Страница 13 из 66
“In the meantime, because of starvation, pestilence, and war, they’ve endured hell on earth,” Sie
“Obviously, you haven’t been listening closely, my dear. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have missed the point.”
Sie
“So war’s a good thing,” Malone said acidly. “And so are weapons merchants.”
“It’s easy to condemn what you don’t understand. Incidentally, my great-great-great-grandfather had a friendship with Malthus.”
“What?”
“After the first edition of his essay was published, Malthus traveled from England to the Continent. My ancestor had the good fortune to meet him at a di
“You’re telling me that because of Malthus’s ideas, your ancestor became an arms dealer?”
“He considered it a vocation.” Bellasar looked with concern toward Sie
10
Malone lay in his dark bedroom, staring, troubled, at the ceiling. The evening had been one of the strangest he had ever experienced, the conversation on such a surreal level that he felt disoriented, his mind swirling worse than when he’d been tranquilized.
Jet lag insisted. His eyelids fluttered shut. He dreamed of two men wearing wigs and frilly long jackets from 1798, huddled by a fire in a smoky tavern, pointedly discussing the fate of the multitudes. He dreamed of Sie
Getting out of bed, he approached the large windows opposite him. Peering out, he saw the shadows of trees across gardens and moonlight reflecting off ponds. Floodlights illuminated courtyards and lanes. A guard stepped into view, throwing away a cigarette, shifting his rifle from his left shoulder to his right. Far off, the angry voices of two men were so muffled that Malone couldn’t tell what they shouted at each other. The guard paid them no attention. The argument stopped. As silence drifted over the compound, Malone wiped a hand across his weary face and returned to bed, about to sink back into sleep when he heard a distant gunshot. He was willing to bet that the guard didn’t pay attention to that, either.
THREE
1
Startled by the sudden approach of the helicopter, Sie
Patting the Arabian’s neck, whispering assurances, Sie
Sometimes she wondered what would happen if she just kept riding, taking a cross-country route, avoiding roads and lanes, heading up into the hills. How far could she get? And what would she be able to do once she was far from the estate? She had no food or water. Certainly she’d arouse suspicion if she packed saddlebags with provisions before she set out for her daily ride. She had never been able to prove it, but she suspected that Derek had men watching her from a distance as she rode through the outreaches of the estate. If she did manage to prove she was being watched, Derek would no doubt shrug and say he wanted to make certain she was protected. She had no money, had no access to it. Derek kept strict control of that. She could have pocketed some of her jewels, but where was she going to find anyone in the countryside who could pay her what they were worth? Without money, she couldn’t feed herself, get a hotel room, or even buy a bus ticket if she tried to get away from Derek. However she looked at it, she was trapped. Perhaps that was why the helicopter had thundered in this direction – to remind her that she was never really alone, that she had no hope of leaving.
Riding back toward the compound, she barely noticed the sunbathed scenery around her. She was too preoccupied, knowing that in less than an hour she would have to deal with the new complication that Derek had introduced: the artist he had hired to paint her. Artist? She didn’t understand. Derek never did anything on a whim. What was he thinking? Rubbing her left arm where he had twisted it sharply before he left the previous week, she told herself that, regrettably, she would soon find out.
2
When the stables came into view, she dismounted, took off her helmet, and shook her head, letting her lush hair fall loose. As she led the Arabian along a lane bordered by cypresses, she knew she could have asked one of the stable men to walk the horse and cool it down, but she enjoyed the intimacy of taking care of her horse as much as she did the exertion of riding it. She turned to pat the horse’s neck and murmur endearments, looked ahead, and faltered at the sight of the artist coming out of the stables and leaning against a rail.
The formal dress of last night’s di
“Good morning.” His smile was engaging. “Did you have a good ride?”
“Very,” she lied. “But I must have lost track of the time. I was supposed to meet you in the sunroom at nine. Am I late?”
“No, I’m early. Getting to know you where we’ll be working seemed limited. I thought it would be helpful if I met you at a place where you feel at ease.”
“I feel at ease everywhere, Mr. Malone.”
“Please call me Chase.”
“My husband didn’t mention it last night, but I used to be a model. I’ll feel at ease wherever you pose me.”
“But posing isn’t what I want from you.”
Sie
“We’ll figure that out together.”
Her puzzlement was interrupted when a sudden nudge from behind nearly pushed her off balance. It came from her horse. “Excuse me,” she said. “He feels ignored.”