maybe visiting a woman. The very last tent in that part of the camp is a guest tent and, as I said, it was empty that night. It might have been being used for a … well, for a meeting, a rendezvous, an affair.”
“I see.” Hall nodded. Another rigmarole with his spectacles. This time he polished them with his gown. He adjusted his wig, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his lips. He put away the handkerchief.
“And how about you, Dr. Nelson, were you having an affair in the camp, with Dr. Russell North maybe?”
“No, no I wasn’t.” She was sweating slightly again. Her father was in court. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Is it?”
There was a commotion in the public gallery, but the voices were muted.
Tudor raised his gavel but the noises subsided before he could bring it down.
Hall lowered his voice, so that his tone was almost confiding. “Is it not true that you used to sit with Dr. North, late at night, drinking whiskey, smoking cigarettes, and talking?”
“Yes.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Our work in the gorge mainly, the excavations, what they meant.”
“Professional talk, mainly, but not only. Did you never talk about personal matters?”
“Yes, of course, some of the time but not—”
“What sort of personal matters?”
“Our careers, our futures, our likes and dislikes. I talked about Cambridge, he talked about Australia—he is Australian.”
Where was this going?
Hall put his hand over his mouth, looked at her hard for a moment, and then took his hand away again. “Dr. Nelson, did you ever have physical contact with Professor North?”
“Well, hardly at all really, it certainly wasn’t an affair.”
He let a silence go by. “I repeat the question: did you ever have physical contact with Dr. Russell North, yes or no?”
Now it was getting tough. She forced herself to remember that Hall thought Ndekei was guilty.
She looked across the court to Russell. He looked back but she couldn’t read his expression.
“Yes, he kissed the top of my head once, and the fingers of my hand once. But that’s—”
“Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He gripped his gown with the fingers of his right hand. “Had you been drinking that night?”
“One nip of whiskey between the two of us.”
“You’re sure it was no more than that?”
“Quite sure.”
He nodded again, took off his spectacles, wiped them again. He was, she realized, deliberately drawing this out, slowing down the whole proceedings, to make what had gone on between Russell and her sound more than it was.
He placed his spectacles against his lips for a moment. “But wasn’t your whiskey confiscated at one point? Was that because you were drinking too much?”
She daren’t look at her father.
“Not at all, not at all. That’s a horrible thing to suggest. Dr. Deacon—the director of the dig—doesn’t allow alcohol on her excavations, but I—”
“Disobeyed her instructions by the sound of it.”
Now Sandys was on his feet. “My Lord, Mr. Hall is badgering—”
“Yes, yes, I agree,” growled Tudor. “Mr. Hall, watch your tone, Dr. Nelson is not on trial here.”
Hall half bowed to the judge. “I am obliged, Your Honor.” He paused and transferred his gaze back to Natalie.
Natalie was sweating and upset. She knew what Hall was trying to do—sow doubts about her, her motivation, her inferences, the reason for those inferences. She knew he was just doing his job but she hated him. And in front of her father too.
And Jack.
And now he had made her sound disobedient and therefore dishonest.
But Hall wasn’t finished. “Dr. Nelson, I want you to answer this next question very carefully. Take your time and think about your answer before giving it. Remember your affirmation at the beginning of your testimony, the equal of an oath.”
He paused.
The people in the front row of the public gallery were leaning forward, their heads and their elbows showing against the shiny polish of the dark wood.
Hall rocked from one foot to the other. He put his spectacles back on and looked over the lenses at Natalie. “Apart from Russell North, is there anyone else you have had physical contact with in the Kihara camp?”
She didn’t reply but she colored. And, as before, in Eleanor Deacon’s tent, the night she had slept there, she knew she had colored. This time, however, there was full daylight in the court, there was surely enough light for others—for her father, for Jack, for Christopher, for Eleanor Deacon herself, for the whole court—to see her reaction.
The skin on her throat was damp. She felt a bead of sweat trickle