(1980) The Second Lady (27 page)

‘Guy,’ she said, ‘a question.’

‘Yes?’

‘Tell me why you’ve been suspicious that — well, that Billie Bradford has changed. Why?’

‘Oh?’ He appeared surprised. ‘I didn’t know you were interested.’

‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Suddenly, I am.’

He was cautious. ‘If you really want to know -‘

‘I do.’

‘You won’t bite my head off?’

‘Not if you make sense.’ Impulsively, she touched his cheek with her fingers. ‘I’ll be sweet to your head.’

‘Okay. Here goes.’ His suspicions, or at least his curiosity, had first been aroused after the return from Moscow, when they had been on the plane to Los Angeles. On her trial job at the Los Angeles Times, Billie had claimed to have talked to a newspaperman named Steve Woods. Parker had known that Steve Woods was non-existent. At the luncheon in Los Angeles, Billie was to be seated between one of her oldest women friends, Agnes Ingstrup, and the president of the Women’s Clubs of the United States, and Billie had addressed the president as Agnes Ingstrup. At the luncheon, Billie had

enjoyed oysters, which Nora herself said she never ate. At the baseball game in Dodger Stadium, Billie, a baseball fan, had spent most of her time listening to a grandfather explain the game to his granddaughter. At her’ father’s house in Malibu, Billie had not remembered that she had seen her nephew the month before, had seen her pet dog, Hamlet, turn against her. Earlier, Billie had pledged to Parker that she would discuss her personal relationship with the President and would also relate a funny incident about running into an actress that Bradford had been dating. And, as Nora already knew, a few days ago on the flight to London she had flatly refused to discuss either subject with Parker.

‘Any single one of those instances might be explained as human frailty,’ said Parker, ‘but when taken all together, they add up to — suspicious. What do you think?’

‘I think I need another drink,’ said Nora. ‘Another double.’

Parker ordered refills for both of them. He turned back to Nora. ‘Well? Any reaction to my recital?’

‘What does it all mean tc you, Guy?’

‘That, somehow, at least since Moscow, Billie’s not been herself.’

He was waiting for some comment from her. She made no response. She pretended to listen to the music, but her mind was occupied with Billie. Their drinks came, the waiter went, and Nora began to down her gin.

After a silent half-minute more, Nora shakily put her drink on the table, spilling part of it. With great deliberation, using her napkin, Nora cleaned up the spillage.

Abruptly, Nora said, ‘Billie had a press conference today, a little while ago, with the British press.’

‘How’d it go?’

‘She was in fine form, until near the end. Someone asked her about Janet Farleigh -‘

‘Janet Farleigh? Yes, I remember. Her old friend, the children’s writer, here in London. The one who died a few weeks ago.’

‘The one who died,’ said Nora. ‘Only Billie didn’t know she was dead. Billie told them she was going to see Janet

next week. When a member of the press reminded her that Janet was dead, Billie wriggled out of it, saying she meant she was going to see Janet’s grave. One fresh reporter told her there was no grave, only Janet’s ashes in an urn on the mantelpiece of the family flat. She wriggled some more and the conference was adjourned.’

Parker emitted a low whistle. ‘What a doozy -‘

‘Double doozy, like double gin.’ Nora lifted her glass and almost drained it.

‘And the British press people, what was their reponse?’

‘Like I told you, she got out of it. Well enough for the press. Not well enough for me. She’s slick all right.’

He studied her once more. ‘Nora, why did this one shake you up more than the incidents I had been reporting to you?’

‘I don’t know. I do know. Not only because this one just happened in front of me, but because the morning before we went to Moscow, in the White House - a few hours before she told you that you were coming along - remember?’

‘Yes.’

‘- she had got word of Janet Farleigh’s death. She really came apart. It was a big thing, emotionally, not something she would be apt to forget.’

‘Umm. How did she hear about Janet’s death? A letter? Wire?’

‘Not regular channels. The British ambassador sent over a personal note, hand-delivered.’

‘Private.’

‘Private, by hand. Just Billie knew and you and I knew.’

‘What about obits?’ asked Parker.

‘None. Janet meant nothing in the United States.’

‘But Billie herself knew.’

‘Of course.’

‘So how could she not know an hour ago?’ Parker puzzled about it. He saw Nora finishing the last of her gin. ‘Have another.’

