gns.theplutopact-第38节

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　who　were　determined　to　protect　their　property　at　all　costs。　Fires　raged　unchecked。
　　
　　Wednesday；　3。30　a。m。　Canverdale　received　an　offer　from　the　Kremlin。　Fleets　of　airliners　would　be　sent　in　the　following　day　to　evacuate　as　many　people　as　possible。　Soviet　troops　would　repel　rioters　at　every　airfield。　Canverdale　rejected　this　offer　with　dignity；　but　was　curtly　advised　that　the　rescue　bid　would　still　take　place。　It　was　not　a　promise；　but　a　threat…and；　under　present　circumstances；　it　would　be　difficult　to　interpret　as　an　act　of　war。　The　cunning　of　the　Soviet　bear　knew　no　limits。
　　
　　The　Prime　Minister　consulted　three　of　his　leading　ministers　immediately　by　telephone；　and　then　called　Washington。　It　took　him　less　than　ten　minutes　to　locate　the　President　of　the　United　States。
　　
　　At　7。30　a。m。　the　White　House　contacted　the　Kremlin；　tactfully　at　first；　voluntarily　offering　to　take　over　the　rescue　bid。　The　offer　was　abruptly　refused。　America　then　sternly　warned　the　USSR　to　desist　from　their　scheme。　At　lO。a。m。　the　President　of　the　USA　telephoned　Canverdale。
　　
　　The　Prime　Minister's　hands　were　visibly　shaking　as　he　addressed　the　crisis　Cabinet　Meeting　half　an　hour　later。
　　
　　'Gentlemen；'　he　began；　his　voice　disclosing　the　weariness　now　threatening　to　engulf　him。　'We　have　another　Cuba　situation　on　our　hands；　and　we　are　absolutely　powerless　to　intervene　in　any　way。　We　are　the　meat　in　the　sandwich　for　a　Third　World　War。　I　can　offer　neither　suggestions　nor　a　solution。　One　way　or　another；　Britain　is　finished。　Perhaps　it　would　be　best；　after　all；　if　Section　Eight　exploded！'
　　
　　In　his　hotel　bedroom；　Kent　listened　to　Canverdale's　broadcast　on　the　transistor　radio。　Eventually　he　switched　off；　intending　to　retire　to　bed。　Then　he　had　a　change　of　mind　which　surprised　even　himself。　Instead　of　donning　his　pyjamas；　he　put　on　his　three…quarter…length　sheepskin　coat；　walked　downstairs　and　outside　to　his　parked　Mercedes。
　　
　　Every　action　was　slow；　with　none　of　his　usual　decisiveness；　even　the　way　he　drove；　almost　as　though　he　was　unsure　of　himself；　even　of　his　destination…a　man　who　had　finally　lost　hope　and　run　out　of　ideas。
　　
　　The　streets　were　crowded；　and　twice　he　had　to　pull　up　to　avoid　a　bunch　of　pedestrians　idling　in　the　middle　of　the　road。　Gatherings；　some　small；　some　large；　some　quiet；　others　noisy。　Everybody　had　heard　the　broadcast。　Perhaps；　like　himself；　they　were　trying　to　reach　a　decision；　desperately　seeking　a　way　to　escape　death。
　　
　　As　the　Mercedes　nosed　its　way　through　the　Square　he　slowed　momentarily；　taking　in　the　scene　before　him。　Several　hundred　townspeople　packed　the　cobbled　area。　A　man　had　climbed　on　to　the　pedestal　of　Burns's　statue　to　address　them。　He　was　a　volatile　speaker；　fists　clenched；　gesticulating　wildly；　frequently　pointing　back　towards　the　north　end　of　the　valley。　Constant　cheers　drowned　his　words。　A　continual　oration…an　incitement！　Kent　knew　only　too　well　that　before　long　this　ugly　throng；　joined　by　countless　others；　would　be　marching　on　the　nuclear　station。　David　versus　Goliath；　only　this　time　no　well…aimed　stone　would　win　the　battle。　It　was　lost　before　it　had　even　begun。
