The Ghost(英文版)-第12部分

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ood　woman。　It　had　everything。　You　could　give　it　at　Christmas　to　your　grungy　teenager　or　your　churchgoing　granny；　and　each　would　be　equally　happy。　It　sold　three　hundred　thousand　copies　in　hardcover　in　the　UK　alone。

　　“You　knowChristy　？”　It　seemed　so　unlikely。

　　“We　stayed　at　his　house　on　Mustique　last　winter。　I　read　his　memoirs。　They　were　by　the　bed。”

　　“Now　I’m　embarrassed。”

　　“No。　Why？　They　were　brilliant；　in　a　horrible　kind　of　a　way。　Listening　to　his　scrambled　stories　over　dinner　and　then　seeing　how　you’d　turned　them　into　something　resembling　a　life—I　said　to　Adam　then：　‘This　is　the　man　you　need　to　write　your　book。’”

　　I　laughed。　I　couldn’t　stop　myself。　“Well；　I　hope　your　husband’s　recollections　aren’t　quite　as　hazy　as　Christy’s。”

　　“Don’t　count　on　it。”　She　pulled　back　her　hood　and　took　a　deep　breath。　She　was　better　looking　in　the　flesh　than　she　was　on　television。　The　camera　hated　her　almost　as　much　as　it　loved　her　husband。　It　didn’t　catch　her　amused　alertness；　the　animation　of　her　face。　“God；　I　miss　home；”　she　said。　“Even　though　the　kids　are　away　at　university。　I　keep　telling　him　it’s　like　being　married　to　Napoleon　on　Saint　Helena。”

　　“Then　why　don’t　you　go　back　to　London？”

　　She　didn’t　say　anything　for　a　while；　just　stared　at　the　ocean；　biting　her　lip。　Then　she　looked　at　me；　sizing　me　up。　“You　did　sign　that　confidentiality　agreement？”

　　“Of　course。”

　　“You’re　sure？”

　　“Check　with　Sid　Kroll’s　office。”

　　“Because　I　don’t　want　to　read　about　this　in　some　gossip　column　next　week；　or　in　some　cheap　little　kiss…and…tell　book　of　your　own　a　year　from　now。”

　　“Whoa；”　I　said；　taken　aback　by　her　venom。　“I　thought　you　just　said　I　was　your　idea。　I　didn’t　ask　to　come　here。　And　I　haven’t　kissed　anyone。”

　　She　nodded。　“All　right　then。　I’ll　tell　you　why　I　can’t　go　home；　between　you　and　me。　Because　there’s　something　not　quite　right　with　him　at　the　moment；　and　I’m　a　bit　afraid　to　leave　him。”

　　Boy；　I　thought。　This　just　gets　better　and　better。

　　“Yes；”　I　replied　diplomatically。　“Amelia　told　me　he　was　very　upset　by　Mike’s　death。”

　　“Oh；　did　she？　Quite　whenMrs。　Bly　became　such　an　expert　in　my　husband’s　emotional　state　I’m　not　sure。”　If　she　had　hissed　and　sprung　claws　she　couldn’t　have　made　her　feelings　plainer。　“Losing　Mike　certainly　made　it　worse；　but　it　isn’t　just　that。　It’s　losing　power—that’s　the　real　trouble。　Losing　power；　and　now　having　to　sit　down　and　relive　everything；　year　by　year。　While　all　the　time　the　press　are　going　on　and　on　about　what　he　did　and　didn’t　do。　He　can’t　get　free　of　the　past；　you　see。　He　can’t　move　on。”　She　gestured　helplessly　at　the　sea；　the　sand；　the　dunes。　“He’s　stuck。　We’re　both　stuck。”

　　As　we　walked　back　to　the　house；　she　put　her　arm　through　mine。　“Oh；　dear；”　she　said。　“You　must　be　starting　to　wonder　what　you’ve　let　yourself　in　for。”

