Lovers and Liars (52 page)

can feel … However,’ his tone became serious again and smile disappeared, ‘I do believe this. Those of us who enjoy ilege, and those of us granted power - we have to remain ountable. For the public figure, there can be no truly private

That is the price paid. Politicians, presidents, and - yes princes, have to face press scrutiny. After all, if they have thing to hide, they have nothing to fear. That/ he stabbed the , ‘that is how we preserve a free society - via that scrutiny. And we don’t like it, we can always go someplace where those in wer are better protected.’

There was a ripple of response and Hawthorne cut it short. he continued, and Gini could see he was winding down ‘I believe we should all continue to fight for press freedom.

should oppose censorship. We should oppose other more idious curbs. Press freedom ensures truth is revealed, and lies sed. It is the bedrock of democratic society - even when, for se on the receiving end, it feels like a bed of nails.’

He lifted his glass. ‘Lord Melrose, ladies and gentlemen, I give u a toast. The freedom of the Press. May the fourth estate tinue to flourish, especially its many representatives here.’

The applause began and mounted. Hawthorne’s audience cheered. At several tables, people rose to their feet. Others followed their example.

‘The claque’s here . Stein said irritably. ‘They always are. Where they lead, others follow. Jesus Christ - Vietnam. Is there any string that man wouldn’t pull?’

‘Well he did fight there/ Gini began.

‘Precisely my point.’ Stein gave her a hard look. ‘While America was changing, he wasn’t there. He was out in ‘Nam, killing Vietcong. Take a look at his war record sometime, Gini. He was decorated three times - and it wasn’t for winning hearts and minds. Hawthorne didn’t speak out against that war until around nineteen eighty-five, long after it was safely over. He was a hawk right through the Seventies and beyond … ”

‘Well’ maybe.’ Gini hesitated. ‘But it was a good speech, of its kind. I agreed with his arguments … ‘

‘Sure. You’re a reporter, like nearly everyone else here. He gave the right speech for this audience. Perfect pitch. Nazis, Goebbels? He didn’t miss a trick .

‘That wasn’t irrelevant. It’s germane.’

‘Sure. It’s also emotive. I should know . Stein shrugged. ‘Forget it, Gini. I guess I’m biased - but then I’m one of those Jews Hawthorne would never invite to dine.’

After the remaining toasts, guests began to circulate between tables. On the dais, Hawthorne and Lord Melrose stood in conversation. The evening’s events were beginning to wind down. Gini looked around for Nicholas Jenkins, and saw he had moved across to another table. She lost sight of him. When she finally located him, he was deep in conversation with one of Melrose’s assistants. A few minutes later, she saw Melrose himself join them. He drew Jenkins aside, into a lobby and out of sight.

John Hawthorne, she saw, had now made his way down from the dais into the throng. He was surrounded by well-wishers and by security men on all sides.

She sat down at the now-empty table to wait for Jenkins’s return. She stared at the tablecloth, fiddled with the cutlery. She did not want to admit it to herself, but Hawthorne’s speech had touched a nerve. Even now, after all Pascal’s arguments, after all that had happened, she still felt a residual resistance to the idea of Hawthorne’s involvement in these events. Earlier that day, at the escort agency, or when she had been speaking to his wife the

reViOUS CVC11111g, she had almost been able to accept the idea of his ilt. Now, again, it seemed so unlikely. A failure of imagination, . rhaps, she told herself, but she could not imagine the man who d made tonight’s speech making a series of appointments with d blondes, or authorizing killings.

.‘Gini … it is GiniT

She looked tip to find Hawthorne and entourage had reached r taNe. I 1e %%,as now standing by her side. She rose, and took the nd lie held out to her. His handshake was brisk and impersonal;

pie ,%-vre milling around on all sides. Nevertheless, she could d something in his face, and something in his eyes. It might wordless, but she could see that it was directed at her, and her ne, an(.] it looked like an appeal.

‘I wanted to thank you,’ he said. ‘Taking Lise out, yesterday ening. That was a very good idea of yours.’

Gini did not correct him. ‘Lise is not here tonight?’ ‘No. No.’ I le hesitated slightly. ‘She had a migraine.’ ‘I hope she feels better soon.’

‘I’m sure she will. They don’t usually last that long. I .

He stopped, and Gini realized it was the first time she had seen im betra%- awkwardness; it was as if he were off-guard. Just for passing instant, she saw that beneath the pace and energy,

looked desperately tired. He looked, she realized, as Mary had scribed, as if at heart he was in despair.

