‘I can’t say I blame you. However, you just said Harry was with Tommy the day he took the dancing photos. What did Harry tell you about the pregnant shots?’
I grimaced. ‘I didn’t tell him about them, nor did I show them to him. Whatever he knows, if there’s anything to know, he would never reveal. He’ll take any Stone family secrets to the grave. And you must know that, after all these years.’
‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, Pidge. And I must admit, they are odd captions. But oh boy, was Tommy before his time! I’ve never forgotten those photographs of Demi Moore, a very pregnant Demi, in Vanity Fair, and so Tommy was very daring, wasn’t he, and so much earlier.’
I nodded. ‘So you agree to help me meet up with Valentina Clifford, do you, Zac?’
‘Sure I will, Pidge, no problem. And she won’t be hard to find. You know as well as I do that journos hang out together.’ He took hold of my hand, and looked into my eyes, his own questioning. ‘But what are you going to ask her?’
‘Who Serena was, or is. The Serena referred to in the captions.’
A look of sudden comprehension flitted across his face. ‘Surely you know it can’t possibly be you?’
‘I do know that, but I still want to ask the question. I want to solve the mystery. Not knowing bothers me.’
Later that same morning I went to Global Images on Sixth Avenue. After putting my things in my office, I took the blue folder out of my bag, and went to Harry’s office next door.
I knocked on the door, opened it and put my head inside the room. ‘Can I come in?’ I did so before he had even responded.
‘Of course,’ he said, rising, coming over to hug me. Then he indicated the sofa. ‘Let’s sit over there.’ Once we were seated, he went on, ‘I guess you saw the photograph of Val Clifford in the Times this morning. So now we know she is alive, after all.’
‘And still working. For a French photo news agency. According to the paper.’ Not wanting to waste any time, I held out the blue folder. ‘Take a look at these pictures, will you, please? Not the dancing ones, you know all about those. But the two others, showing a pregnant woman.’
Harry appeared to be taken aback as I handed the folder to him, and even more surprised when he saw the photos. He studied them, then turned them over, read the captions.
I had known this man for my entire life, and I realized at once that he had never seen them before. He looked shocked.
He shook his head, silent for a moment or two, and there was no question in my mind that he was flabbergasted.
After a few seconds he said, ‘I wasn’t present when Tommy took these, Serena. As a matter of fact they must have been taken some months later. Because when Tommy and I shot these dancing pictures for Jacques Pelliter, Val’s boyfriend, she wasn’t pregnant. Well, let me amend that. She might have been, but it certainly didn’t show.’
‘I understand, but why is the name Serena on the back of those two pictures, Harry? What do you think?’
‘I have no idea, and that’s the truth. But it’s certainly not a reference to you, honey.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Oh come on, Serena, don’t be ridiculous! Elizabeth was your mother, and you know that as well as I do. Take a look at your birth certificate, which will tell you everything. I was there when you were born at Jardin des Fleurs, and so were the twins. Your sisters will confirm this.’
‘Oh they have, and they’re a bit puzzled too.’
‘It’s not a reference to you,’ he insisted, and sat back against the cushions, looking troubled.
We sat there for a few minutes, enfolded in silence, lost in our own thoughts. Finally I spoke. ‘Harry, listen to me, I’ve decided to go to Tripoli with Zac.’ I announced this in a calm but firm voice.
He turned to me at once, astonishment flashing across his lean, handsome face. ‘For God’s sake why? It’s far too dangerous. The battle is heating up, people are dying in droves and the press are not immune. From what Yusuf Aronson tells me, the press are actually targeted by some elements there. I won’t let you go, Serena. I can’t take that chance, not with your life.’
I looked into those bright blue eyes. ‘Please listen to me, let me explain. I have to go, because of Zac. He’s hellbent on covering Tripoli, and if I stay behind it will be the end of our relationship. Really the end. He will see it as wilful desertion on my part. A betrayal.’ I took a deep breath. ‘God knows, I’m sure you and Tommy experienced the same rush of adrenaline, the compulsion, the overwhelming need to be in the middle of the action, wherever it was. Reporting to the world what you were seeing, telling the world the truth, taking those pictures that didn’t lie.’
