At the hotel Alex immediately contacted the lawyers allocated to Evelyn’s case and asked for a meeting as soon as possible. He began to read the French news coverage. The headlines ran ‘TYCOON’S SON HELD IN MASS TERRORIST ARREST’. The more he read the less likely seemed Evelyn’s involvement. He realized that he would be away from London for longer than he had at first anticipated. He began to make numerous urgent business calls to cover for his absence. Alex was making sure his departure could not be compared with any of Edward’s frequent disappearing acts. He instructed Miss Henderson to call every board member and make his personal apologies, but to say nothing regarding his son. Simply that there had been a family crisis. Should anyone require to talk to Alex urgently, they could contact him in Paris.
Alex was asking the lawyers for details before giving them time to remove their coats. He was told about the raid on the farmhouse Evelyn had rented. The police had found a veritable armoury, and it was obvious the boy was very much a part of the terrorist group. He had not attempted to deny it. He had been held in a local jail and then transferred to the Prison de la Sante in Paris.
Alex felt his initial energy and positive thinking slipping away. If anything, the newspaper articles had not suggested anywhere near the seriousness of Evelyn’s involvement. Everything the lawyers told him made Evelyn’s situation worse. After a long time, when he had digested it all, he asked quietly, painfully, how long they thought his son would get if he were convicted.
‘There is no doubt whatsoever, Mr Barkley, that he will be sent to trial, even though there is no evidence as yet that he actually took part in the raids. One of the captured men has given evidence that your son was an active member of the gang, an offshoot of the Front de Liberation de la Bretagne pour la Liberation Nationale et Socialisme, and that he gave them his financial backing. Eleven of their members were arrested in ‘72 — they are small, and appear to be outside the mainstream of international terrorism. They don’t have much in common with the other left-wing radical groups...’
‘How long — for Chrissake, tell me what he’s likely to get?’
‘Ten to twelve years.’
Alex felt the breath rush from his body, and he had to be helped to a chair. Someone put a glass of water in his hand, which was shaking, and the glass rattled against his teeth when he tried to drink. ‘Will I be allowed to see him? Tonight?’
‘Yes, sir. I suggest you go to the jail immediately. They are moving them all to a top-security wing first thing in the morning. It’s a prison forty kilometres outside Paris. I am very sorry, Mr Barkley, but we will use every moment we have, do everything we can. I have a car waiting if you would like to leave now...’
Alex was driven to the prison in a Mercedes. He leaned back and closed his eyes, saying over and over to himself what a fool his son was, what a fool... All he could picture in his mind was Evelyn on his fifth birthday, running to him, yelling at the top of his voice, ‘Dad, Dad, I got a farmyard, I got a farmyard — I got cows and sheep and chickens...’ Alex sighed — this farmyard was full of weapons.
Alex was searched, and questioned until his brain reeled, then he had to wait for over an hour before he was led into a small visiting room. Two guards were stationed at the door.
At last he heard footsteps and keys turning in locks. His mouth went dry and he couldn’t get his breath. He half rose from his seat only to be ordered by the guards to sit down again. Through the small glass window in the door he could see the top of his son’s head. He swallowed hard to stop the tears welling up.
Evelyn was led into the room. He was wearing grey overalls and his hair had been cut very short. He was thin, almost gaunt. His wrists were handcuffed, his hands hanging loosely in front of him. He gave his father the ghost of a smile, but his eyes, his dark, wide eyes, were terrified. Alex had to sit back in his seat when he saw the guards push his son into the chair, ordering him to put his hands on the small, bare table.
‘You all right? They treating you all right?’
‘Yes...’
‘I got here as soon as I could, I only heard this morning.’
Alex turned to one of the guards and asked if he could hold his son’s hand. The man shrugged, and Alex reached over and gripped Evelyn’s hands tightly with his own. The boy hung his head, ashamed.
‘I’ve only got fifteen minutes, so I’ll be as informative as possible. I’ve got the best lawyers there are, and they will be working around the clock. They have asked me to tell you to be completely honest with them, and not to hold anything back — you understand? I will stay here, and when they move you tomorrow, I shall come to see you as soon as possible. I think I can do more here in Paris, see the right people and try to sort this out.’
Evelyn clung to his father’s hands, unable to look up, incapable of speech. The tears trickled down his cheeks. Alex swallowed again, trying to keep his own emotions in check.
‘I can bring you some food, and shaving stuff. They said you will be allowed fruit, and a little money for cigarettes. You must keep yourself to yourself, don’t mix. Don’t, whatever you do, get into any fights. Evelyn? This is not the time to say what you did or didn’t do, I just want you to know that I am here, I am with you, and I will stand by you... Look at me, son, look at me.’
Slowly, Evelyn raised his tear-streaked face. ‘I’m sorry... Go back to England, there is nothing you can do. I was part of them, Dad, whether I wanted to be or not is immaterial. You’ll only make it worse for me inside if you try to get me off.’
Alex gritted his teeth and held the boy’s hand so hard he could feel the bones. ‘Ask to be placed in solitary, keep away from the others, hear me? We may have a chance, but only if you are segregated. I don’t want to hear you say again that you were part of them — you were not, hear me? You were not.’
‘I was... I’ll take whatever they hand out, it’s the way it has to be.’
Alex could no longer hold his tears back, and his voice broke. ‘I love you, I love you, and I’ll be close, visit you whenever I can.’
The look on the boy’s face made Alex reach over to take him in his arms, hold him tight. The bell rang, it was over, and the guard had to pull them apart.
They hauled Evelyn to his feet, marched him to the door. As they took him away he whispered he was sorry, sorry...
Alex heard the prison warders shouting at his son. He froze into a catatonic state, unable to make his limbs work. The sounds, the walls, the smell... He was back inside himself, he was suffocating... He clawed at the edge of the table, somehow managed to rise to his feet and leave, but he had no recollection of the journey back to his hotel. Just those sounds, those echoed voices, those keys... and those terrible locked doors.
There were messages waiting for Alex from his office and the lawyers, and there had been five telephone calls from Ming. He lay on the bed, unable even to wash himself or eat.
At last he roused himself to call Barbara, but the butler told him she was not at home. He called Miss Henderson, and noted down all the things he had to take care of. She began to tell him how sorry she was, and he cut her short, not wanting to discuss it. She told him she had given Ming his Paris number as she had been calling the office every hour on the hour. Whatever it was must be very urgent.
It was after midnight and he was still taking calls from the lawyers, arranging meetings. Every time he put the phone down it rang again with more messages, and top of the list was always Ming. He rang room service, then told the switchboard to block his calls while he took a shower. The water felt good, and he began to relax.
He rang down for his messages, and no sooner had he put the phone down than it rang again. This time it was Ming in person. Before he could say a word she berated him for not returning her calls. He let the phone rest on his shoulder, closed his eyes while she went on.