A Time of Peace (22 page)

‘Sit down.' Terry spoke gently, obviously sensing her troubled thoughts. Then he stooped down in front of her. ‘You're strong. You'll get through this.'

‘Maybe after the sentencing on Friday I'll feel better, but at the moment it's agony.' She gave Mike a warning look. ‘And don't you dare print that!'

‘I promise. However, that question they asked you out there is a valid one. We know from the trial what
happened, but it's your reactions and feelings everyone's interested in.'

‘I find it hard to talk about it,' she admitted.

‘Will you try to answer one question for me?' Mike gave her an encouraging smile. ‘If it's too personal or difficult, you can tell me to go to hell.'

‘I'll do that all right.' She gave a wan smile. ‘Ask your question, then.'

‘When Derek Howard was choking the life out of you, was everything a blur, or were you aware of what was happening?'

She gazed into space, forcing herself to relive that moment. ‘I was sad,' she whispered. ‘As I started to lose consciousness, I was overcome with a sense of incredible sadness that I was leaving those I love.'

Mike leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Can I use that, Kate?'

‘If you want to.'

For the rest of the week Kate functioned, as each day that passed brought Friday closer. The reporters left her alone; she knew there had been articles in most newspapers, but she didn't read them, not even those in the
World Explorer.
Her parents were keeping them for her to read when she felt up to it, but in truth she didn't want to know what other people were writing about her. She was having enough trouble dealing with her own emotions. She knew she was being unduly harsh with herself by not facing up to everything that was going on, but she would when she felt stronger.

No one knows how they will react to a desperate situation until they are faced with it, and her thoughts
went to her extraordinary family. How had they coped during the war? How had they handled the fear? One day she would ask them.

On the Friday afternoon they took their seats in court for the sentencing of Derek Howard.

The judge looked stern as he addressed the prisoner. ‘You have been found guilty of a particularly brutal crime. I consider you to be a most dangerous man from whom the public must be protected. I am, therefore, going to impose the maximum allowed by the law. I sentence you to life imprisonment.'

Kate heard Howard gasp; she looked straight ahead, not wanting to see his face again. She had always had a compassionate nature but there wasn't a shred of pity in her for this man. This experience had certainly knocked off a few of her soft edges.

As Derek Howard was being led from the court, he started to shout. Then she looked at him. He was staring straight at her, and the hatred he felt was there for all to see.

‘I should have killed you when I had the chance, you bitch! The high and mighty Freemans should be made to suffer …'

He was dragged out still shouting abuse at the entire Freeman family; the venom in his words reverberated through Kate. But for once she didn't mind the pain. He was going to prison for a very long time.

It was over at last!

After finishing off his report, Jon wished he'd had a cameraman with him. You needed pictures to show what was really happening here. He'd run out of film for the small one he always carried and he couldn't get any more here. Not that he was much good with it; he was better with words, but it would have helped to show the violence and turmoil going on in Algeria at the moment. On 23 April, four generals opposed to de Gaulle's policy had taken command of the city and the port of Algiers. De Gaulle had acted swiftly, cutting off all supplies and pay to the rebels. There was a bitter struggle going on, and a state of siege had been proclaimed over the entire area of French North Africa.

He'd received a message from Andrew Stevenson telling him to get out, return to Paris and report from there for the foreseeable future. He would do so as soon as he could make travel arrangements. If he were based in Paris, perhaps he could fly to London once or twice to see the children and make sure Mrs Green wasn't having any more trouble. He took his commitment to the children and the home very seriously and would do all that he could to improve their lives. He was sure Rose Freeman and her daughter would be keeping an eye on the home, so he wasn't too worried. He frowned when he thought about Kate Freeman. She was incredibly beautiful, but something awful must have happened to
her – she'd undoubtedly been traumatized when he'd seen her. Or was it just that there was always a flaw in every lovely thing?

An urgent knocking on his door broke his train of thought. His room was in a rough part of town, but he'd taken it because it brought him closer to the warring factions. He opened the door a crack; it paid to be cautious if you wanted to stay alive.

‘Oh, thank God, you're home!' A German war correspondent, Gerhard Staddler, whom he'd met out here, slid in and shut the door behind him. ‘I'm leaving in an hour on a military flight to Paris. I've got you on it as well. It will be quicker than sea and land.'

It only took Jon five minutes to collect his belongings – he always travelled light – and Gerhard hurried him to a waiting car.

Somehow the German had managed to get written permission for them to travel with the military, and Jon didn't ask questions. He was looking forward to a stay in Paris. After London, it was his favourite city.

