Brian Freemantle - Betrayals

Baxeter lowered himself off his arm and lay like Janet, on his back looking up at the ceiling. He said: “If you don’t want to go, it won’t be necessary for you to make the separation. Not for a week or so at least.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, turning to him at last.

“I’ve got to go away,” said Baxeter. “I was going to tell you earlier.”

Despite the guilt and the resolutions Janet felt her stomach dip, at the thought of his not being near. She said: “Just for a week or so?”

“It shouldn’t be any longer. It’s just a quick in-and-out assignment.”

“Where?”

He was silent for several moments. Then he said: “Beirut.”

“What!”

“A situation piece,” said Baxeter. “It’ll probably accompany the article I’ve written about you.”

“Don’t go!” she blurted.

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”

“Be careful, darling. Please be…” said Janet and then stopped, realizing the word she’d used.

Baxeter smiled back but didn’t pick up upon it, further to embarrass her. “I’m the sort of guy who does his reporting from the bar of the best hotel.”

“I’m serious,” Janet insisted. Unashamedly she said: “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

Serious himself, Baxeter said: “Do you want me to find out what I can about John?”

Janet held his eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Please find out what you can about John.”

J anet slept at Baxeter’s flat that night and in the morning they made love again and it was as good as the first time. She insisted upon returning alone to the hotel, which was still besieged by reporters. On Baxeter’s advice Janet did not try to avoid them, which he argued would merely prolong the pressure, but agreed to meet them all at once in a small conference room the hotel made available to them.

When everyone was seated and the lights were on, a cacophony of questions erupted. Janet held her hands up to stop the babble, not bothering to speak until the sound lessened. Then she said, simply, that she was unable to answer any questions because she had been legally advised that having come before a court everything was now sub judice until a verdict.

She was ignored.

“What’s your reaction to the defense assertion which would appear to make your story complete fabrication?” called an American voice, from the rear.

“The truth will come out during the court hearing,” refused Janet, doggedly. I hope, she thought.

“Mrs. Stone, has this whole episode been an exercise to achieve personal publicity?” An English voice this time, a man in the front, balding and bespectacled.

The demand unsettled and to an extent bewildered Janet. Until now-particularly in Beirut-she had been treated sympathetically by the media, but she recognized that the attitude had shifted. Now it was suspicion, actual hostile suspicion. “From the time of my fiance’s abduction I have cooperated with the press for only one reason, to maintain public interest in his plight,” she retorted angrily. That anger was primarily at the assembled journalists but there was a subsidiary reason for her flushed face. When she got to the word fiance her mind had filled with what had happened during the previous twenty-four hours between herself and Baxeter and she’d almost stumbled to an awkward halt.

“Do you intend staying in Cyprus throughout all the hearings, right up to a higher court if the case is committed there?” asked a woman.

Dear God, I wish I knew what I was going to do about anything, Janet thought. She said: “I have not yet decided upon that: it depends how long it takes.”

“You didn’t come back to the hotel last night, Mrs. Stone?” It was the balding Englishman in front again.

“No,” said Janet and stopped. She could physically feel the flush firing through her cheeks.

“Where were you, Mrs. Stone?” A woman, somewhere in the middle of the pack.

“I…” groped Janet but another voice talked over her and she saw Partington walking down the side of the group to where she was sitting. “Partington, British embassy,” said the diplomat. “As Mrs. Stone has already made clear, there was the need for extensive legal discussion after the initial hearing. Those discussions lasted late into the evening and it was decided by the embassy that she needed some uninterrupted time to rest…” He bent, cupping Janet’s arm, but went on talking: “It’s also been made clear that there is no further comment Mrs. Stone can make until the conclusion of the legal processes here on the island so you will have to excuse her…”

There was a surge of protest. Partington ignored it. Janet, relieved, let herself be guided from her chair and out of the room: Baxeter was standing right at the back, near the door. He gave no facial reaction and neither did she.

“I’d better escort you to your room,” suggested the diplomat.

“Please,” accepted Janet.

They remained unspeaking in the elevator. In her room Janet said: “Why did you do that down there? Say what you did?”

“From where I was sitting you looked like someone who needed rescuing.”

“What about from where everyone else was sitting?”

“Maybe,” said Partington, unhelpfully.

“Why were you there at all?”

“Same reason why I was in court yesterday,” said Partington. “London still considers you a British national, irrespective of your American marriage. And particularly because of the high profile you’ve achieved. I was holding a watching brief, if you like. And to decide for myself whether you need help, despite what you told me.”

Janet experienced a jolt of embarrassment at the reminder, after what the man had just done. She said: “Thank you,” and decided it was inadequate.

“So do you?” pressed the man.

Yes, but not the sort you could give, Janet thought. She said: “I’m all right.”

Partington remained looking at her, waiting, and Janet guessed he was expecting her to tell him where she’d been the previous evening. She stared back, saying nothing. The man said: “Please, no more escapades.”

Janet realized that the man believed she had been attempting something else involving John Sheridan. She said: “Don’t worry: I won’t do anything silly,” and thought at once it was a ridiculous statement.

“I spoke to Zarpas,” Partington said.

“What about?”

“Your going back to England, during the hearings. He said that after you’d given your evidence you wouldn’t be required until any higher court hearing: the gap could be several months.”

“That was thoughful of you,” said Janet.

“Think about it,” urged the embassy official.

She had to, Janet acknowledged, after Partington had gone. But not yet. Not until… She didn’t know until. Or when. Or how. But she certainly didn’t want to make any decisions yet. She looked at her watch and then the telephone, impatient for Baxeter to make contact. They hadn’t talked about when they would see each other again. Janet was shocked at her sudden doubt, trying to rationalize it. He didn’t need anything more, for whatever he was writing. No further reason then, professionally. And he hadn’t acknowledged her downstairs, when she’d left the press conference. She’d thought at the time that he was being discreet, disguising any association between them, but recognized there could be other reasons. What if he hadn’t meant what he said? That it had all been a come-on, to achieve a one night stand. Wasn’t that what Harriet and her Washington group did all the time, mouth the expected words and pleasantries to get each other into bed and have to strain the following morning to remember each other’s names? It would actually be better that way: easier to lock it away in her mind-lock it away and never ever turn the opening key-if they didn’t see each other again. It wasn’t so difficult alone in her hotel room (and fully dressed and out of bed) to make the resolve. That was definitely what she had to do. She had… The telephone shrilled and Janet snatched it up on the second ring.