cpatricia.unnaturalexposure-第60章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　The　station　was　crowded　with　muters　who　almost　ran　me　over　as　we　made　our　way　to　the　central　area　where　Railtrack　ticket　agents　were　busy　in　their　booths；　and　displays　on　a　wall　showed　times　and　trains。　Kiosks　were　selling　sweets　and　flowers；　and　one　could　get　a　passport　picture　taken　or　have　money　changed。　Trash　cans　were　tucked　inside　McDonald's　and　places　like　that；　but　I　did　not　see　a　single　one　out　in　the　open。
　'No　good　place　to　hide　a　bomb　now。'　Wesley　was　observing　the　same　thing。
　'Live　and　learn；'　I　said　as　I　began　to　tremble　inside。
　I　silently　stared　around　me　as　pigeons　flapped　overhead　and　trotted　after　crumbs。　The　entrance　for　the　Grosvenor　Hotel　was　next　to　the　Victoria　Tavern；　and　it　was　here　that　it　had　happened。　No　one　was　pletely　certain　what　Mark　had　been　doing　at　the　time；　but　it　was　speculated　that　he　had　been　sitting　at　one　of　the　small；　high　tables　in　front　of　the　tavern　when　the　bomb　exploded。
　We　knew　he　had　been　waiting　for　the　train　from　Brighton　to　arrive　because　he　was　meeting　someone。　To　this　day　I　did　not　know　who；　because　the　individual's　identity　could　not　be　revealed　for　security　reasons。　That's　what　I　had　been　told。　I　had　never　understood　many　things；　such　as　the　coincidence　of　timing；　and　whether　this　clandestine　person　Mark　was　meeting　may　have　been　killed；　too。　I　scanned　the　roof　of　steel　girders　and　glass；　the　old　clock　on　the　granite　wall；　and　archways。　The　bombing　had　left　no　permanent　scars；　except　on　people。
　'Brighton　is　a　rather　odd　place　to　be　in　February；'　I　mented　to　Wesley　in　an　unsteady　voice。　'Why　would　someone　be　ing　from　a　seaside　resort　that　time　of　year？'
　'I　don't　know　why；'　he　said；　looking　around。　'This　was　all　about　terrorism。　As　you　know；　that　was　what　Mark　was　working　on。　So　no　one's　saying　much。'
　'Right。　That　was　what　he　was　working　on；　and　that　was　how　he　died；'　I　said。　'And　no　one　seems　to　think　there　was　a　link。　That　maybe　it　wasn't　random。'
　He　did　not　respond；　and　I　looked　at　him；　my　soul　heavy　and　sinking　down　into　the　darkness　of　a　fathomless　sea。　People；　and　pigeons；　and　constant　announcements　on　the　PA　blended　into　a　dizzying　din；　and　for　an　instant；　all　went　black。　Wesley　caught　me　as　I　swayed。
　'Are　you　all　right？'
　'I　want　to　know　who　he　was　seeing。'　I　said。
　'e　on；　Kay；'　he　said；　gently。　'Let's　go　someplace　where　you　can　sit　down。'
　'I　want　to　know　if　the　bombing　was　deliberate　because　a　certain　train　was　arriving　at　a　certain　time；'　I　persisted。　'I　want　to　know　if　this　is　all　fiction。'
　'Fiction？'　he　asked。
　Tears　were　in　my　eyes。　'How　do　I　know　this　isn't　some　cover…up；　some　ruse；　because　he's　alive　and　in　hiding？　A　protected　witness　with　a　new　identity。'
　'He's　not。'　Wesley's　face　was　sad；　and　he　held　my　hand。　'Let's　go。'
　But　I　wouldn't　move。　'I　must　know　the　truth。　If　it　really　happened。　Who　was　he　meeting　and　where　is　that　person　now？'
　'Don't　do　this。'
　People　were　weaving　around　us；　not　paying　any　attention。　Feet　crashed　like　an　angry　surf；　and　steel　clanged　as　construction　workers　laid　new　rail。
　'I　don't　believe　he　was　meeting　anyone。'　My　voice　shook　and　I　wiped　my　eyes。　'I　believe　this　is　some　great　big　Bureau　lie。'
