Portent (19 page)

    'It was there for anyone who cared to look.'

    She was deep in thought for a moment, her face troubled. 'Will you come back with me and talk to Josh and Eva?'

    He sat back in the chair, not answering straight away. Then: 'What do we talk about?'

    She seemed at a loss. 'Okay, you got me. I just know you three have to get together. Besides, Poggsy still wants your help to convince the right people to do something about the environment.'

    'The right people are doing something.'

    'Not enough. Desperate measures are needed.'

    'And who the hell would listen to me?' He remembered his conversation with Sheridan earlier in the day. Christ, what authority did these people think he had?

    'You'd be an important part of a serious movement. Hugo has contacts everywhere and they're not just woolly-minded tree-loving conservationists. How do you think we found out so much about you?'

    
Yes, how?
Obviously there were frustrated people in his own agency.

    Diane leaned towards him across the table. 'Look, when you left this morning the children became very upset. Not right away, but an hour or so later. Eva told me they wanted to see the Light Man again.'

    'I'm the Light Man?'

    'The names they invent are simple and direct, so that's what they call you now. It's another reason why I think you're involved in all this somehow, whether you like it or not.'

    He made a decision. 'I don't go along with any of this, but okay. Seems I've got nothing to do with the rest of the week anyway-I've been ordered to take some leave-so why not, what's there to lose?' And that was exactly how he felt about it -what was there to lose?

    She grinned. 'Right. What's there to lose?' She tipped her glass to him, then drank the water. 'Your car's out of action, so I'll take you down myself tomorrow.'

    'You can't make a double journey, there and back again.'

    'I don't intend to. Let me stay here the night. Your sofa looks comfortable.'

    'I, uh, I can catch the train.'

    'My God, you look flustered. You'll be quite safe.'

    'No, I mean, yeah, you can stay. It's just-'

    She laughed. 'Your natural English reserve. Quaint, very quaint. I'll phone again and let Bibby know what's happening. Then I think I'll take that shower.'

    Rivers could only nod and wonder what he was getting himself into.

    

    

    It was Rivers who took the sofa.

    Diane had declined the offer of his bed at first, but had eventually given in to his insistence. He quickly changed the bedsheets and then had presented her with a spare pyjama top-'In this heat? You must be kidding'-and toothbrush. While she took a shower, Rivers put through a call to the US Geological Survey's National Information Service in Golden, Colorado, an agency that, with the use of an international telemetry network, measured the planet's every minor or major tremor. With almost 700 stations reporting in regularly and with 3,000 more contributing information on request (around 60,000 seismic readings each month), and all data entered into the centre's computers, the agency provided the most detailed and comprehensive information to meteorologists and scientists throughout the world. Because earthquakes-at least, major earthquakes-often overwhelm regional seismographs, precise calculations regarding damage and its spread are usually best gathered by centres some distance from the disruption; however, Rivers' reason for contacting the agency in Colorado was even more practical-he had been unable to get through to his own offices. All lines were busy, and had been throughout the evening. The information he required was simple: had a new fault developed beneath London, or had an old, and until that day, insignificant, fault moved? Also, just how widespread was the disturbance? He learned that the initial rupture-it was a new fault as far as they knew-had taken place some thirty miles beneath the Earth's surface, and the computer-assisted analysis of multiple seismograms had measured the seismic waves for a distance of some fifty miles. Most of the damage, however, had been sustained within the City of London's square mile. After thanking his special contact at the Earthquake Information Service, Rivers replaced the receiver and lit a cigarette. It made no sense, none at all. It was as if the world were rushing through one freak catastrophe after another, heading towards… what?

    He was still pondering the question when Diane joined him five minutes later. She wore a bathrobe that was too big for her, and her hair hung lank and dark around her face.

    'You know, seeing your grim face I'm tempted to tell you it's not the end of the world,' she said to him.

    Then she wondered why he had begun to laugh so hard.

