Challenging Andie (18 page)

The next morning, Andie slotted a DVD into the player, pressed play, and scooted back to the sofa. Her heart jolted at a familiar voice, and she pulled in a breath, suddenly desperate for air.

Ryan’s arm slipped around her shoulders. “Okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

With time ticking away, they’d settled on the sofa mid-morning, in an attempt to review the footage before the fundraiser tonight. Now, the emotions churning inside made her wonder if the idea had been such a good one. She needed to be strong tonight, and right now her insides were melting like butter left out in the sun. She gripped her hands together in her lap as Emily’s face filled the screen.

“The displaced people of Bekostan are building a temporary life. In camps without running water, and with inadequate sanitation.” Her mother’s eye’s shone with passion. “With all conflict, comes pain.” The camera panned to a woman feeding her child from a battered tin bowl. “These innocent victims are suffering most of it.”

As the report continued, the shock of seeing Emily on screen faded, to be replaced by a keen fascination with the strange country and people that she had championed. The camera panned distant hills, with scant vegetation. Rivers of filthy liquid, buzzing with flies, cut between the serried rows of UN supplied white tents.

Emily walked through the camp, the camera documenting the people’s plight in silence. When she reached a clearing, one woman stood alone, facing the camera.

“I’ve come here today to talk to Laila Jallaludin.” Emily came to a stop.

Laila Jallaludin was dressed head to toe in black, with her head covered. Jet-black eyes stared into the camera.

“Laila will be at the fundraiser,” Ryan murmured.

Emily’s voice continued, “Laila, you’re the spokeswoman for the Rexa camp. Can you tell the viewers your hopes for the future?”

Silence stretched, broken only by the distant crying of a child.

Laila linked her hands together. “We hope for one thing above all else.” She paused. “We hope for peace.”

As the interview played out, the softness in Emily’s voice revealed the respect she must have felt for Laila. When Laila rested her hand on Emily’s forearm, and thanked her for opening a window to the world by bringing cameras into the camp, Andie’s eyes filled with tears.

How different might their relationship have been if she’d been allowed a glimpse of the woman her mother truly was? Instead, she’d spent years resenting Emily’s absence, imagining her enjoying a different life, when in fact she’d been championing the cause of people who really needed her.

“I’m proud to be her daughter,” she choked out.

As the interview ended, Ryan’s chest made the perfect resting place for her cheek.

The next segment started with a ruined inner-city streetscape.

Ryan’s body tensed. He pulled in a ragged breath, and pressed pause. “This is one of my reports.” His voice sounded somber. “It’s fairly harrowing. Should I skip it?”

Andie angled her body away to look up into his face. “Would it disturb you to watch it?” She felt her brow crease. He was holding himself so still, the comfortable warmth that had been emanating from him as his arms encircled her, seemed to chill. Something about this broadcast disturbed him, that was for sure.

“Talk to me.”

“The report was filed a year ago, when the rebels tried to take the city.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “They were unsuccessful. I documented the aftermath.” His mouth stretched in a tight line. “There are dead bodies in the footage.”

Andie gripped his hand in an attempt to offer support.

Ryan swallowed. “This is my most famous broadcast. As a result, Amnesty condemned the regime, and the international community followed suit.”

Andie’s soul recoiled at the thought of the images she would see. There’d been so much death, so much destruction in both Ryan and Emily’s lives. Andie had been shielded from war and its aftermath. Knowing what they knew, seeing what they’d lived and documented, would bring her closer into a hidden world. “I think I should watch it.”

 “Okay.” Ryan pressed a button on the remote, and his image appeared onscreen.

He looked younger, with longer hair. Cheekbones jutted from a leaner face. Banked anger flashed from his eyes.

“Last night, armed rebels came into Rexa.” The camera panned over burned out military vehicles. “They attempted to storm the military stronghold, which you can see behind me.” The camera focused on a grey building, windows covered by steel shutters. “They were unsuccessful, and paid the price with their lives.”

He walked toward a pile of clothing. The camera lingered over what Andie realized with horror as the details came into focus, was a pile of bodies.

Ryan’s onscreen voice continued. “Shooting from the top of the fortified barracks, army snipers cut down the forces where they stood.”

“They didn’t have a chance,” Andie breathed.

“Against an army supplied with top grade military weapons, the result was inevitable,” Ryan answered.

His voice bled from the television. “As the injured lay dying on the street before the barracks, the women of Rexa tried to come to their aid. Doctors from the hospital flooded the streets, carrying stretchers to retrieve the wounded.”

Andie’s heart clenched. Even in the midst of such horror, there were still people showing such bravery and compassion that, regardless of which side they supported, were offering medical aid and solace to those struck down. She blinked. Why did bodies still litter the street?

