London
The Isola Bella was buzzing with lunchtime conversation, and Daventry was glad, because they could talk without being overheard.
Serena looked fresher, less strained than the day before. She wore a bright patterned dress, the top three buttons undone. A tiny gold chain circled her slim neck.
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“Any news?” he asked over the melon con prosciutto. “No. I haven’t heard a thing from John.”
“Can’t you call him?”
She shook her head. “He once said never to phone him at the base. I haven’t even got the number.”
“Well,” said Daventry weakly, “no news is good news. At least, so they tell me.”
Why am I doing this? he asked himself. Why am I getting involved in her problems?
Could it be that for once he wanted to help someone not because they paid him, not because it was his job, not even because he knew them, but to make amends to the likes of Mary Donovan?
But why put my professional ethics on the line to do it? he asked himself.
“How about you?” Her question interrupted his thoughts.
“Well,” he said reluctantly, “I’ve looked up a few things. Not that that means anything.”
“No. Tell me.”
“As far as I can see ” He stopped.
The waiter brought the polio alla Sophia Loren. They were both having the same thing. She ignored the food.
“Please. I want to know.”
“It seems they can call you to give evidence at the courtmartial. It appears that the general and specific privileges applicable to the Crown have been extended to visiting forces in the United Kingdom.”
He was talking like a lawyer. It annoyed him. She must think him very pompous.
“In simple terms, Serena, it means they can subpoena you.”
Her face drained.
“Your food’s getting cold,” he pointed out. She picked up her knife and fork like a robot.
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
“And what does that mean?” she asked at last.
“Well, a subpoena is an order to a person to attend court and give evidence.”
“And if I don’t?”
He took a deep breath. “You’re in trouble. Disobeying an order of the court is contempt. They could even say you’re deliberately obstructing the course of justice by refusing to testify. That’s contempt too. You go to jail for
.
S8
She looked incredulous. “You mean the Americans can send me to prison? Here, in England?”
“Not the Americans. We can. Under the act, the subpoena would be issued by an English judge at the request of the Americans. And he would deal with you if you disobeyed him.”
“My God.”
She pushed her plate away. “I’m sorry,” she apologised. “I’m not very hungry.”
She fiddled with the wine glass. “How long is the prison sentence]”
He raised his eyebrows. She sounded very determined.
“People stay locked up until they’ve purged their contempt or done what they were ordered to do. Actually, there’s no time limit.”
“It’s medieval,” she said.
‘Y agree. So is putting a man on trail for ” He was going to say adultery, but he changed it. ” for having a relationship.”
She raised her head, almost defiantly. “So,” she said with a thin smile, “I’ve had it.”
“No, of course not,” protested Daventry. “I’ve just told you what the law is. They may never ask for you to be subpoenaed.”
“They will,” she said quietly.
“Well, they haven’t so far.” Her fatalistic acceptance of the situation aggravated him. “And even if they serve you with a witness summons, they have to give you at least fourteen days before you appear in court. A lot of things can happen in fourteen days.”
“Finished?” asked the waiter, looking reproachfully at the half-fuU plates.
“Yes,” said Daventry. “Very nice, thank you.”
When the waiter had left, Daventry sipped some wine.
“May I ask something … rather personal, Serena?” he said.
She nodded.
“This American friend of yours~aptain Tower. You’ve known him some time?” He felt awkward. “I mean this relationship?”
She was not embarrassed. “You want to know whether we’re serious or if it’s just a passing thing? A casual affair? Is that it?”
He shifted in his chair. “Well …”
“I got fond of John, and I ten you one thing. Never
S9 will I give evidence that can send him to jail. Never. No matter what they want to do with me.”
If he had been in a courtroom, his next question would have been: “You say you are fond of him, Miss Howard. But do you love him?”
Here, In the restaurant, it remained unasked.
Instead she took the wind out of his sails.
“I might as well tell you. I am engaged.”
“To him?”
“Oh, no. My fiance is in the diplomatic service. He is a junior attache at the British Embassy in Tokyo. Tokyo is a long way away.”