　　THERE　WAS　A　LOTmore　activity　in　the　compound　when　we　got　back。　A　dark　green　Jaguar　limousine　with　a　Washington　license　plate　was　parked　at　the　entrance；　and　a　black　minivan　with　darkened　windows　was　drawn　up　behind　it。　As　the　front　door　opened；　I　could　hear　several　telephones　ringing　at　once。　A　genial　gray…haired　man　in　a　cheap　brown　suit　was　sitting　just　inside；　drinking　a　cup　of　tea；　talking　to　one　of　the　police　guards。　He　jumped　up　smartly　when　he　saw　Ruth　Lang。　They　were　all　quite　scared　of　her；　I　noticed。

　　“Afternoon；　ma’am。”

　　“Hello；　Jeff。　How　was　New　York？”

　　“Bloody　chaos；　as　usual。　Like　Piccadilly　Circus　in　the　rush　hour。”　He　had　a　crafty　London　accent。　“Thought　for　a　while　I　wouldn’t　get　back　in　time。”

　　Ruth　turned　to　me。　“They　like　to　have　the　car　ready　in　position　when　Adam　lands。”　She　began　the　long　process　of　wriggling　out　of　her　windbreaker　just　as　Amelia　Bly　came　round　the　corner；　a　cell　phone　wedged　between　her　elegant　shoulder　and　her　sculpted　chin；　her　nimble　fingers　zipping　up　an　attaché　case。　“That’s　fine；　that’s　fine。　I’ll　tell　him。”　She　nodded　to　Ruth　and　carried　on　speaking—“On　Thursday　he’s　in　Chicago”—then　looked　at　Jeff　and　tapped　her　wristwatch。

　　“Actually；　I　thinkI’ll　go　to　the　airport；”　said　Ruth；　suddenly　pulling　her　windbreaker　back　down。　“Amelia　can　stay　here　and　polish　her　nails　or　something。　Why　don’t　you　come？”　she　added　to　me。　“He’s　keen　to　meet　you。”

　　Score　one　to　the　wife；　I　thought。　But　no：　in　the　finest　traditions　of　the　British　civil　service；　Amelia　bounced　off　the　ropes　and　came　back　punching。　“Then　I’ll　travel　in　the　backup　car；”　she　said；　snapping　her　cell　phone　shut　and　smiling　sweetly。　“I　can　do　my　nails　in　there。”

　　Jeff　opened　one　of　the　Jaguar’s　rear　doors　for　Ruth；　while　I　went　round　and　nearly　broke　my　arm　tugging　at　the　other。　I　slid　into　the　leather　seat　and　the　door　closed　behind　me　with　a　gaseous　thump。

　　“She’s　armored；　sir；”　said　Jeff　into　the　rearview　mirror　as　we　pulled　away。　“Weighs　two　and　a　half　tons。　Yet　she’ll　still　do　a　hundred　with　all　four　tires　shot　out。”

　　“Oh；　do　shut　up；　Jeff；”　said　Ruth；　good…humoredly。　“He　doesn’t　want　to　hear　all　that。”

　　“The　windows　are　an　inch　thick　and　don’t　open；　in　case　you　were　thinking　of　trying。　She’s　airtight　against　chemical　and　biological　attack；　with　oxygen　for　an　hour。　Makes　you　think；　doesn’t　it？　At　this　precise　moment；　sir；　you’re　probably　safer　than　you’ve　ever　been　in　your　life；　or　ever　will　be　again。”

　　Ruth　laughed　again　and　made　a　face。　“Boys　with　their　toys！”

　　The　outside　world　seemed　muffled；　distant。　The　forest　track　ran　smooth　and　quiet　as　rubber。　Perhaps　this　is　what　it　feels　like　being　carried　in　the　womb；　I　thought：　this　wonderful　feeling　of　complete　security。　We　ran　over　the　dead　skunk；　and　the　big　car　didn’t　register　the　slightest　tremor。

　　“Nervous？”　asked　Ruth。

　　“No。　Why？　Should　I　be？”

