The old men all laughed, eyeing Gowrie half-admiringly, half-enviously.
‘Sure have got a touch with women. D’you give lessons, Don?’ they flattered, and Eddie Ramsey gave him a sideways look through the scented wreaths of smoke drifting between them.
‘How’s my daughter, Don?’ he asked, swirling brandy in a balloon glass, and dropping his voice so that the mostly deaf old men shouldn’t hear him.
Don was instantly wary. What had the old man heard? Keeping his own tone down, he murmured, ‘No change since you last saw her, but I look after her, don’t worry, Eddie.’ Sweat trickled down his back, making his shirt cling to him. He could not afford to quarrel with his father-in-law; he could not afford to offend the old man’s family instincts. Don’s whole life depended on being married to Eddie Ramsey’s only living child.
Eddie Ramsey took a sip of brandy, closing his eyes in pleasure. ‘Liquid gold. Good stuff, this,’ he said.
‘Have another drop,’ Don said, refilling the glass.
‘Shouldn’t, but I will. One night in the year won’t hurt,’ the old man said, sipped again, then held the glass, swirling the brandy and staring at it. ‘Make sure you do look after Elly, Don. I had no luck with any of my children. All my boys died. Elly was the only one I was left with, and I’ve always had to worry about her. Maybe I shouldn’t have married Matty, maybe my parents were right. They warned me against marrying my cousin, said it wouldn’t do, but I wouldn’t listen, thought I knew better, thought they were just old-fashioned. I loved her and I thought that was all that mattered.’ He finished his brandy slowly, rolling the last drops round his mouth before reluctantly letting them trickle down his throat. ‘I was wrong. D’you know the only thing that really matters, Don?’
Gowrie shook his head, knowing the question was rhetorical.
‘The family, Don. The family. In the last resort we’re only as strong as our family life. Which reminds me, when is that granddaughter of mine going to start a family?’
Gowrie relaxed and smiled. ‘Oh, give them time – they haven’t been married a year yet!’
He got another sharp, narrow glance. ‘She’s happy, though, isn’t she? That fellow’s kind to her? He’s old enough to be her father, that’s what worries me.’
‘He worships the ground she walks on; you don’t need to worry about Paul.’
‘Hmm. I hope you’re right.’ His voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘Is he OK financially? I mean, he’s not in any trouble with his companies? The other day I heard he sailed pretty close to the wind, was over-borrowed and under-assetted. Was that just hooey or is there some truth in it?’
‘Hooey, pure hooey,’ said Gowrie, mentally crossing his fingers. He knew so little about his son-in-law. When Cathy got engaged to Paul he had tried to run a thorough check on him and his finances but he had found out very little. Paul’s secrets – if he had any – were well protected. Maybe it was time to try again? He had heard whispers himself. He would get on to it.
Watching him with those shrewd, disturbingly clever eyes, Ed Ramsey drawled, ‘Glad to hear it. Hope you’re right, boy. And I’m glad you’re taking Elly with you.’
Don Gowrie met his father-in-law’s eyes. For a while his wife had lived with her parents in Maryland while Don was in Washington. When she became ill, his life there had not suited her, he had been so busy. He had to work a twelve-hour day and then he was out almost every evening because it was vital to see and be seen at parties, receptions, charity functions, dinner parties, balls. It was the way Washington life worked; as much business was done over the card table, or in discreet back rooms at social events, as was done in working hours in offices.
Eleanor was better off in the peace and quiet of Easton, with the sea and the gentle landscape around her family home, with her dogs and horses. After her mother’s death, though, Don had taken Elly back home with him because he could see that the strain of having her with him was too much for the old man now he was alone, and, anyway, it looked better. People were too curious about why his wife lived with her parents instead of with him. He had floated the story that she was at Easton to be with her mother during a long illness, but she couldn’t stay on once her mother was dead. His public image demanded his wife should be seen with him, even if she rarely opened her mouth.
‘Cathy asked me to bring her. She hasn’t seen her mother since the funeral.’
