The Ghost(英文版)-第56部分

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　smart　address；　a　cat。　We　exchanged　polite　hellos。

　　“Well；”　she　said；　“here　we　are。”

　　“Here　we　are。”　We　stood　awkwardly；　a　few　feet　apart。　“I　didn’t　realize　you　were　back　working　in　Number　Ten；”　I　said。

　　“I　was　only　on　attachment　to　Adam。　The　king　is　dead；”　she　said；　and　suddenly　her　voice　cracked。　I　put　my　arms　around　her　and　patted　her　back；　as　if　she　were　a　child　who　had　fallen　over。　I　felt　the　wetness　of　her　cheek　against　mine。　When　she　pulled　back；　she　opened　her　briefcase　and　took　out　a　handkerchief。　“Sorry；”　she　said。　She　blew　her　nose　and　stamped　her　high…heeled　foot　in　self…reproach。　“I　keep　thinking　I’m　over　it；　and　then　I　realize　I’m　not。　You　look　terrible；”　she　added。　“In　fact；　you　look—”

　　“Like　a　ghost？”　I　said。　“Thanks。　I’ve　heard　it　before。”

　　She　checked　herself　in　the　mirror　of　her　powder　compact　and　carried　out　some　swift　repairs。　She　was　apprehensive；　I　realized。　She　needed　someone　to　accompany　her；　even　I　would　do。

　　“Right；”　she　said；　shutting　it　with　a　click。　“Let’s　go。”

　　We　walked　up　Whitehall；　through　the　crowds　of　spring　tourists。

　　“So；　were　you　invited　in　the　end？”　she　asked。

　　“No；　I　wasn’t。　Actually；　I’m　rather　surprised　that　you　were。”

　　“Oh；　that’s　not　so　odd；”　she　said；　with　an　attempt　at　carelessness。　“She’s　won；　hasn’t　she？　She’s　the　national　icon。　The　grieving　widow。　Our　very　own　Jackie　Kennedy。　She　won’t　mind　having　me　around。　I’m　hardly　a　threat；　just　a　trophy　in　the　victory　parade。”　We　crossed　the　road。　“Charles　the　First　stepped　out　of　that　window　to　be　executed；”　she　said；　pointing。　“You’d　have　thought　someone　would　have　realized　the　association；　wouldn’t　you？”

　　“Poor　staff　work；”　I　said。　“It　wouldn’t　have　happened　when　you　were　in　charge。”

　　I　knew　it　was　a　mistake　to　have　come　the　moment　we　stepped　inside。　Amelia　had　to　open　her　briefcase　for　the　security　men。　My　keys　set　off　the　metal　detector　and　I　had　to　be　searched。　It’s　come　to　something；　I　thought；　standing　with　my　hands　up；　having　my　groin　felt；　when　you　can’t　even　go　to　a　drinks　party　without　being　frisked。　In　the　great　open　space　of　the　Banqueting　House；　we　were　confronted　by　a　roar　of　conversation　and　a　wall　of　turned　backs。　I’d　made　it　a　rule　never　to　attend　the　launch　parties　of　my　own　books；　and　now　I　remembered　why。　A　ghostwriter　is　about　as　welcome　as　the　groom’s

　　unacknowledged　love　child　at　a　society　wedding。　I　didn’t　know　a　soul。　Deftly；　I　seized　a　couple　of　flutes　of　champagne　from　a　passing　waiter　and　presented　one　to

　　Amelia。

　　“I　can’t　see　Ruth；”　I　said。

　　“She’ll　be　in　the　thick　of　it；　I　expect。　Your　health；”　she　said。

　　We　clicked　glasses。　Champagne：　even　more　pointless　than　white　wine；　in　my　opinion。　But　there

　　didn’t　seem　to　be　anything　else。

　　“It’s　Ruth；　actually；　who　is　the　one　element　missing　from　your　book；　if　I　had　to　make　a　criticism。”

