The door opened again and the black nurse beckoned to her. Sophie hurried out of the room. A small, thin, sharp-faced woman in white stood beside the nurse. Her grey eyes stabbed Sophie’s face. ‘You want to see Mrs Rogers? She’s under sedation, sleeping, but you can take a peep at her, so long as you don’t disturb her.’
‘Is she going to be OK?’ Sophie asked unsteadily, crossing her fingers.
‘It will take time, and she’s going to have a lot of pain,’ she was told sternly. ‘But with good nursing, yes, she will recover fully.’
She led the way to a room further along the corridor, opened the door and gestured. Sophie stood just inside the room. The blinds were down and the room was shadowy with pale, wintry morning light. There was just one bed; in it lay an unmoving figure, the head capped by bandages, making her face oddly mask-like, a pale, drawn set of features that expressed no character at all. Eyes closed, nose pinched, mouth pale and closed. It could be anyone. The bedclothes were draped over a support to raise them above her broken leg. Both arms were stiffly encased, and under the white hospital robe she wore Sophie could see thick bandages around her ribs.
‘I’m sorry, you have to go now,’ said the ward sister, and Sophie looked round at her, eyes blurred with unshed tears, wanting to sob out loud but holding back.
‘Please . . .’ Her voice was low and shaky. ‘Please, when she wakes up, will you tell her . . . I’m so sorry, really sorry . . . it was an accident, I just grabbed at her to stop myself falling, I would never have wanted her to get hurt.’
‘Sure,’ said the sister with more warmth. ‘Sure, she’ll understand . . . accidents will happen, and look, she will get better, you know, she isn’t going to die.’
It didn’t help Sophie to know that; she could see how much pain the other woman was going to be in and she wished there was something she could do to help her.
She walked heavily back to her own room and with a jerk of shock saw Steve Colbourne talking to the sister. At the sound of her footsteps they both turned to stare at her; Steve looked drawn and pale but as he saw her his eyes flashed with sudden rage.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he broke out in a rough, harsh voice.
Sophie didn’t like being yelled at by a man she had only met yesterday. Especially in front of the sister and a couple of strange men in white coats who were walking past at that second and stared curiously at them. She glared at Steve, bristling with resentment.
‘I went to visit the woman who fell under the train. Not that it is any of your business! And don’t you shout at me, either. Why don’t you go away? Why are you here, anyway?’ Why did he keep turning up? He knew something – what? How was he involved?
The sister’s bleeper sounded and she groaned. ‘Sorry, I have to answer that. Miss Narodni, you have to sign out before you leave. Good luck, and remember, if you have any headaches get in touch with your doctor, or come back here, to the emergency room.’
When she had vanished back into the ward, Sophie looked coldly at Steve. ‘Please go now, I’m waiting for Lilli.’
‘She sent me.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ She did a double-take, staring at him, suddenly anxious, her skin cold. ‘Has something happened to Lilli? I’ve been ringing her for ages, and there’s no reply.’
‘Quiet now, don’t get upset. Look, come into the waiting-room and sit down for a minute. I’ve got something to tell you.’
He put an arm round her and led her across the corridor to the waiting-room, and Sophie was too worried to argue.
There were a few people in the room, waiting, reading magazines or newspapers, breathing very quietly, shifting in their chairs. They all looked up and stared, then looked down again indifferently. Sophie sat down on a chair near the door and Steve sat down next to her. Lowering his voice, he said quietly, ‘Sophie, your apartment was burgled last night.’
Her intake of breath made the others in the room look up again.
For a second she couldn’t think straight then her mind leapt with panic. ‘Lilli? Was Lilli hurt? She wasn’t . . .’
‘She’s fine, she wasn’t there,’ he said in the same low, quiet voice, conscious of all the listening ears, the surreptitious glances.
Sophie closed her eyes for a second; she was very pale.
