Ken Follett - Code to Zero (2000)

'I'm going back to France.'

She was dismayed. 'When?'

'I leave Washington early on Monday morning. Bern, too.'

'For God's sake, haven't you done your share?'

'I don't mind the danger,' he said. 'I just don't want to leave you.'

Tears came to her eyes. She swallowed hard. 'Two days.'

'I've got to pack.'

I'll help you.'

They went to his hotel.

As soon as they were inside the door she grabbed him by his sweater, pulled him to her, and tilted her face to be kissed. This time there was nothing chaste about it. She ran the tip of her tongue along his lips, top and bottom, then opened her mouth to his tongue.

She slipped off her coat. She was wearing a dress with blue-and-white vertical stripes and a white collar. She said: 'Touch my breasts.'

He looked startled.

'Please,' she begged.

His hands closed over her small breasts. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the sensation.

They broke apart, and she stared at him hungrily, memorizing his face. She wanted never to forget the particular blue-of his eyes, the lock of dark hair that fell over his forehead, the curve of his jaw, the soft cushion of his mouth. 'I want a photo of you,' she said. 'Do you have one?'

'I don't carry photographs of myself around,' he said with a grin. In a New York accent he added: 'What am I, Frank Sinatra?'

'You must have a picture of yourself somewhere.'

'I might have a family photo. Let me look.' He went into the bedroom.

She followed him.

His battered brown leather bag lay on a suitcase stand where, Billie guessed, it had been for four weeks. He took out a silver picture frame that opened up like a small book. Inside were two photographs, one on each side. He slipped a picture out and handed it to her.

It had been taken three or four years ago, and showed a younger, heavier Luke in a polo shirt With him were an older couple, presumably his parents, plus twin boys of around fifteen, and a little girl. They were all dressed in beach clothes.

'I can't take this, it's your picture of your family,' she said, although she longed for it with all her heart 'I want you to have it. That's me, I'm part of my family.'

That was what she loved about it. 'Did you take it to France with you?'

'Yes.'

It was so important to him, she could hardly bear to deprive him of it - yet that made it even more precious to her. 'Show me the other one,' she said, 'What?'

'There are two photos in that frame.'

He seemed reluctant, but opened it. The second picture had been cut out of the Radcliffe year book. It was a photo of Billie.

'You had that in France, too?' she said. She could not breathe properly, her throat felt constricted.

Yes.'

She burst into tears. It was unbearable. He had cut her picture out of the year book and carried it, alongside the photo of his family, all that time his life was in such danger. She had had no idea that she meant so much to him.

'Why are you crying?' he said.

'Because you love me,' she replied.

'It's true,' he said. 'I was frightened to tell you. I've loved you ever since Pearl Harbor weekend.'

Her passion turned to rage. 'How can you say that, you bastard? You left me!'

'If you and I had become lovers then, it would have destroyed Anthony.'

To hell with Anthony!' She hammered his chest with her fist, but he did not seem to feel it 'How could you put Anthony's happiness before mine, you son of a bitch?'

'It would have been dishonourable.'

'But don't you see, we could have had each other for two years!' The tears streamed down her cheeks. 'Now we've only got two days - two lousy goddamn days!'

'Then stop crying and kiss me again,' he said.

She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down. Her tears ran between their lips and into their mouths. He began to unfasten her dress. Impatient, she said: 'Please, just rip it.' He pulled hard, and the buttons flew off down to her waist Another tug opened it completely. She slipped it back off her shoulders and stood in her slip and stockings.

He looked solemn. 'Are you sure you want to?'

She was afraid he would become paralyzed by moral misgivings. 'I have to, I have to, please don't stop!' she cried.

He pushed her gently back to the bed. She lay on her back and he lay on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows. He looked into her eyes. 'I've never done this before.'

'That's all right,' she said. 'I haven't either.'

The first time was over quite quickly, but an hour later they wanted it again, and this time it took longer. She told him she wanted to do everything, give him every pleasure he had ever dreamed of, perform every possible act of sexual intimacy. They made love all weekend, frantic with desire and sorrow, knowing they might never meet again.

After Luke left on Monday morning, Billie cried for two days.

Eight weeks later she discovered she was pregnant 6.30 P. M.

Scientists can only guess at the extremes of heat and cold the satellite will suffer in space as it moves from the deep darkness of the earth's shadow into the glare of naked sunlight. To mitigate the effects of this, the cylinder is partially coated with shiny aluminum oxide in stripes one-eighth of an inch wide, to reflect the sun's scorching rays, and insulated with glass fibre, to keep out the ultimate cold of space.

Yes, we dated,' Billie said as they went down the stairs.

Luke's mouth was dry. He imagined holding her hand, looking at her face over a candlelit table, kissing her, watching her slip out of her clothes. He felt guilty, knowing he had a wife, but he could not remember his wife, and Billie was right here beside him, talking animatedly and smiling and smelling faintly of scented soap.

They came to the door of the building and stopped. 'Were we in love?' Luke asked. He looked hard at her, studying her expression. Until now, her face had been easy to read, but suddenly the book had been closed, and all he could see was a blank cover.

'Oh, sure,' she said, and although her tone was light, there was a catch in her voice. 'I thought you were the only man in the world.'

How could he have let a woman like this slip away from him? It seemed a tragedy worse than losing all his memories. 'But you learned better.'

'I'm old enough now to know there's no Prince Charming, just a bunch of more or less flawed men. Sometimes they wear shining armour, but it's always rusty in spots.'

He wanted to know everything, every detail, but there were too many questions. 'So you married Bern;'

Yes.'

'What's he like?'

'Clever. All my men have to be smart Otherwise I get bored. Strong, too - strong enough to challenge me.' She smiled the smile of someone with a big heart.

He said: 'What went wrong?'

'Conflicting values. It sounds abstract, but Bern risked his life for the cause of freedom in two wars, the Spanish Civil War and then the Second World War -and for him, politics came above all else.'

There was one question Luke wanted to ask more than any. He could not think of a delicate, roundabout way of putting it, so he blurted it out 'Do you have anyone now?'

'Sure. His name's Harold Brodsky.'

Luke felt foolish. Of course she had someone. She was a beautiful divorcee in her thirties, men would be queuing up to take her out He smiled ruefully. 'Is he Prince Charming?'

'No, but he's smart, he makes me laugh, and he - adores me.'

Envy stabbed Luke's heart. Lucky Harold, he thought. 'And I guess he shares your values.'

'Yes. The most important thing in his life is his child - he's a widower - and after that comes his academic work.'

'Which is?'

'Iodine chemistry. I feel the same about my work.' Billie smiled. 'I may not be starry-eyed about men, but I guess I'm still idealistic about unravelling the mysteries of the human mind.'