'Hailstones.'
'Giant hailstones. A freak hailstorm. And in Los Angeles of all places.'
'They knew it was there?'
'They knew it was over the ocean. Don't ask me how, they just seem to sense the distance.'
For a moment Rivers had wondered if the children had confused what they saw with the falling glass caused by the earth tremor in London.
'They described the roads, some high in the air.'
No, no confusion. Another thought struck him. 'They could have seen or heard it on the news.'
'We heard the first reference to it no more than twenty minutes ago, and Bibby swears they only heard it around the same time. The children had their vision well over an hour before, around 5.30 our time.'
Rivers had eaten only a few mouthfuls, his appetite not lost but never really there in the first place. He went to the fridge and took out a can of beer, offering it to Diane first. She declined and he returned to the table pulling the tab. He poured the beer into his empty vodka glass.
'Why Josh and Eva?' he said, taking his seat again. 'What makes them so special?'
'We're not sure they are so special. We think there are others like them. You see, the children themselves are aware of other minds experiencing these… these recognitions, whatever they might be called.'
'How many others?'
'It's impossible to know. What frightens us is that the twins also
feel a malevolence out there, something harmful to them.'
Rivers was still too exhausted to become irritated again. Besides, he saw no point: nothing he could say would make this woman-and her family-understand how ludicrous their story was. He attempted a slight diversion: 'Tell me more about Josh and Eva. You said they were Romanian orphans…'
She realized why Rivers had redirected the conversation and did her best to disguise her own irritation. What in hell did it take to get through to this man? 'Tony and I knew we could never have children even before we married-my fault, not his. I won't bore you with the medical reasons-twisted fallopian tubes and all that. But as the years went on I yearned for kids, maybe because I felt it might stabilize a rocky marriage, or maybe it was natural maternal instincts. Probably some of both. But adoption in this country of yours isn't such a straightforward thing. Council waiting lists are so long, the requirements so tight, and Tony… well Tony had his own problems that, unfortunately, were visible to others.' Rivers was curious, but did not press her.
'Even private agencies ultimately let us down. Then, as you'll remember, the world began to hear stories of the Romanian children, so many of them abandoned or orphaned, left to die of malnutrition and lack of care in squalid homes. Word filtered through to the West after the Romanian leader Ceaushescu and his wife had been shot by their own people, and things began to loosen up over there. It took time, but I made enquiries, booked a flight and spent two weeks searching the orphanages of Bucharest.'
'Without your husband?'
'Tony's mother, Bibby, went with me.'
'Didn't the authorities over there expect to see a married couple?'
Her smile was grim. 'Believe me, they didn't want to put any complications in our way. As far as they were concerned, one mouth less to feed was okay by them. Despite money pouring in from other countries to help them in their plight, their resources were still limited. And anyway, they hardly cared a damn. Oh, it wasn't as easy as I'm making it sound-if the child had been abandoned, then every effort was made to contact the mother, and that could take weeks, if not months. Once found, she had to be encouraged to sign the release papers. An exchange of cash usually helped the persuasion, although most times it was unnecessary.'
She finished the omelette and pushed the plate away. 'You're not making much headway with yours,' she said, pointing at his plate.
'I'm not that hungry.' He took another mouthful to satisfy her.
'You have water?'
'Couple of cold ones in the fridge.'
She went over and took out a square plastic bottle. She poured the pure water into a fresh glass. 'Like I said, we toured the Bucharest orphanages to begin with, but… well, the best I can tell you is something didn't feel right.' She shook her head at his unspoken question. 'Sorry, I can't explain why. Call it instinct, an…'
'Intuition?'
'At the risk of straining my credibility even further, yes, an intuition. Then we heard of a place in Outer Moldavia, a particular institution for what the Romanians called the "irrecuperable". AIDS babies, the physically handicapped, and gypsy children. Have you any idea of what little regard these people have for gypsy children, especially if they've been abandoned? In those days they treated them no better than wild animals, locking them away from the other kids, feeding them last with scraps and leftovers-not that there was much left over in these places. Thank God the new government there has finally taken responsibility for these institutions. In those days, and maybe even now, these kids were regarded as "tainted". We found Josh and Eva in a dirty basement room, the size of a closet, sharing a cot, their little bodies emaciated, their eyes huge and staring. Just babies, tiny babies, four or five months old. The nurses hadn't even bothered to name them.'
There was an edge to Diane's sadness, a suppressed fury that tightened her features.
'But those eyes, those clear blue eyes. Gypsy children with blue eyes. Maybe it was those eyes that drew us to them. No, it had to be something stronger, something inexplicable. Pity? There were so many others to pity. But we knew those two were coming home with us. It took a whole lot of wrangling, a great deal of arguing, but we eventually got all the legal documents signed and sealed. From the town's mayor to the local authority's lowliest clerk-we got them to agree. Within six weeks the babies were on the plane, on their way home with us.'
Rivers sipped the beer. The air was muggy, but also charged, as though a thunderstorm were brewing. He looked through the kitchen window and saw no clouds in the darkening sky.
He examined the rim of his glass. 'Do they know they're adopted?'