Alread%, lie was beginning to turn away, to the next table, the xt group ot.admirers and friends.

‘Give mv lo%-(, to Mary/ he said, and he was gone. Gini watched m leave’ the room, table by table. At the door, the security en bunched. She saw Frank Romero’s burly figure, and that minded her. She turned back, but she had missed the de—

ture of 1-iavohorne’s father. His table was now deserted, and S. I lawthorne had gone.

She went iii search of Nicholas Jenkins, and found him eventuliv, on the far side of the room, still in conversation with Melrose. eikins was fluslied, and sweating. As she glanced across, she saw im pull out a handkerchief, and mop his brow.

She was about to move quietly to one side, until this conversation was over, but Jenkins caught sight of her. He beckoned her bver.

‘Henrv, here she is now. Gini, that was very good timing. We’ve been talking about you … ‘

‘Among other things/ said Melrose, with a little smile.

Jenkins looked flustered at this. He performed the introductions clumsily, and his proprietor brushed them aside.

‘I do know who Miss Hunter is, Nicholas.’ He turned back to Gini. ‘I’ve read her stories. And admired them too. I wonder .

He drew Gini a little to one side. A tall man, aged about sixty, elegantly dressed; he had a courteous manner. ‘I wonder/ he repeated, ‘I give these luncheons occasionally, Gini - may I call you Gini? - for my writers, some of my editors, that kind of thing. Very informal. just to toss ideas back and forth you know. What kind of stories we should be covering, how we cover them, whether the paper can be improved … ‘

He paused. Gini said nothing. She had heard of these lunches, and had never expected to attend one. More senior journalists than she lobbied hard to be invited, since they knew the lunches were the path to promotion. She knew Jenkins had attended in the past, and that the ambitious Daiches had never made the grade, though he continued to try. ‘I generally try to have one a month, if I’m in London,’ Melrose was continuing. ‘And I have one planned for the News next week. I’d like you to attend. I’ll ask my assistant to contact you shortly. You’ll be free? Good, good. So glad to have met you … ‘

He wished Jenkins good-evening briefly, then drifted away. Jenkins, who had overheard this conversation, gave her an angry look. He was now clearly in a bad temper, and in no mood to disguise it.

‘Bloody man/ he said, with some vehemence, once Melrose was well out of earshot. He took Gini’s arm. ‘Christ, what an evening. Let’s go.’

In the Jaguar, driving north, Jenkins was preoccupied, speaking only to his driver, and then only to tell him curtly to take the quickest route.

When they reached Gini’s flat, Jenkins saw her as far as the top of the steps. There he hesitated, then said, ‘I’ll come in if I may. just for five minutes.’

In her living-room Jenkins did not sit down, or remove his coat. He stood in the centre of the room, looking ill at ease. He refused Gini’s offer of coffee, or a drink.

‘Look/ he said, in an abrupt way, ‘I’d better get this over with. I’ll come straight to the point. I’ll talk to Lamartine in the morning, but you may as well know now. The Hawthorne story is off.’

There was a silence. Gini looked at him. ‘The story’s off?’

‘That’s right.’ Jenkins shifted from foot to foot. ‘It’s dead. Killed. killing it. You leave it alone from now on, both you and Pascal. Ive got thatT

ere was another silence. Gini let it run on. She removed her t.

‘You want to give me a reason, NicholasT

11 could give you several. One will do. I was misinformed. ullen told me a pack of lies. We’re not going to make this ry stand up.’ Jenkins shifted his eyes away from her face. His

ally pink complexion became suffused with a dark flush. Gini ed at him for a long moment, measuring his discomfiture. It s considerable.

She sat down, and stared across the room. Of course: it was obvious. Every little event of the evening replayed itself, the nversations she had seen between Hawthorne and Melrose; lrose’s subsequent conversation with Jenkins; she had been

ught in the middle of a power play, she realized. Both the rrot and the stick were being used here, the classic approach. She looked back at Jenkins. ‘I see/ she said. ‘Melrose told you pull the story.’

‘It’s fucking well nothing to do with Melrose.’ Jenkins lost his per at once. ‘It’s my decision. Just do what I fucking tell you, for once.’

