Stone and Hewitt were searched, then were walked down the corridor of cells. Stone looked at the stout door at the end, with the small window a good fifteen feet above it. At least the sounds from the inner courtyard had stopped; thank God for that.
Allison was sitting on her bunk, her hair pinned up, wearing a denim prison shift that exposed her neck. Stone kissed her on the cheek. “How are you?”
“They took away my things,” she said. “Even my underwear.” She seemed very calm.
“You’ll get them back later,” Hewitt said. “Don’t worry.”
“Haven’t you heard anything from the prime minister?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Sometimes it’s like this,” he said, glancing guiltily at Stone. “We might not hear anything until the last minute.”
They all sat down—Hewitt in the single chair and Stone and Allison on the bunk. She held up a copy of David Copperfield. “The most exciting thing they had to offer,” she said. “It’s good, though. I haven’t read it since the eighth grade; I’d forgotten how good it is.”
“I’ve had many calls from the press,” Stone said. “The prime minister’s office is under a lot of pressure.”
Allison nodded, but said nothing. Nobody said anything. They sat quietly, each with his own thoughts, for more than an hour.
A jailer appeared at the cell door. “Can I get anything for anybody?” he asked.
“I’d like some water,” Allison said.
“I’m sorry; you won’t be able to eat or drink from now on. I thought you might like some magazines.”
“No, thank you,” Allison said, and the man left. “Why won’t they let me eat or drink?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Hewitt said, before Stone could speak. “They have their silly rules, I suppose.”
Another long period of silence ensued, until Stone began to attempt small talk.
“What are you going to do when you get home?” he asked Allison.
“Get the estate wound up, I suppose. I don’t really have any plans beyond that. I find it difficult to think about the future right now.”
“The fast motor yacht came back and is waiting for you at the marina.”
“Good. I certainly don’t want to waste any time here when this is over.”
He fell silent again, and so did she. Suddenly there was the scrape of a key in the cell door’s lock. They had not heard anyone approach down the corridor. A tall black man in a gray suit and a priest’s collar stood in the open door.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Manning,” he said gravely. “I am the Reverend John Wills; I thought you might like to speak with me. Are you a Christian?”
“I’m an Episcopalian,” she replied. “Yes, do come in.”
“Gentlemen,” the priest said, “will you excuse us for a while?”
“Of course, Reverend,” Hewitt said, then left the cell, motioning for Stone to follow him.
The two men went outside and sat on a bench against the stone wall. “I thought she should be alone with him,” Hewitt said.
“Yes,” said Stone. He could not think of anything else to say. The sun was lower in the sky now. Stone looked at his watch. “Leslie, it’s nearly seven o’clock; could you call the prime minister’s residence again?”
“Of course,” Hewitt said. He got up and went back inside the jail. As he entered, Hilary Kramer and Jim Forrester came out.
“Stone,” she said, “have you still heard nothing?”
“Nothing,” Stone replied. “Leslie has gone to phone the prime minister.”
They joined Stone on the bench. “This is driving me crazy,” Forrester said.