Foreign Affairs

by Jacqueline George

  Trehearne had his arms full. He gave her the roses first and headed straight for her refrigerator. He was unloading two bottles of champagne. And a pot of caviar. And a flat pack of smoked salmon.

  “There we are,” he said, offering his hand to be shaken. “How are you after a couple of very hard days?”

  She steered him through to the sitting room. “I don't know why you think you're here, Trehearne. This is meant to be business, but it looks as if you're trying to get around me for something.”

  “No, no. It's purely business.”

  “Then why the champagne? You're trying to seduce me.”

  “I'll seduce your stomach, if you like. Don't be so prickly. Open the caviar, and let's talk.”

  She thought about resisting for a moment, but she had nothing else to do that night. “Er—how do you serve it?” she asked in embarrassment.

  “Come on, I'll help you.” And he was off to the kitchen again. “Did I see some nice rye bread there?”

  As he worked in the kitchen, she took a closer look at him. He kept himself well. Good figure and nice hands. His shirt and slacks looked simple enough, but they had a definite touch of quality about them. He laid out the salmon with chopped parsley. The caviar he left in its jar, but added an ice-cube.

  “I have some lemon,” she offered.

  “No. Unless you want to, of course. I'd rather let the champagne do that for us. Now, glasses for the champagne and we're ready.”

  They carried the food into the sitting room and sat together on the sofa. Trehearne opened the champagne carefully without spilling any. He held his glass up to Priscilla.

  “What are we drinking to?” she asked, “Pat? Foreign Affairs 1?”

  “I wouldn't ask you to do that. Let's drink to Priscilla. Long may she continue to terrorise poor, innocent men.” Priscilla giggled and raised her glass.

  “Ah! It's nice to see you smile. You should do it more often. Here, have some of this caviar. Champagne and caviar are not just a cliché, you know. They really do taste very well together.”

  He was right. The pure sea taste was breathtaking. She started to talk with her mouth full “Trehearne....”

  “Oh please! We're not in public now. Call me John.”

  “All right, John then. It's very nice of you to buy me flowers and all this. Really, I'm enjoying it. But what I completely fail to understand about you is this. Why on earth do you put your name to a book like Foreign Affairs 1? I mean, it's so awful. All those people having sex and doing private things—why do you want to get involved?”

  He smiled almost shyly. “You mean I really don't look like a dirty book merchant?”

  “No, you don't. I've met a few sleazy people in my job, but never anyone like you. Why do you do it?”

  “You really love your job, don't you? Tell me, are you driven by the philosophy of it, or is it largely the thrill of the chase? Catching these people out and making them do what you want?”

  Priscilla thought about it. “Yes, I do love my job, and I suppose the thrill of the chase is exciting. But I don't think I would be able to enjoy it if I didn't believe it was important. I don't suppose you understand that.”

  Trehearne smiled again. “Yes, I understand. It makes you a very impressive person. You want to protect women, and you do it very well.” He poured more champagne for both of them. “What bothers me is that you are too successful. You're so good at protection that you and the Authority have taken over. Women are being treated just like children. One of the most difficult things a mother does as her children grow up is to allow them to think for themselves and to take their own risks. You have a similar situation except that the public is not growing up. It stays basically the same while you grow older and more powerful. Now you're deciding what people should be allowed to read, just like the old cardinals in the Vatican. And that's where I disagree with you.”

  “But someone has to do it. You can't let just anything be published, and there are some very strange people out there.”

  “Yes. I'll go along with you that far. I hate violence, and I'm one hundred percent against racism. But I love sex. With women, in my case. I like to do it, to talk about it, to read about it. I believe that books and magazines should be published that men and women can read in bed together. We're a pretty boring nation when it comes to lovemaking. If my book makes some people's love life more interesting, if it opens their minds to new ideas, then I think that's a worthwhile thing to do.”

  Priscilla looked at him over her champagne glass. She had not expected to find this side of Trehearne. Before the Board, she had thought she was dealing with a cynical attempt to make money from men's basic urges. It seemed that things were more complicated than that. “I suppose my real problem is that I don't sympathise with what you wrote.”

