Page 443 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"No, they're not--everyone knows that."

"Matter of opinion."

Lidka shrugged: another mystery of American life.

The butler showed them into a wide drawing room. It looked like an eighteenth-century salon, with a Chinese dragon carpet and a scatter of spindly chairs upholstered in yellow silk. Cam realized they were the first guests to arrive. A moment later, Marybell appeared through another door. She was a statuesque woman with a mass of red hair that might or might not have been its natural color. She was wearing a necklace of what looked, to Cam, like unusually large diamonds. "How kind of you to come early!" she said.

Cam knew this was a reproof, but Lidka was oblivious. "I couldn't wait to see your wonderful house," she gushed.

"And how do you like living in America?" Marybell asked her. "Tell me, what is the best thing about this country, in your opinion?"

Lidka thought for a moment. "You have all these black people," she said.

Cam suppressed a groan. What the hell was she saying?

Marybell was surprised into silence.

Lidka waved a hand to indicate the waiter holding a tray of champagne flutes, the maid bringing canapes, and the butler, all of whom were African American. "They do everything, like opening doors and serving drinks and sweeping the floor. In Poland we have no one to do that work--everyone has to do it themselves!"

Marybell looked a little frantic. Such talk was incorrect even in Reagan's Washington. Then she looked over Lidka's shoulder and saw another guest hovering. "Karim, darling!" she screeched. She embraced a handsome dark-skinned man in an immaculate pin-striped suit. "Meet Cam Dewar and his wife, Lidka. This is Karim Abdullah, from the Saudi embassy."

Karim shook hands. "I've heard of you, Cam," he said. "I work closely with some of your colleagues in Langley."

Karim was letting Cam know he was in Saudi intelligence.

Karim turned to Lidka. She was looking startled. Cam knew why. She had not expected to see someone as dark as Karim at Marybell's party.

However, Karim charmed her. "I have been told that Polish women are the most beautiful in the world," he said. "But I didn't believe it--until this moment." He kissed her hand.

Lidka could take any amount of that sort of bullshit.

"I heard what you were saying about black people," Karim said. "I agree with you. We have none in Saudi Arabia--so we have to import them from India!"

Cam could see that Lidka was bewildered by the fine distinctions of Karim's racism. To him, Indians were black but Arabs were not. Fortunately, Lidka knew when to shut up and listen to a man.

More guests came in. Karim lowered his voice. "However," he said conspiratorially, "we must be careful what we say--some of the guests may be liberals."

As if to illustrate his point, a tall, athletic-looking man with thick fair hair came in. He looked like a movie star. It was Jasper Murray.

Cam was not pleased. He had hated Jasper since they were teenagers. Then Jasper had become an investigative reporter and had helped to bring President Nixon down. His book about Nixon, Tricky Dick, had been a bestseller and a successful movie. He had been relatively quiet during the Carter administration, but had returned to the attack as soon as Reagan took over. He was now one of the most popular figures on television, up there with Peter Jennings and Barbara Walters. Only last night his show, This Day, had devoted half an hour to the American-backed military dictatorship in El Salvador. Murray had repeated claims by human rights groups that government death squads there had murdered thirty thousand people.

The network that broadcast This Day was owned by Frank Lindeman, Marybell's husband; so Jasper had probably felt unable to decline the invitation to dinner. The White House had put pressure on Frank to get rid of Jasper, but so far Frank had refused. Although he held a majority of shares, he had a board to answer to, and investors who could make trouble if he fired one of his biggest stars.

Marybell seemed to be anxiously waiting for something. Then one more guest arrived, rather late. She was a stunningly glamorous black woman lobbyist called Verena Marquand. Cam had not met her, but recognized her from photographs.

The butler announced dinner and they all moved through a double doorway to the dining room. The women made appreciative noises when they saw the long table decked with gleaming glassware and silver bowls of yellow hothouse roses. Cam saw that Lidka was wide-eyed. This outdid all the photographs in her home decorating magazines, he guessed. She had surely never seen or even imagined anything so lavish.

There were eighteen people around the table, but the conversation was immediately dominated by one person. She was Suzy Cannon, a vituperative gossip reporter. Half of what she wrote turned out to be untrue, but she had a jackal's nose for weakness. She was conservative, but more interested in scandal than politics. Nothing was private to her. Cam prayed that Lidka would keep her mouth shut. Anything said tonight might appear in tomorrow's newspaper.

But Suzy turned her gimlet eyes on Cam, to his surprise. "I believe you and Jasper know each other," she said.

"Not really," said Cam. "We met in London many years ago."

"But I hear that you both fell in love with the same girl."

How the hell did she know that? "I was fifteen, Suzy," Cam said. "I probably fell in love with half the girls in London."

Suzy turned to Jasper. "How about you? Do you remember this rivalry?"

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