Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [159]
‘I can’t believe this,’ John muttered. ‘It’s too easy. There must be something we’ve overlooked.’
‘Very good,’ Schmidt said. He gave me a forgiving smile. ‘I should have known that in the struggle between love and duty your heart would triumph over your – ’
‘Shut up, Schmidt,’ I said.
‘So then, how does it stand?’ Schmidt bit into a pastry and chewed ruminating. ‘I see only one remaining difficulty. Are you prepared, John, to play the grieving husband? For if her part in this comes out it will be the knot that unravels the tangled skein of the truth.’
‘Very literary, Schmidt,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what the hell it means but it sounds good.’
‘It is obvious, what it means,’ Schmidt said indignantly. ‘The forced marriage, his knowledge of the plot, his earlier connection with her brothers – all these things will become known, together with your acquaintance with John, and your reputation, my dear Vicky, will be in ruins.’
‘Do you think I care about my reputation?’
‘I care,’ John said shortly. ‘Honestly, Vicky, I’m beginning to worry about you. Anyhow, Schmidt is right; the whole implausible story hangs on her innocence. Unless . . . How about claiming I was unaware of her criminal connections when I married her? They aren’t exactly public knowledge.’
‘But how could you have remained unaware of them?’ Schmidt didn’t like this version; he saw where it was leading, and he wanted the credit for unearthing the plot.
John grinned at him. ‘That’s the point, isn’t it? I’ll leave the medals to you, Schmidt. I don’t doubt that Max and his employers will appreciate our keeping her name out of it. That’s another consideration. So when I marched in there last night I was hoping to rescue her as well as Vicky?’
‘Yes, yes, that is it,’ Schmidt said eagerly. ‘The villains foully murdered her. Both of you saw it.’
‘No,’ John said. ‘She was dead when I arrived. Vicky saw nothing.’
‘That is easier, yes,’ Schmidt agreed. ‘The less one admits to knowing, the fewer lies there are to remember. Do you find any other holes in the plan?’
‘Not at the moment,’ I said. I couldn’t believe it either.
‘Good. Then we will go shopping.’ Schmidt scraped crumbs off his moustache and bounced up. ‘You cannot come, Vicky, not wrapped in a bedsheet, so I will select for you a suitable wardrobe.’
‘Oh, God. See here, Schmidt – ’
‘I’ll go along,’ John said. ‘And try to control Schmidt. I believe I can claim to have a reasonably good idea of your size.’
He was smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But he hadn’t eaten much and he had never spoken her name.
Chapter Fifteen
I
THE FOLLOWING DAYS are something of a blur. We spent most of the time trying to elude the press and the rest of it talking with various officials. Occasionally I’d catch a glimpse of a mosque or a suq and once I actually saw the gates of the Cairo Museum as the limo passed it.
While John and Schmidt were shopping I called Mother and Dad and told them the reports of my nervous breakdown had been greatly exaggerated, but not as exaggerated as the story of my abduction and the news of my engagement. Despite her all-around relief, Mom was a little disappointed to find out that I wasn’t engaged to marry a millionaire. She was tactful enough not to say so, however. I managed to talk Dad out of flying to Cairo. My call had caught him just as he was about to leave for the airport.
It was a nerve-racking interlude, and not just because I kept wanting to punch out the ghouls who followed us with cameras and microphones shouting questions. The worst were the questions that focued on John’s supposed bereavement. They would have been cruel and contemptible if he had really cared about her. Under the circumstances they verged on emotional assault and battery, and I don’t know how he kept his temper. Mine came close to cracking more than once.
Even more nerve-racking were the interrogation sessions. Everybody from the CIA to Interpol to the SSI to the Salvation Army seemed