Lace (44 page)

“You mean you expect
me
to support you?”

“I don’t see how else I can be supported, for the moment.”

“A pity you didn’t consider that before you left your husband.”

“Ma, do you really want to know why I left so suddenly?”

“That’s a personal matter between you and Robert.”

“But do you want to know?”

“No.”

Mrs. Trelawney didn’t want to be involved, she never had.

“But I must have something to live on, and my only asset is Trelawney.”

“No need to ram that down my throat, darling. If it hadn’t been for Selma we’d have had to sell it.”

“But now that you’re doing very well, surely you could let me have a small allowance? After all, you’d have to pay rent to somebody else if you moved the health clinic.
I’m willing to work if I can find somebody to bloody well hire me, but what can I do? I’ve no saleable abilities. You never trained me to earn my own living. I’m
useless.”

“I don’t think you should have another drink, darling. If you’d only stop, we could perhaps give you a job in the hydrotherapy department.”

“Pointing a hose at fat old men?”

“You can be so incredibly vulgar at times.”

“What exactly
is
the position of the estate—or should I ask that solicitor in St. Austell?”

“By all means do so, but I can tell you myself. As your trustee I leased Trelawney to the health clinic on a full repairing lease for fifty years at a rental that amounts to the yearly
interest on the loans secured by the estate. It’s already been explained to your husband’s lawyers. They plagued the life out of me for months as soon as you were married.”

“Eh? Could you say that again please. . . .” Her mother did so. “Does that mean that when I’m sixty-eight I will
still
have Grandfather’s debt around my neck
although you will have been raking in the profits for half a century? What happens if you die tomorrow?”

Her mother looked into the fire. “Selma and I have drawn up identical wills. We both own fifty percent of the shares in the clinic, and upon the death of either shareholder the surviving
shareholder may purchase the shares at par value. I saw no reason to mention that to Robert’s lawyers—they were unpleasantly aggressive—but I suppose
you
ought to know
now.”

“You mean that if you died, then Selma would get the lease of Trelawney?”

“Darling, I wasn’t trained to earn my living, either. When Grandfather died I had to accept the business proposition that Selma put to me. Of course, now that I’ve had five
years’ experience, I could run the place by myself, but don’t you remember the state I was in at the time? And it’s a full repairing lease. You’ll get the place back in
perfect condition, which will increase the value.”

“Doesn’t sound as if that’s a bonus. Grandfather always kept it in perfect condition.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t raise your voice, the patients might hear. To be quite frank, the other directors and I have already discussed the possibility of paying you a small
allowance.”

“Who are the other directors?”

“Selma and her accountant.
Our
accountant.”

“And what did they say?”

“Mr. Hillshaw thought we
might
manage three pounds a week.”

“Four. Plus the running costs and upkeep of the cottage.”

“Certainly
not
the running costs.”

“Then I’ll go to St. Austell tomorrow.”

“Oh, all right then. But no telephone bills.”

“No telephone, darling.”

B
OTH MEN WERE
sweating in the heat of the helicopter cabin. A thousand feet below, their own shadow bobbed ahead of them over the south
Sydonian desert. Flying high over Sydon you could see to the north the narrow, green plain, split by the twisting silver ribbon of the river as it slithered west to the Red Sea from its source high
in the magnificent mountain peaks of the eastern hills. Beyond the mountains, farther to the east, the implacable beige monotony of the desert was broken only by the roofs of Fenza.

Abdullah took the helicopter up a bit higher. He always felt happy and unfettered in the air, free from fear in a way that he could never be on earth. Both he and Suliman had learned to fly
while they were at Sandhurst, and Abdullah had later qualified as a helicopter pilot. A helicopter was the ideal means for moving around his country swiftly and in relative secrecy.