　He　sighed；　staring　off。　'It's　not　a　lie；　Kay。'
　'Then　who！　I　have　to　know！'　I　cried。
　Now　people　were　looking　our　way；　and　Wesley　moved　me　out　of　traffic；　toward　platform　8；　where　the　11：46　train　was　leaving　for　Denmark　Hill　and　Peckham　Rye。　He　led　me　up　a　blue　and　white　tile　ramp　into　a　room　of　benches　and　lockers；　where　travelers　could　store　belongings　and　claim　left　baggage。　I　was　sobbing；　and　could　not　help　myself。　I　was　confused　and　furious　as　we　went　into　a　deserted　corner　and　he　kindly　sat　me　on　a　bench。
　'Tell　me；'　I　said。　'Benton；　please。　I've　got　to　know。　Don't　make　me　go　the　rest　of　my　life　not　knowing　the　truth；'　I　choked　between　tears。
　He　took　both　my　hands。　'You　can　put　this　to　rest　right　now。　Mark　is　dead。　I　swear。　Do　you　really　think　I　could　have　this　relationship　with　you　if　I　knew　he　were　alive　somewhere？'　he　passionately　said。　'Jesus。　How　can　you　even　imagine　I　could　do　something　like　that！'
　'What　happened　to　the　person　he　was　meeting？'　I　kept　pushing。
　He　hesitated。　'Dead；　I'm　afraid。　They　were　together　when　the　bomb　went　off。'
　'Then　why　all　the　secrecy　about　who　he　was？'　I　exclaimed。　'This　isn't　making　sense！'
　He　hesitated　again；　this　time　longer；　and　for　an　instant；　his　eyes　were　filled　with　pity　for　me　and　it　looked　like　he　might　cry。　'Kay；　it　wasn't　a　he。　Mark　was　with　a　woman。'
　'Another　agent。'　I　did　not　understand。
　'No。'
　'What　are　you　saying？'
　The　realization　was　slow　because　I　did　not　want　it；　and　when　he　was　silent；　I　knew。
　'I　didn't　want　you　to　find　out；'　he　said。　'I　didn't　think　you　needed　to　know　that　he　was　with　another　woman　when　he　died。　They　were　ing　out　of　the　Grosvenor　Hotel　when　the　bomb　went　off。　It　had　nothing　to　do　with　him。　He　was　just　there。'
　'Who　was　she？'　I　felt　relieved　and　nauseated　at　the　same　time。
　'Her　name　was　Julie　McFee。　She　was　a　thirty…one…year…old　solicitor　from　London。　They　met　through　a　case　he　was　working。　Or　maybe　through　another　agent。　I'm　really　not　sure。'
　I　looked　into　his　eyes。　'How　long　had　you　known　about　them？'
　'For　a　while。　Mark　was　going　to　tell　you；　and　it　wasn't　my　place　to。'　He　touched　my　cheek；　wiping　away　tears。　'I'm　sorry。　You　have　no　idea　how　this　makes　me　feel。　As　if　you　haven't　suffered　enough。'
　'In　a　way　it　makes　it　easier；'　I　said。
　A　teenager　with　body　piercing　and　a　mohawk　slammed　a　locker　door。　We　waited　until　he　sauntered　off　with　his　girl　in　black　leather。
　'Typical　of　my　relationship　with　him；　in　truth。'　I　felt　drained　and　could　scarcely　think　as　I　got　up。　'He　couldn't　mit；　take　a　risk。　Never　would　have；　not　for　anyone。　He　missed　out　on　so　much；　and　that's　what　makes　me　saddest。'
　Outside　it　was　damp　with　a　numbing　wind　blowing；　and　the　line　of　cabs　around　the　station　did　not　end。　We　walked　hand　in　hand　and　bought　bottles　of　Hooper's　Hooch；　because　one　could　drink　alcoholic　lemonade　on　the　streets　of　England。　Police　on　dappled　horses　clopped　past　Buckingham　Palace；　and　in　St。　James's　Park　a　band　of　guards　in　bearskin　caps　were　marching　while　people　pointed　cameras。　Trees　swayed　and　drums　faded　as　we　walked　back　to　the　Athenaeum　Hotel　on　Piccadilly。
　'Thank　you。'　I　slipped　my　arm　around　him。　'I　love　you；　Benton；'　I　said。
　
　
　
　1