Steve went on softly, ‘She discovered what had happened when she got back from the hospital last night. She called me and I went over there.’
Her brain ran with questions, doubts, suspicions. She watched him and wished she knew exactly where he fitted into all this. He knew Don Gowrie well, had known him for years, he said; was he in Gowrie’s pocket? She hadn’t been in New York for long, but she already realized that it wasn’t just in Communist countries that some of the press were bought off, were kept on a secret retainer, to write to order, to put out what their masters wanted the public to be told. Maybe it was the same all over the world? Just the way the system worked, whatever you called it. Propaganda greased the wheels of politics and business, made the lives of the mighty easier, kept the people quiet.
‘Called you? Why did she do that? Why not the police?’ she asked Steve Colbourne flatly, her face hostile.
‘I’d told her to ring me if anything happened. She has rung the police. They haven’t been over yet. There’s nothing valuable missing, nobody important involved.’ His smile was cynical. ‘They’ll get round to it when they have time.’ He looked into her eyes, his own intent and watchful. ‘I’m afraid the whole place was wrecked, Sophie. They took your room apart. There wasn’t much left of it.’
Her lower lip trembled. She bit down on it to stop herself crying; she wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t be scared off, he wasn’t going to win by tactics like these.
‘That’s why Lilli isn’t answering the phone. She’s gone to stay with her friend Theo until the apartment can be redecorated.’ Steve met her eyes and gently told her, ‘They covered the walls with graffiti, I’m afraid, really smashed the place up. It isn’t fit to be lived in at the moment.’
‘What am I going to do?’ she thought aloud. Theo Strahov’s apartment was tiny, barely big enough for one, let alone Lilli too. There certainly wouldn’t be room for a third person. Sophie tried to work out how much money she had in her bank account – enough to pay for a cheap lodging house for a few days? She could cable Vladimir and ask for help, for some extra money, a loan against salary.
‘I’ll have to find a cheap hotel,’ she said.
‘No, you won’t,’ he told her impatiently. ‘You can’t be left alone. Can’t you get it into your head that you’re in danger? They tried once. They’ll try again and next time they could succeed. You’re coming with me, first to stay at my hotel –’
‘Isn’t that where Don Gowrie is staying?’
‘Safest place for you, right under his nose; as my mother always used to say, a dog never shits on his own blanket. He won’t dare touch you while you’re that close to him. When we go to Europe, you’re coming too. I’ve squared it with my boss. You’re coming on salary as a researcher for a week – we’re paying your airfare and hotel bills. Maybe now you’ll trust me enough to tell me exactly what you’ve got on Don Gowrie?’
‘I’m not stupid. I know why you’re doing all this – you just want to get a story out of me. So why should I trust you?’
Drily, he said, ‘Who else do you have to trust?’
‘Lilli –’ she began, and he interrupted brusquely.
‘If you like Lilli you’ll leave her right out of it. No point in risking her life too, is there?’
Pale, she stared at him, shivering. It hadn’t occurred to her until then that Lilli might be in danger too. She should have realised that. He was right, she couldn’t risk Lilli’s life.
‘Lilli has learnt to trust me,’ Steve said, and Sophie wondered how he had managed that. She gave him a smouldering, resentful look. He was too clever by half – she was beginning to find him a menace.
‘You may have pulled the wool
over her eyes, but you don’t fool me that easily! I’m not going anywhere with you.’
‘Oh, yes, you are, Sophie. Lilli gave me a case of things she thought you’d need for the next week or so. Now stop arguing. I haven’t got all day to spend hanging around here.’
He took hold of her arm and propelled her firmly towards the door. For a moment Sophie meant to fight, but then she thought again and gave in, realising that it solved her immediate problems, even if it created a few more for the future. Steve Colbourne was a human steamroller. She had the feeling he was becoming a real problem for her.