    The aftershock came at 1.22 a.m.

    Objects around the room began to vibrate-an ashtray on the coffee table, the two empty coffee cups beside it, pens and pencils in a beaker on the bookshelf, the small brass lamp on the mantelshelf. One of the silver-framed photographs on the sideboard slipped to the floor, pictures on the wall tilted, the palm by the window danced a jig.

    Rivers jerked awake and felt the vibration through the sofa he lay on. The rumbling noise itself was distant, unlike earlier that day, and seemed to come from somewhere far below. Something in the hall, probably a dislodged picture, crashed to the floor.

    'Oh Christ…' Rivers said softly.

    His bedroom door flew open and Diane stood there, the bathrobe around her shoulders and held together at the front with one hand. Her other hand gripped the door itself.

    'Is it another earthquake?' she asked in a hushed voice.

    'It'll pass,' he quickly reassured her.

    She hurried to the sofa and crouched beside it. Rivers leaned on an elbow and drew her to him. 'It's okay, it'll pass,' he told her again.

    Diane buried her head into his naked chest and her voice was muffled. 'Oh shit, I don't like this.'

    She flinched when two or three books tumbled from the shelf and the walking-cane that had been leaning in a comer slid down and clattered against the polished floorboards.

    The rumbling became more intense, although it still appeared to be a long way off. The windows rattled in their frames.

    Then it was gone. The noise, the vibration, subsided, leaving everything still and quiet again.

    Rivers slid his fingers up to her neck, into her hair. She remained pressed tight against him. 'It's over,' he whispered. 'Everything's okay.'

    Slowly she raised her head and in the dimness he could see her eyes were wide and frightened. 'You're sure,' she said. 'It's not another earthquake?'

    'Just the aftershock. There may be more.'

    'Oh God, I hope not.' She straightened, the robe falling off one shoulder. She pulled it up, holding the sides together more tightly. There were shouts from outside in the street, windows and doors being opened. They heard someone in the apartment above ran across the floor.

    'Well, now you know how brave I am,' she said shakily but wryly. 'You didn't scream.'

    'I forgot how to. I guess I could use a drink about now, something strong. How about you?'

    'It seems appropriate. I hear brandy's good for steadying the nerves.' He pushed himself into a sitting position. 'Uh…'

    'Save your modesty. Let me get the drinks. Now if my legs are steady and I have some light…'

    'Try the lamp on the mantel. Watch out for the coffee table.'

    He watched her dim grey shape move around the room, slightly bent, one arm outstretched for obstructions. 'I can just make it out. Yep, got it. Now if I can just find the switch. Close your eyes.'

    The lamp came on and, with her back to him, she pushed her arms through the sleeves of the bathrobe. She tied it at the waist. Diane turned and, although her face was pale, she raised a wavery smile.

    He slid his feet to the floor, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his leg. Wrapping the sheet around his waist, he leaned towards the coffee table and picked up the cigarette pack. He tapped one out, lit up, and leaned back into the sofa as Diane busied herself with the drinks.

    'These your folks?' he heard her say.

    He twisted round and saw she had picked up the fallen photograph. 'Yeah.'

    'They look nice. Friendly.'

    'They were.'

    'Oh, sorry.'

    He drew on the cigarette.

    'And the family group?' She was studying the other photograph on the sideboard. 'Looks like the man could be a brother.'

    'Younger brother. He lives with his family in Canada now.'

    She poured the drinks, two good measures, and brought them round to him. 'No other loved ones?' she said, handing him the brandy. 'I'd have expected a girlfriend or two, maybe even an ex-wife.'

    'No, no wife.'

    'Well… something?'

    The brandy warmed his throat. He took another, longer, swallow. 'I haven't always been on my own, if that's what you're getting at.'

    'Things didn't work out?'