Daventry put down the wine glass. She’s nice-looking, he thought, but she doesn’t seem the sort to be engaged to one chap and behind his back have an affair with another one. She looks so correct, so prim, so proper.
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not a very nice girl “
“Not at all,” interrupted Daventry. “If I have learned one thing, it’s not to make moral judgments.”
He meant it well, but it came out sounding patronising priggish. Momentarily he felt terribly old-fashioned. It must be the influence ol: his father, the judge.
“I don’t blame you,” said Serena. “Things sometimes get fouled up, as John would say. I met him last autumn and … it just happened. Philip’s been abroad for almost a year so he doesen’t know a thing about it. He’s not due back until November, and then … well, anyway. That’s the position.”
“And that’s why your parents musn’t know either?”
She hesitated. “It’s one of the reasons. They adore Philip. Oh, it’s very complicated.”
“Are you planning to marry Captain Tower eventually?” asked Daventry.
“Mr. Daventry, he’s married, remember.” She shrugged. “Isn’t that what this bloody business is all about?”
She stared at the tablecloth. “I suppose I should have been more honest. Written to Philip about it. Told my parents. It’s so easy to say that, believe me, but to do it….”
“I know,” sympathised Daventry. “Try to forget about it for now. Keep in touch. Nothing may happen. But if you do hear something, let me know. And Serena …”
She looked at him slightly watery-eyed.
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“Chin up.” Daventry could be very Eton and Harrow at t mes.
‘Thank you for being so understanding,” she whispered.
He paid the bill and then left the restaurant with her.
Unterberg made no attempt to follow them. He had enjoyed his meal, and although he had not been able to hear any of their conversation, he had watched them with interest.
Now he also paid. And as he walked out, he stopped the headwaiter.
“The couple who sat at that table,” he said. “I think I know the man, but for the life of me I can’t remember his name.7’
“Table nine, Signor?” The maitre d’ looked at the reservations book. “That was Mr. Daventry.”
“Oh,7’ said Unterberg7 “of course. How stupid of me.”
He slipped the man a pound note.
~conbur’
The hospital stood on the other side of the base, sandwiched between the gym and the large, supermarketstyle commissary.
It had an antiseptic smell, and the first thing Verago saw when he entered was a line of women in various stages of pregnancy sitting on a row of chairs. Baby producing was a side industry of Laconbury, and the prenatal clinic was never short of customers.
“I’d like to see Captain Tower,7’ Verago said to the nurse at the main reception desk.
“Visiting hours ‘7 she began, but Verago was ready for that.
“I7m over from Germany specially,” he said. “I’d sure appreciate it….”
She consulted a revolving index and found the slotted card.
“He’s in ” she stopped. “Oh, I7m sorry, Captain he’s not allowed any visitors.”
“Is he that bad?” inquired Verago, sounding very concerned. He had talent.
“I wouldn’t know,” said the nurse. “I7m sorry. You want to talk to somebody?77
“No, thatts all right7” said Verago vaguely. He gave the impression of a man collecting his thoughts. But he knew already what he was going to do.
He ambled over to the elevator. The nurse was already
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busy with someone else. He pressed the button for the second floor.
He hadn’t been able to read everything on the card when he’d peered over the nurse’s shoulder, but he had seen a large number “12.”
There wouldn’t be twelve wards in the hospital, he figured. It wasn’t that big, after all. But room twelve. That was a possibility.
He got out of the elevator and walked purposefully along the corridor. There were wards on either side of it, slid no one took any notice of him. He came to some doors. “X-ray room” said one sign. “Therapy” read another. There were also some numbered doors, but none above eight.
Verago took the elevator to the next floor. It was quieter there. A nurse with first lieutenant’s silver bars passed him, but he walked on unhesitatingly, as if he knew his way, and she ignored him.
The fifth door he came to had the number twelve. Also a little sign hanging from the handle: “No Visitors.”
Verago slowly opened the door. He didn’t know quite what to expect.
It was a pleasant, airy room. The bed was made, but it was empty. A captain’s uniform jacket lay on it. In a chair, by the window, sat a man in shirt sleeves.
The man was reading, and he looked up.
“Captain Tower?” inquired Verago.