Nora pushed away the glass. ‘No, thanks. I’m a mile high.’ She stood up woozily. ‘Let’s go up to your room.’

Parker signed the check, took Nora firmly by the arm, and led her to the elevator.

A few minutes later they reached his room. He unlocked the door, was about to turn on the light, when she pulled back his arm. ‘No. Lamp’s enough.’

He turned up the standing lamp near the bed. Nora shut his door, secured the chain. He watched her uncertainly. She walked toward him with care, so as not to lose her balance.

She looked up at him. ‘I’m a little drunk, Guy. I admit it. Before I do anything foolish, answer me one thing honest — honestly. Do you have a letch for me?’

‘A big one, Nora.’

‘A serious one?’

‘Real serious.’

‘All right. I liked your face and body from the start. But I thought you were maybe kind of maybe egotistical - self-centred — expecting all women to have round heels for you. Later, I thought you were kind of a kook. Understand?’

He didn’t, but he nodded.

She went on. ‘I couldn’t get involved with anyone that flawed. Guy, I had a husband. It was bad. He was selfish and spoiled. I finally shook him off. But everyone needs someone. So there was Billie. I could be devoted to her. But now - I don’t know - now suddenly Billie’s not there. Then you, you’re there. I could see you better, a whole person. Nice, sensible, even sexy. I need someone I can believe in right now, Guy. Can I believe in you?’

He took her in his arms and kissed her. She felt the heat in her breasts, in her thighs. She felt his fingers unbuttoning her blouse.

With effort, she pushed away. ‘You take off your things. I can take care of mine.’

He hesitated. ‘Do you want to wait until you’re sober?’

She had her blouse off. ‘I don’t want to be sober. I want to be high, higher than I am.’

As she unhooked her brassiere, he turned away and busied himself undressing. Stepping out of his tight briefs, he turned back and saw her lying totally naked on the bed. As he

advanced, his swollen penis began to rise. She was the most sensual sight he had ever seen. It was beyond belief. From the moment he had first met her, he had been undressing her in his mind, picturing what she was like nude. And here she was, glossy dark hair, green eyes fixed on him, ruby lips parted, milky white breast mounds with the brown nipples already pointed, the full thighs spread wide apart, the soft triangle of pubic hair visible.

She needed someone who needed her. So did he, so did he.

He was kneeling beside her on the bed. He lowered himself to kiss her mouth, touch her tongue with his. He kissed her neck and shoulders, massaging her breasts. He licked and kissed her nipples. He buried his head between her legs and kissed the moist vulva.

He was up on his knees as her fingers ran along his stretched penis. He was panting. She was finding it difficult to breathe.

‘I’m ready,’ she gasped. ‘Love me, darling.’

His body sank down between her thighs, and resting on his elbows, he slowly slid into her all the way.

Twenty minutes later, they were both relieved and spent. Disengaged, he lifted himself off her, and lay back beside her.

‘You’re divine, Nora,’ he said.

‘You’re not bad yourself, Parker,’ she said. She kissed him. ‘You’re wonderful, you’re incredibly wonderful. I never knew I could love fucking this much. Let’s do it again some time.’

‘Like tonight?’

‘And tomorrow morning, too,’ she said. ‘You’re a wonder boy. You’re restored my faith in men completely. Do you have a cigarette?’

‘I’m a pipe man, but I keep a spare pack around for the likes of you.’ He opened the drawer of the bed table, fumbled for the package, extracted a cigarette for her and one for himself. He lighted each, and passed one to her.

‘Another thing, Guy. An hour ago I wouldn’t have thought

it possible. It was a horrible day. I was traumatized by Billie’s blunder. I was in the dumps, miserable, and obsessed by the entire incident. Now I feel great, just great. No hangover from her or the drinks. You’re a Merlin, You just made me forget the whole thing.’

Parker looked at her seriously. ‘You can’t forget it - it won’t go away, you know.’

She blew a puff of smoke at the ceiling. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you this. If I didn’t know she was the First Lady, I would think she was someone else. But -‘ She stared at him. ‘— that’s unthinkable, isn’t it?’

He shrugged. ‘Nora, all I can say is - you and I, we better start thinking about the unthinkable.’

The radio music was on louder than ever.

