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She had pulled up her hood。 I couldn’t see her face； only the sharp white tip of her nose was visible。 Everyone said she was smarter than her husband and that she’d loved their life at the top even more than he had。 If there was an official visit to some foreign country； she usually went with him： she refused to be left at home。 You only had to watch them on TV together to see how she bathed in his success。 Adam and Ruth Lang： the Power and the Glory。 Now she stopped and turned to face the ocean； her hands thrust deep in her pockets。 Along the beach； as if playing Grandma’s footsteps； the policeman also stopped。
“You were my idea；” she said。
I swayed in the wind。 I almost fell over。 “I was？”
“Yes。 You were the one who wrote Christy’s book for him。”
It took me a moment to work out who she meant。 Christy Costello。 I hadn’t thought of him in a long while。 He was my first bestseller。 The intimate memoirs of a seventies rock star。 Drink； drugs； girls； a near…fatal car crash； surgery； and finally rehab and redemp in the arms of a good woman。 It had everything。 You could give it at Christmas to your grungy teenager or your churchgoing granny； and each would be equally happy。 It sold three hundred thousand copies in hardcover in the UK alone。
“You knowChristy ？” It seemed so unlikely。
“We stayed at his house on Mustique last winter。 I read his memoirs。 They were by the bed。”
“Now I’m embarrassed。”
“No。 Why？ They were brilliant； in a horrible kind of a way。 Listening to his scrambled stories over dinner and then seeing how you’d turned them into something resembling a life—I said to Adam then： ‘This is the man you need to write your book。’”
I laughed。 I couldn’t stop myself。 “Well； I hope your husband’s recollections aren’t quite as hazy as Christy’s。”
“Don’t count on it。” She pulled back her hood and took a deep breath。 She was better looking in the flesh than she was on television。 The camera hated her almost as much as it loved her husband。 It didn’t catch her amused alertness； the animation of her face。 “God； I miss home；” she said。 “Even though the kids are away at university。 I keep telling him it’s like being married to Napoleon on Saint Helena。”
“Then why don’t you go back to London？”
She didn’t say anything for a while； just stared at the ocean； biting her lip。 Then she looked at me； sizing me up。 “You did sign that confidentiality agreement？”
“Of course。”
“You’re sure？”
“Check with Sid Kroll’s office。”
“Because I don’t want to read about this in some gossip column next week； or in some cheap little kiss…and…tell book of your own a year from now。”
“Whoa；” I said； taken aback by her venom。 “I thought you just said I was your idea。 I didn’t ask to come here。 And I haven’t kissed anyone。”
She nodded。 “All right then。 I’ll tell you why I can’t go home； between you and me。 Because there’s something not quite right with him at the moment； and I’m a bit afraid to leave him。”
Boy； I thought。 This just gets better and better。
“Yes；” I replied diplomatically。 “Amelia told me he was very upset by Mike’s death。”
“Oh； did she？ Quite whenMrs。 Bly became such an expert in my husband’s emotional state I’m not sure。” If she had hissed and sprung claws she couldn’t have made her feelings plainer。 “Losing Mike certainly made it worse； but it isn’t just that。 It’s losing power—that’s the real trouble。 Losing power； and now having to sit down and relive everything； year by year。 While all the time the press are going on and on about what he did and didn’t do。 He can’t get free of the past； you see。 He can’t move on。” She gestured helplessly at the sea； the sand； the dunes。 “He’s stuck。 We’re both stuck。”
As we walked back to the house； she put her arm through mine。 “Oh； dear；” she said。 “You must be starting to wonder what you’ve let yourself in for。”
THERE WAS A LOTmore activity in the compound when we got back。 A dark green Jaguar limousine with a Washington license plate was parked at the entrance； and a black minivan with darkened windows was drawn up behind it。 As the front door opened； I could hear several telephones ringing at once。 A genial gray…haired man in a cheap brown suit was sitting just inside； drinking a cup of tea； talking to one of the police guards。 He jumped up smartly when he saw Ruth Lang。 They were all quite scared of her； I noticed。
“Afternoon； ma’am。”
“Hello； Jeff。 How was New York？”
“Bloody chaos； as usual。 Like Piccadilly Circus in the rush hour。” He had a crafty London accent。 “Thought for a while I wouldn’t get back in time。”
Ruth turned to me。 “They like to have the car ready in position when Adam lands。” She began the long process of wriggling out of her windbreaker just as Amelia Bly came round the corner； a cell phone wedged between her elegant shoulder and her sculpted chin； her nimble fingers zipping up an attaché case。 “That’s fine； that’s fine。 I’ll tell him。” She nodded to Ruth and carried on speaking—“On Thursday he’s in Chicago”—then looked at Jeff and tapped her wristwatch。
“Actually； I thinkI’ll go to the airport；” said Ruth； suddenly pulling her windbreaker back down。 “Amelia can stay here and polish her nails or something。 Why don’t you come？” she added to me。 “He’s keen to meet you。”
Score one to the wife； I thought。 But no： in the finest traditions of the British civil service； Amelia bounced off the ropes and came back punching。 “Then I’ll travel in the backup car；” she said； snapping her cell phone shut and smiling sweetly。 “I can do my nails in there。”
Jeff opened one of the Jaguar’s rear doors for Ruth； while I went round and nearly broke my arm tugging at the other。 I slid into the leather seat and the door closed behind me with a gaseous thump。
“She’s armored； sir；” said Jeff into the rearview mirror as we pulled away。 “Weighs two and a half tons。 Yet she’ll still do a hundred with all four tires shot out。”
“Oh； do shut up； Jeff；” said Ruth； good…humoredly。 “He doesn’t want to hear all that。”
“The windows are an inch thick and don’t open； in case you were thinking of trying。 She’s airtight against chemical and biological attack； with oxygen for an hour。 Makes you think； doesn’t it？ At this precise moment； sir； you’re probably safer than you’ve ever been in your life； or ever will be again。”
Ruth laughed again and made a face。 “Boys with their toys！”
The outside world seemed muffled； distant。 The forest track ran smooth and quiet as rubber。 Perhaps this is what it feels like being carried in the womb； I thought： this wonderful feeling of complete security。 We ran over the dead skunk； and the big car didn’t register the slightest tremor。
“Nervous？” asked Ruth。
“No。 Why？ Should I be？”
“Not at all。 He’s the most charming man you’ll ever meet。 My own Prince Charming！” And she gave her deep…throated； mannish laugh again。 “God；” she said； staring out of the window； “will I be