Timeline - Michael Crichton [21]
“The same, the same. But at my age, that suffices.” He looked around the site, then placed his hand on Johnston’s shoulder in a conspiratorial way. “Edouard, I must ask you a favor. I have a small difficulty.”
“Oh?”
“You know this reporter, from L’Express—”
“No,” Johnston said. “Absolutely not.”
“But Edouard—”
“I already talked to her on the phone. She’s one of those conspiracy people. Capitalism is bad, all corporations are evil—”
“Yes, yes, Edouard, what you say is true.” He leaned closer. “But she sleeps with the minister of culture.”
“That doesn’t narrow the field much,” Johnston said.
“Edouard, please. People are starting to listen to her. She can cause trouble. For me. For you. For this project.”
Johnston sighed.
“You know there is a sentiment here that Americans destroy all culture, having none of their own. There is trouble with movies and music. And there has been discussion of banning Americans from working on French cultural sites. Hmm?”
Johnston said, “This is old news.”
“And your own sponsor, ITC, has asked you to speak to her.”
“They have?”
“Yes. A Ms. Kramer requested you speak to her.”
Johnston sighed again.
“It will only take a few minutes of your time, I promise you,” Bellin said, waving to the Land Rover. “She is in the car.”
Johnston said, “You brought her personally?”
“Edouard, I am trying to tell you,” Bellin said. “It is necessary to take this woman seriously. Her name is Louise Delvert.”
As she climbed out of the car, Chris saw a woman in her mid-forties, slender and dark, her face handsome, with strong features. She was stylish in the way of certain mature European women, conveying a sophisticated, understated sexuality. She appeared dressed for an expedition, in khaki shirt and pants, straps around her neck for camera, video and tape recorder. She carried her notepad in her hand as she strode toward them, all business.
But as she came closer, she slowed down.
Delvert extended her hand. “Professor Johnston,” she said, in unaccented English. Her smile was genuine and warm. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your taking the time to see me.”
“Not at all,” Johnston said, taking her hand in his. “You have come a long way, Miss Delvert. I am pleased to help you in any way I can.”
Johnston continued to hold her hand. She continued to smile at him. This went on for ten seconds more, while she said that he was too kind and he said on the contrary, it was the very least he could do for her.
:
They walked through the monastery excavations, a tight little group: the Professor and Miss Delvert in the front, Bellin and Chris following behind, not too close, but still trying to hear the discussion. Bellin wore a quiet, satisfied smile; it occurred to Chris that there was more than one way to deal with a troublesome culture minister.
As for the Professor, his wife had been dead for many years, and although there were rumors, Chris had never seen him with another woman. He was fascinated to watch him now. Johnston did not change his manner; he simply gave the reporter his undivided attention. He conveyed the impression that there was nothing in the world more important than she was. And Chris had a feeling that Delvert’s questions were much less contentious than she had planned.
“As you know, Professor,” she said, “for some time now, my newspaper has been working on a story about the American company ITC.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Am I correct that ITC sponsors this site?”
“Yes, they do.”
She said, “We have been told they contribute a million dollars a year.”
“That’s about right.”
They walked on for a moment. She seemed to be trying to frame her next question carefully.
“There are some at the newspaper,” she said, “who think that’s a great deal of money to spend on medieval archaeology.”
“Well, you can tell them at the newspaper,” Johnston said, “that it’s not. In fact, it’s average for a large site like this. ITC gives us two hundred and fifty in direct