‘Yes,’ was all he said, and he shook his head, his expression dismayed, his blue eyes suddenly moist. He blinked several times, and expelled his breath. He said slowly, ‘Will it really kill your relationship with him if you don’t go, Serena? Are you absolutely sure about that?’
‘I’m positive. Besides, I need to have his back.’
Harry groaned, helplessly shaking his head once more. ‘And he must certainly have yours. I have to see Zac later today or tomorrow, especially since you’re both determined to have this assignment, and obviously want to leave immediately. There’s paperwork, other things to do. However, I also want to make sure he understands he’s got to have your back at all times.’
‘He’s always known that.’ I studied him for a second. ‘So, are you agreeing we can go?’
‘Do I have an alternative?’
‘You could still say no.’
There was a short pause before he said slowly, in a cautious voice, ‘This desire on your part to cover Tripoli doesn’t have anything to do with Val Clifford, does it?’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s all about Zac. I love him, and I want it to work. And listen, it will be our last trip to the front. I’ve explained this to Zac, and he’s agreed. We’ll give up war coverage after Libya.’
‘I think that would be most wise.’ Harry stood up, strode over to his desk. I followed and sat down in the chair opposite him.
He said, ‘I’ve some conditions, and you must meet them, Serena. Otherwise I won’t sanction this assignment, not for you.’
I nodded.
Harry said, ‘I’m putting Yusuf Aronson on your case. He’ll never leave your side. Understand? Never. Not under any circumstances. He’ll be your shadow. Understood?’
‘Yes. Yusuf will be with me twenty-four hours a day. Whether Zac likes it or not.’
‘Correct. And you’ll check in with me every day – twice a day, if I deem it necessary. And you’ll listen to Yusuf. Do as he says, especially if he thinks there’s danger. Okay?’
‘Yes, Harry, and you know I admire Yusuf, trust his judgement. No problems about that. And there’ll be no problems with Zac.’
‘There’d better not be. He’s got to understand that Yusuf is there to protect you. Got it?’
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘And thank you. Thanks for letting us go.’
‘Reluctantly,’ he said.
I was fully aware how worried Harry was about letting us fly out to Libya. He obviously knew so much more than we did about the situation out there. Television coverage told you only so much. Being on the ground, amidst the chaos and destruction, was an entirely different matter.
I also understood why he was insisting Yusuf Aronson was with me at all times. He was my protection. Not Zac’s or anyone else’s. Mine. And Harry didn’t care that Zac might resent the intrusion. There would be no privacy with Yusuf around.
But I wasn’t going to argue with Harry. His rules were my rules. They always had been. Also, I had another problem to contend with. I was fairly certain I was pregnant. Several days ago I had realized, with a shock, that I had just missed my second period. I had also experienced certain changes in my body this past week; my breasts were not only larger, but tender. And I felt queasy at different times during the day. But no morning sickness as yet.
On my way
home I stopped off at a Duane Reade pharmacy to pick up various items I needed for the trip. And a pregnancy home-test kit. I bought two in the end, wanting to make doubly sure of the results.
A short while later, back at the apartment, I used the first kit, which showed positive. And so did the second. There was no question about it any more. I was pregnant. And going to the front line in Libya.
Or should I tell Zac about the baby, and stay at home?
I was now facing another dilemma and I didn’t know what to do. Go or stay? If I went was I risking the baby? If I stayed here would I lose Zac?
THIRTY-NINE
Yusuf Aronson was ten feet tall. Well, not really. He was only six feet five inches in his stockinged feet, to be precise. However, he frequently stood on a set of small folding steps that instantly shoved him up higher than everyone else. But he only ever made use of them in a situation like this.
So naturally, I saw him first.
Then he suddenly spotted me, shouted, ‘Pidge! Pidge!’ at the top of his voice, and began to wave his large white hankie, which he always used to attract attention to himself. He had once told me he never waved a red one, in case it attracted a bull; he had a great sense of humour.