'Of course. I told them when they were old enough to cope, but still young enough for it to be no big deal. They're aware they're gypsy children and they have no hang-ups about it. Quite the opposite-they're pleased at the idea.'
'When you found them, were they…?' He didn't quite know how to put it.
'Normal?' she finished for him. 'Even tiny babies know when they've been maltreated. But they adjusted to love and care after a while. Now if you mean were they unusual in their nature, then no. Apart from those sparkling blue eyes that seemed to look into your very soul, they were regular kids, although they had that special affinity between twins, sometimes acting and thinking as one. I guess they were about four when we first noticed the odd things I told you about yesterday.'
'You also mentioned something or someone was trying to harm them. A malevolence, you called it. You mentioned it again a little while ago. What-what exactly-do you mean?'
'I wish I could say. It's just a feeling they have.'
He grimaced at the inadequate answer. 'Okay. You also said I'm involved in whatever's going on. Can you explain that?'
Elbows on the table, she spread her hands. 'I wish I could. Somehow the children have made a connection between you and the light, maybe because at the moment you're the only live person we know who's witnessed it. Tell me, before the research plane crashed-were you the only person to see it?'
'It was there for anyone who cared to look.'
She was deep in thought for a moment, her face troubled. 'Will you come back with me and talk to Josh and Eva?'
He sat back in the chair, not answering straight away. Then: 'What do we talk about?'
She seemed at a loss. 'Okay, you got me. I just know you three have to get together. Besides, Poggsy still wants your help to convince the right people to do something about the environment.'
'The right people are doing something.'
'Not enough. Desperate measures are needed.'
&
nbsp; 'And who the hell would listen to me?' He remembered his conversation with Sheridan earlier in the day. Christ, what authority did these people think he had?
'You'd be an important part of a serious movement. Hugo has contacts everywhere and they're not just woolly-minded tree-loving conservationists. How do you think we found out so much about you?'
Yes, how? Obviously there were frustrated people in his own agency.
Diane leaned towards him across the table. 'Look, when you left this morning the children became very upset. Not right away, but an hour or so later. Eva told me they wanted to see the Light Man again.'
'I'm the Light Man?'
'The names they invent are simple and direct, so that's what they call you now. It's another reason why I think you're involved in all this somehow, whether you like it or not.'
He made a decision. 'I don't go along with any of this, but okay. Seems I've got nothing to do with the rest of the week anyway-I've been ordered to take some leave-so why not, what's there to lose?' And that was exactly how he felt about it -what was there to lose?
She grinned. 'Right. What's there to lose?' She tipped her glass to him, then drank the water. 'Your car's out of action, so I'll take you down myself tomorrow.'
'You can't make a double journey, there and back again.'
'I don't intend to. Let me stay here the night. Your sofa looks comfortable.'
'I, uh, I can catch the train.'
'My God, you look flustered. You'll be quite safe.'
'No, I mean, yeah, you can stay. It's just-'
She laughed. 'Your natural English reserve. Quaint, very quaint. I'll phone again and let Bibby know what's happening. Then I think I'll take that shower.'
Rivers could only nod and wonder what he was getting himself into.
***
It was Rivers who took the sofa.
Diane had declined the offer of his bed at first, but had eventually given in to his insistence. He quickly changed the bedsheets and then had presented her with a spare pyjama top-'In this heat? You must be kidding'-and toothbrush. While she took a shower, Rivers put through a call to the US Geological Survey's National Information Service in Golden, Colorado, an agency that, with the use of an international telemetry network, measured the planet's every minor or major tremor. With almost 700 stations reporting in regularly and with 3,000 more contributing information on request (around 60,000 seismic readings each month), and all data entered into the centre's computers, the agency provided the most detailed and comprehensive information to meteorologists and scientists throughout the world. Because earthquakes-at least, major earthquakes-often overwhelm regional seismographs, precise calculations regarding damage and its spread are usually best gathered by centres some distance from the disruption; however, Rivers' reason for contacting the agency in Colorado was even more practical-he had been unable to get through to his own offices. All lines were busy, and had been throughout the evening. The information he required was simple: had a new fault developed beneath London, or had an old, and until that day, insignificant, fault moved? Also, just how widespread was the disturbance? He learned that the initial rupture-it was a new fault as far as they knew-had taken place some thirty miles beneath the Earth's surface, and the computer-assisted analysis of multiple seismograms had measured the seismic waves for a distance of some fifty miles. Most of the damage, however, had been sustained within the City of London's square mile. After thanking his special contact at the Earthquake Information Service, Rivers replaced the receiver and lit a cigarette. It made no sense, none at all. It was as if the world were rushing through one freak catastrophe after another, heading towards… what?
He was still pondering the question when Diane joined him five minutes later. She wore a bathrobe that was too big for her, and her hair hung lank and dark around her face.
'You know, seeing your grim face I'm tempted to tell you it's not the end of the world,' she said to him.
Then she wondered why he had begun to laugh so hard.
The aftershock came at 1.22 a.m.
