious capitalist plot to undermine the Arab strength; for a representative of the class he was supposed to hate and had sworn to annihilate. Smooth hands and skin, rich clothes, a house with servants and luxuries. Madeleine had burst out of similar circumstances, eager to prove herself by hard work and rough living, proud that she was as capable as any man. For a woman like Eileen Field she reserved her most brutal contempt. Peters should have felt the same. He should have been repelled by a useless parasite whose only value was in her relationship to one of the capitalist tyrants they were dedicated to destroy. She couldn't understand or forgive his tolerance towards the prisoner. The only explanation for it was so painful that it throbbed like a wound. He was attracted to her. Perhaps he didn't realize it, or wouldn't have admitted it, but Madeleine knew. Something about that woman had touched a responsive feeling in him. If it were purely sexual, it would have been tolerable. Rape wouldn't have worried Madeleine; she wouldn't have objected if her man had satisfied an urge to have the woman and then kill her. But it was more than that. She was a person to him. She had feelings, needs. She went back to her room and wondered how she could risk showing Peters that he was betraying himself and everything they both believed in. Even if she did, she couldn't be sure to get him back. But at least she had to try.