Zac and I were standing in the arrivals area of Tripoli’s international airport. We had passed through passport control, and collected our checked luggage, which wasn’t much, and now we were in the middle of a wobbling mass of human flesh. Crowds of people, waiting for family and friends, I supposed. And in a sense we were trapped. Yusuf was on the outer edge of the crowds.
He was shouting to me once more. ‘Pidge! Start moving! Go to the right, to your right! As far as you can go.’
‘Okay!’ I screamed back, waving my scarf, and grabbed Zac’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s try and do what he wants. He always has a reason.’
‘He’s a good guy,’ Zac muttered, and walked ahead of me, squeezing, pushing, wriggling, shoving, getting through the people somehow, and following Yusuf’s instructions, we kept on moving to the right. It seemed to take forever, but finally we had gone as far as we could – we were now at a wall. There was a metal door set in it at one end; I tried the handle, but the door was locked from the other side. No way out.
It swung open a moment later, and there was Yusuf, a wide grin on his face, and behind him stood Ahmed and Jamal, his two sidekicks. That’s what I called them. He said they were his handlers – because they handled anything and everything for him. Zac had dubbed them gofers. I noticed Jamal was holding the folded steps, and smiled to myself.
Yusuf opened his arms to me, and I stepped into them. He hugged me tightly for a few seconds, and then released me, turned to Zac. ‘Well, hello, old chap, it’s great to see you,’ he said, in his lovely English voice, thrusting out his hand, still grinning. With a Lebanese mother, a Swedish father, and an English-Swedish-Arabic-French education, I considered Yusuf to be an international polyglot of the first order.
Glancing around, Zac said, ‘Where the hell are we, Yusuf?’
‘In a corner of the parking lot. Through a connection I have a key. Come on, my van is over there.’ Leading the way, Yusuf took us quickly to a large black van, and as Jamal and Ahmed handled the luggage he helped me inside and onto the back seat. Zac followed, and then Yusuf got in himself. A moment later, Ahmed jumped in the front, took the wheel, with Jamal next to him, and we were driven out of the airport, heading for Tripoli.
‘We’ll be staying at the Rixos Hotel,’ Yusuf said. ‘It’s one of the best. You’ll like it, and the good thing is, it’s not too near the fighting.’
‘I’ve heard of the Rixos,’ Zac said. ‘It’s very luxurious, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. I like it because there’re quite a lot of journos staying there, and it’s good to mingle, have a drink. You can pick up a lot of information. Mind you, I’m usually ahead of the game.’
‘Who’s staying there – anyone we know?’ I asked, hoping that he might pinpoint the group of six women war correspondents and photographers I’d seen in the New York Times a few days ago.
‘Quite a few TV correspondents. CNN guys, BBC and ITV chaps from London, some French and Italian correspondents. It’s quite an international lot, and all the wire services are here, naturally.’
‘Is Marie Colvin staying at the Rixos?’ Zac asked, always interested in her whereabouts, really thrilled if he ran into her. She was not only charismatic but very friendly, and helpful to all of us. A good woman as well as a brilliant war correspondent.
Yusuf shook his head. ‘No, she’s not. I don’t know where Marie stays, actually. A lot of women correspondents are in Libya, though. By the way, I’ve got stuff at the hotel for you. Flak jackets, helmets, the usual – and you’re going to need it all. The fighting’s non-stop now, around the clock, and personally I think it’s going to get worse. This is one hell of a revolution, and the rebels are intent on winning – determined, you know, and they’re extremely well armed. A lot of foreign weaponry.’
‘What do you think will happen?’ I asked, well aware that Yusuf had great judgement, and could call it as it was, or how it might be.
‘I don’t know, to be honest. Frankly, Gaddafi is as tough as an old boot, a wily bugger, and he’s got the army and the guns and the determination. Equally, the rebels are deadly, and out to get him. They want him ousted, want a new government.’
‘And how different will it be in the end, if the rebels win?’ Zac asked in a low voice. ‘How much is going to be different? Look at Egypt.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean, the Brotherhood has a strong foothold there.’ Yusuf shook his head. ‘The Arab Spring, they’re calling it. It might run into the Arab Winter, in point of fact. There’s a strong feeling here that Gaddafi will fight to the bitter end; that he’ll sustain the conflict forever.’
