Читать книгу Windmills of the Gods - Сидни Шелдон, Sidney Sheldon, Sidney Sheldon - Страница 14

President Paul Ellison put down the last security report on Mary Ashley and said, ‘Not a blemish, Stan.’

‘I know. I think she’s the perfect candidate. Of course, State isn’t going to be happy.’

‘We’ll send them a crying towel. Now let’s hope the Senate will back us up.’

Mary Ashley’s office in Kedzie Hall was a small, pleasant room lined with bookcases crammed with reference books on Middle European countries. The furniture was sparse, consisting of a battered desk with a swivel chair, a small table at the window, piled with examination papers, a ladder-back chair, and a reading lamp. On the wall behind the desk was a map of the Balkans. An ancient photograph of Mary’s grandfather hung on the wall. It had been taken around the turn of the century, and the figure in the photograph was standing in a stiff, unnatural pose, dressed in the clothes of the period. The picture was one of Mary’s treasures. It had been her grandfather who had instilled in her a deep curiosity about Romania. He had told her romantic stories of Queen Marie, and baronesses and princesses; tales of Albert, the Prince Consort of England, and Alexander II, Tsar of Russia, and dozens of other thrilling characters.

Somewhere in our background there is royal blood. If the revolution had not come, you would have been a princess.

She used to have dreams about it.

Mary was in the middle of grading examination papers when the door opened and Dean Hunter walked in.

‘Good morning, Mrs Ashley. Do you have a moment?’ It was the first time the Dean had ever visited her office.

Mary felt a sudden sense of elation. There could be only one reason for the Dean coming here himself: He was going to tell her that the University was giving her tenure.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

He sat down on the ladder-back chair. ‘How are your classes going?’

‘Very well, I think.’ She could not wait to relay the news to Edward. He would be so proud. It was seldom that someone her age received tenure from a university.

Dean Hunter seemed ill at ease. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble, Mrs Ashley?’

The question caught her completely off guard. ‘Trouble? I – No. Why?’

‘Some men from Washington have been to see me, asking questions about you.’

Mary Ashley heard the echo of Florence Schiffer’s words: Some federal agent from Washington … He was asking all kinds of questions about Mary. He made her sound like some kind of international spy … Was she a loyal American? Was she a good wife and a good mother …?

So it had not been about her tenure, after all. She suddenly found it difficult to speak. ‘What – what did they want to know, Dean Hunter?’

‘They inquired about your reputation as a professor, and they asked questions about your personal life.’

‘I can’t explain it. I really don’t know what’s going on. I’m in no kind of trouble at all. As far as I know,’ she added lamely.

He was watching her with obvious scepticism.

‘Didn’t they tell you why they were asking questions about me?’

‘No. As a matter of fact, I was asked to keep the conversation in strict confidence. But I have a loyalty to my staff, and I felt it only fair that you should be informed about this. If there is something I should know, I would prefer to hear it from you. Any scandal involving one of our professors would reflect badly on the University.’

She shook her head, helplessly. ‘I – I really can’t think of anything.’

He looked at her a moment, as though about to say something else, then nodded. ‘So be it, Mrs Ashley.’

She watched him walk out of her office and wondered: What in God’s name could I have done?

Mary was very quiet during dinner. She wanted to wait until Edward finished eating before she broke the news of this latest development. They would try to figure out the problem together. The children were being impossible again. Beth refused to touch her dinner.

‘No one eats meat any more. It’s a barbaric custom carried over from the caveman. Civilized people don’t eat live animals.’

‘It’s not alive,’ Tim argued. ‘It’s dead, so you might as well eat it.’

‘Children!’ Mary’s nerves were on edge. ‘Not another word. Beth, go make yourself a salad.’

‘She could go graze in the field,’ Tim offered.

‘Tim! You finish your dinner.’ Her head was beginning to pound. ‘Edward –’

The telephone rang.

‘That’s for me,’ Beth said. She leaped out of her chair and raced towards the telephone. She picked it up and said seductively, ‘Virgil?’ She listened a moment, and her expression changed. ‘Oh, sure,’ she said disgustedly. She slammed down the receiver and returned to the table.

‘What was that all about?’ Edward asked.

‘Some practical joker. He said it was the White House calling Mom.’

‘The White House?’ Edward asked.

The telephone rang again.

‘I’ll get it,’ Mary said. She rose and walked over to the telephone. ‘Hello.’ As she listened, her face grew grim. ‘We’re in the middle of dinner, and I don’t happen to think this is funny. You can just – what? … Who? The President?’ There was a sudden hush in the room. ‘Wait a – I – oh, good evening, Mr President.’ There was a dazed expression on her face. Her family was watching her, wide-eyed. ‘Yes, sir. I do. I recognize your voice. I – I’m sorry about hanging up a moment ago. Beth thought it was Virgil, and – yes, sir. Thank you.’ She stood there listening. ‘Would I be willing to serve as what?’ Her face suddenly flushed.