  “But have you tried really reading it? Have you snuggled up in bed and read it when you are free to forget about work and let your mind wander?”

  “I think you're trying to lead me astray, John Trehearne. Believe me, it won't work. But thanks for the advice, anyway.” She raised her glass to him.

  “That's not what I came to talk about. Look, I've been watching you over the last couple of days, and I'm impressed. You've got that feeling of power and competence about you. It's very attractive to a man, to me, anyway. So now I'm worried about what's going to happen to you.”

  Priscilla had begun to feel the effects of the champagne, and the fuzziness added to the confusion caused by his words. He smiled at her and went on. “You understand that I was happy when I heard you had been assigned to this case. If the best investigator in the RCCS tries to destroy Foreign Affairs 1 and fails, well then I've really made a point, haven't I? So it was quite easy to wind you up a bit in front of the Board when we started. But now I've seen a little more of you, I'm beginning to worry about you. You're going to lose this case, you know. Public opinion is not going to let you get away with it this time, and you're going to be disappointed in front of all those cameras. Are you ready for that?”

  The champagne seemed to have slowed Priscilla's brain down. “Is that true? You came here because you're worried about me?”

  Trehearne laughed at himself. “Why not? There's no one else to worry about you, is there?”

  That was true, but she would not admit it to him. “I'll tell you what, John. When I've won this case, I'll invite you to dinner to celebrate.”

  “OK, OK. It'll be the nicest thing about losing. I agree, but only if you reciprocate. But seriously, think about what I've said because I don't want to see you hurt. Enough of that. Have you been watching the television coverage?”

  “God, it's awful. Everyone seems to think I'm a bitch. That wouldn't be so bad, but they all think you're so wonderful.”

  “Don't worry about it. None of it's true. Either way. You should see the fan mail I'm getting. Love letters, marriage proposals, indecent proposals. After that first story, every woman in the country seems to have sent me a pair of her knickers.”

  “Not every woman, John,” she said dryly.

  “I've given all the others away, so do sign anything you send so I can keep them under my pillow.”

  “You'll have a long wait. At least I'm spared the fan mail. Although it would probably be hate mail in my case. Did you see that witch? The one who went off with the TV reporter to make a good luck spell for you?”

  “Bless her. I've got a soft spot for witches.”

  “Hmm. So I've heard. I've got to ask you, was that you she was making magic with in the story?”

  He raised his glass to her and smiled. “I'll make you a deal. When this is all over and we've had dinner together, I'll take you somewhere very secure and answer all your questions. Provided you promise not to breathe a word, of course.”

  “Going anywhere very secure with you might be a short road to appearing in a book.”

  “No. You've got to give me credit there. I look after my characters. No one's identity is going to be made public, and t
here are a lot of people involved.”

  He left the second bottle of champagne in the refrigerator, promising to come back and help her drink it. There had been a time during the evening, a certain moment, when she had stretched out where she sat on the sofa and he had looked at her with what could only be recognised as lust. It gave her a nervous feeling right down inside her tummy, and funnily enough, she felt pleased rather than horrified. But he did not reach for her, although she was sure he knew what was going on. He just got to his feet and let her show him to the door. He kissed her hand as he left. John Trehearne was not only a gentleman, he was a romantic gentleman.

  Tatty's telephone call weighed on her mind all weekend. What could have brought Susan Chippings to seek a private interview with him? Priscilla did not like the idea of anyone else having little tête-à-têtes with him. She decided to leave home early on Monday to try and catch Susan before the show started.

  The street outside the cinema looked like a circus even so early on a Monday morning. Tee-shirts, base-ball caps, mugs with photographs of herself and Trehearne, or posters of the Foreign Affairs 1 covered with political statements. Everyone seemed to know her and call out, wishing her good morning and good luck.