‘Give me a break, Nicholas.’ Gini rose. She gave a furious ture, and realized she was suddenly very angry. ‘Do you k I’m some kind of idiot? Dear God - we sit there tonight, listen to Hawthorne, and all that rhetoric about the freedom of Pres. I even damn well start to believe the rhetoric - and then at happens? Hawthorne has a quiet word with his old buddy Irose, and the next thing is - the story’s off. The hell with it,

icholas. I thought the whole point of being an editor was that en someone leaned on you, you stayed standing up.’ jenkins’s face darkened further, ‘Gini, I’m going to forget you

that. I’m telling you, Melrose has nothing to do with it. He sn’t even know about the Hawthorne story.’

“Come on, Nicholas. Don’t give me that crap. Melrose knows. ‘you didn’t tell him, his friend John Hawthorne did.’

‘Listen,’ Jenkins rushed on, paying no attention, ‘I’ve been onsidering our overall editorial policy. We have to watch all e sex-and-scandal stories, that’s all. The News relies on its dle-class readership-‘

‘Don’t tell me. We go too far and we alienate them. You know

I’ve heard that same view very recently? And you know who from? The US ambassador, that’s who. He fed it to me, he fed it to Melrose, and Melrose bought it. Plus, of course, he’s delighted to intercede on his friend Hawthorne’s behalf, so he leaned on you, and you promptly collapsed. Great. Do you usually alter your entire editorial policy, Nicholas, over dinner, during a fifteen-minute speechT

‘Just cut it out, all right?’ Jenkins turned away, tight-lipped. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but that’s a woman’s response - a typical woman’s response. You see male conspiracies, Gini, everywhere you look.’ He gave a curt gesture. ‘Anyway. I might just remind you. I don’t have to explain my editorial policy to my reporters. You don’t like it, you know what you can do.’

‘Resign, Nicholas? Oh, I don’t think I should do that now, do you? After all, my damn proprietor has just invited me to one of his famous lunches. That’s a big break for me, Nicholas - except I get the feeling there’re a few conditions attached to that invitation. Like I agree to be a good little girl. Like I drop the Hawthorne story, and play ball. If I don’t do that I suspect that lunch invitation might be cancelled rather suddenly. Who knows, I might even get fired. Dear God! The whole thing makes me sick-‘

‘Look, look. No-one’s talking about firing anyone . Jenkins looked suddenly alarmed. He switched to a pacifying tone. ‘We don’t want to lose you, Gini. I don’t want to lose you-!

‘Oh sure. You’d just hate me to take this story elsewhere. Which, come to think of it, is one hell of a good idea.’

Jenkins opened his mouth to make some angry retort, then shut it again. If he had fired her, then and there, Gini would not have been surprised, so it was interesting - and revealing, she realized that he continued, with some effort, to take a conciliatory tone.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you’re over-reacting. There’s no need for this to be a resignation issue. You have to learn to face facts, Gini. All right, so this story didn’t pan out. There are other stories, you know. You remember we talked about Yugoslavia? Well, now maybe we could take a look at that idea again, and … ‘

He talked on, in this vein while Gini watched him coldly, with increasing disgust. If he was prepared to go as far as discussing Yugoslavia again, he must really be desperate, both to get her off this story, and to prevent her from taking it elsewhere. She looked away from him, around the room, and suddenly remembered the possibility of its listening walls. In her anger, she had completely forgotten this factor, but now she saw it was one

she could turn to her own advantage: if someone outside was

16tening in, why not tell them what they most wanted to hear?

let Nicholas Jenkins continue talking. When he finally finished gave a shrug and a sigh.

‘OK, OK/ she said carefully. ‘Maybe you’re right, Nicholas. I ss I was over-reacting. It was sudden, that’s all.’ She paused. u really mean that about Yugoslavia?’

.‘Sure, sure.’ Jenkins beamed. ‘Get it into your head, will you, *? I really value your work at the News. A woman’s byline on orts from Bosnia, maybe a photograph of you - yes, it could ork out very well.’

‘Well, I guess if that was really a possibility .

‘It is a possibility. It’s more than a possibility. Look, Gini, u’ve got that lunch with Melrose sewn up. You and I can new stories, next week maybe. This could all turn out well r you. Don’t screw up now.’

‘But I’d have to agree to drop the Hawthorne story?’

‘Yes. And no more garbage about swanning off with it elsewhere.’ ‘OK.’ She gave him a decisive smile. ‘You’ve sold me on it, icholas.’ She paused. ‘Actually - I didn’t want to say this before,

I wasn’t making a whole lot of progress with it anyway. There re a lot of leads, then they all turned out to be dead-ends. I could worked on this for months and got nowhere. Pascal feels the . I don’t want to do that - marking time. And if there was a rious possibility of Yugoslavia-‘