Almost Home: A Novel by Pam Jenoff
Sebastian disappears around the corner and I can hear him moving around in what I imagine to be the kitchen, opening cupboards. A few minutes later he returns with two mismatched cups of tea, a glass of water, and a kitchen towel. “Here,” he says, holding out the towel. I tilt my head, not understanding. He reaches out, pressing the damp towel to the corners of my mouth, then pulls away, revealing dried bits of vomit. Lovely. He hands me the water and two aspirin. “Did Vance tell you anything?”
I put the aspirin on my tongue and swallow them down with a gulp of water, then shake my head. “Not about Duncan’s whereabouts.” Slowly, I remember the rest of my conversation with Vance. “There’s something else, though. Vance doesn’t think that Duncan’s disappearance has to do with my questions about Infodyne. He thinks it’s about something that Duncan and Jared worked on together at college.”
He cocks his head. “Jared?”
I hesitate. It feels awkward talking about this with Sebastian after he accused me of still being in love with Jared. “I know, it sounds really strange.” Quickly, I tell him about Jared’s research and the conference at Madrid. “So Duncan and Jared were working together and Vance thinks that my questions about Jared dredged up something that made him scared enough to leave. It’s wild, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Huh?”
He reaches around the side of the bed and pulls out a file, then hands it to me. “I was going to give you these tomorrow at the office.” Opening the file, I recognize the documents in Arabic that I gave him. Behind are several sheets of neatly written English cursive. An image of Sophie, sitting here on the mattress translating, flashes through my mind. Pushing it aside, I try to read the paper, but the lines blur and my right temple starts to throb.
I hand the file back to him and lean against the wall behind the mattress. “I can’t manage this right now. Can you tell me what it says?”
“Have you ever heard of Mohammad Amin al-Husseini?” I shake my head. Diplomats who work on the Middle East are a very exclusive group, composed of officers who spend their entire careers studying the region. “He was the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem before the war.”
“Oh right.” The name, vaguely familiar to me, calls back to some history course I’d taken as an undergrad. “He led the Muslims in Palestine in the twenties and thirties.”
“That’s him. When he was exiled in the late thirties by the British he went to Berlin, stayed there throughout the war. He created an alliance with the Nazis, raised regiments of Muslim SS for the Nazis in the Balkans. Worse yet, he stopped transports of Jews from going to Palestine. Children, who would have escaped but for him, wound up dying at Auschwitz.”
An alliance between the Nazis and the Palestinians, I think, trying to process the information. “It makes sense. Those hating Jews bonding with those hating Jews.”
“It was more than common cause. The Nazis promised al-Husseini that after the war they would help to exterminate the Jews in Palestine, ensuring that the land would be kept for the Muslims.”
“Obviously that never happened.”
“Right. After Germany fell, the Mufti fled Europe and lost most of his political influence. He died in Lebanon in the early seventies.”
“Interesting.” I press my hands against my temples, willing the aspirin to work faster. “But how does it tie in with Jared’s work? I mean, he was researching war criminals who disappeared. We know where this guy went.”
“That was just background from me,” Sebastian replies. He slides along the mattress to sit beside me, and leans closer, pointing. “The documents you gave me are two versions of an agreement between al-Husseini and the Reich.” He indicates a place on the one of the original Arabic documents that has been underlined in pencil, then jumps to the same place on the translated page. “This paragraph describes a fund, established by the Nazis as insurance to the Mufti of their promise to help after the war.” He turns to another page. “But it was omitted from the final agreement.”
“So maybe they decided not to set up the fund.”
“Or maybe they decided that no one should know about it. Either way, the fund never made it into the agreement.” He looks from the paper to me. “It’s pretty remarkable, you know, a college kid finding these papers.”
I want to tell him that Jared wasn’t just some college kid; he was a doctoral student, gifted and intense. “He mainly did his research at the Public Records Office at Kew Gardens.” I had been there a few times for my own research and was surprised by the endless boxes of original documents, neither cataloged nor preserved, to which researchers were given access. “I remember Jared saying that after the end of the Cold War, there were thousands of documents shared by the former Eastern Bloc nations with the West, information to which no one had access for nearly half a century. It was one of the things he was most excited about in his research.”
“He well could have been one of the first scholars to go through some of the documents, especially if these papers were buried in a box that no one realized was important,” Sebastian agrees. He taps the papers. “And these well could have been the reason Jared approached Duncan for help.”
“Duncan read finance at Cambridge. Jared could have been asking him for more information about types of funds, or how to find out if this one ever existed.”
“Right. But the question is, what did they find out about the fund?”
“It’s hard to know without having the rest of Jared’s research.” There are still papers in the trunk at Chris’s apartment, I think. I am going to have to go back there. “Or being able to speak to Duncan. When I approached him the other day, he thought I wanted to talk about Jared. But I didn’t think to press him on it.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Whatever they worked on together, Vance seems sure that’s why Duncan has disappeared now, why he was so terrified years ago.”
“And Jared, was he terrified?” he asks gently.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Scared enough to buy one-way plane tickets out of the country.”
“To where?”
