Janet’s mother was clearly surprised and delighted that until their marriage they were maintaining separate homes, a reaction which Janet found curious, since her openly living with Hank had brought no criticism. The fact meant, of course, that her parents could stay with her, and on the night of their arrival she introduced Sheridan simply over early evening drinks, to enable the elderly couple to recover from their jet lag. The following night Sheridan took them out to the Virginia inn. When they went to the restroom, Janet’s mother said she thought he was an extremely pleasant man-which for Janet’s mother was a high accolade-and much later, after Sheridan left the Rosslyn apartment after his usual solitary brandy, her mother said she was very happy that Janet was getting together with such a nice man, and her father admitted to being impressed with Sheridan in every way. He added that Sheridan appeared extremely knowledgeable about a wide spectrum of international affairs, including the Middle East. From his career her father regarded himself as something of a Middle East specialist. Janet remarked that it was hardly surprising, considering that Sheridan was a State Department analyst, and her father said he’d met dozens of State Department personnel, including supposed analysts, whose grasp was very weak. He’d tried hard to find people who knew Sheridan at various embassy postings but there hadn’t been a single one, which the old man regretted. He told his daughter he intended asking around at the next reunion.
“They like you,” Janet reported to Sheridan, when they were by themselves.
“I like them,” Sheridan said.
“Mother’s campaigning for the wedding to be in England.”
“Why not?”
“What about your friends? Won’t it be difficult for them?”
Sheridan shrugged. “There are none close enough to worry about. And there’s no family to ferry across.”
“You’re sure?”
“Tell her it’s fine.”
“I love you,” said Janet.
“I love you,” he said.
Her parents’ visit lasted a week, and by the end Janet believed Sheridan and her father to be firm friends. Before they left they’d agreed on having the ceremony in England in March, which gave Janet and Sheridan five months to decide upon a house, dispose of their own apartments, and make the purchase.
Throughout Janet remained working at Georgetown University from which she called him most days because it was difficult for him to get her when she was in class. It was often a problem for her to reach him at the State Department, too: there was usually a connection delay. When she mentioned it to him, Sheridan agreed it was a nuisance but explained he spent more time in committee meetings, verbally analyzing situations and events, than at his desk, working on papers and reports.
“Their concentration span is limited,” he said, mockingly. “They’d rather hear opinions than be forced to read an assessment. I think it’s all the fault of television: a hundred years from now no one will be able to read.”
At Christmas, during the university break, Sheridan had time owing for a holiday. When Janet suggested it, he said he thought it would be terrific to spend the time in England with her parents. Janet wrote suggesting it and her mother was so excited that she telephoned.
“I never thought I could be like this again,” Janet said, to Harriet. “Not this happy.”
They were having an early dinner in Chinatown, so it was still only ten o’clock when Janet got back to Rosslyn.
Sheridan, who had had a key to her apartment for several months, was waiting as she entered, sitting forward on a couch, grave-faced.
Janet was stopped by his expression, remaining just inside the door. “Darling!” she said. “What is it?”
“I’ve been posted,” said Sheridan. “Overseas.”
“But…” started Janet, confused. “Where overseas?” she managed.
“Beirut,” he announced, simply.
Janet stayed where she was, her mind and body frozen into incomprehension. The images and the thoughts flustered through her head, all half-formed and refusing to become whole. Not Beirut! That was inconceivable! There’d been U.S. embassy bombings by suicide squads and the kidnapping of U.S. embassy staff and Reagan’s Irangate fiasco, and the apparently insoluble conflict between Christian and Moslem formed part of practically every lecture that she gave at the university. John Sheridan- her John Sheridan-couldn’t go there; couldn’t become involved in a situation like that! It was murderous, for God’s sake! People had been murdered! Janet shook her head, disbelieving despite having heard him say it. She said: “No… no it’s got to be a mistake.”
Sheridan stood and came to her, holding her to him. Without knowing why, Janet was rigid, almost resisting. Sheridan said: “I don’t want to go… you know that. Who would? I’ve tried to get out of it but I can’t.”
Janet pulled back from his embrace. “But you told me… a long time ago… that you weren’t going to travel any more… that you were always going to be here, in Washington…”
“I know,” he agreed. “I thought I was. They think I might be some use there.”
“NO!” she wailed, finally confronting what he was saying.
Sheridan led her into the room and sat her where he had been sitting, kneeling at her feet. “Shush now,” he said. “Now listen. There’s no way I can get out of it: like I said, I’ve tried. No way. But it won’t be for a long time. Six months; a year at most…”
Janet sat shaking her head, consciously-determinedly-refusing to absorb the words.
“It’s an unaccompanied posting, obviously. I couldn’t take you with me, even if we rushed the marriage through,” Sheridan pushed on. “But we won’t be apart all the time. We can spend our vacations together. Cyprus. Anywhere you like in the Mediterranean.”
“But we’ve made plans,” she said, in weak protest.
“It’ll only mean delaying things a few months,” assured Sheridan. “I promise. As soon as I’m reassigned-and don’t worry, the time limit is a firm commitment-we’ll get married. That’s all it means, really. Putting the wedding back a month or two.”
“That’s not all it means!” Janet argued, recovering further. “You’re going to Beirut, for Christ’s sake! Beirut! You hear the name I’m saying?”
“We keep everything there as safe as it can be now,” Sheridan tried to placate her. “No one takes any chances.”
“Bullshit!” yelled Janet. “And you know it’s bullshit. How can you be safe in a place where there’s no law, no government! Beirut is a bunch of rival gangs, everyone fighting everyone else and stealing and kidnapping and killing. It’s not religion any more: hasn’t been for a long time. It’s gang warfare: I’ve taught little else, for years, and I know!” She had to stop, breathless, but then blurted off again, extending her fingers and then collapsing them as she counted. “William Buckley, American, murdered. Peter Kilburn, American, murdered. Alec Collet, Briton, murdered.”
“I know…” he tried to stop her but she wouldn’t stop.
“… Seven slaughtered, in all,” she said. “Four Russsians, too. At least seventeen still held. Nothing’s been heard of Terry Anderson, the AP bureau chief, since 1985. Terry Waite, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s envoy, has been missing almost two years.”
“I’ve got to go,” he said, simply.
“No way of refusing!” she pleaded.
“None.”
“When?” she said, dully.
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks!”
“Everything is being done in panic.”
“That’s not fair… not enough time…”
“It gives me an edge, to get back.”
“Why, when everything was so good!” Janet demanded, allowing herself the briefly forgotten self-pity.
“It’ll be all right,” Sheridan said. “Everything will be all right.”