Holtzer, on the other hand, looked her over thoughtfully and at leisure, and said at last, “You look lovely, Lora.”
“Well, thank you,” she murmured, because he’d said it
in a tone that made her believe it. She relaxed-but only for a heartbeat or two, because here suddenly came Peter in a hideous party-suit of yellow lace and stinking to the sky. He rushed to his mother, lying about how he hadn’t been able to get ready sooner because his reeky sister was underfoot, but Mrs. Turpin was used to that and froze him fast.
“It’s your preening and primping that takes the time!” she snapped. “Get yourself a drink and shut up!”
Instantly furious, Peter was about to scream back at her, but that was the moment when Rev. Powell arrived: a fine-looking man with a commanding presence that had made him the highest-paid TV evangelist in history. And of course, Peter pounced on him.
Well, that’s one way of avoiding the two people 1 least want on my back . . . . Lora sighed, and found Holtzer looking at her again. This time he winked, and she grinned back. Good to know there was one other person here who wasn’t dazzled by this parade of notables, these generals, admirals, senators, TV stars, and other slugs. Plus, naturally, the whole of the EG board.
But she had to be polite, for the time being.
The crush increased tremendously within minutes. Even in Lakonia, people had got out of the habit of arriving at parties late and staying late. Going home after midnight wasn’t as risky here as in New York, Washington, or L.A.-where most parties nowadays were held in the afternoon-but the pattern was contagious.
Abruptly the racket of conversation dwindled to a buzz, and Sheklov, surprised, glanced towards the door. Two men with blue jowls and stern expressions were coming in. They ignored the host and hostess, but walked silently around the assembly, sharp eyes piercing and probing.
“Well” someone he didn’t know said beside Sheklov. “So Prexy is coming!”
“How do you-?” Sheklov began, and then put two and two together. “Oh. Secret Service?” A chill touched his nape.
“Yes,” the stranger said importantly. “Those are Crashaw and Levitt. They’re alleged to have by heart the entire CIA and FBI files on subversives. See how tense the Turpin girl is? Worried in case they tell Prexy not to come in”
Lora caught that and glanced over her shoulder with a scowl. “Fool” she thought. There was someone she was far more concerned about than Prexy-and here he was!
She had had vague visions of him arriving with a dozen reb friends, leaping with a whoop and a holler into the middle of this stuffy crowd and blowing every mind for miles. But, instead, he was quietly taking in the scene from the threshold, neatly if not expensively dressed in wine-red, not seeming at all out of place except that his complexion was the darkest in view.
He saved my life she thought again, savoring the solidity of the concept, and ran to kiss him. Several people noticed. They were meant to.
Sheklov was staying close to Turpin. That suited his ru1e as a stranger who knew almost no one, but also it was safer, because although his briefing had been thorough, he was not yet primed with current gossip.
He was impressed. Turpin’s assimilation was unbelievably complete. People ,were present who made the headlines simply by catching a head-cold. And even those Secret Service agents had looked Turpin in the face, never suspecting that he had been born in the other Georgia-that he had grown up answering to the name of Yashvili-that it had taken four years’ planning and three deaths to turn him into Lewis Raymond Turpin, known inevitably as “Dick” .- .
Sheklov suddenly recalled something that Bratcheslavsky had repeated many times during his briefing: “Don’t let his assimilation put you off. Bear in mind it saved the world°
True enough. Every circuit in “the world’s most perfect defensive system” had been known to Turpin for years. He didn’t sabotage the installations, or even delay them that wasn’t his job. All he did was pass the news on.