They were flying south, away from Semira, his capital city. The old city stood on the north bank and upon its summit stood the Royal Palace, which overlooked closely packed, dazzling,
white-domed rooftops, the narrow lanes between them and the small
souk
in the middle. All week there had been a sense of foreboding in the
souk;
the market had been unusually subdued,
full of sullen, worried faces and the bark of sudden argument. Troublemakers were at work again, with all their usual slogans. Abdullah reflected that it was perhaps a mixed blessing to send young
people abroad to be educated; they returned with impractical, radical ideas, loosely described as “progressive”, and talked of establishing a so-called people’s republic where no
one would ever again fear or want or work.

The previous evening the King had granted an urgently requested audience to the United States Ambassador. Together they had strolled under vine-covered trellises, along walks planted with low
herbs, where no eavesdropping was possible.

The Ambassador had warned the King that another attempt to kill him could be expected within two days and that the plot was apparently planned at a very high level. Neither man was surprised.
During the previous year, the young ruler of Sydon had made it clear that he intended to make many changes, that he intended to root out the cynical corruption and lethargy with which his country
was run. Unfortunately, the older politicians did not wish the old ways to be changed and the Western-educated students wanted radical changes that included ousting the King. Trouble was only to be
expected.

Ostensibly, the helicopter was flying south along the brilliant azure line of the sea, toward the southern border and royal seashore palace of Dinada, that beautiful steel-and-glass building
designed by Philip Johnson for Abdullah’s father. But suddenly the helicopter dipped and turned seventy degrees off course to the east, heading inland over the desert that composed seventy
percent of Sydon.

Within ten minutes they spotted the low, black goathide tent and a small group of tethered camels. The helicopter landed a hundred yards away from the animals, in order to alarm them as little
as possible.

One young officer of the Desert Patrol and two officers of the First Armoured Regiment ran toward the helicopter and stood at the salute outside the circumference of the great blades. His gun
drawn, Suliman waited until the blades were still and then jumped down.

“Salam Alaikum.”

“Alaikum a Salam.”

After the traditional greeting, the men bowed to their king, who entered the low tent, quickly sat cross-legged and motioned to the others to do likewise. There was a pause, then the usual
exchange of extravagant compliments and declarations of devotion. Suliman, who had grown up with two of the officers, nodded to them.

“Your Majesty, it is said that the life of Your Sacred Majesty is in danger. We know, for one of us was approached by a senior officer and promised higher rank if total unquestioning
obedience was promised for the next few days.”

He paused and looked, as if for confirmation, to his two brother officers. “Fortunes are being offered in bribes to the army.” The other officers nodded, black eyes harsh above beak
noses.

“And we have been warned that the First Armoured Regiment will shortly be ordered to leave on a long march, a secret night exercise.” There was another pause, and again the speaker
looked around, as if for support, before he continued. “Your Majesty, we suspect we shall be ordered to surround the capital and bar all exits.

“If such a thing were allowed to happen, in the confusion either a civil war might start in Sydon or an outside power, such as the Saudi, might quickly gain control of Semira, then the TV
and radio station and so the whole country.”

He drew a final deep breath. “We suspect there are traitors at all points in the army. We even doubt the loyalty of those who command us, and we wish to receive our orders directly from
Your Majesty.”

Except for the harsh desert wind, there was silence as all four men waited for Abdullah to speak. Conscious of the dangers risked by these men in approaching Suliman to set up the meeting,
Abdullah lifted his chin. Even when sitting cross-legged in olive fatigues, he had great presence and radiated tough energy. He said firmly, “Remember that I was appointed by Allah to lead
you!” He lifted his left hand and slowly pointed at each man in turn. “All of you remember the personal oath you swore to me when I became your leader. Our entire nation will applaud
your action when they hear of it.”

Abdullah folded his arms across his chest and slightly raised his voice. “Now we will move swiftly without mercy to wipe this menace from our land!”

There was a pause, then each man reaffirmed his loyalty, after which they discussed possible plots, suspected plotters and dates for their future execution.

It was decided that all three officers would accept any offer made by the plotters and would then try to warn Suliman, by telephone or in person.

