‘Hurt me! He was . . .’ It was the wrong tense, too. I threw her lipstick wildly at her. ‘Damn it, why I am I standing here doing stupid things to my stupid face? Maybe he’s not dead. Maybe he’s . . . just dying and being tortured and – ’
‘Take it easy, honey.’
‘And don’t call me honey!’
I thought I had behaved quite rationally and reasonably until Joanie escorted me to a small room that was obviously an infirmary or clinic. Another motherly grey-haired woman, wearing a sweater over her white uniform, rose to greet us.
‘So this is the young lady. Welcome home, my dear. We’re all so relieved to see you.’
I felt as if I were being smothered in cotton candy. They closed in on me, one on each side, and Tom entered, barring my way to the door.
‘How is she, Frances?’ he inquired, rubbing his hands and smiling. He thought the worst was over. He was in for a shock.
‘I haven’t had a chance to look at her. If you’ll just sit down, Miss Bliss – ’
I started to argue. Then, belatedly, I realized what I had done. Defending Feisal had been a bad mistake. Hostages sometimes end up identifying with their captors, and when the captor is young and handsome and the hostage is female . . . I made a last desperate effort to control myself, but in retrospect I admit I didn’t succeed very well.
‘What are you going to do?’ I demanded, backing away from the nurse. ‘I won’t have any shots. I hate shots.’
‘Just your blood pressure and pulse,’ the nurse said, as she would have spoken to a child. ‘No nasty shots, I promise.’
‘All right.’ I let her push me into a chair and fixed Tom with what I intended to be a firm, unhysterical look. It must have been more like a wild-eyed glare. ‘You stand there and listen to me.’
‘Believe me, Dr Bliss, there are a number of people who want nothing better than to listen to you. But,’ he added, with the first touch of kindly consideration he had displayed, ‘I’m damned if I’m going to let them at you until I’m sure you’re okay. I called your – uh – your friend. He’s on his way.’
‘My friend?’ A wild hope dawned. Had Schmidt and John made it? If they had caught the 10 a.m. train . . .
‘Yes.’ Tom smiled. ‘He’s been calling every hour on the hour.’
‘Normal,’ the nurse announced, unwinding the blood pressure cuff. She sounded disappointed.
‘I told you so. Now – ’
‘Open wide.’
She propped my mouth open with a stick and peered in.
I don’t suppose it would have made any difference. The whole business only took a few minutes. But if I had had a chance to ask one question . . .
I had forgotten that I wasn’t the only important American in Egypt. I had forgotten it takes only sixty minutes to fly from Luxor to Cairo. They brought him directly to the clinic. Well, wouldn’t you escort a distraught millionaire into the presence of the fiancée he has lost and just recovered?
When I saw him I jumped up, spilling the glass of water the nurse had offered and the little white pills she was trying to persuade me to take. There was no place to go. The room had only one door. When he caught me in his arms I tried to fight free.
‘Darling, it’s all right!’ he exclaimed, holding me tight. ‘Oh, Vicky, I’ve been so worried. Don’t talk, sweetheart, just let me hold you.’
Calm, reasoned behaviour might have saved me, though that is questionable. It was also impossible. I couldn’t stand having him touch me. Instead of expensive aftershave and fresh linen I smelled sweat and blood; instead of his smooth well-groomed face I saw the gaping hole that had been Jean-Louis’s face, and Feisal falling, and John slashed to bloody ribbons by the people this man had hired. I struggled and screamed and tried to bite. I can’t blame them for thinking the emotional collapse they expected had finally occurred. It took two of them to hold my arm rigid so the needle could go in. The last thing I heard was Larry’s voice. ‘My poor darling. God bless you, all of you; I’ll take care of her now.’
Chapter Fourteen
I
RIGHT BACK WHERE I’d started.
So I thought, when I woke up to find myself in a large room furnished with antiques. I felt quite calm and relaxed. That’s one thing to be said for tranquillizers. They leave the recipient very tranquil.
Deep down under the layers of fuzzy pharmaceutical comfort a small section of my brain was trying frantically to get my attention. Think, it was screaming. Do something! Don’t just lie there, get me out of this!
There had been time for him to take me back to Luxor. Night had fallen; the windows of the room were dark. But this wasn’t one of the rooms in Larry’s Luxor house. The furniture was old but it was not as well-cared-for as Larry’s antiques; the gilt was chipped and the mattress of the bed on which I lay smelled slightly musty. Either Larry had a pied-à-terre in Cairo, or he was staying with a friend. (He had so many of them.) This wasn’t a hotel room. There was no television set, no room service menu – and no telephone.
And no bolt and chain on the inside of the door. The door was locked from the outside. Was I surprised? No. But I was sorry that frantic little voice had shaken me out of my stupor.
The windows were not lockcd. They led onto a small balcony, and I stood there for a few minutes, letting the night breeze cool my face. A few lights showed through the branches of the trees that were, I was sorry to see, on the same level as the balcony and too far from it to offer a means of egress. The ground was a long way down. There was no familiar landmark in sight – no towers, no high-rise hotels, not even a pyramid. The house must be in one of the suburbs.
The adjoining bath had once been palatial. Now the tile was chipped and the marble discoloured. The water ran rusty.
After it had cleared a little I splashed water on my face and hands. Then I went back and sat down. There weren’t that many alternatives.
By that time the fuzz was gone, and I was in a state of abject, disgusting panic. The past hours hadn’t been comfortable; I had been scared most of the time, scared to death and out of my wits some of the time, but this was worse – like having a chair pulled out from under you just when you think you can finally sit down and relax. To do myself justice it wasn’t the thought of Mary’s plans for me that made my mouth go dry and my hands shake. John and Schmidt could be tucked away in neighbouring rooms, with Mary busy at work on one or both. Feisal could be dead.
It wasn’t courage that got me to my feet, it was desperation. I had to find out. The truth might be less painful than the things I was imagining. It couldn’t be worse.
I banged on the door. After a moment I heard the sound of a key in the lock, and the door opened. He didn’t point a gun at me. He didn’t have to. The guard was Hans, my old acquaintance, the one with the face like a giant sheep and the physique of a giant, period. Hans even had muscles on his ears, and he was almost seven feet tall.
The Egyptian sun had been hard on his fair complexion. His cheeks were red and peeling. ‘Guten Abend, Fräulein Doktor,’ he said politely. ‘Also, Sie sind aufgewacht. I will tell them.’
Ten interminable, dragging minutes passed before there was a response. My aching muscles relaxed when I saw Larry. I didn’t like him a lot, but I definitely preferred his company to that of the lady. Ed followed him, carrying a tray. He didn’t make a very convincing waiter.
‘Shorthanded?’ I inquired, as Ed put the tray on the table and retreated to the door, where he stood with his arms folded, looking bored. This sort of thing was all in a day’s work for him, I supposed.