Ed Ramsey sighed. Any reminder of his dead wife made him melancholy. He had married his first cousin and lived happily with her throughout their long lives; he missed her badly, thought of her every day, looking out at the cool morning sky at Easton, remembering how she had loved mornings, winter and summer alike, the glory of pink and gold sunrises in summer, the clear, translucent colours of winter.
‘She’s a good girl. Well, I’ll see Elly tomorrow morning before I fly back. Better have a late breakfast; not used to late nights any more. Shall need my sleep. Say ten o’clock?’
‘She’ll be very happy to see you.’
If she knows what’s going on and recognises you, Don thought. If she isn’t out of her tree, poor Elly. It came and went, her fragile sanity; sometimes she was so normal he felt he imagined those other times, those darker moments. He wished to God he did. She had turned dangerous lately; out of control she was capable of doing things he preferred to forget and would never want his father-in-law to know about. It would destroy Eddie Ramsey.
Steve had only just walked into his hotel room when the phone began to ring. Sophie! he thought at once, leaping to answer it, his heart in his mouth.
‘Steve? It’s Lilli. I’ve been burgled. The whole place has been turned over. They did a real job on Sophie’s room, threw her books all over the floor. Half her stuff has been taken, even her family photos have gone.’
Steve hadn’t expected it, yet he wasn’t surprised. He should have guessed that would come next. Of course they would go through her room. He bet they had taken every scrap of paper they found. Letters, there would be letters – however careful they tried to be, lovers always wrote letters, they had to put it on paper, and the very risk they were running made their fever run higher.
A diary? Oh, yes, she had the look of someone who confided her thoughts and feelings, everything that happened to her, to a diary. Photos? She might even have had a photo or two of them together. In the first driven days of a love-affair a sensible man could lose all sense of caution. Love turned the head, addled the brains.
Had she been in love with Gowrie, though? Or had it all been on his side? Had he pursued her, pestered her? How had they met? How long had it gone on? Steve had so many questions and no answers at all yet. He had to persuade her to talk.
‘Have you rung the police?’
‘Not yet. I rang you first, you said to let you know. You guessed this would happen?’
‘I guessed something would.’ He had been sure they had not finished with Sophie; having failed to kill her they were bound to try again. ‘Wait there, don’t ring the police yet. I’m coming over.’
Lilli hadn’t exaggerated; the apartment was in total chaos. Cupboards had been ransacked, their contents tipped out, shelves of books had been toppled on to the floor, a glass vase of chrysanthemums had been flung across the room, the glass had smashed and glittering shards lay in a pool of russet and yellow petals on the wet carpet.
‘What a mess,’ Steve said, staring around. ‘Much missing?’
‘A clock, a radio. I didn’t have anything else worth taking.’
Steve stared thoughtfully at the TV which still stood where it had when he was in the apartment earlier.
‘How come they didn’t take that, I wonder?’
Lilli glanced at it, grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t bother, if I was a burglar. The damn thing works in fits and starts, but then I don’t watch much TV. I’m too busy.’
‘How did they get in?’
‘Through the door, I guess; there’s no sign of damage to the lock. Burglars carry skeleton keys, don’
t they? I don’t know how else they got in.’
‘Can I see Sophie’s room?’
Lilli led the way and they stood in the doorway, staring at the same muddle of clothes heaped on the floor, books and tapes piled on top of them. Steve looked slowly, with distaste, around, and hating the idea of someone going through Sophie’s things. An intrusion like this was always disturbing, even when it was an average burglary, but he sensed that this time the motive had been personal and someone had enjoyed wrecking the place.
‘Sophie’s going to hate seeing this! What has been taken exactly, do you know?’
‘She didn’t have much either. A cheap stereo she got secondhand from a pawnbrokers down the block, a radio alarm, her family photographs, for God’s sake. Guy must have thought they were valuable frames – they were art nouveau style, but they were all reproductions, made in Prague, worth very little. And a box file of papers: articles, letters – from her family, from Vladimir, nothing valuable, as far as I know. Sophie didn’t have anything valuable.’
Steve had seen enough. He turned away. ‘Don’t touch anything. Call the police, and when they’ve been here get some professional help to clear the place up, put everything to rights.’
