A Place of Hiding

“The worst would be China standing trial,” Deborah responded.

“The worst would have been China’s going to prison. Taking the fall for...taking the fall for...for someone...” Her words di ed out as she realised how right her husband was. Without warning, with no time to adjust, she felt as if she were caught between two alternatives named bad and worse. Her first loyalty was to her old friend. So she knew she should have been experiencing a fair degree of joy from the fact that a false arrest and a faulty prosecution that could have resulted in China’s imprisonment appeared—at this eleventh hour—to have been obviated altogether. But if the cost of China’s rescue came at the expense of knowing that her own brother had orchestrated the events that had led to her arrest...How could anyone celebrate China’s deliverance after being presented with that sort of information? And how could China herself ever recover from such a betrayal? “She’s not going to believe he’s done this to her,” Deborah finally said. Simon asked quietly, “What about you?”

“Me?” Deborah stopped walking. They had reached the corner of Berthelot Street, which sloped steeply down to the High Street and the quay beyond it. The narrow lane was slick, and the rain snaking towards the bay was beginning to form serious rivulets that promised to grow in the coming hours. It was no wise spot for a man uncertain of his footing to walk, yet Simon turned towards it resolutely while Deborah thought about his question.

She saw that midway down the slope, the windows of the Admiral de Saumarez Inn winked brightly in the gloom, suggesting both shelter and comfort. But she knew these were specious offerings even at the best of times, no more permanent than the rain that fell on the town. Nonetheless, her husband headed towards them. She didn’t answer his question till they were safely within the shelter of the inn’s front door. Then she said to him, “I hadn’t considered it, Simon. I’m not exactly sure what you mean, anyway.”

“Just what I said. Can you believe?” he asked her. “Will you be able to believe? When it comes down to it—if it comes down to it—are you willing to believe Cherokee River has framed his own sister? Because that will likely mean he came to London expressly to fetch you. Or me. Or both of us, for that matter. But he didn’t come only to go to the embassy.”

“Why?”

“Did he fetch us, you mean? To have his sister believe he was helping her. To make sure she didn’t dwell on anything that could have caused her to look on him with suspicion or, worse, turn the spotlight on him in the eyes of the police. I’d suggest that he was applying salve to his conscience as well by at least having someone here for China, but if he intended her to take the fall for a murder, I don’t actually believe he has a conscience in the first place.”

“You don’t like him, do you?” Deborah asked.

“It’s not a matter of liking or disliking. It’s a matter of looking at the facts, seeing them for what they are, and spelling them out.”

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