　　“I　know；”　I　said。　“I　wanted　to　put　in　more　about　her；　but　she　wouldn’t　have　it。”

　　“Well；　it’s　a　pity。”　Drink　seemed　to　embolden　the　normally　cautious　Mrs。　Bly。　Or　perhaps　it　was　just　that　we　had　a　bond　now。　After　all；　we　were　survivors—survivors　of　the　Langs。　At　any　rate；　she　leaned　in　close　to　me；　giving　me　a　familiar　lungful　of　her　scent。　“I　adored　Adam；　and　I　think　he　had　similar　feelings　for　me。　But　I　wasn’t　under　any　illusions：　he’d　never　have　left　her。　He　told　me　that　during　that　last　drive　to　the　airport。　They　were　a　complete　team。　He　knew　perfectly　well　he’d　have　been　nothing　without　her。　He　made　that　absolutely　clear　to　me。　He　owed　her。　She　was　the　one　who　really　understood　power。　She　was　the　one　who　originally　had　the　contacts　in　the　party。　In　fact；she　was　the　one　who　was　supposed　to　go　into　parliament；　did　you　know　that？　Not　him　at　all。　That　isn’t　in　your　book。”

　　“I　didn’t　know。”

　　“Adam　told　me　about　it　once。　It　isn’t　widely　known—at　least　I’ve　never　seen　it　written　up　anywhere。　But　apparently　his　seat　was　originally　all　lined　up　for　her；　only　at　the　last　minute　she　stood

　　aside　and　let　him　have　it。”

　　I　thought　of　my　conversation　with　Rycart。

　　“The　member　for　Michigan；”　I　murmured。

　　“Who？”

　　“The　sitting　MP　was　a　man　called　Giffen。　He　was　so　pro…American　he　was　known　as　the　member

　　for　Michigan。”　Something　moved　uneasily　inside　my　mind。　“Can　I　ask　you　a　question？　Before　Adam　was　killed；　why　were　you　so　determined　to　keep　that　manuscript　under　lock　and　key？”

　　“I　told　you：　security。”

　　“But　there　was　nothing　in　it。　I　know　that　better　than　anyone。　I’ve　read　every　tedious　word　a　dozen　times。”

　　Amelia　glanced　around。　We　were　still　on　the　fringe　of　the　party。　Nobody　was　paying　us　any　attention。

　　“Between　you　and　me；”　she　said　quietly；　“weweren’t　the　ones　who　were　concerned。　Apparently；　it　was　the　Americans。　I　was　told　they　passed　the　word　to　MI5　that　there　might　be　something　early　on　in　the　manuscript　that　was　a　potential　threat　to　national　security。”

　　“How　did　they　know　that？”

　　“Who’s　to　say？　All　I　can　tell　you　is　that　immediately　after　Mike　died；　they　requested　we　take

　　special　care　to　ensure　the　book　wasn’t　circulated　until　they’d　had　a　chance　to　clear　it。”

　　“And　did　they？”

　　“I’ve　no　idea。”

　　I　thought　again　of　my　meeting　with　Rycart。　What　was　it　he　claimed　McAra　had　said　to　him　on　the

　　telephone；　just　before　he　died？“The　key　to　everything　is　in　Lang’s　autobiography—it’s　all　there　at　the　beginning。”

　　Did　that　mean　their　conversation　had　been　bugged？

　　I　sensed　that　something　important　had　just　changed—that　some　part　of　my　solar　system　had　tilted　in　its　orbit—but　I　couldn’t　quite　grasp　what　it　was。　I　needed　to　get　ae　and　think　things　through。　But　already　I　was　aware　that　the　acoustics　of　the　party　had　changed。　The　roar　of　talk　was　dwindling。　People　were　shushing　one　another。　A　man　bellowed　pompously；　“Be　quiet！”　and　I　turned　around。　At　the　side　of　the　room；　opposite　the　big　windows；　not　very　far　from　where　we　were　standing；　Ruth　Lang　was　waiting　patiently　on　a　platform；　holding　a　microphone。