‘I’m not insured, and I can’t afford to pay someone. I’ll have to do it myself, and that will take time.’ Lilli gave him a sharp, searching stare. ‘Look, what’s going on here? I’m not a fool, you know. First Sophie gets pushed under a train, then our apartment’s burgled – what’s this all about, and where do you fit in?’
‘I’m not sure myself, I can only guess and I could be wrong, so I’d better not tell you what I think is happening. But I blame myself for not guessing this might happen, and not taking precautions, so I’ll foot the bill for a cleaner.’
‘A guilt trip?’ Lilli asked. ‘Can you get it on expenses?’
He grinned at that. ‘Good idea, I’ll see if they’ll wear it.’ He knew they wouldn’t, but if it made her feel easier about taking his help he didn’t mind lying. ‘I’m going to Europe day after next – but you can talk to my secretary in Washington. I’ll leave instructions with her to take care of you. She’ll be authorised to pay any bills for the work.’
‘Well, I’m not going to argue. Fine by me. But tell me – did Sophie get pushed under a train because of something you did or said?’
That hadn’t occurred to him. He thought about it, frowning. Had his intervention, when the two security guys questioned her, done some damage? Was Gowrie afraid she might sell her story to him?
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I certainly didn’t mean to put her in any danger. On the contrary. But you could be right.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about, but you aren’t making me any less worried about Sophie. The hospital said she could be discharged tomorrow – she can’t come back to this mess.’ Before he could answer, she took a ragged breath and harshly broke out, ‘What if whoever did this tries again – comes back to get her?’
‘That’s why she mustn’t come back here when she leaves the hospital,’ Steve said quickly. ‘So long as she is fit to travel, I’ll take her to Europe with me.’
Lilli focused on him, breathing audibly. ‘What?’
He had been thinking about it in the back of his mind ever since he saw Sophie in the hospital; he couldn’t go to Europe knowing she might be killed while he was away. It had taken a while to figure out how to make sure he knew where she was all the time. He could put her on the expense sheet as a researcher. He sometimes took one with him, and Sophie said she had lived in London for a time; she knew the place well, he could easily prove a case for having her with him. He could swing it with Harry.
All he had to do was hint that she knew something about Don Gowrie’s private life. Sophie must have a union card, she was, after all, a professional journalist – that qualified her to be employed as a researcher.
‘But will she be safe? How do you know she’ll want to go? If I was her, I’d be too scared to go anywhere.’
‘Sophie isn’t the type to scare easily.’ He was sure of that. What little he had seen of her so far had convinced him she didn’t lack guts; she would never have outfaced Don Gowrie, with all the power he could muster against her, if she were a coward. Sophie had gone up against Gowrie knowing it would make her an enemy, a dangerous one.
He looked at Lilli and shrugged. ‘But I won’t try to talk her into it if she is scared, don’t worry.’
The attack on her had failed, but it was a warning. She might be wise to heed it.
On his way to the door of the flat he took a last look round the sitting-room and saw the edge of black paper protruding from under the table which had been thrown on to its top and lay like a stranded turtle on a wrecked beach, legs in the air. Steve bent to lift the table with one hand while with the other he drew the sheet of paper out.
Lilli came up beside him. ‘Sophie’s wheel!’ She took it from him and held it at arm’s length to stare at it. ‘I didn’t even dare look for it. I was so sure they’d destroyed it, like everything else.’ Her face lit up. ‘This is like an omen . . . they didn’t manage to kill Sophie, and her wheel is OK too. D’you think it’s an omen?’
‘Maybe,’ Steve said, and patted her shoulder comfortingly. ‘It will comfort her for the loss of her family photos, anyway.’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘Lilli, could I borrow this? I’ll take good care of it, you’ll have it back, I promise. I just want to have it photographed.’
She didn’t let go of it. ‘I’ve got a photocopier in my bedroom.’
‘No, the reproduction wouldn’t be good enough. It has to be done by a very good photographer. You’ll have it back tomorrow afternoon, don’t worry.’
She still didn’t quite trust him, he saw the wary suspicion in her eyes. ‘What do you want a photo of it for?’