Objects around the room began to vibrate-an ashtray on the coffee table, the two empty coffee cups beside it, pens and pencils in a beaker on the bookshelf, the small brass lamp on the mantelshelf. One of the silver-framed photographs on the sideboard slipped to the floor, pictures on the wall tilted, the palm by the window danced a jig.
Rivers jerked awake and felt the vibration through the sofa he lay on. The rumbling noise itself was distant, unlike earlier that day, and seemed to come from somewhere far below. Something in the hall, probably a dislodged picture, crashed to the floor.
'Oh Christ…' Rivers said softly.
His bedroom door flew open and Diane stood there, the bathrobe around her shoulders and held together at the front with one hand. Her other hand gripped the door itself.
'Is it another earthquake?' she asked in a hushed voice.
'It'll pass,' he quickly reassured her.
She hurried to the sofa and crouched beside it. Rivers leaned on an elbow and drew her to him. 'It's okay, it'll pass,' he told her again.
Diane buried her head into his naked chest and her voice was muffled. 'Oh shit, I don't like this.'
She flinched when two or three books tumbled from the shelf and the walking-cane that had been leaning in a comer slid down and clattered against the polished floorboards.
The rumbling became more intense, although it still appeared to be a long way off. The windows rattled in their frames.
Then it was gone. The noise, the vibration, subsided, leaving everything still and quiet again.
Rivers slid his fingers up to her neck, into her hair. She remained pressed tight against him. 'It's over,' he whispered. 'Everything's okay.'
Slowly she raised her head and in the dimness he could see her eyes were wide and frightened. 'You're sure,' she said. 'It's not another earthquake?'
'Just the aftershock. There may be more.'
'Oh God, I hope not.' She straightened, the robe falling off one shoulder. She pulled it up, holding the sides together more tightly. There were shouts from outside in the street, windows and doors being opened. They heard someone in the apartment above ran across the floor.
'Well, now you know how brave I am,' she said shakily but wryly. 'You didn't scream.'
'I forgot how to. I guess I could use a drink about now, something strong. How about you?'
'It seems appropriate. I hear brandy's good for steadying the nerves.' He pushed himself into a sitting position. 'Uh…'
'Save your modesty. Let me get the drinks. Now if my legs are steady and I have some light…'
'Try the lamp on the mantel. Watch out for the coffee table.'
He watched her dim grey shape move around the room, slightly bent, one arm outstretched for obstructions. 'I can just make it out. Yep, got it. Now if I can just find the switch. Close your eyes.'
The lamp came on and, with her back to him, she pushed her arms through the sleeves of the bathrobe. She tied it at the waist. Diane turned and, although her face was pale, she raised a wavery smile.
He slid his feet to the floor, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his leg. Wrapping the sheet around his waist, he leaned towards the coffee table and picked up the cigarette pack. He tapped one out, lit up, and leaned back into the sofa as Diane busied herself with the drinks.
'These your folks?' he heard her say.
He twisted round and saw she had picked up the fallen photograph. 'Yeah.'
'They look nice. Friendly.'
'They were.'
'Oh, sorry.'
He drew on the cigarette.
'And the family group?' She was studying the other photograph on the sideboard. 'Looks like the man could be a brother.'
'Younger brother. He lives with his family in Canada now.'
She poured the drinks, two good measures, and brought them round to him. 'No other loved ones?' she said, handing him the brandy. 'I'd have expected a girlfriend or two, maybe even an
ex-wife.'
'No, no wife.'
'Well… something?'
The brandy warmed his throat. He took another, longer, swallow. 'I haven't always been on my own, if that's what you're getting at.'
'Things didn't work out?'
'They didn't have a chance to. It happened at a time when no one was aware of how powerful tropical diseases had grown again, some of them completely immune to vaccines. Laura went down with what we thought was flu when we came back from a holiday in Malaysia. Only it wasn't flu, it was malaria. We realised too late: it only took two weeks to kill her.'
Diane knelt alongside him, an elbow resting on the sofa's edge. 'That's awful. Unbelievable…'
'Six years ago. Only the sudden swell in the numbers of people dying from the disease put the medical profession wise to what was happening. And it's become worse since-they're having to produce stronger vaccines all the time.'
'Do you… do you keep a photograph of her?' Diane did not understand herself why she was curious to see this woman whom Rivers had loved.
'No.' He smiled at her, and she saw a hardness there that before had not been apparent. She waited for him to say more, but Rivers merely sipped at the brandy again. Outside the noises were dying down, people closing their front doors and windows, no doubt hoping the excitement was over for the night. She could just hear muffled voices from the apartment above, but soon these too faded away.
'Now it's your turn-tell me about your husband, Diane.'
She shrugged, realizing he was deliberately turning the conversation away from himself.
'I told you-Tony's dead.'
'That's it? He's dead, no more?'
'You want the whole story?'
'Not necessarily.'
'How about the bare details?'
'If you like.'
'I'm going to bring the bottle over, d'you mind?'
He shook his head and Diane went back to the brandy. She topped up her own glass, then held the bottle towards his. He accepted the offer, but pushed the neck up with the rim of the glass when the level rose too high. Diane rested against the sofa again and he couldn't help but notice the white smoothness of her thigh before she flipped the robe back over it.