The camera panned. “These innocents became victims of war the moment that the army, safe in their turrets, opened fire with machine guns.”

Andie gasped. The doctors and women hadn’t even made it to the injured rebels. Their bloody bodies lay everywhere, discarded stretchers laying amongst the broken bodies, stained scarlet by their blood.

Andie covered her eyes with her hands, listening to Ryan’s impassioned recorded voice condemn the army for the massacre, and begging the international community to bring its considerable weight down on the regime.

The television clicked off. Ryan’s arm tightened around her shoulders.

“That’s why the Bekostani regime must be overthrown,” he muttered.

*****

Twilight. Ryan glanced out at the garden faintly visible beyond the floor-length expanse of glass as he locked the French windows. Memories of the day tumbled in his mind. He’d been filled with dread the moment Andie had said she wanted to watch his report. As the pictures appeared on screen, he’d been thrown back into the moment, into the horror. Since the report broadcast, he hadn’t watched it, and yet…

The thing that had surprised more than anything was how different he was, back then. He’d been passionate about the injustice meted out to a vulnerable group, furious at the world’s inaction when confronted with the reality of brutality, and determined to bring the situation to the world’s attention. In the year since, he’d lost that passion. Had found his idealistic outrage dulled by the reality of a country at war. In order to survive, he’d cut off part of himself, the part that hurt, in order to be able to dispassionately report the facts, and only the facts.

The bars of Rexa were full of burnt-out reporters. Because he hadn’t joined them, he’d considered himself different, immune to their inner destruction. Watching the broadcast, and contrasting his past self with the man he was today had revealed the truth, that far from being a professional war correspondent, he was damaged by the things he had seen. Part of his soul had been murdered along with the people whose death he’d documented.

Now he’d seen the damage wrought, he couldn’t go back into the war zone as a numb observer any longer. Since arriving back in England he’d changed. Emotions so long pushed down, had rioted to the surface, and demanded attention.

He tugged the curtain closed. Pushed the sleeve of his navy suit back, and glanced at his watch. Where was she? They needed to get on the road.

The clicking of heels on the wooden floor alerted him to her presence. He turned.

Andie stood at the bottom of the stairs clutching a small black evening bag. Her long hair was twisted up into a chignon, and the floor-length black dress dusted across the floor.

“You look perfect.” The demure neckline dipped a tiny amount, and a strand of creamy pearls lay against her clavicle. On top of the dress, she wore a short cardigan fastened by a pearl clasp.

With quick strides, he reached her side. His hands closed around her shoulders, then ran down her arms. The cardigan felt as soft as it looked. “Is this wool?”

“Angora. From bunnies.” She reached for his tie, and straightened it. “You’re looking pretty perfect too.”

Ryan leaned close. Her perfume was warm and musky, exotically sensual and arousing. Her eyelashes brushed across her cheek as her gaze focused on his mouth. Slowly, he lowered his mouth and brushed his lips across hers in a light caress so as not to muss her lipstick.

A few moments later he pulled away. “We better go.”

Later, at the party, Ryan accepted a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter, and snagged a glass of red wine for Andie.

Every inch of the large, airy room was filled with people. There were many prominent politicians in their number, presumably they’d got a hint of things to come in Bekostan and were keen to be seen to be on the right side, once the changeover happened.

Cynicism roiled within as he took a sip. The same politicians had been silent when their influence was needed. Now they desperately hogged the limelight.
Typical
.

Ben waved from across the room and walked to them with rapid steps.

“I don’t think you’ve met Andie?” Ryan bit back a snarl at the appreciate sweep of Ben’s gaze. “Andie, this is Ben Fitzgerald, head of the network.”

Ben reached for Andie’s hand, holding it a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “Pleased to meet you, Andie.” His voice lowered. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Andie’s back straightened. “Thank you.”

Then Ben directed all his attention to Ryan. “I’d like to take you over and introduce you to Arnat,” he said, sotto voce. He glanced Andie’s direction, raising his eyebrows a fraction.

“We’d both like to meet him.” Emily had lost her life trying to interview this man. Meeting Andie was the least he could do.

“Oh, fine.” Ben looked flustered, but hid his reaction quickly.

Taking Andie’s arm, Ryan walked through the crowd to the tall man with a sprinkling of white at his temples. He stood within a tight group who looked overwhelmed in the midst of London’s most prominent citizens.

Ryan recognized many of Arnat’s most trusted colleagues. Including Laila Jallaludin.

The moment Ben made the introductions, Arnat’s eyes brightened. He grasped Andie’s hand. “Your mother was a wonderful woman,” he said with a smile. “I am honored to meet you.” He slanted his body and swept his hand to the side to encompass Laila. “Do you know Laila? She and your mother were close friends.”