‘I’m not sure yet; I just have a feeling the wheel might be important.’ It was rare for Steve to act without knowing quite why he was doing what he did, but there was so little to go on that he had to grasp at any straw he came across.
Why had they taken those framed family photographs? Lilli said the frames were practically worthless, just cheap modern reproductions – of course, the thieves might not know that and might have believed they were valuable. But Steve had a feeling those family photos could be revealing and he wanted a better look at them. Enlarged and sharpened in detail, they might tell him something.
‘A hunch, huh?’ Lilli smiled suddenly. ‘You don’t look the kind of guy who works on hunches, but they’ve often worked for me. Men laugh at female intuition, and then turn round and talk about gut instinct – well, let me tell you, it’s the same thing. You know, I might even learn to like you, Mr Reporter.’ She held out the big black sheet of paper.
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking it, but she didn’t let go.
Her eyes held on his face. ‘If you don’t send it back in perfect condition I’ll come after you with a hatchet.’
Steve had thought her a bit crazy when he first saw her earlier tonight, but she grew on you. Smiling he said, ‘I believe you would! Don’t worry, I’ll look after it like a mother.’
Sophie saw Dr de Silva at nine o’clock next morning and was told she could go home at once. ‘No problems in the X-rays, just a few bruises, and you were in shock at first, but you’re quite stable now.’ He smiled, a short, sturdy man whose natural expression was cheerful energy, but who this morning had dark circles of weariness under his eyes because he had been up half the night dealing with emergency cases, and a hungry look, as if he never got enough to eat or enough sleep.
‘And we need the bed,’ he told her with a faint touch of humour, then took a sharper look at her pale face. ‘You feel OK, don’t you?’ he demanded.
She nodded. ‘I’m fine, thanks, Doctor. Everyone has been very kind, thank you.’ Her voice was polite but although she smiled at him there was a blankness about her face that made him frown.
‘Is there anyone at home to take care of you?�
�
‘A friend, we share an apartment, and she works at home.’
He cheered up. ‘That’s great. OK, then. Get in touch if you have any serious headaches. That’s the only thing to worry about. You did hit your head when you fell, but there seems to be no damage, so you probably have nothing to worry about.’
When he had gone Sophie rang the apartment but nobody answered the phone. Lilli might be out shopping, or might be on her way here. A plump black nurse, who had just begun the day shift and did not know her, brought her clothes, and Sophie got dressed while her bed was being stripped of the used bedclothes, and the plastic mattress was washed with disinfectant.
Sophie tried to ring Lilli again. Still no reply. She stood by the window, looking out at the high buildings opposite. The sky was lit with a chilly winter sunlight, but there was a lowering cloud hanging around looking as if it might pour rain down on them any minute. Sophie felt depression hanging around inside her; she wished to God she was back in Prague. She had not felt homesick all the time she was in London and Paris. She had been too excited and too busy. Oh, God, why did I go back to Prague before I came here to New York? Why did I have to go down to the village to see Mamma? If only I hadn’t gone home that time. I wouldn’t feel this way now.
She got hold of herself, choking down an aching need to cry. Instead, she looked round at the nurse who was dumping the bedlinen in a big wheeled basket.
‘Nurse, I’d like . . . would it be OK . . .? I’d like to visit the other woman who came in with me . . . would I be allowed to see her?’
‘Is she on this ward?’
‘I don’t know – she was more badly injured than me.’
The nurse looked dubious but shrugged. ‘I don’t know if they’ll be letting her have visitors if she had an operation last night. It takes a while for anaesthetic to wear off. But you can try. Come on, I’ll show you where to find her.’
She took Sophie to the waiting-room and left her sitting on a soft-seated chair, surrounded by soothing pale pink walls, meant to sedate the anxious into a trance, with a pile of old magazines on the central table in the room. The other people waiting looked up and stared without smiling. Some of them had the look of people who have been waiting hopelessly for a very long time; their eyes were almost dead with misery and fear. Were any of them relations of the woman she had sent plunging off the edge of the subway platform? Guilt made her stomach clench.
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