‘Friend’s name?’
‘Lilli Janacek.’
They wrote that down too. Steve was trying to work out exactly what was going on – if she was involved with Gowrie he would know all this stuff, so why were his men asking her these pretty obvious questions?
‘What does she do?’ they asked.
Simon, the producer, had come up, was hovering, curious and at the same time impatient. He asked through his teeth, ‘What’s going on? We’ve been waiting for you. Shall we pack up or do you want to do an intro to camera while we still have the same background?’
Speaking out of the corner of his mouth, and trying at the same time to hear what was being said by the others, Steve muttered, ‘We could do a piece outside later, with the hotel façade behind me – change of background always makes a piece feel denser, gives it more variety. We might get a couple of talking heads to go with it, get some input on what New York thinks.’
Sulkily Simon nodded. He was only twenty-five, smooth-skinned, still faintly naive. He had only made producer a few months ago and was still unsure of himself, but he was touchy about his new status. He wanted to be the one who decided when they shot what, but he didn’t dare argue with Steve, who had far more pull with the network.
‘See you in the bar,’ Steve told him, and Simon went back into the ballroom.
‘You American?’ the taller security guy asked the girl, who shook her head.
‘I’m Czech.’
That excited him. A foreigner, that was something he could get her for. ‘Have you got your visa and passport on you? How long you been in the States?’
She was still outwardly calm. Her face, her voice, had not altered under the pressure of their questions, their hard, suspicious faces. She showed them her passport, the visa in it. ‘As you see, there is no time-limit on my stay here. I have very good references. The agency will give you my details. You’ll see their address on this envelope. It’s a letter from the head of the agency. Can I have it back, please?’
The short guy reluctantly handed it back.
‘Your friend, this Janacek woman – she here on a visa too?’
‘She doesn’t need one – she was born here, in America, right here in New York, in fact. Why are you asking me
all these questions? Did Senator Gowrie send you?’
‘The senator?’ As if she had pressed a button they exchanged looks. The tall one said, ‘Of course not, we haven’t spoken to him. You weren’t on our list, that’s all. We had to check you out. That’s our job. Well, thank you, Miss Narodni.’
They walked away towards the lifts and Steve got the impression of a tactical retreat – now why had they suddenly taken fright and left? This got more interesting by the minute.
Sophie Narodni began to walk across the lobby towards the main exit; Steve quickly caught up and fell in step with her. ‘About that drink?’
She gave him a startled look, as if she had forgotten all about him. ‘Oh. Sorry. I don’t have the time.’ He got the impression she then really noticed him for the first time. ‘You’re a TV reporter, aren’t you? I saw you in there. You asked him a question.’
‘Steve Colbourne.’ He offered his hand, smiling, and after a brief pause she held out her own hand.
‘Hello.’ Her hand was slender, cool to the touch; she took it away almost at once. ‘Do you know him? I mean, have you actually met him?’
‘Do you?’
Her eyes widened, startled. ‘Me? No, oh, no.’
He got the impression the question had scared her, and of course if she was Gowrie’s secret mistress it would. He wouldn’t find out by a frontal assault. He smiled again. ‘No? Well, I do a political programme on network TV once a week. I don’t know if you’ve ever caught it?’
Blankly, she shook her head. ‘Sorry, no.’
He didn’t know whether or not to believe her. But maybe she never watched TV? ‘I give a round-up of life in Washington, news from Congress, gossip, interviews with major players . . .’
‘Major players?’ she interrupted.
‘Important politicians,’ he translated. ‘Until recently Don Gowrie wasn’t one of them. He’s come up on the outside, out of the blue, surprising everybody, including me, and I’ve known him for years.’
Steve felt the leap of her attention; looking into her blue eyes he was certain that, whether or not she was sleeping with Gowrie, there was something going on here and he had to know what it was.