The meeting took less than a quarter of an hour.

In the darkness, small waves slapped against the hull of the sixty-foot cabin cruiser, hove-to three miles offshore and north of Semira harbour. Leaning over the bridge and
straining his ears, the Greek captain could just hear the muffled oars of the two inflatable dinghies. Then he glimpsed the occasional phosphorescent flash, the occasional herring-silver glitter of
their bubbling wake, as one by one the dinghies pulled away from the rope ladder that dangled from the main deck to the waterline. Even so far out, they dared not risk the noise of the outboard
engines. There was no moon. Under cover of darkness, without being seen or heard, both of the dinghies should be able to make the harbour and nose in among the fishing boats lined up against the
northern quay. They ought to be able to be there before dawn.

The captain squinted through his night glasses at the town. It seemed quiet and peaceful. There were a few lights around the port, although not many at this late hour. The dinghies had taken
enough stuff aboard to blow the whole harbour to bits. Thank God it was out of his hold at last. There didn’t seem to have been any new developments since yesterday afternoon when, at the
seashore palace of Dinada, he had been ordered to cast off at twenty minutes’ notice. His Majesty had dashed aboard with his bodyguard and ordered him to set off at full speed on a
northwesterly course—final destination Cairo.

As soon as they were out of sight of shore and darkness had fallen, they had doused all lights, gone about and then, steering by compass, headed north through the night toward Semira.

Eight of Abdullah’s armed guards were now in the lead boat. The best of the soldiers were with His Majesty in the second boat. Nobody knew who, how many, or whether in fact anyone awaited
them at the harbour rendezvous.

The previous afternoon, one of Suliman’s contact officers in the First Armoured Regiment had telephoned Suliman at Dinada Palace and suggested a hunting trip to shoot partridge in the
desert; he had offered to set off immediately by car for Dinada with a few friends. Suliman had his answer ready. He would prefer to go fishing. He would meet his friend just before dawn at Semira
harbour, between the low customs shed and the harbourmaster’s office.

“Impossible, I have already agreed to a hunting trip.”

“Then arrange for other friends to meet my fishermen.”

Suliman had then reported to Abdullah that it sounded as if a force of armoured cars was about to leave Semira barracks for the Dinada Palace, in order to kill him.

Neither King Abdullah nor Suliman had any means of knowing whether the young officer would have had time to arrange the “fishing trip” and whether a party of loyalist fighters would
await them at the harbour, but both men knew that after their flight from Dinada they would never again see the young officer responsible for it. His telephone call to the palace from the barracks
would have been logged automatically and he would automatically be killed upon suspicion of being an informer.

They were now close to the shoreline; there were only two hundred meters between the lead dinghy and the harbour mouth. Now they could smell the small port odours—diesel oil, rope,
sailcloth, tar, rotting fish, urine, iodine.

A low whistle through the darkness and their oars were raised. Under their own momentum the boats slid into the treacle-black harbour, turned to port and nosed quietly in among the fishing
boats. As they docked, a barefoot sailor from each dinghy heaved himself up onto the stone quay and lashed the painter to a metal bollard. Another low whistle and the sailors helped the soldiers to
scramble up, then the men and their burdens became part of the black night.

Behind the dark bulk of the customs shed stood two armoured cars, each containing a driver and an officer. Silently the soldiers crammed into the two vehicles, leaving one on guard with the
extra guns and ammunition for which there was not enough space in the cars. “To the barracks,” Abdullah commanded.

Tense and silent, safety catches released, the grim band drove slowly away from the harbour and threaded its way through the winding, unlit streets that led to the northern gates; massive,
iron-studded, ten-foot-high wood slabs, they were set into the six-foot-thick stone walls that surrounded the old town. As usual at night, a sentry stood on duty, and as they approached he lifted
his gun and challenged them.

The officer leaned out. “We wish you to open the gates and stand aside for His Majesty King Abdullah.”