4
They got a taxi to his hotel, where Steve had already booked a room for her, just across the corridor from his own. ‘It would be safer if you stayed in here until we got the plane tomorrow morning,’ he told her, depositing her suitcase on the luggage rack. ‘If there’s anything you want let me know and I’ll get it for you.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, reluctant to be grateful but forced to it. She opened the case and looked at the neatly packed contents. ‘I can’t think of anything Lilli hasn’t already thought of – she’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Lucky for me that Theo introduced me to her.’
‘She’s a one-off,’ agreed Steve. He hadn’t yet given her any details of the burglary. There was something far too intimate and disturbing about someone taking out their rage on her clothes, some of which had been torn to shreds. Lilli had sent what was left. ‘She says she’ll ring you. She packed warm winter clothes for London; sweaters and warm skirts and trousers, she said.’ He looked at his watch and sighed. ‘Sorry, I’m afraid I have to go to my office. But you have TV, and you can order anything you want from Room Service.’ He gave her a look of concern. She was deathly pale, dark circles under her eyes. ‘Try to rest. Go back to bed.’
She was standing by the window looking out at the New York skyline, the jagged battlements of grey roofs stretching into the distance. Below them were the leafless trees of Central Park, and she could see the Dakota building’s eerie outline. She had visited it soon after she arrived, wanting to see where John Lennon had been shot and the Roman Polanski film ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ filmed. Seeing the film in her early teens, Sophie had not been able to sleep, and when she did had had weird dreams. It made her shiver now. There was something deeply sinister under New York’s glamorous skin.
Steve wandered over to the window to look out too, without finding the vista as enthralling as she seemed to; he had known this city most of his life and preferred Washington, his chosen adopted city.
She turned her blonde head to smile at him and he felt his pulse pick up. Close to, she was even lovelier. ‘You’re very kind, but I’ll be OK, don’t worry,’ she said.
He gave her an incredulous, furious look. ‘Yesterday somebody tried to kill you and then wrecked your apartment – if you aren’t worrying, then you should be!’
‘Don’t shout at me!’ she burst out, her voice trembling, and he groaned.
‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Putting out a gentle finger, he stroked her cheek tentatively, then frowned. ‘You’re cold. Shock takes a while to wear off, you know. As soon as I’ve gone, go back to bed and try to sleep.’
The lingering warmth of his skin against hers comforted, was human and reassuring. When she was a little girl her mother had been very affectionate, and Sophie had often been cuddled and kissed, but after Johanna married Franz she had lost interest in Sophie and focused all her affection on the new babies that began arriving. She was the sort of woman who adored small children, especially if they were boys. Sophie had been just another pair of hands, an unpaid nursemaid, excluded from the new family circle – her mother, Franz and their two sons. The family of which Sophie had been a part was buried in the churchyard, with her dead father and dead sister.
She shivered violently and Steve watched, wondering what she was thinking about that made her eyes look so sad. Don Gowrie? What had the man done to her?
‘Tell me,’ he said urgently. ‘Can’t you see that you’d be much safer if you talked?’
She started violently at the sound of his voice. ‘What? Oh . . .’ She became aware of him again, picking up the scent of his aftershave, fresh, astringent, very male. It disturbed her. She didn’t want to be aware of him; she had enough problems at the moment without adding a man to them. Steve Colbourne was attractive, she couldn’t deny it, but she knew she couldn’t trust him, it wasn’t safe.
He smelt a story, and he was determined to get it out of her. The man was far too plausible, far too shrewd. She was a journalist, too; she knew how they operated, how far they would go to get a story.
The only thing she could be sure about was that he wanted to wheedle out of her whatever she knew about Don Gowrie. Everything else about him – his charm, his looks, the fact that he seemed to find her attractive – could be totally phoney. She had learnt in a bitter school that nothing was what it seemed, that even those who said they loved you could lie, that you could not trust anyone but yourself.
She looked at him, her eyes filmed with ice, and said in a chilly voice, ‘I’m not telling you anything, Mr Colbourne, so stop badgering me!’