　　“Thank　you；”　she　said。　“Thank　you　very　much。　And　good　evening。”　She　paused；　and　a　great　stillness　spread　across　three　hundred　people。　She　took　a　breath。　There　was　a　catch　in　her　throat。　“I　miss　Adam　all　the　time。　But　never　more　than　tonight。　Not　just　because　we’re　meeting　to　launch　his　wonderful　book；　and　he　should　be　here　to　share　the　joy　of　his　life　story　with　us；　but　because　he　was　so　brilliant　at　making　speeches；　and　I’m　so　terrible。”

　　I　was　surprised　at　how　professionally　she　delivered　the　last　line；　how　she　built　the　emotional　tension　and　then　punctured　it。　There　was　a　release　of　laughter。　She　seemed　much　more　confident　in　public　than　I　remembered　her；　as　if　Lang’s　absence　had　given　her　room　to　grow。

　　“Therefore；”　she　continued；　“you’ll　be　relieved　to　hear　I’m　not　going　to　make　a　speech。　I’d　just　like　to　thank　a　few　people。　I’d　like　to　thank　Marty　Rhinehart　and　John　Maddox　for　not　only　being　marvelous　publishers；　but　also　being　great　friends。　I’d　like　to　thank　Sidney　Kroll　for　his　wit　and　his　wise　counsel。　And　in　case　this　sounds　as　though　the　only　people　involved　in　the　memoirs　of　a　British　prime　minister　are　Americans；　I’d　also　like　to　thank　in　particular；　and　especially；　Mike　McAra；　who　tragically　also　can’t　be　with　us。　Mike；　you　are　in　our　thoughts。”

　　The　great　hall　rang　with　a　rumble　of　“hear　hear。”

　　“And　now；”　said　Ruth；　“may　I　propose　a　toast　to　the　one　we　really　need　to　thank？”　She　raised　her　glass　of　macrobiotic　orange　juice；　or　whatever　it　was。　“To　the　memory　of　a　great　man　and　a　great　patriot；　a　great　father　and　a　wonderful　husband—to　Adam　Lang！”

　　“To　Adam　Lang！”　we　all　boomed　in　unison；　and　then　we　clapped；　and　went　on　clapping；　redoubling　the　volume；　while　Ruth　nodded　graciously　to　all　corners　of　the　hall；　including　ours；　at　which　point　she　saw　me　and　blinked；　then　recovered；　smiled；　and　hoisted　her　glass　to　me　in　salute。

　　She　left　the　platform　quickly。

　　“The　merry　widow；”　hissed　Amelia。　“Death　becomes　her；　don’t　you　think？　She’s　blossoming　by　the　day。”

　　“I　have　a　feeling　she’s　coming　over；”　I　said。

　　“Shit；”　said　Amelia；　draining　her　glass；　“in　that　case　I’m　getting　out　of　here。　Would　you　like　me　to　take　you　to　dinner？”

　　“Amelia　Bly；　are　you　asking　me　on　adate　？”

　　“I’ll　meet　you　outside　in　ten　minutes。　Freddy！”　she　called。　“Nice　to　see　you。”

　　Even　as　she　moved　away　to　talk　to　someone　else；　the　crowd　before　me　seemed　to　part；　and　Ruth　emerged；　looking　very　different　from　the　last　time　I　had　seen　her：　glossy　haired；　smooth　skinned；　slimmed　by　grief；　and　designer　clad　in　something　black　and　silky。　Sid　Kroll　was　just　behind　her。

　　“Hello；　you；”　she　said。

　　She　took　my　hands　in　hers　and　mwah…mwahed　me；　not　kissing　me　but　brushing　her　thick　helmet　of　hair　briefly　against　each　of　my　cheeks。

　　“Hello；　Ruth。　Hello；　Sid。”

　　I　nodded　to　him。　He　winked。

　　“I　was　told　you　couldn’t　stand　these　kinds　of　parties；”　she　said；　still　holding　my　hands　and　fixing