‘So you don’t think he’ll be defeated?’ I asked.
‘I just don’t know. No one does. I’ll tell you this, there’s great hatred for him, and the family, and especially his sons. Most especially Saif.’ Yusuf chuckled. ‘They call him the Playboy of London, you know … in the streets. That’s where you learn a lot. On the Arab street.’
The Rixos Hotel was indeed palatial. The huge lobby and the atrium were all marble, mirror and glass, with glittering crystal chandeliers everywhere. A wide staircase with red carpeting and a brass handrail led up to the higher floors; there were potted trees standing next to the balconies of the atrium – a truly grand open area.
Once we had registered, Yusuf took us up in the elevator to our rooms, followed by the bellboy with the luggage cart. Yusuf tipped him, and the bellboy deposited the bags and left.
‘My God, you’ve gone mad!’ I exclaimed, as we walked into the sitting room of the suite, which was enormous. My eyes swung around the room, and I noted the handsome furnishings, the beautiful fabrics, the antiques, the luxury in general. ‘Has Harry gone mad also?’ I wondered aloud.
Yusuf chuckled, ‘No, and to be truthful, I didn’t have much option but to book us all in here. The other hotels are jammed, and, anyway, since I was instructed not to take my eyes off you, Serena, I absolutely needed this set of rooms.’ He waved a hand at the double doors at the far end, then went and threw them open. ‘This is the bedroom. For you and Zac. And I shall sleep on that divan over there in the sitting room. Actually, it’s a single bed.’
‘I see,’ I murmured.
Zac was silent. He walked over to another door, and opened it, looked inside. ‘But here’s another bedroom,’ he said, swinging around, staring at Yusuf. ‘With two single beds.’
‘Yes, I know. That room’s for my lads.’
‘We’re going to be quite a crowd, now aren’t we just?’ Zac said, a little too sharply.
Whatever he thought, Yusuf ignored the tone and answered in his cultured, Oxford-educated voice, ‘We are, but those are Harry’s instructions, and he’s the boss. And remember, he can pull us all out of here whenever he wishes. He’s in charge long dis
tance. And I’m in charge here.’
‘And I’m glad you are,’ I said swiftly. ‘You know this place far better than we do, and we’ll listen to you, Yusuf, please be assured of that. We couldn’t manage without you.’
‘Oh you could, Serena. However, I can help make things easier for you, and I’ve got a lot of access to a lot of people. In the government and the military, so you’ve nothing to worry about. I’ve even got some good contacts in the rebel army.’
I nodded, then asked, ‘By the way, why were you calling me Pidge? You’ve never used Jessica’s nickname for me before. Why today?’
His blue eyes sparkled and he looked mischievous for a moment. Then he explained. ‘I didn’t want to be shouting out Serena. Everyone knows that’s a girl’s name. It suddenly occurred to me that no one would understand what Pidge meant, but that you would recognize it immediately.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t even know what Pidge actually means.’
‘Nobody does,’ Zac said in a nicer voice, and walked into the bedroom, looking around, then disappearing into what obviously must be the bathroom.
I sat down and said, ‘Are you going to be comfortable out here on that divan? It looks awfully short.’ I made a face.
‘I’ll be fine, and there’s nothing I can do about this situation. Harry has entrusted me with your life, Serena. I daren’t leave anything to chance. But obviously you can close the bedroom door at night.’ Yusuf suddenly grinned at me. ‘Even though Harry told me I must not take my eyes off you.’
I burst out laughing. ‘He’s just too much.’
‘He loves you like a father,’ Yusuf said.
‘I know, and I feel the same way. About him.’ I looked around, frowned. ‘What happened to Jamal and Ahmed?’
‘They’ve gone to do a few errands for me. Now, what about something to eat? You must be famished.’
‘I am, even though we had a good breakfast in Venice before we left this morning. I’m glad you suggested we should spend the night there, break the trip from New York. I’m much less jet-lagged.’
Secrets From the Past Page 24