Edward was on his feet, moving towards the phone, the children close behind him.

‘There must be some mistake, Mr President. My name is Mary Ashley. I’m a professor at Kansas State University, and – You read it? Thank you, sir … That’s very kind of you … Yes, I believe it is …’ She listened for a long time. ‘Yes, sir, I agree. But that doesn’t mean that I … Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I see. Well, I’m certainly flattered. I’m sure it’s a wonderful opportunity, but I … Of course I will. I’ll talk it over with my husband and get back to you.’ She picked up a pen and wrote down a number. ‘Yes, sir. I have it. Thank you, Mr President. Goodbye.’

She slowly replaced the receiver and stood there in shock.

‘What in God’s name was that all about?’ Edward demanded.

‘Was that really the President?’ Tim asked.

Mary sank into a chair. ‘Yes. It really was.’

Edward took Mary’s hand in his. ‘Mary – what did he say? What did he want?’

Mary sat there, numb, thinking: So that’s what all the questioning has been about.

She looked up at Edward and the children and said slowly, ‘The President read my book and the article of mine in Foreign Affairs magazine, and he thought they were brilliant. He said that’s the kind of thinking he wants for his people-to-people programme. He wants to nominate me as Ambassador to Romania.’

There was a look of total disbelief on Edward’s face.

‘You? Why you?’

It was exactly what Mary had asked herself, but she felt that Edward could have been more tactful. He could have said, How wonderful! You’d make a great ambassador. But he was being realistic. Why me, indeed?

‘You haven’t had any political experience.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ Mary responded tartly. ‘I agree that the whole thing is ridiculous.’

‘Are you going to be the Ambassador?’ Tim asked. ‘Are we moving to Rome?’

‘Romania.’

‘Where’s Romania?’

Edward turned to the children. ‘You two finish your dinner. Your mother and I would like to have a little talk.’

‘Don’t we get a vote?’ Tim asked.

‘By absentee ballot.’

Edward took Mary’s arm and led her into the library. He turned to her and said, ‘I’m sorry if I sounded like a pompous ass in there. It was just such a –’

‘No. You were perfectly right, Edward. Why on earth should they have chosen me?’

When Mary called him Edward, he knew he was in trouble.

‘Honey, you’d probably make a great ambassador, or ambassadress, or whatever they call it these days. But you must admit it came as a bit of a shock.’

Mary softened. ‘Try thunderbolt.’ She sounded like a little girl. ‘I still can’t believe it.’ She laughed. ‘Wait until I tell Florence. She’ll die.’

Edward was watching her closely. ‘You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘Of course I am. Wouldn’t you be?’

Edward chose his words carefully. ‘It is a great honour, honey, and I’m sure it’s not one they would offer lightly. They must have had good reason for choosing you.’ He hesitated. ‘We have to think about this very carefully. About what it would do to our lives.’

She knew what he was going to say, and she thought: Edward’s right. Of course he’s right.

‘I can’t just leave my practice and walk out on my patients. I have to stay here. I don’t know how long you’d have to be away, but if it really means a lot to you, well, maybe we could work out some way where you could go over there with the children and I could join you whenever –’

Mary said softly, ‘You crazy man. Do you think I could live away from you?’

‘Well – it’s an awfully big honour, and –’

‘So is being your wife. Nothing means as much to me as you and the children. I would never leave you. This town can’t find another doctor like you, but all the government has to do to find a better ambassador than me is to look in the yellow pages.’

He took her in his arms. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m positive. It was exciting being asked. That’s enough for –’

The door flew open and Beth and Tim hurried in. Beth said, ‘I just called Virgil and told him you’re going to be an ambassador.’

‘Then you’d better call him back and tell him I’m not.’

‘Why not?’ Beth asked.

‘Your mother has decided she’s going to stay here.’

‘Why?’ Beth wailed. ‘I’ve never been to Romania. I’ve never been anywhere.’

‘Me, neither,’ Tim said. He turned to Beth. ‘I told you we’re never going to escape from this place.’

‘The subject is closed,’ Mary informed them.

The following morning Mary dialled the telephone number that the President had given her. When an operator answered, Mary said, ‘This is Mrs Edward Ashley. I think the President’s assistant – a Mr Greene – is expecting my call.’

‘One moment, please.’

A male voice on the other end said, ‘Hello. Mrs Ashley?’