Billie Bradford stood motionless in the centre of the living room of her Kremlin suite awaiting Alex Razin’s judgement as he circled around her, inspecting her attire. She had her long blonde hair drawn up in a tight bun at the back, to make her less conspicuous. She was wearing a short brown jacket, a striped beige blouse beneath it, a brown skirt, and serviceable flat-heeled shoes.

‘Well?’ she asked, anxiously, as Razin came in front of her.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You look like a typical Western tourist, one of the wealthier ones, but that won’t be uncommon. There will be plenty of them milling around in Red Square, snapping pictures of Lenin’s tomb and St Basil’s Cathedral. You shouldn’t attract too much attention.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘50 per cent of your chance for success in escaping will depend on timing.’

‘And the other 50 per cent?’

‘Luck,’ he said.

Billie’s frown deepened. ‘And you think I can make it?’

‘Most likely you will make it. Let’s get back to timing, the one factor we can control. I have calculated carefully. You will emerge from this building and head for the Spassky Gate. I am allowing ten minutes for you to cross to the gate and exit. It will take another five minutes to cross Red Square, and walk unhurriedly past GUM’s department store to the voda canteens on 25 October Street. There you will buy a drink -‘ Razin dug into his pocket for some coins and

handed them to her. ‘Here are several kopeks, to be on the safe side. Wait there after finishing your drink, and watch for a man carrying a blue suitcase. You will approach him. He will be expecting you. He will take you to the American embassy. From that moment on, it will be up to your ambassador.’

‘You make it sound so easy,’ said Billie.

‘It might be. It might not. We shall see.’ Razin consulted his watch again. ‘We don’t have much time, if you’re to keep to the schedule. I will explain your route as simply as possible, and show it to you on a map I have drawn. We have fifteen minutes to go over the escape route. After that, I will leave you alone for ten minutes to memorize it. Then you must start, with no delays.’

‘Where am I exactly? How do I start?’

‘You are in the Supreme Soviet Building, in a suite of offices converted into these living apartments. Now follow me. I will show you where you start.’ He preceded her into the kitchen. A few feet past the sink, he halted, and kneeled. ‘There is an old trapdoor here, its outlines are lost in the design of the linoleum - Petrov overlooked it, if he even knew about it — but look here, two small notches.’ He put the forefinger of each hand into the notches and partially lifted a square of the flooring upward. ‘You see how easy it opens.’

Billie, intent on his every movement, nodded. ‘Then what?’ she asked.

‘There are steps — really a wooden ladder — that will take you down to an underground room, a room that was used for cold storage in 1785. The walls are stone. It is extremely cold down there, and dark. Leave this lid off so you can have light from the kitchen. On the opposite side of the room you will find another set of stairs. Climb the stairs to an open hole. There was a second trapdoor. I’ve removed it. You will come up into another storage room, at ground level, used for furniture. There will be some light from two windows. There is only one door. Go to it and step outside. By outside, I

mean out into the Kremlin street. Now I’d better show you the rest on my map.’

Razin lowered the trapdoor into place, and guided Billie back into the living room, gesturing her to the sofa. He sat beside her, pulling something from his jacket pocket. It was a folded sheet of paper, which he unfolded and flattened on the coffee table, smoothing it.

Billie peered down at the crude, pencilled map. Only one portion of it, on the right-hand side, was filled in with line drawings.

‘The Kremlin is a mammoth place, as you probably know,’ said Razin. ‘Three walls in the form of a triangle. The inside covers twenty-eight hectares — that is sixty-nine acres. So as not to confuse you, I’ve pencilled in only the part that concerns you. This X mark shows where you are in the Supreme Soviet Building. The smaller x shows you where you will emerge. Actually you’ll find yourself in a corridor, but right across from you will be a doorway to the outside. Am I being clear so far?’

‘Perfectly.’

His finger traced a dotted line. ‘Walk this way, along this building, parallel: to the wall with arches. Now cross the street and go along the Administrative Building. At this point, at your left, is a spired tower with a red star on top. See it? This is the Spassky or Spasskira Tower, in English called the Saviour’s Gate. There will be no more than one guard. Go past him into Red Square. He probably will not stop you. If he does, explain you were on a tour of the Armoury in the Oruzheinaya Palace and became separated from your tour group and expect to meet it at GUM’s. The guard probably won’t understand English. Point to GUM. The odds are he’ll pass you through. Most of them are nice guys. And you are a pretty and innocent-looking American tourist.’