Lie down with lions - Ken Follett [85]
She was packing clothes into a bag while Fara swept the floor and Chantal slept in the next room. They had come down from the caves early to get the work done. However, there was not much to pack: apart from Chantal’s diapers, just one clean pair of knickers for herself and one for Jean-Pierre and a spare pair of socks for each of them. None of them would have a change of outer clothing. Chantal had no clothes anyway—she lived in a shawl, or nothing at all. For Jane and Jean-Pierre, one pair of trousers, a shirt, a scarf and a pattu-type blanket would suffice for the whole trip, and would probably be burned in a hotel in Peshawar in celebration of their return to civilization.
That thought would give her strength for the journey. She vaguely remembered thinking that Dean’s Hotel in Peshawar was primitive, but it was difficult to recall what had been wrong with it. Was it possible she had complained that the air conditioner was noisy? The place had showers, for God’s sake!
“Civilization,” she said aloud, and Fara looked at her inquiringly. Jane smiled and said in Dari: “I’m happy because I’m going back to the big town.”
“I like the big town,” Fara said. “I went to Rokha once.” She carried on sweeping. “My brother has gone to Jalalabad,” she added in a tone of envy.
“When will he be back?” Jane asked, but Fara had become dumb and embarrassed, and after a moment Jane realized why: the sounds of whistling and a man’s footsteps came from the courtyard, there was a tap on the door, and Ellis Thaler’s voice said: “Anyone at home?”
“Come in,” Jane called. He walked in, limping. Although she was no longer romantically interested in him, she had been concerned about his injury. He had remained in Astana to recover. He must have come back today. “How do you feel?” she asked him.
“Foolish,” he said with a rueful grin. “It’s an embarrassing place to get shot in.”
“If embarrassed is all you feel, it must be getting better.”
He nodded. “Is the doctor in?”
“He’s gone to Skabun,” Jane said. “There was a bad bombing raid and they sent for him. Anything I can do?”
“I just wanted to tell him that my convalescence is over.”
“He’ll be back tonight or tomorrow morning.” She was observing Ellis’s appearance: with his mane of blond hair and curly golden beard he looked like a lion. “Why don’t you cut your hair?”
“The guerrillas told me to grow it, and not to shave.”
“They always say that. The object of the exercise is to make Westerners less conspicuous. In your case it has the opposite effect.”
“I’m going to look conspicuous in this country regardless of my haircut.”
“That’s true.” It occurred to Jane that this was the first time she and Ellis had been together without Jean-Pierre. They had slipped very easily into their old conversational style. It was hard to remember how terribly angry she had been with him.
He was looking curiously at her packing. “What’s that for?”
“For the journey home.”
“How will you travel?”
“With a convoy, as we came.”
“The Russians have taken a lot of territory during the last few days,” he said. “Didn’t you know?”
Jane felt a chill of apprehension. “What are you telling me?”
“The Russians have launched their summer offensive. They’ve advanced over big stretches of country through which the convoys ordinarily pass.”
“Are you saying the route to Pakistan is closed?”
“The regular route is closed. You can’t get from here to the Khyber Pass. There may be other routes—”
Jane saw her dream of returning home fade. “Nobody told me!” she said angrily.
“I guess Jean-Pierre didn’t know. I’ve been with Masud a lot, so I’m right up-to-date.”
“Yes,” Jane said,