‘Yes,’ Mary said. ‘Would you please give the President a message for me?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Would you please tell him that I’m very, very flattered by his offer, but my husband’s profession ties him down here, so I’m afraid it would be impossible for me to accept. I hope he understands.’

‘I’ll pass on your message,’ the voice said non-committally. ‘Thank you, Mrs Ashley.’ The line went dead.

Mary slowly replaced the receiver. It was done. For one brief moment, a tantalizing dream had been offered her. But that was all it was. A dream. This is my real world. I’d better get ready for my fourth period history class.

Manama, Bahrain

The whitewashed stone house was anonymous, hidden among dozens of identical houses, a short walk from the souks, the large, colourful outdoor markets. It was owned by a merchant sympathetic to the cause of the organization known as the Patriots for Freedom.

‘We will need it for only one day,’ a voice over the telephone told him.

It was arranged. Now the chairman was speaking to the men gathered in the living room.

‘A problem has arisen,’ the chairman said. ‘The motion that was recently passed has run into difficulty.’

‘What sort of difficulty?’ Balder asked.

‘The go-between we selected – Harry Lantz – is dead.’

‘Dead? Dead, how?’

‘He was murdered. His body was found floating in the harbour in Buenos Aires.’

‘Do the police have any idea who did it? I mean – can they connect this to us in any way?’

‘No. We’re perfectly safe.’

Thor asked, ‘What about our plan? Can we go ahead with it?’

‘Not at the moment. We have no idea how to reach Angel. However, the Controller gave Harry Lantz permission to reveal his name to him. If Angel is interested in our proposition, he will find a way to get in touch with him. All we can do now is wait.’

The banner headline in the Junction City Daily Union read: JUNCTION CITY’S MARY ASHLEY DECLINES AMBASSADORSHIP.

There was a two-column story about Mary, and a photograph of her. On KJCK, the afternoon and evening broadcasts carried feature stories on the town’s new celebrity. The fact that Mary Ashley had rejected the President’s offer made the story even bigger than if she had accepted it. In the eyes of its proud citizens, Junction City, Kansas, was a lot more important than Bucharest, Romania.

When Mary Ashley drove into town to shop for dinner, she kept hearing her name on the car radio.

‘… Earlier, President Ellison had announced that the ambassadorship to Romania would be the beginning of his people-to-people programme, the cornerstone of his foreign policy. How Mary Ashley’s refusal to accept the post will reflect on –’

She switched to another station.

‘… is married to Dr Edward Ashley, and it is believed that –’

Mary switched off the radio. She had received at least three dozen phone calls that morning from friends, neighbours, students and curious strangers. Reporters had called from as far away as London and Tokyo. They’re building this up all out of proportion, Mary thought. It’s not my fault that the President decided to base the success of his foreign policy on Romania. I wonder how long this pandemonium is going to last? It will probably be over in a day or two.

She drove the station wagon into a Derby gas station and pulled up in front of the self-service pump.

As Mary got out of the car, Mr Blount, the station manager, hurried over to her. ‘Mornin’, Mrs Ashley. An ambassador lady ain’t got no call to be pumpin’ her own gas. Let me give you a hand.’

Mary smiled. ‘Thanks. I’m used to doing it.’

‘No, no. I insist.’

When the tank was filled, Mary drove down Washington Street and parked in front of the Shoe Box.

‘Mornin’, Mrs Ashley,’ the clerk greeted her. ‘How’s the ambassador this mornin’?’

This is going to get tiresome, Mary thought. Aloud, she said, ‘I’m not an ambassador, but I’m fine, thank you.’ She handed him a pair of shoes. ‘I’d like to have Tim’s shoes re-soled.’

The clerk examined them. ‘Ain’t these the ones we did last week?’

Mary sighed. ‘And the week before.’

Mary’s next stop was at Long’s Department Store. Mrs Hacker, the manager of the dress department, said to her, ‘I jest heard your name on the radio. You’re puttin’ Junction City on the map. Yes, sir. I guess you and Eisenhower and Alf Landon are Kansas’ only political big shots, Mrs Ambassador.’

‘I’m not an ambassador,’ Mary said patiently. ‘I turned it down.’

‘That’s what I mean.’

It was no use. Mary said, ‘I need some jeans for Beth. Preferably something in iron.’

‘How old is Beth now? About ten?’

‘She’s twelve.’

‘Land’s sake, they grow so fast these days, don’t they? She’ll be a teenager before you know it.’

‘Beth was born a teenager, Mrs Hacker.’

‘How’s Tim?’

‘He’s a lot like Beth.’