  She entered the cinema by the stage door and asked the janitor to give her a dressing room while she waited for Susan. She turned on the lights around the mirror and freshened her make-up and hair. Susan arrived with ten minutes to spare and was shown straight in to her. It surprised Priscilla to see a different woman enter. She wore a cheeky summer frock with a halter neck. Her blonde hair was down and half hid large gold earrings, but the biggest change was in her aura. She bounced into the room with a smile on her face and a swing to her hips that made her look ten years younger.

  “Susan! What happened? You do look nice!”

  She blushed. “Oh, nothing really. It's just that it's Monday, and I decided that I wouldn't let this hearing make me feel miserable anymore. Why did you want to see me?”

  “Susan, I don't know how to put this. I've been told you had a private meeting with Trehearne on Friday.”

  Susan was shocked and immediately defensive. “How did you know?”

  “That doesn't matter. It's just that Board members are not supposed to have private meetings with applicants. People could get the wrong idea. Now I need to know what passed between you.”

  “But it was private! I can't talk about it. It wasn't anything to do with the hearing, anyway.”

  “Susan, you've got to help me. We both work for the Authority and you're meant to support me. I can't go out there this morning knowing that one of the Board members has been talking with Trehearne behind my back. Please tell me about it. Don't worry. I won't repeat it. It's much better that you tell me now rather than out on the stage.”

  “You wouldn't! I mean, it would be so awful—in front of everyone.”

  “I would, Susan. It's my job to win this case, and that's what I'm going to do. Come on, tell me and I promise it won't go any further.”

  Suddenly Susan's face crumpled and she slumped into the chair beside Priscilla and began to cry. Priscilla was guilt-stricken, but she would not give in now. She put an arm around Susan's shoulders and whispered, “Come on, you can tell me.”

  “It's just those stories. They were so exciting. I was going home and taking off my panties as soon as I got in because I'd been wet all day. I was forcing my husband to make love to me then and again later in bed. It was so embarrassing. The… the story about him sticking it up that black girl's bottom. My husband's touched me there a couple of times and it was so exciting. I felt awful. I thought I must be sick, thinking about sex like that. I wanted to rush home that morning and do it right there and then. Except I couldn't, and my husband was working anyway. So after it had all finished, I asked John to speak with me privately.”

  Priscilla felt sick. “He didn't do that to you....”

  “Don't be silly! I just wanted to ask him why I felt like that. He was ever so sweet. I was crying, and he gave me his handkerchief. He said the best medicine was to run home and get my husband to do anything I wanted. He just laughed at me and sent me home, and he was right. I feel much better now.”

  “You mean your husband...?”

  Susan looked defiantly at her through her tears. “Yes. That's right. He made love to me in my bottom and I liked it. And I like John. I think he's very kind. There, now I suppose you think I'm a pervert as well.”

  “No—no. I don't. I mean, I suppose that's your business.” She felt suddenly light-hearted that it had not been Trehearne who had satisfied her need. “I think I like John as well. He's not as bad as his book makes him out to be. Quick, come and sit here and do your make-up. You were looking so pretty earlier, and I made you cry. I'm so sorry.” Priscilla left her with a cuddle and a kiss on the cheek and went up on stage.

  Trehearne was already there and greeted her with an official bow and a smile. Valerie eventually came in but did not take her seat straight away. Instead she crossed the stage to Priscilla's desk.

  “Morning, Priscilla. I've got a bit of a surprise for you today. Sorry there wasn't time to warn you about it. I don't know what it will do to your argument about the last story though.” She walked back to her place without saying any more. The Major looked keen to get on with things. Priscilla wondered whether the Major's husband had finally released their copy of the book. Susan had recovered herself and was looking very pretty again. She gave Priscilla a conspiratorial smile and wiggled her bottom in her seat. On the point of ten o'clock, and in spite of the people in the audience who were still trying to buy a last ice-cream or packet of nuts, Valerie began.

  “Good morning, everybody. Before we resume discussion about the last story, I have an announcement to make. On Friday evening I had a telephone call from a woman in South Africa who claimed to be the original for the character Pat.”

