Walking in Darkness Read Online Free

or a “Could be but hard to prove”?’
    ‘Both,’ hedged Steve, then, watching Harry even more closely, said, ‘But I have to admit Gowrie has never struck me as having a poor libido. He’s getting on for sixty, of course, but he’s got a lot of buzz, and some of that energy has to be sexual. It wouldn’t amaze me to find out that he had a woman somewhere, but it isn’t his wife. She’s older than him, for a start, and she’s as plain as a horse. I don’t see her being hot stuff in bed.’
    Harry met his eyes, said softly, ‘What about his secretary? In my experience it’s often the secretary. The single ones are the most dangerous – they get possessive if the guy is the only man in their life.’ His eyes glinted and he smirked. ‘I’ve had one or two who got that way.’
    Steve knew all about them; everyone had known, you couldn’t hide anything in an office, any more than you could in Washington. Harry had a wife and two expensive kids at good schools but that hadn’t stopped him having the occasional office affair. They always ended the same way: he had to get rid of his secretary when she turned tearful and demanding.
    ‘Gowrie’s secretary is certainly devoted, runs his office like clockwork, and I wouldn’t find it hard to believe she worshipped the ground he walks on – but she’s no femme fatale. She wears mannish suits and shirts with ties, has horn-rimmed glasses – I don’t see him having a mad affair with her.’
    Harry looked disappointed. ‘Well, there’s someone, I’m sure of it.’
    Yes, he had been told Gowrie had a woman – but was his source a good one?
    ‘I’ll keep my eyes open,’ Steve had promised, but he didn’t think for a second that he would catch Don Gowrie out, even if there was a woman somewhere. Gowrie was smart, and careful.
    Glancing around the bar now, Steve wondered if anyone else was on to a rumour that Gowrie had a woman.
    ‘Ready, Steve?’ his producer said, appearing at his shoulder. ‘I had a word with Gowrie’s people, and explained we had a problem getting the tape to the studio in time for the night news, and they’ve shifted your interview tomorrow forward by two hours, which should be just fine.’
    ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Steve said, and meant it. He had interviewed Don Gowrie many times before, but not since Gowrie began to get his nose in front in the race for the presidency. There were other leading contenders on the Republican side, but some very big money was going on Gowrie.
    By the time Gowrie showed up, the ballroom was packed to the doors and the air was rank with perspiration, bad breath, the smell of beer and whisky and the machine-oil smell of the cameras and sound equipment.
    Gowrie took questions from the press in an order laid down in advance by his media people. There was no spontaneity on these occasions: too much was at stake. Any shouted, unagreed questions were ignored. There was an agreement between the sides: play ball with us, we’ll play ball with you. Refuse to play the game our way and you won’t get any time with the candidate, you won’t get an invitation to any of the social events with which the lobby was sweethearted by the party during election year.
    In his late fifties, his hair once dark, now powdered with an ashy shade, his expensive suit grey too today, his white shirt striped with a very pale blue, everything about Gowrie was discreet, elegant. There was even something faintly boyish about him – his features had a faintly haggard spareness, but they were chiselled and attractive, his eyes – a pale blue, washed out to grey – had great charm whenever he smiled that boyish smile. He was a good speaker, that came with the territory; he never made the mistake of being too clever, he talked directly, frankly, disarmingly to his audience, looking into their eyes.
    Women flipped over him. Men felt they could trust him. A decent guy, they said. Not tough, maybe, but under the elegance there was