“South America. Does it really matter?” I hear the sharpness in my own voice. “Sorry,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “I think I’m just tired. This isn’t your problem. It has nothing to do with our investigation.”
“It’s fine,” he replies. “I think the whole matter is very interesting and I’m happy to help.”
“But do you really think that this”—I pause, gesturing to the file. “That this research could be somehow connected to Jared’s death? I mean, he was just writing a dissertation.” But as I say it, I know that Jared’s work was never just that. Even at college, I knew from his intensity that whatever he was working on was real. I pick up the teacup from the floor beside me, closing my hands around the warmth. “I need to find Duncan now more than ever. He’s the only one who can tell me about Jared’s work. But Vance was my last lead on finding him. I think I’ve reached a dead end.”
“Maybe with regard to Duncan. There might be another way, though. What about the paper they were going to give at Madrid? I mean it might contain the information that they were going to present, whatever it is that someone wanted buried.”
“Good point. But how am I going to get it? It’s not like Duncan is just going to hand me a copy, even if I can find him.”
“Did Jared have a computer?”
“Yes!” Personal computers were just coming into wider use at colleges in the nineties. I see Jared’s clunky, early-model laptop. “Chris might know whether Jared’s mother kept his computer. I should call him, tell him what I’ve found out about Jared’s research.”
“Have you considered the possibility that he might already know?”
I snap my still-aching head back toward Sebastian. “What?”
Sebastian places his hand on my shoulder. “Jordan, I don’t mean to upset you, but haven’t you wondered, even for a minute, why Chris contacted you? I mean, why now?”
“Someone sent him a newspaper article about Jared’s death,” I reply quickly. “It made him suspicious.”
“And he couldn’t possibly have fabricated that because…?” he challenges.
“Chris wouldn’t do that. I mean, I’ve known him—”
“Knew him,” Sebastian corrects. “The two of you were out of contact for years.” He hesitates briefly. “I ran a background check on Chris Bannister. After I saw you with him in the pub.”
“You did what?”
“Something about him made me uneasy.”
“Uneasy? Or jealous?”
Sebastian shakes his head. “No. Or at least that wasn’t why I did it. We have no personal lives in this business, Jordan. You know that. I wanted to know who you were associating with. I make no apologies for that.”
“And?”
“The bloke’s a walking vulnerability. In the past ten years, he’s had a divorce—”
“From Caren. I know.”
“Did you know he had a drinking problem for several years after college?” It was Cambridge, I think. We all had drinking problems. He continues. “Financial troubles.”
“Money problems?” I interrupt. He nods. “No way. Chris is from one of the wealthiest families in Britain.”
“Was from one of the wealthiest families,” he corrects. “I’m sure you don’t get the British society pages in the States, but the Bannister family has fallen on hard times in recent years.”
“He’s got his job at The Times.”
He shakes his head. “He was let go six months ago. Seems he got too close to one of his sources and let that cloud his reporting. I guess he forgot to mention that.” I do not answer. I realize then how very little I know about Chris. Sebastian continues. “Look, I know the guy is a friend of yours and I’m not saying he’s done anything wrong—”
“So what are you saying?” I snap.
“Just that he’s just got some…baggage.” Haven’t we all, I want to ask? “That Chris Bannister may not be the man you once knew.”
“And that maybe Chris has his own reasons for wanting to find out what happened to Jared?” I finish for him. He does not respond. “When were you going to tell me all of this?”
“Maybe never,” Sebastian replies, his voice sincere. “You seemed to enjoy spending time with him and I didn’t think it was any of my business. But now, given what Vance told you and your being drugged…I’m just asking you to be careful.”
“It makes no sense whatsoever.” I drop my head into my hands, overwhelmed. Chris found me, asked me to help him learn the truth because he was Jared’s best friend. That’s all. “So what do I do now?”
“I think you should focus on finding the paper Jared and Duncan were going to deliver at the conference.”
“Maybe if I head back up to Cambridge…”
“Well there’s no question of that for a few days. Not until you get your head checked out, make sure you aren’t concussed.”
“But what about the Infodyne investigation? I mean, now that I’ve hit a dead end on Lauder.” I shiver.
Sebastian walks to a pile of clothes in the corner and returns with a hooded sweatshirt. “Put this on,” he instructs. “And no worrying about the investigation, either. Let Sophie and me work some other angles for a day or two. You need to rest.”
I take the shirt from him, smelling his familiar cologne. “Thanks, but I just need a good night’s sleep and then I’ll be fine. I should go.” I stand up, then grab the wall, dizzy again.
He comes to my side. “There’s no way you can be alone tonight. I can take you home if you want, or to your friend’s house, or we can stay here, but I’m not leaving you.”
Exhausted, I sink back down to the futon, then take my gun from my waist and put it into my bag. “Here’s fine.” Sebastian sits down beside me, then takes the sweatshirt from me and starts to help me put it on. I pull back, suddenly aware of how filthy I am from lying in the street. “Would you mind if I took a shower? I’m feeling fairly gross.”