  There was an immediate uproar in the audience. Priscilla was stunned. She shot a glance at Trehearne and saw that he, too, looked surprised, and then he grinned knowingly and nodded at her.

  “Quiet, please. Quiet!” called Valerie. “This woman said that she had not read the book, but gave some details that certainly seemed to me to be authentic. Since then, she has made a sworn statement before a Public Notary and had it sent by air-courier to the Authority. I have it here, but will not make it a matter of public record as it contains the woman's real name. I can read out the body of the accompanying letter, however. It says, after the address and so on, ‘I would like to confirm that the incident described in the book Foreign Affairs 1, when a woman was raped by three tribesmen in Papua New Guinea, actually happened to me. The description is quite accurate as to what happened, and my feelings at the time.

  ‘In view of the public discussion of the issue, I think it is important to understand what happened. Of course rape is wrong, and I did not set out to give the men any encouragement. But I can quite understand how, with their cultural background, seeing me nude and bent over the front of the jeep was as good as a written invitation.

  ‘I was initially terrified, but it soon became clear that they were not going to hurt me. I cannot say that I absolutely hated it, but I definitely did resent being forced to participate and even enjoy it. When it was over, one of them took my best pair of panties as a souvenir, and they were waving and smiling as they left. They looked happy, and I could not and cannot bring myself to completely condemn them.

  ‘We did not report the incident as we felt we had done something a bit foolish, and anyway, we did not think the men could be caught. Also, it would have been extremely embarrassing to admit in public to what had happened. It is correct that the men behaved quite gently and politely, but the threat of force was always there.

  ‘Although I did not like it at the time, I had mixed feelings about it afterwards. However, one thing took me by surprise; I found that it was incredibly exciting to look back on the experience. I can quite understand John Trehearne writing about
it, and I look forward to buying his book. Please give him my love and wish him good luck.'

  “So there we have it. Incredible, but our discussions now have to include the likelihood that this incident actually happened. Priscilla?”

  Priscilla was horrified. She looked across at Trehearne, but he seemed to be lost in memories. She forced herself to stand.

  “Right. Well, I'm surprised, of course. But anyway. Let me take this very carefully. I think my most important objection is that Trehearne is using this woman's suffering to excite his audience who will be almost exclusively men. That's the main point, and the one I would like to stay in the Board's mind.”

  Valerie nodded to Trehearne who also seemed reluctant to stand. “It's a difficult area, of course. No one here wants to see anyone suffer, and people who get a sexual thrill out of watching any unwilling human being suffer should control themselves, or society will do it for them. But this is different. First, the fact that it happened is interesting, and as no one was really hurt, I didn't object to including the story in my book. As we have heard, the woman who was actually involved, the person who perhaps has the most right to issue an opinion on the incident, feels much the same way. But I don't deny that the main motive for writing about it was that, in Pat's own words, it was incredibly exciting to look back on. And that's what I'll leave with the Board.”

  Valerie made a note and waved on the next recording.

  Removing Veils

  He had seen her before, he was sure of that. And it must have been somewhere on one of the islands. Or maybe here on Mykonos, at night in one of the many restaurants or tavernas. That might be it, although it troubled him to think that he could be uncertain about such a fine woman.

  Peter had wandered the Greek islands for nearly a month now, getting browner and lazier by the day. He had started by flying to Crete from his office in Tripoli, determined to take his leave somewhere civilised. If that ruled out Libya, it also ruled out England where he could not expect to lie around in such prolonged luxury surrounded by sun, sand and beautiful girls, like the one he was watching now as she set her bag down on a neighbouring sun-bed. Beyond her, the sun flashed brilliantly from the still Aegean, making him shade his eyes as he pretended to scan the beach. Around him clustered straw umbrellas provided by the beach cafes, each with its crop of sun-starved North Europeans. Germans for the most part, he guessed, judging only by their fleshiness and heavy exuberance. A few Scandinavians also, torturing their skins in accelerated browning programs. Mostly naked. But even with a sea of nude female bodies to spy on, his eye still came back to the girl in front of him.