Thorn’s house wouldn’t have come cheap. ‘You’re sure he hadn’t got into any kind of trouble—?’
‘I’m the one who gets into trouble,’ he glanced towards the kitchen, ‘not Adam.’
‘What about his marriage?’
‘Karen’s a good woman.’
Jenny detected a note of hesitancy.
‘Is there a “but”?’
‘Look, no one’s going to pretend that a man away from home most of the year is going to live like a monk, but as they go, I’d say Adam came as close as damnit.’
‘He had lovers?’
‘No, not like that.’
‘Then like what?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he screwed the odd girl, maybe he didn’t – I wasn’t watching that closely. But if he did, it was no big deal. Look, you’re asking me why this serious, good-hearted man I worked with jumped off a bridge – I have no goddamn idea.’
‘Was he the kind who might have carried a lot of guilt if he had done something he regretted?’
‘I never saw Adam get into anything he would regret. He didn’t take risks. He was a planner. No . . .’ Thorn seemed to search through his foggy memory, then shook his head. ‘If something was weighing on his mind, I’d say it went way back. Way back, before anything I could tell you about.’
‘Did he ever talk about his past?’
‘I’m not the type people confide in,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t want that shit when I’m working. Or any time,’ he added, with a glance towards Gabra.
Jenny had already seen enough of Harry Thorn to agree with his self-assessment. She imagined his answer to most of life’s problems would be to get stoned and feel the relief of not being dirt poor and trapped in a fly-blown African village. Her gut instinct told her that Adam Jordan would have needed more than that: he was an idealist, still hoping to leave the world a better place than he had found it.
‘Do you want to see some pictures of the last project?’ Thorn asked.
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
He heaved himself out of his chair and disappeared inside.
As Jenny waited, she couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Gabra. Standing at the stove frying eggs, she was as content in her body as it was possible to be. Jenny found herself momentarily entranced by the curve of her neck, the tautness of her small breasts, the sheen on her flawless skin.
Gabra looked round and smiled out at her. Quietly, so that only the two of them could hear, she said, ‘Something you should know about Harry – he’s not as tough as he makes out.’
Jenny said, ‘I guessed that.’
The naked woman returned calmly to her cooking.
When Thorn reappeared with a handful of photographs, he didn’t seem to want to talk any more. He sat in silence rolling another joint, leaving Jenny to make of them what she would. The pictures were of him and Adam in a Sudanese village in which large, family-sized huts really were made of mud and thatched with straw. In two of them Adam was surrounded by laughing, skinny children, grinning broadly. His eyes seemed to shine out at her like points of light. She noticed the villagers wore a mix of traditional dress and Western clothes; many of the adults had ceremonial scars on their foreheads. Some of the men had picks and spades; others carried hunting bows. It seemed a place in flux, caught between two worlds, like the men who had come to help them.
Jenny said, ‘Has Karen Jordan seen these?’
Harry Thorn shook his head. ‘Take them. And tell her I’m sorry. I truly am.’
Jenny hardly recognized the smiling, confident young man who greeted her outside the student halls. During his two years at university Ross seemed to have gained all the confidence she associated with his father, while managing to avoid acquiring his arrogance.
‘Hey – you’re looking well.’ Ross leaned down and hugged her, then kissed her cheek.
‘Wow, I’m privileged,’ Jenny said. She couldn’t remember the last time he had been so affectionate.
‘It’s the end of term – I’m feeling good. Go
‘I’m the one who gets into trouble,’ he glanced towards the kitchen, ‘not Adam.’
‘What about his marriage?’
‘Karen’s a good woman.’
Jenny detected a note of hesitancy.
‘Is there a “but”?’
‘Look, no one’s going to pretend that a man away from home most of the year is going to live like a monk, but as they go, I’d say Adam came as close as damnit.’
‘He had lovers?’
‘No, not like that.’
‘Then like what?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he screwed the odd girl, maybe he didn’t – I wasn’t watching that closely. But if he did, it was no big deal. Look, you’re asking me why this serious, good-hearted man I worked with jumped off a bridge – I have no goddamn idea.’
‘Was he the kind who might have carried a lot of guilt if he had done something he regretted?’
‘I never saw Adam get into anything he would regret. He didn’t take risks. He was a planner. No . . .’ Thorn seemed to search through his foggy memory, then shook his head. ‘If something was weighing on his mind, I’d say it went way back. Way back, before anything I could tell you about.’
‘Did he ever talk about his past?’
‘I’m not the type people confide in,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t want that shit when I’m working. Or any time,’ he added, with a glance towards Gabra.
Jenny had already seen enough of Harry Thorn to agree with his self-assessment. She imagined his answer to most of life’s problems would be to get stoned and feel the relief of not being dirt poor and trapped in a fly-blown African village. Her gut instinct told her that Adam Jordan would have needed more than that: he was an idealist, still hoping to leave the world a better place than he had found it.
‘Do you want to see some pictures of the last project?’ Thorn asked.
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
He heaved himself out of his chair and disappeared inside.
As Jenny waited, she couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Gabra. Standing at the stove frying eggs, she was as content in her body as it was possible to be. Jenny found herself momentarily entranced by the curve of her neck, the tautness of her small breasts, the sheen on her flawless skin.
Gabra looked round and smiled out at her. Quietly, so that only the two of them could hear, she said, ‘Something you should know about Harry – he’s not as tough as he makes out.’
Jenny said, ‘I guessed that.’
The naked woman returned calmly to her cooking.
When Thorn reappeared with a handful of photographs, he didn’t seem to want to talk any more. He sat in silence rolling another joint, leaving Jenny to make of them what she would. The pictures were of him and Adam in a Sudanese village in which large, family-sized huts really were made of mud and thatched with straw. In two of them Adam was surrounded by laughing, skinny children, grinning broadly. His eyes seemed to shine out at her like points of light. She noticed the villagers wore a mix of traditional dress and Western clothes; many of the adults had ceremonial scars on their foreheads. Some of the men had picks and spades; others carried hunting bows. It seemed a place in flux, caught between two worlds, like the men who had come to help them.
Jenny said, ‘Has Karen Jordan seen these?’
Harry Thorn shook his head. ‘Take them. And tell her I’m sorry. I truly am.’
Jenny hardly recognized the smiling, confident young man who greeted her outside the student halls. During his two years at university Ross seemed to have gained all the confidence she associated with his father, while managing to avoid acquiring his arrogance.
‘Hey – you’re looking well.’ Ross leaned down and hugged her, then kissed her cheek.
‘Wow, I’m privileged,’ Jenny said. She couldn’t remember the last time he had been so affectionate.
‘It’s the end of term – I’m feeling good. Go
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