‘You’re a fool,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t you realize? You’re playing Russian Roulette with your own life.’
That was so true that she flinched. The stark realities of what she was doing had only just begun to dawn on her. She had not really expected her life to be in danger until the moment on the subway station. Turning away, she looked out of the window again.
‘New York is breathtaking, isn’t it? I still can’t believe I’m really here. You said you lived in Washington, didn’t you? I’m dying to see that.’
He nodded. ‘That’s where the centre of power is. If you want to report on government you have to be there, and it is a fascinating place, especially for a journalist. It’s a city with hidden depths. The architecture is on the grand scale – public architecture, I mean. You get the feeling at times you’re back in ancient Rome or Greece. The Lincoln Memorial, all white marble columns . . . the Washington Monument too . . . not to mention the White House itself. The guy who designed the city, Pierre L’Enfant, wanted to awe people, impress the hell out of them, and it succeeds. But the domestic architecture is something else; you must visit Georgetown and see the restored town houses, especially in the spring, when the magnolias are out. It’s like being on the set of “Gone with the Wind”.’ He paused, one eyebrow lifting. ‘Did you ever see that film?’
‘Of course I did! We do get Hollywood films in Prague, you know! It isn’t the back of beyond.’
He laughed. ‘Sorry, of course you do. I don’t know much about life in your country. Keep filling me in, won’t you?’
She softened, smiling back. ‘So long as you keep telling me stuff I don’t know about America, and that is a lot! I hardly know a thing yet.’
‘Glad to help out,’ he agreed, offering his hand.
She stared, bewildered, and he grinned at her.
‘Deal?’
She understood the gesture then, and took his hand, smiling back. ‘Deal.’
He didn’t let go of her hand immediately; his skin was warm and firm. She liked the feel of that strength and confidence.
‘Mind you, there are some spots in the States that I would feel lost in,’ he said. ‘I’m a New Englander, we’re a different breed. We never forget that we were here first, apart from the Indian nations. You must visit my part of the country. Having spent time in England, you’ll recognise something familiar. Our first towns were built by people from over there; the names, the architecture, the traditions are all very English.’
‘It sounds lovely.’ She pulled her hand out of his grip. ‘Do your family still live there?’
‘Certainly do – nothing would get my mother to leave the place, and Dad always lets her have her own way about the home and everything to do with it. Mind you, he has never shown signs of wanting to leave, although if he had got
into Congress he would have had to move to Washington, of course, but she would have gone along with him in that case.’
‘She’s interested in politics too?’
‘No, it’s just that they both have old-fashioned ideas about the way marriage should work.’
Soberly Sophie said, ‘If you get married you have to be together, don’t you? You couldn’t live in different places and expect marriage to work.’
He nodded. ‘I think so, yes. Long-distance marriage is a recipe for disaster. It seems we agree on something! That’s a start.’
Warily she asked, ‘A start on what?’
With bland amusement he told her, ‘Getting to know each other.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘Well, I have to get going. While I’m gone, stay here, don’t go out, ring anybody, do anything. You’ll be safe so long as you stay here – and don’t open the door until you’ve had a good look through the spy hole.’
She burst out then, ‘They wouldn’t dare . . . in a public place like a hotel!’
But they had dared attack her in a subway, which was just as public, hadn’t they?
‘Who wouldn’t?’ Steve asked very softly and she shot him a quick, tense look. Just how much did he know? How involved with Don Gowrie was he? What did she know about this man, anyway? For all she knew it could have been him behind her in the subway station, his hand that had thrust her to the edge of the platform.
No, she couldn’t believe that. He wasn’t the type to kill. I’m getting paranoid, she thought – seeing dark shadows behind every face, hearing double meanings in everything anyone says to me.
At that instant there was a loud crash somewhere down the corridor and Sophie jumped about a foot in the air, gasping in fear.
Walking in Darkness Page 10