　　“Not　at　all。　He’s　the　most　charming　man　you’ll　ever　meet。　My　own　Prince　Charming！”　And　she　gave　her　deep…throated；　mannish　laugh　again。　“God；”　she　said；　staring　out　of　the　window；　“will　I　be　glad　to　see　the　back　of　these　trees。　It’s　like　living　in　an　enchanted　wood。”

　　I　glanced　over　my　shoulder　at　the　unmarked　minivan　following　close　behind。　I　could　see　how　this　was　addictive。　I　was　getting　used　to　it　already。　Being　forced　to　give　it　up　after　it　had　become　a　habit　would　be　like　letting　go　of　mommy。　But　thanks　to　terrorism；　Lang　would　never　have　to　give　it　up—never　have　to　stand　in　line　for　public　transport；　never　even　drive　himself。　He　was　as　pampered　and　cocooned　as　a　Romanov　before　the　revolution。

　　We　came　out　of　the　forest　onto　the　main　road；　turned　left；　and　almost　immediately　swung　right　through　the　airport　perimeter。　I　stared　out　of　the　window　in　surprise　at　the　big　runway。

　　“We’re　here　already？”

　　“In　summer　Marty　likes　to　leave　his　office　in　Manhattan　at　four；”　said　Ruth；　“and　be　on　the　beach　by　six。”

　　“I　suppose　he　has　a　private　jet；”　I　said　in　an　attempt　at　knowingness。

　　“Of　course　he　has　a　private　jet。”

　　She　gave　me　a　look　that　made　me　feel　like　a　hick　who’d　just　used　his　fish　knife　to　butter　his　roll。Of　course　he　has　a　private　jet。　You　don’t　own　a　thirty…million…dollar　house　and　travel　to　it　by　bus。　The　man　must　have　a　carbon　footprint　the　size　of　a　yeti’s。　I　realized　then　that　just　about　everybody　the　Langs　knew　these　days　had　a　private　jet。　Indeed；　here　came　Lang　himself；　in　a　corporate　Gulfstream；　dropping　out　of　the　darkening　sky　and　skimming　in　low　over　the　gloomy　pines。　Jeff　put　his　foot　down　and　a　minute　later　we　pulled　up　outside　the　little　terminal。　There　was　a　self…important　cannonade　of　slamming　doors　as　we　piled　inside—me；　Ruth；　Amelia；　Jeff；　and　one　of　the　protection　officers。　Inside；　a　patrolman　from　the　Edgartown　police　force　was　already　waiting。　Behind　him　on　the　wall　I　could　see　a　faded　photograph　of　Bill　and　Hillary　Clinton　being　greeted　on　the　tarmac　at　the　start　of　some　scandal…shrouded　presidential　vacation。

　　The　private　jet　taxied　in　from　the　runway。　It　was　painted　dark　blue　and　hadHALLINGTON　written　in　gold　letters　by　the　door。　It　looked　bigger　than　the　usual　CEO’s　phallic　symbol；　with　a　high　tail　and　six　windows　either　side；　and　when　it　came　to　a　stop　and　the　engines　were　cut　the　silence　over　the　deserted　airfield　was　unexpectedly　profound。

　　The　door　opened；　the　steps　were　lowered；　and　out　came　a　couple　of　Special　Branch　men。　One　headed　straight　for　the　terminal。　The　other　waited　at　the　foot　of　the　steps；　going　through　the　motions　of　checking　the　empty　tarmac；　glancing　up　and　around　and　behind　him。　Lang　himself　seemed　in　no　hurry　to　disembark。　I　could　just　about　make　him　out　in　the　shadows　of　the　interior；　shaking　hands　with　the　pilot　and　a　male　steward；　then　finally—almost　reluctantly；　it　seemed　to　me—he　came　out　and　paused　at　the　top　of　the　steps。　He　was　holding　his　own　briefcase；　which　was　not　something　he　had　done　when　he　was　prime　minister。　The　wind　lifted　the　back　of　his　jacket　and　plucked　at　his　tie。　He　smoothed　down　his　hair。　He　glanced　around　as　if　he　was　trying　to　remember　what　he　was　supposed　to　do。　It　was　on　the　edge　of　becoming　embarrassing　whe