　　
　　He　took　the　left…hand　road；　accelerating　once　he　was　clear　of　the　crowds；　the　sound　of　their　voices　growing　fainter。　Now　the　side…streets　were　deserted。　Once　again　indecision　caused　him　to　ease　up　on　the　throttle。　It　would　be　so　much　simpler　to　turn　around　and　head　back　to　the　hotel。　But　there　are　times　when　even　a　loner　needs　pany。　So　he　kept　on　driving。
　　
　　He　saw　Coyle's　house　at　the　end　of　the　road…an　ordinary　semi…detached　suburban　dwelling。　He　slowed　to　a　crawl；　almost　prepared　to　pass　it　by　and　carry　on　elsewhere；　maybe　for　a　drink　in　a　bar。　The　garage　doors　were　wide　open；　and　there　was　no　sign　of　the　Avenger。　But　a　light　showed　in　one　of　the　front　downstairs　rooms。
　　
　　A　last　moment　of　hesitation；　then　he　pulled　the　Mercedes　into　the　drive；　switching　off　the　engine　and　lights。　Previous　doubts　were　now　replaced　by　an　unaccustomed　nervousness。　Of　what？　After　all；　he　only　sought　pany。　He　had　been　a　man　alone　too　long。　He　had　half　expected　to　find　Coyle　at　home；　particularly　after　today's　events。　But　evidently　the　Herald's　proprietor　had　gone　to　visit　Anne。
　　
　　Kent　pulled　the　pipe　from　his　pocket。　Its　bowl　was　still　full　of　half…smoked　tobacco。　He　lit　it　and　drew　deeply；　savouring　the　flavour　of　the　tobacco　in　his　lungs。　At　last　he　rang　the　bell。
　　
　　A　long　wait。　Perhaps　there　was　nobody　there。　Then　he　could　go　back　to　his　hotel；　satisfied　that　it　was　not　he　who　had　backed　down。　It　was　stupid；　but　he　just　needed　somebody　to　talk　to。　About　what？　Anything　except　。　。　。　Nervousness　again。　He　couldn't　even　pretend　that　he　was　looking　for　Coyle。　The　absence　of　the　Avenger　made　it　clear　that　Coyle　was　not　at　home。　Another　thing；　it　was　no　time　to　call　upon　a　bereaved　family　。　。　。
　　
　　Then　he　heard　footsteps　in　the　hall；　the　click　of　the　lock；　and　Jane　stood　there；　looking　at　him。　Surprise　filtered　through　her　grief。　One　hand　rested　on　the　door　handle；　the　other　sought　the　support　of　the　lintel。
　　
　　'I'm　sorry。'　Kent　thought　that　his　voice　sounded　distant；　like　a　trans…Atlantic　telephone　call；　barely　audible。　'I　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'e　in。'　She　held　the　door　wide；　indicating　him　to　enter　the　living…room。　'Slip　your　coat　off。　I　was　just　about　to　make　some　coffee。'
　　
　　Half　an　hour　passed。　Two　empty　cups。　Two　people　who　needed　pany；　but　spoke　little。　Kent　still　had　not　told　her　why　he　had　e。　Nor　had　she　asked。
　　
　　'Sarah's　in　bed。'　It　was　as　though　she　suddenly　felt　the　need　to　talk；　had　forced　herself　to　break　the　barrier　of　silence。　'I　called　the　doctor。　It　didn't　really　hit　her　until　later　。。。　a　terrible　experience　for　any　girl。'　No　mention　of　Coyle。
　　
　　They　lapsed　into　an　uneasy　silence。　There　was　so　much　they　did　not　want　to　discuss。　Kent　realised　just　how　poor　he　was　as　a　conversationalist。　A　man　of　many　words　in　print；　but　when　it　came　to　situations　like　this　。。。　He　was　paying　the　penalty　for　being　a　loner…unsociable　by　nature。
　　