It was an uncomfortable journey, with only bench seats in the old Dakota, but neither reporter minded that. In their line of work they often travelled in the oddest modes of transport, and this was luxury to them.

‘Thanks for fixing the flight,' Jon told Gerhard when they arrived in Paris. ‘Let me buy you dinner tonight.'

‘Thanks. Do you know a decent hotel? I could do with a taste of luxury for a change.'

Jon knew just the place, so he hailed a taxi and told the driver to take them to the Hôtel Anglais. It was down a quiet side street in the Tuileries, and the food was excellent.

They checked in, and, after a long bath and change of clothes, Jon phoned Andrew Stevenson. ‘I'm in Paris,' he told the Chief when he was finally connected.

‘Good. Stay there and see if you can get near de Gaulle or one of his generals.'

‘I'll do my best.'

‘The stuff you've been sending back is marvellous. Enjoy your stay in Paris, within reason.'

‘Are you paying?' He heard a chuckle from the end of the line.

‘You know damned well I am, but do try to keep it modest, will you?'

The line started to crackle and fade. ‘Andrew, are you still there?'

‘Yes,' came the muffled reply.

‘I haven't been able to get hold of any English papers for a while. Could you send me some from the last few weeks, so I can catch up on what's been going on?' He wasn't sure if his request had been heard because the line was now dead.

Gerhard was waiting for him in the bar, and after a quick aperitif they went to the dining room. The food was good, the wine superb, and the company stimulating. He'd liked Gerhard from the moment he'd met him – in a ditch as bullets whistled over their heads.

When they reached the coffee stage, Jon sat back and sighed with satisfaction. ‘When are you going back to Germany?'

‘Tomorrow morning.'

Jon was disappointed that he was leaving so soon. He raised his glass. ‘I hope we meet again some time.'

‘You might well be in Berlin soon.' Gerhard looked grim as he wrote his address on a napkin. ‘Come and stay with me when you arrive.'

‘You sound very positive. Are you expecting something dramatic to happen soon?'

‘I hope to heaven I'm wrong, but I can't see the Russians allowing the situation to continue. East Berlin is almost paralysed by the mass desertion of bus and train drivers, factory workers, doctors, dentists and hundreds of professors. People are pouring into West Berlin every day.'

Jon was aware of this, as he kept his eye on all world events. ‘I agree that the Russians are furious, but what can they do?'

‘I've no idea, but I have a nasty feeling that something is going to explode soon.'

On that worrying note, they finished off another bottle of wine and then headed for the nightspots, to have what they considered a well-earned evening of revelry.

Over the next few days Jon gleaned as much information as possible out of those in power, all the time hoping to get to the men at the top of the heap. It was proving to be difficult, and after another long fruitless day he returned to his hotel.

‘Package for you, sir.'

The receptionist gave him an enticing smile, but he wasn't in the mood to take up the invitation. ‘Thanks.' He walked up the stairs, weighing the heavy package in his hands. He'd asked Andrew for some newspapers but hadn't expected him to send this many. When he reached his room, he tossed it on his bed. He'd have a bath first,
then order dinner in his room and have a relaxing evening reading the papers.

Jon wasn't sure if Andrew would consider room service and the best wine justifiable expenses, but, after living in that hovel in Algeria, he didn't feel at all guilty about the expense.

After a leisurely bath, he devoured the meal, propped himself up on the bed and opened the parcel. He shuffled through the papers, muttering in irritation. Why had Andrew only sent their paper? He'd asked for English papers, meaning a selection.

He poured himself another glass of wine and settled down to read, picking up the oldest edition first, one dating back three weeks. When he reached the centre pages, he nearly sent his glass flying. He'd never seen such an expression of shock and despair on a face before, and, when he considered the atrocities he'd witnessed, that was staggering. Kate Freeman was being supported by her father, Annie was on the other side of her, and Rose was about to step in front of her daughter to protect her from the photographer.

He read the account of the trial, spelling out the details of her ordeal and the accusations thrown at her by the defence lawyers. After reading it through twice, including the excellent piece written by Robert Sinclair, he studied the picture again in disbelief. He then sat back and closed his eyes. Dear God, she must have come to see Eddie and hand out Christmas presents to the children a few hours after her rescue. What strength that would have taken!

Opening his eyes, he gazed at the picture again and saw Terry's name underneath it. The expression of utter
dejection on a face so lovely gave the photo tremendous impact.

