The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [78]
He opened the door and went in.
He sat down at the table without speaking. This left her standing, which was a psychological disadvantage for a woman: Score the first point to me, he thought. He heard Jakes come in behind him and close the door. He looked up at Sonja. “Sit down.”
She stood gazing at him, and a slow smile spread across her face. She pointed at his bandages. “Did he do that to you?” she said.
Score the second point to her.
“Sit down.”
“Thank you.” She sat.
“Who is ‘he’?”
“Alex Wolff, the man you tried to beat up tonight.”
“And who is Alex Wolff?”
“A wealthy patron of the Cha-Cha Club.”
“How long have you known him?”
She looked at her watch. “Five hours.”
“What is your relationship with him?”
She shrugged. “He was a date.”
“How did you meet?”
“The usual way. After my act, a waiter brought a message inviting me to sit at Mr. Wolff’s table.”
“Which one?”
“Which table?”
“Which waiter.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Go on.”
“Mr. Wolff gave me a glass of champagne and asked me to have dinner with him. I accepted, we went to the restaurant, and you know the rest.”
“Do you usually sit with members of the audience after your act?”
“Yes, it’s a custom.”
“Do you usually go to dinner with them?”
“Occasionally.”
“Why did you accept this time?”
“Mr. Wolff seemed like an unusual sort of man.” She looked at Vandam’s bandage again, and grinned. “He was an unusual sort of man.”
“What is your full name?”
“Sonja el-Aram.”
“Address?”
“Jihan, Zamalek. It’s a houseboat.”
“Age?”
“How discourteous.”
“Age?”
“I refuse to answer.”
“You’re on dangerous ground—”
“No, you are on dangerous ground.” Suddenly she startled Vandam by letting her feelings show, and he realized that all this time she had been suppressing a fury. She wagged a finger in his face. “At least ten people saw your uniformed bullies arrest me in the restaurant. By midday tomorrow half of Cairo will know that the British have put Sonja in jail. If I don’t appear at the Cha-Cha tomorrow night there will be a riot. My people will burn the city. You’ll have to bring troops back from the desert to deal with it. And if I leave here with a single bruise or scratch, I’ll show it to the world onstage tomorrow night, and the result will be the same. No, mister, it isn’t me who’s on dangerous ground.”
Vandam looked at her blankly throughout the tirade, then spoke as if she had said nothing extraordinary. He had to ignore what she said, because she was right, and he could not deny it. “Let’s go over this again,” he said mildly. “You say you met Wolff at the Cha-Cha—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I won’t go over it again. I’ll cooperate with you, and I’ll answer questions, but I will not be interrogated.” She stood up, turned her chair around, and sat down with her back to Vandam.
Vandam stared at the back of her head for a moment. She had well and truly outmaneuvered him. He was angry with himself for letting it happen, but his anger was mixed with a sneaking admiration for her for the way she had done it. Abruptly, he got up and left the room. Jakes followed.
Out in the corridor Jakes said: “What do you think?”
“We’ll have to let her go.”
Jakes went to give instructions. While he waited, Vandam thought about Sonja. He wondered from what source she had been drawing the strength to defy him. Whether her story was true or false, she should have been frightened, confused, intimidated and ultimately compliant. It was true that her fame gave her some protection; but, in threatening him with her fame, she ought to have been blustering, unsure and a little desperate, for an isolation cell normally frightened anyone—especially celebrities, because the sudden excommunication from the familiar glittering world made them wonder even more than usually whether that familiar glittering world could possibly be real.
What