She didn’t really notice the man in the seat that Pacey had vacated a few minutes earlier until he started speaking. “May I sit with you? It is so relaxing to do nothing for a few minutes at the end of a hectic day and just watch the human race going about its business. I do hope you don’t mind. The world is so full of lonely people who insist on making islands of themselves and a tragedy of life. It always strikes me as such a shame, and so unnecessary.”
Lyn’s glass nearly dropped from her hand as she found herself looking at a face that she had seen only hours before on one of the charts that Clifford Benson had hung on the wall in Packard’s office. It was Niels Sverenssen.
She downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, almost choking herself in the process, and managed, “Yes. . . it is, isn’t it.”
“Are you staying here, if you don’t mind my asking?” Sverenssen inquired. She nodded. Sverenssen smiled. There was something about his aristocratic bearing and calculated aloofness that set him apart from the greater part of the male half of the race in a way that many women find alluring, she admitted to herself. With his elegant crown of silver hair and well-tanned noble features, he was . . . well, not exactly handsome by Playgirl standards, but intriguing in some undeniable way. And the distant look in his eyes made them almost hypnotic. “On your own?” he asked.
She nodded again. “Sort of.”
Sverenssen raised his eyebrows and motioned his head in the direction of her glass. “I see you are empty. I was on my way to have an unwinder myself in the bar. It seems that, temporarily at least, we are both islands in a world of nine billion people-a most unfortunate situation, and one which I am sure we could do something to correct. Would you consider it an impertinence if I invited you to join me?”
Pacey stepped into the elevator and found Caidwell there, evidently on his way back down to the lobby.
“It took longer than I thought,” Caldwell said. “There’s a lot of hassle going on at Houston about budget allocations. I’m going to have to get back there pretty soon. I’ve been away too long as it is.” He looked at Pacey curiously. “Where’s Lyn?”
“She’s downstairs. I got called away.” Pacey stared at the inside of the doors for a second. “Sobroskin’s been in touch via the Soviet Embassy here. He wants me to meet him in London to talk about something.”
Caidwell raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re going?”
“I’ll know later. I just called Packard, and I’m going to take a cab over to his place right now to tell him about it. I’ve arranged to meet somebody later tonight to let them know.” He shook his head. “And I thought this would be a quiet night.”
They came out of the elevator and walked through the arcade to where Pacey had left Lyn. The alcove was empty. They looked around, but she was nowhere in sight.
“Maybe she went to the little girls’ room,” Caldwell suggested.
“Probably.”
They stood for a while talking and waiting, but there was no sign of Lyn. Eventually Pacey said, “Maybe she wanted another drink, couldn’t get served out here, and went into the bar. She might still be in there.”
“I’ll check it out,” Caldwell said. He about-faced and stumped away across the lobby.
A minute later he returned, wearing the expression of somebody who had been hit from behind by a tramcar while minding his own business in the middle of the Hilton. “She’s in there,” he announced in a dull voice, slumping down into one of the empty seats. “She’s got company. Go see for yourself, but stay back from the door. Then come back and tell me if it’s who I think it is.”
A minute later Pacey thudded down into the chair opposite. He looked as if he had been hit by the same tram on its return trip. “It’s him,” he said numbly. A long time seemed to pass. Then Pacey murmured, “He’s got a place up in Connecticut somewhere. He must have stopped off in D.C. for a few days on his way back from Bruno. We should have picked some other place.”