Public Secrets Part 30

preferred her own view, through her own eyes.

"Can we live here?"

Bev fiddled with the telescope until she focused on the Statue of

Liberty. "Here, in New York?"

"Here. On top."

"No one lives here, Emma."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a tourist attraction," she answered absently. "And one of

the wonders of the world, I think. You can't live in a wonder."

But Emma looked out over the high wall and thought that she could.

THE TELEVISION stuDio didn't impress Emma. It didn't look as pretty or

as big as it did onscreen. The people were ordinary. She did like the

cameras, though. They were big and bulky, and the people behind them

seemed important. She wondered if looking through one of the cameras

was like looking through the telescope on the Empire State Building.

Before she could ask Bev, a skinny man began talking in a loud voice. It

was the oddest American accent she'd heard yet. She couldn't understand

half of what he said, but she caught the word "Devastation." Then came

the explosion of screams.

After the first shock, Emma stopped cringing into Bev's skirts and

leaned out. Though she didn't understand the screaming, she realized it

wasn't a bad sound. It was a good, young noise that bulleted off the

walls and slammed off the ceilings. It made her grin, though Bev's hand

trembled lightly in hers.

She liked the way her father moved across the stage, prancing and

strutting as his voice, strong and clear, merged with Johnno's, then

Stevie's. His hair glowed gold under the bright lights. She was a

child, and easily recognized magic.

As long as she lived she would hold this picture in her mind, and her

heart, of four young men standing on stage, drenched in light, in luck,

and in music.

THREE THOUSAND MiLEs AwAy, Jane sat in her new flat. There was a pint

of Gilbey's and an ounce of Colombian Gold on the table beside her.

She'd lit candles, dozens of them, using those and the drugs to mellow

her mood. Brian's clear tenor played on her stereo.

She'd moved into Chelsea with the money she'd taken from Brian. There

were young people there, musicians and poets and artists, and the ones

who followed them. She thought she would find another Brian in Chelsea.

An idealist with a beautiful face and clever hands.

She could pop off to the pubs whenever she liked, listen to the music,

pick out a likely companion for the night.

She had a six-room flat with s.h.i.+ny new furniture in every room. Her

closets bulged with clothes from fas.h.i.+onable boutiques. On her finger

was a fat diamond ring she'd bought the week before when she'd been

feeling blue. She was already bored with it.

She had thought that one hundred thousand pounds was all the money in

the world. She ran one hand down the silk robe she wore, pleased, very

pleased with its sinuous feel. She'd soon discovered that large amounts

were as easily spent as small ones. She still had enough to last her

awhile, but it hadn't taken long for her to realize she'd sold Emma