sudden change in personality was somehow disquieting, he did nothing to stand in her way. Even her lovemaking had changed, becoming more exciting, more passionate; Thorn failed to realize that it was possibly an expression of desperation rather than desire.
Thorn's own work was all-consuming; his job in London put him in a pivotal position in dealing with the oil crisis, and the President relied more and more on his feedback from informal meetings with the Saudi Arabian oil sheiks. A trip was planned to Saudi Arabia in the weeks ahead, and he would be going alone, since the Arabs took the presence of a wife in a touring entourage as a sign of weakness in a man.
"I don't understand it," said Katherine when he told her.
"It's a cultural thing," Thorn replied. "I'm going to their country, I have to respect it."
"Don't they have to respect you, too?"
"Of course they do."
"Well, I'm a cultural thing, too!"
"Katherine—"
"I've seen those sheiks. I've seen the women they buy. Wherever they go, they're followed by whores. Is that what they want you to do, too?"
"Frankly, I don't know."
They were in the bedroom and it was late. Not the time to start an argument.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Katherine quietly.
"It's an important trip, Kathy."
"So if they want you to sleep with a whore—"
"If they want me to sleep with their eunuch, I'll sleep with their eunuch. Do you know what's at stake here?"
They were at a standoff; Katherine slowly found her voice.
"Where am I in all this?" she asked quietly.
"You're here," he answered. "What you're doing is equally important."
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm trying to make you understand . .."
"That you can save the world by doing what they say."
"That's one way of putting it."
She looked at him in a way that she never had before. Hard. Hateful. He felt weakened by her glare.
"I guess we're all whores, Jeremy," she said. "You're theirs and I'm yours. So let's just go to bed."
He spent a long time in the bathroom hoping she would be asleep by the time he came out. But she was not. She was awake and waiting, and he detected the scent of perfume in the air. He sat on the bed and gave her a long look; she returned a smile.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I do understand."
She took his face in her hands and pulled him close to her, locking him tightly in an embrace. Her breath became heavy and he began to make love to her, but she failed to move beneath him.
"Do it," she insisted. "Just do it to me. Don't go away."
And they made love in a way they had never made love before. Katherine refused to move, but refused to release him, urging him to completion with only her voice. When it was finished she released her hold and he moved off her, gazing at her with hurt and confusion.
"Go save the world now," she whispered. "Go do what they say."
Thorn did not sleep that night, sitting instead by the French doors in their room, gazing out into the moonlit night. He could see the forest from there, and it was unmoving, like a single entity in slumber.
Yet it was not slumbering, for he felt somehow as if it were staring back. They kept a pair of binoculars on the porch for bird watching; Thorn went out and got them, raising them to his eyes. At first all he saw was darkness. And then he spotted the eyes, gazing back. Two dark, glowing embers reflecting in the light of the moon; close-set, yellow, they were riveted on the house. It made him shudder and he lowered the binoculars, backing inside. He remained there, frozen for a moment, then forced himself to move; he padded silently down the long stairwell in his bare feet to the front door, then stepped quietly out. It was silent, even the noise of the crickets had stopped. Then he began to move again, as though pulled forward to the edge of the forest, where he paused, staring in. There was nothing. Not a sound. The two glowing embers were gone. Turning, his bare foot stepped on something soft and wet, and he sucked in his breath,
Thorn's own work was all-consuming; his job in London put him in a pivotal position in dealing with the oil crisis, and the President relied more and more on his feedback from informal meetings with the Saudi Arabian oil sheiks. A trip was planned to Saudi Arabia in the weeks ahead, and he would be going alone, since the Arabs took the presence of a wife in a touring entourage as a sign of weakness in a man.
"I don't understand it," said Katherine when he told her.
"It's a cultural thing," Thorn replied. "I'm going to their country, I have to respect it."
"Don't they have to respect you, too?"
"Of course they do."
"Well, I'm a cultural thing, too!"
"Katherine—"
"I've seen those sheiks. I've seen the women they buy. Wherever they go, they're followed by whores. Is that what they want you to do, too?"
"Frankly, I don't know."
They were in the bedroom and it was late. Not the time to start an argument.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Katherine quietly.
"It's an important trip, Kathy."
"So if they want you to sleep with a whore—"
"If they want me to sleep with their eunuch, I'll sleep with their eunuch. Do you know what's at stake here?"
They were at a standoff; Katherine slowly found her voice.
"Where am I in all this?" she asked quietly.
"You're here," he answered. "What you're doing is equally important."
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm trying to make you understand . .."
"That you can save the world by doing what they say."
"That's one way of putting it."
She looked at him in a way that she never had before. Hard. Hateful. He felt weakened by her glare.
"I guess we're all whores, Jeremy," she said. "You're theirs and I'm yours. So let's just go to bed."
He spent a long time in the bathroom hoping she would be asleep by the time he came out. But she was not. She was awake and waiting, and he detected the scent of perfume in the air. He sat on the bed and gave her a long look; she returned a smile.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I do understand."
She took his face in her hands and pulled him close to her, locking him tightly in an embrace. Her breath became heavy and he began to make love to her, but she failed to move beneath him.
"Do it," she insisted. "Just do it to me. Don't go away."
And they made love in a way they had never made love before. Katherine refused to move, but refused to release him, urging him to completion with only her voice. When it was finished she released her hold and he moved off her, gazing at her with hurt and confusion.
"Go save the world now," she whispered. "Go do what they say."
Thorn did not sleep that night, sitting instead by the French doors in their room, gazing out into the moonlit night. He could see the forest from there, and it was unmoving, like a single entity in slumber.
Yet it was not slumbering, for he felt somehow as if it were staring back. They kept a pair of binoculars on the porch for bird watching; Thorn went out and got them, raising them to his eyes. At first all he saw was darkness. And then he spotted the eyes, gazing back. Two dark, glowing embers reflecting in the light of the moon; close-set, yellow, they were riveted on the house. It made him shudder and he lowered the binoculars, backing inside. He remained there, frozen for a moment, then forced himself to move; he padded silently down the long stairwell in his bare feet to the front door, then stepped quietly out. It was silent, even the noise of the crickets had stopped. Then he began to move again, as though pulled forward to the edge of the forest, where he paused, staring in. There was nothing. Not a sound. The two glowing embers were gone. Turning, his bare foot stepped on something soft and wet, and he sucked in his breath,
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