　　He　glanced　up　at　the　clock　on　the　mantle　shelf。　God；　he'd　been　here　an　hour　already；　and　so　much　remained　unsaid。　What　was　there　to　say？
　　
　　At　last　it　was　Jane　who　broke　the　lingering　silence；　the　uneasy　tension　which　existed　between　them。　It　was　she　who　put　into　words　everything　he　had　thought　about　since　leaving　the　hotel。
　　
　　'What's　it　like　being　alone；　Kent？'　She　smiled　faintly；　a　hint　of　sadness　in　her　eyes　that　was　noticeably　distinct　from　her　previous　smouldering　grief。　'I　mean；　really　alone。　No　ties。　Nobody　depending　on　you　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'It　has　its　advantages；'　he　spoke　slowly；　staring　at　the　glowing　electric　bars；　then　raising　his　eyes　to　meet　hers。　'But　sometimes　it　can　be　hell。　You　brood　over　things；　bottle　problems　up　inside　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'That's　why　you　came　here　tonight。'
　　
　　He　nodded　slowly。　Partially　the　truth；　maybe。　Even　he　was　not　sure　now　why　he　had　e。
　　
　　'Kent。'　She　hesitated；　as　though　struggling　to　choose　her　words　carefully；　maybe　fearful　of　offending　him。　'Do　。　。　。　do　you　ever　miss　not　having　a　woman？　I　mean；　a　regular　woman。'
　　
　　He　gave　a　deep　sigh。　She　had　asked　the　question　he　most　wanted　her　to　ask。　Also　the　one　he　feared。　Kent　of　Fleet　Street；　the　man　who　interviewed　politicians；　personalities；　and　tricked　them　into　revealing　facts　they　desperately　sought　to　withhold。　Now　everything　was　in　reverse。　He　knew　now　how　it　felt　to　be　on　the　receiving　end。
　　
　　'It's　hell　sometimes。'　A　confessional　mood　was　on　him　now。　'I　know　a　lot　of　women　in　London。　I　can　always　have　one　when　I　need　one。　Not　prostitutes。　Women　who　just　need　a　man　the　same　way　I　need　them。　Call　it　lust　if　you　like。　Something　just　physical。　But　afterwards　you　feel　a　thousand　times　worse。　Loneliness　is　made　so　much　more　apparent　to　you。　So　you　work　it　off；　work　like　hell。　Try　and　forget　it。　But　sooner　or　later　you　have　to　go　in　search　of　another　woman。　Sex　is　like　a　curse　then。　You　wish　you　could　do　without　it；　but　you　can't；　and　you　know　it。'
　　
　　'I　know。'　She　leaned　back　in　her　chair　and　the　movement　brought　a　faint　stirring　in　his　loins。　He　wanted　to　fight　it　off。　Hell；　her　husband　was　his　best　friend。　She　had　just　lost　a　son。　Her　daughter　was　asleep　upstairs　under　sedation。
　　
　　'Kent。'　Her　voice　was　more　decisive　now；　her　eyes　meeting　his。　'I　know　precisely　how　you　feel。　That's　exactly　the　position　I'm　in　now。'
　　
　　'But　you　have　a　husband　。　。　。　'　He　felt　he　had　to　make　some　kind　of　token　resistance。
　　
　　'I　don't　have　a　husband　。　。　。　'　She　sat　up　again；　leaning　towards　him。　'He's　gone。　He　won't　e　back。　He's　hi　love　with　that　girl。　I　can　only　supply　him　with　his　physical　needs。　As　you　just　said；　it　isn't　enough。　Tonight；　after　I'd　given　Sarah　her　sleeping　tablets；　I　sat　with　the　pill　bottle　in　my　hand　for　a　long　time。　The　way　out　would　have　been　so　easy。　Richard's　gone。　So　is　Bob。　It　was　only　the　thought　of　Sarah　that　prevented　me　from　taking　all　those　tablets　myself。　She　needs　me。　I'd　only　just　made　the　decision　to　carry　on　with　life；　see　it　through　to　the　end　。　。　。　Then　you　arrived。　God；　I　was　glad　to　see　you！'