“Not at all.” He stands and walks to the pile of clothes once more, produces a t-shirt and a towel and hands them to me. “Loo is just through the kitchen,” he says, gesturing to a doorway.
The bathroom is small, with a standing shower, toilet, and sink pressed close together. I turn on the tap, and as I wait for the water to warm, open the medicine cabinet. A spare toothbrush, I suppose, would be too much too hope for. Finding none, I squeeze some toothpaste onto my index finger, running it over my teeth as well as I can. As I “brush,” I think about what Sebastian said about Chris. The notion that he could be lying to me, that he might have ulterior motives for wanting to find out what happened to Jared, seems impossible.
I rinse, then pull out a bottle of mouthwash and take a swig. As I swish, I study my reflection in the mirror. I look as if I’ve been hit by a freight train, face smeared with dirt, hair pressed flat to my head.
“Better?” Sebastian asks when I emerge ten minutes later, still drying my hair with the towel. I drop to the mattress beside him and he holds out the sweatshirt once more, helping me put it on, half zipping the front. I lean back and he props up two pillows behind my head, then puts his arm around me protectively.
I look around the flat warily. I should offer to sleep on the sofa but there is none. Sophie’s sweater stares up from the foot of the bed, recriminating. I want to ask about her. “It’s all right,” Sebastian says, following my gaze. “No funny business, I promise. Just a colleague keeping an eye on you to make sure you aren’t hurt too badly.”
Too tired to argue, I roll onto my side, leaning my head against his chest and closing my eyes. Any port in a storm. He tightens his arm around me. My breaths grow longer and more even, matching his. This feels good, I think, then stiffen. The thought is as surprising as any I have had. I realize then that I do care that Sebastian has been sleeping with Sophie. The protestations rise up like floodwaters, threatening to drown me. I cannot like Sebastian. He is my teammate. Getting involved now, on top of the Infodyne investigation and worrying about Sarah and finding out about Jared’s death, is simply too much. It is a moot point, I remind myself. You already told him no. He is with Sophie now. Pushing the feelings down, I close my eyes.
Sometime later, I wake with a start. The room is still dark, but outside the clearing sky has turned a lighter shade of gray. From the street below comes the sound of a truck engine, the banging of supplies being loaded onto a cart.
Above me, Sebastian shifts. I look up, expecting to find him still asleep. But his eyes are wide and alert. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I manage, pulling away as the feelings from last night surge back up within me.
He reaches out to touch the spot where I hit the back of my head. “How are you feeling?”
The ache is nearly gone, dulled to a mere pinch. “Much better. How long was I out?” I rub the nape of my neck, which has grown stiff from sleeping at an angle. Beneath my hair, my fingers brush against Sebastian’s. He does not pull away.
“Just a few hours. I’ve been keeping an eye on you to make sure you’re all right.” His face is expressionless, but there is a deeper tone, a protectiveness to his voice that I do not recognize.
“I think…” My voice catches. Staring into his eyes, I am unable to speak. Suddenly I do not care about Sophie or Chris or the fact that Sebastian and I work together. I lean over, brushing my mouth against his. For a second, he hesitates. Then he kisses me back softly at first, the intensity growing. He pulls me gently across the futon to him until I am half lying across, half straddling his chest. There is no hesitation, no more questions left to be asked. He reaches beneath my shirt, drawing me close.
Between us there is a vibrating sensation. “You should…” I begin to mumble, my mouth still pressed against his. But he pulls the phone from his pocket and throws it so that it skids across the floor unanswered. A second later, my phone begins to ring beside the mattress. Reluctantly, I pull away. A n
“Ms. Weiss, this is the Accident and Emergency Department at the University College Hospital. Your friend Sarah Sunderson asked us to call. She has been admitted to the Acute Admissions Unit.”
I pull my hand away, alarm rising in me. “Is it serious?” Sebastian shoots me a quizzical look.
“It is, I’m afraid. Please come here immediately.”
chapter SEVENTEEN
SEBASTIAN FOLLOWS ME as I take the front stairs to the building two at a time. On the still-damp sidewalk, I stop, looking desperately in both directions. “You’ll never get a cab around here at this hour,” he says, taking my elbow and guiding me gently to a black Vespa parked beneath an overhang by the side of the building. As he wipes off the seat, I start to tell him that it isn’t necessary for him to come with me. Then looking both ways down the deserted street, I realize that he is right. He hands me a helmet I didn’t see him pick up, then straddles the scooter. I put on the helmet and climb on behind him, forced close by the tiny seat. The bike lurches from the curb and I wrap my arms around his midsection quickly so as not to fall off. Inhaling his scent, I remember our kiss. What have I done? Chris, then Sebastian, in less than a day. And now something has happened to Sarah…it is as if some rapid-fire karma is rising up, punishing me for my misdeeds.
What happened to Sarah? She seemed fine the last time I saw her. But I remember finding her on the floor when I arrived. Did she fall again, manage to injure herself? “She’s going to be fine,” Sebastian calls over his shoulder, seeming to read my thoughts. We weave in and out of traffic, barely stopping for lights. I look over my shoulder, praying we are not stopped by the police.