The shopping took Mary twice as long as usual. Everyone had some comment to make about the big news. She went into Dillon’s to buy some groceries, and was studying the shelves when Mrs Dillon approached.

‘Mornin’, Mrs Ashley.’

‘Good morning, Mrs Dillon. Do you have a breakfast food that has nothing in it?’

‘What?’

Mary consulted a list in her hand. ‘No artificial sweeteners, no sodium, fats, carbohydrates, caffeine, caramel colouring, folic acid or flavourites.’

Mrs Dillon studied the paper. ‘Is this some kind of medical experiment?’

‘In a sense. It’s for Beth. She’ll only eat natural foods.’

‘Why don’t you just put her out to pasture and let her graze?’

Mary laughed. ‘That’s what my son suggested.’ Mary picked up a package and studied the label. ‘It’s my fault. I never should have taught Beth how to read.’

Mary drove home carefully, climbing the winding hill towards Milford Lake. It was a few degrees above zero, but the wind chill factor brought the temperature down to well below zero, for there was nothing to stop the winds from their biting sweep across the endless plains. The lawns were covered with snow, and Mary remembered the previous winter when an ice storm had swept the county and the ice snapped the power lines. They had no electricity for almost a week. She and Edward made love every night. Maybe we’ll get lucky again this winter, she grinned to herself.

When Mary arrived home, Edward was still at the hospital. Tim was in the study watching a science fiction programme. Mary put away the groceries and went in to confront her son.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be doing your homework?’

‘I can’t.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because I don’t understand it.’

‘You’re not going to understand it any better by watching Star Trek. Let me see your lesson.’

Tim showed her his fifth grade mathematics book. ‘These are dumb problems,’ Tim said.

‘There are no such things as dumb problems. There are only dumb students. Now let’s take a look at this.’

Mary read the problem aloud. ‘A train leaving Minneapolis had one hundred and forty-nine people on board. In Atlanta more people boarded the train. Then there were two hundred and twenty-three on the train. How many people boarded in Atlanta?’ She looked up. ‘That’s simple, Tim. You just subtract one hundred and forty-nine from two hundred and twenty-three.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Tim said glumly. ‘It has to be an equation. One hundred and forty-nine plus n equals two hundred and twenty-three. n equals two hundred and twenty-three minus one hundred and forty-nine. n equals seventy-four.’

‘That’s dumb,’ Mary said.

As Mary passed Beth’s room, she heard noises. Mary went in. Beth was seated on the floor, cross-legged, watching television, listening to a rock record, and doing her homework.

‘How can you concentrate with all this noise?’ Mary shouted.

She walked over to the television set and turned it off and then turned off the record player.

Beth looked up in surprise. ‘What did you do that for? That was George Michael.’

Beth’s room was wallpapered with posters of musicians. There was Kiss and Van Halen, Motley Crue and Aldo Nova and David Lee Roth. The bed was covered with magazines: Seventeen and Teen Idol and half a dozen others. Beth’s clothes were scattered over the floor.

Mary looked around the messy room in despair. ‘Beth – how can you live like this?’

Beth looked up at her mother, puzzled. ‘Live like what?’

Mary gritted her teeth. ‘Nothing.’

She looked at an envelope on her daughter’s desk. ‘You’re writing to Rick Springfield?’

‘I’m in love with him.’

‘I thought you were in love with George Michael.’

‘I burn for George Michael. I’m in love with Rick Springfield. Mother, in your day didn’t you ever burn for anybody?’

‘In my day we were too busy trying to get the covered wagons across the country.’

Beth sighed. ‘Did you know Rick Springfield had a rotten childhood?’

‘To be perfectly honest, Beth, I was not aware of that.’

‘It was awful. His father was in the military and they moved around a lot. He’s a vegetarian, too. Like me. He’s awesome.’

So that’s what’s behind Beth’s crazy diet!

‘Mother, may I go to a movie Saturday night with Virgil?’

‘Virgil? What happened to Arnold?’

There was a pause. ‘Arnold wanted to fool around. He’s dorky.’

Mary forced herself to sound calm. ‘By “fooling around”, you mean –?’

‘Just because I’m starting to get breasts the boys think I’m easy. Mom, did you ever feel uncomfortable about your body?’

Mary moved up behind Beth and put her arms around her. ‘Yes, my darling. When I was about your age, I felt very uncomfortable.’

‘I hate having my period and getting breasts and hair all over. Why?’

‘It happens to every girl, and you’ll get used to it.’

‘No, I won’t.’ She pulled away and said fiercely, ‘I don’t mind being in love, but I’m never going to have sex. No one’s going to make me. Not Arnold or Virgil or Kevin Bacon.’