His heart reached out to the family he liked so much. How they must be suffering. He also now understood why Kate had given her young assistant a large share in the business. She was making his future secure in case anything happened to her. She had believed she was going to die!

There was a knock on the door, and a maid entered to remove the remnants of his meal. When she went to pick up the half-empty bottle of wine, he shook his head. ‘No, leave that.'

Alone again, he reached for the next paper. Andrew had obviously thought he would want to see this, and he'd been right. This one was dated three days after the trial, and had him chuckling at the picture of Kate and Terry turning their cameras on the crowd of reporters. There was a gap of a week, and Kate was with her family after the sentencing of the man who had kidnapped her. He didn't laugh at this picture. The strain on each of them showed, but Kate's expression was the most worrying.

He recognized what she was doing. She was shutting herself off from the torment and pain – and she mustn't be allowed to do that. He reached for his notepad. He would write to Rose, give his support and ask if there were anything he could do. Then a letter to Terry: he wanted to know how the girl was coping with this, and everything about her that hadn't been printed in the papers.

With the letters finished, he went out, bought some stamps and posted them. Feeling restless now, he walked along by the Seine, watching the streetlights casting
glittering splashes of light on the water. It would be the first of June tomorrow, and almost a year since he had been here last. Jane had broken off their engagement and his plans to have a family of his own had come to an end. And, to be honest, that wasn't a bad thing, because he could hardly remember her now.

His thoughts dwelt on Rose and her family. This must have been a terrible time for them, and still would be if Kate were unable to cope with the trauma. He sent up a silent prayer that the girl had inherited her mother's strength of character and her father's calm.

Resting his arms on a low wall overlooking the Seine, Jon gazed at the shimmering river, oblivious to the people walking slowly past, enjoying the lovely evening. Water always had a soothing effect on him.

‘Kate. Why don't you take a holiday?'

‘I can't do that when we're so busy, Pete.'

‘If you went after the tenth, it would be all right. I saw Terry yesterday and he's got a couple of weeks off then. He'd be happy to help out.'

Pete had such an innocent expression on his face that she was suspicious. She knew they were all fretting about her, but really there wasn't any need. She was perfectly all right, and Terry seemed to be calling in rather a lot just lately – it was almost as if he were keeping an eye on her. ‘Terry won't want to spend his holiday working.'

‘He isn't going away,' Pete hastily assured her, ‘because his wife's expecting and she keeps being sick, so they'll leave it until she's over that stage.'

Kate sat on the table in the back room of the shop and
swung her legs. ‘Have you two been planning this behind my back?'

Pete looked sheepish.

‘I thought as much.' She jumped off the table. ‘I'm not going to run away, Pete!'

‘Look, Kate, the papers have lost interest now, so no one's hounding you, but you're looking tired. Why don't you have a week of peace and quiet somewhere? It'll do you good after what you've been through.'

‘You sound just like my dad. I'll tell you what I told him, I'll think about it.'

No more was said on the subject. When they locked up the shop, she said goodnight to Susan and Pete, then went upstairs to her flat. She had become quite fond of her little home. The flat and its furniture had not been looked after, but, with the help of Pete, Susan, several pots of paint and loads of polish, they now seemed quite presentable. She arranged the bunch of carnations in a vase and placed it on the sideboard. The flowers had been a thoughtful gift from James when she'd told him she was going back to the flat. They made a lovely splash of colour.

After Howard had been sentenced, she had insisted on moving back, although she knew her parents would have liked her to stay with them. However, she was twenty-four years old now, and it was time she stood on her own. The Freemans and Websters were a close family and couldn't understand her need to have a place of her own, but it was vital that she became more self-reliant. And she didn't want to worry her parents any more if she could help it. Since the trial her nightmares had returned, so it was better to be in a place where she could
walk up and down during the night without the worry of waking anyone up. She was very disappointed with herself. She should be getting back to normal, but she just couldn't seem to put the whole rotten business behind her.

She'd had a decent meal at lunchtime, so she made herself scrambled eggs on toast and a pot of tea. The idea of going away was growing on her, but where, and with whom? Beth wouldn't be able to manage time off work at such short notice. Perhaps she could take some of the boys to the Haven in Wales. It was a lovely place. She and James had spent most of the war there. There was space for children to run around in …

But no, the boys still had a few days left of school, and she couldn't take them away from their lessons. Her thoughts turned to the happy and sad times during those war years, and especially to the frightened little French boy Sam had brought to them.

She sat up straight. Of course, she could go to France for a few days. It was some time since she'd seen Jacques. His cheerful company would be just the thing!