    'They didn't have a chance to. It happened at a time when no one was aware of how powerful tropical diseases had grown again, some of them completely immune to vaccines. Laura went down with what we thought was flu when we came back from a holiday in Malaysia. Only it wasn't flu, it was malaria. We realised too late: it only took two weeks to kill her.'

    Diane knelt alongside him, an elbow resting on the sofa's edge. 'That's awful. Unbelievable…'

    'Six years ago. Only the sudden swell in the numbers of people dying from the disease put the medical profession wise to what was happening. And it's become worse since-they're having to produce stronger vaccines all the time.'

    'Do you… do you keep a photograph of her?' Diane did not understand herself why she was curious to see this woman whom Rivers had loved.

    'No.' He smiled at her, and she saw a hardness there that before had not been apparent. She waited for him to say more, but Rivers merely sipped at the brandy again. Outside the noises were dying down, people closing their front doors and windows, no doubt hoping the excitement was over for the night. She could just hear muffled voices from the apartment above, but soon these too faded away.

    'Now it's your turn-tell me about your husband, Diane.'

    She shrugged, realizing he was deliberately turning the conversation away from himself.

    'I told you-Tony's dead.'

    'That's it? He's dead, no more?'

    'You want the whole story?'

    'Not necessarily.'

    'How about the bare details?'

    'If you like.'

    'I'm going to bring the bottle over, d'you mind?'

    He shook his head and Diane went back to the brandy. She topped up her own glass, then held the bottle towards his. He accepted the offer, but pushed the neck up with the rim of the glass when the level rose too high. Diane rested against the sofa again and he couldn't help but notice the white smoothness of her thigh before she flipped the robe back over it.

    'Tony was an alcoholic,' she began baldly enough. 'Have you ever known one of those two-headed monsters, Jim? I mean really known them, not just been aware they seem to be soaked a little too often?' She didn't wait for a reply, nor had she honestly sought one. 'We met when I was a student nurse at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. He was brought into Casualty one night with a cracked jaw-seems that he and a few of his friends had chosen the wrong bar to celebrate the end of their Finals. The barman there didn't care much for students or their high spirits, and when Tony's behaviour got too out of hand he was shown the door the hard way. No one was sure if he'd broken his jaw when he landed on the sidewalk, or if the barman's fist had done the damage. Tony's friends were in no condition to judge.'

    'I don't understand-what was he doing in Boston?'

    'Oh. Exchange student. Very popular in those days. He was trying for a degree in languages at Boston College. Got it too. Tony was very bright, if not much else. Anyway, although he couldn't talk very well, we struck up a relationship while he was recuperating in hospital. We dated, and in those days the good head was the dominant one; the bad one didn't take control till much later.' She gazed reflectively into the bottom of her glass. 'I didn't meet his parents, Hugo and Bibby, till Tony brought me here to England, and by that time we were married.'

    'Did they approve?'

    'Approve?' She tapped his knee. 'You really are quaint, aren't you? Oh, I think they were pleased enough. I learned later that Tony had never been easy to handle, although there was no real malice in him. I guess he just liked the good times too much. And I did too in those early years. But gradually I got interested in his father's work. Even in those days Poggsy was fighting for the environment, long before it became such a popular issue. He realized the urgency. Pretty soon I was so involved I didn't pay attention to much else, and that hardly improved my relationship with Tony. A relationship that had already begun to falter. Maybe the work was my refuge from his drinking. It certainly became a vicious circle, because the more he drank, the more I buried myself in Poggsy's work, and the more I did that, the more Tony hit the bottle. But at least I began to understand part of Tony's weakness. It wasn't only that he failed to live up to his father's achievements, but he couldn't live up to his family's ideals either. And I was quickly becoming in tune with those ideals. Okay, so this is the simplified version, but what the hell, we only have till morning.'

    Diane smiled, but Rivers could tell she was masking a lot of hurt.

    'We all made excuses for him. People do for drunks they love. I'm no psychologist, so maybe it wasn't inevitable, but eventually his frustration showed up in other ways.'