The man put down the book. He had a scar under his left eye. He was in his thirties, and the touch of grey in his hair suited him well.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Verago shut the door. “I’m Verago,” he said. “You sent for me.”
The man frowned. “Can I see your ID, Captain?” he asked.
Verago pulled out the AGO card with his photograph and handed it to the man. Tower studied it, then glanced up at Verago as if to compare the face with the photo.
Then he gave the card back.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” he apologised, “I just don’t know who’s who anymore. I want to be sure who I talk to.”
The way he said it did not sound irrational.
“You’re satisfied?” asked Verago.
“Sure,” said the man. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t
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think you’d make it. What I mean is, I didn’t think they’d let you make it.”
Verago sat down on the bed. “Why are you in here, Captain?” he asked.
Tower smiled derisively. “Haven’t they told you? I’m supposed to be having a nervous breakdown. I’m supposed to be in bad shape.”
“Why no visitors?”
“You don’t know anything, do you, Captain?” said Tower. “What this is all about?”
“I’m trying to find out,” said Verago. “Why don’t you fill me in?”
“First you tell me. Do you think I’ve cracked up? Look at me. Do I look like a guy having a breakdown?”
“I don’t think so,” said Verago slowly. “I’d say no.”
“Thank Christ for that.” A look of relief crossed his face. “How come they let you see me?”
“They didn’t,” said Verago. “I sneaked in here.”
“Well, we’d better talk quick. When they find you here, they’ll throw you out. You’ll get your ass kicked, believe me, Captain, and I’ll probably get a guard on the door.”
“Listen, I’m your counsel. I’ve got every right to talk to you. Nobody can come between lawyer and client.”
“Oh, no?” Tower looked hard at Verago. Then he reached over to his jacket and pulled out a packet of King Edwards. He unwrapped one and lit it with a silver lighter. Verago hadn’t seen a model like that.
“That’s unusual,” he said.
“It’s Russian,” said Tower. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want one?” He offered the pack of cigars.
Verago shook his head.
“I want to get some things straight,” he said. ‘They’ve had the Article Thirtytwo, I understand.”
“Of course.”
“And Lieutenant Jensen had been handling your defense?”
“Jensen!” It was a snort of contempt. “Have you met him?”
“Not yet,” said Verago. “I’m going to read the record, of course, but what kind of evidence have they got?”
“Plenty.” Tower curled his lips. “As much as they need.”
“Why did they put you in here?” ~
“It’s a nice way of keeping me out of circulation until the trial. It might also help.”
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“Help what?” asked Verago.
“To discredit me. No smoke without fire, that kind of thing.”
“Just because you’ve been having an affair?”
It was hard to take, and yet Verago believed the man. But he had to ask.
They could hear voices outside, and Tower tensed.
Suddenly the door burst open. A man in a white coat stood staring at them. On his uniform collar were the oak leaves of a major.
“Who are you, sir?” he demanded.
Verago stood up. “Captain Verago, Judge Advocate’s department. I am this offlcer’s counsel.”
“Didn’t you read the notice?” asked the major. ‘~This man is not allowed visitors.”
Behind the doctor, a flustered nurse appeared. “I’m sorry, Doctor, I had no idea,” she gasped.
“He seems all right to me,” said Verago. “As a matter of fact, I want to talk to you, Doctor. I want to know why you’re keeping him like this.”
The doctor avoided Verago’s eyes. “This is not the place to discuss it, Captain,” he said.
Verago turned to his client. “I’ll be back, John. We’ll get all this sorted out. I’ll see you soon.”
He tried to sound reassuring.
Outside, in the corridor, Verago turned on the doctor. ‘] don’t know what the hell is going on here, Doctor, but that officer is perfectly normal. Who authorised that he can’t see anyone?”
The doctor bit his lip. “It’s in his own interest,” he said awkwardly.
“Bullshit,” snapped Verago. “I’m looking after his interests, and I want him out of here. I want to know who gave the orders.”
“Well,” said the doctor uneasily. “We’re only trying to be helpful. We were asked to keep him, well, away from people. As I said, in his own interest.”
“And who asked you?” demanded Verago dangerously. “Who wanted him locked away?”