Lie Down With Lions by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online Page A

beard with stray flashes of auburn in the mustache. His clothes were cheap but carefully chosen, and he wore them with a nonchalant elegance that Jane herself envied.
    She liked him a lot. His great fault was that he thought too well of himself; but in this he was so naïve as to be disarming, like a boastful child. She liked his idealism and his dedication to medicine. He had enormous charm. He also had a manic imagination which could sometimes be very funny: sparked by some absurdity, perhaps just a slip of the tongue, he would launch into a fanciful monologue which could go on for ten or fifteen minutes. When someone had quoted a remark made by Jean-Paul Sartre about soccer, Jean-Pierre had spontaneously given a commentary on a football match as it might have been described by an existentialist philosopher. Jane had laughed until it hurt. People said that his gaiety had its reverse side, in moods of black depression, but Jane had never seen any evidence of that.
    “Have some of Ellis’s wine,” she said, picking up the bottle from the table.
    “No, thanks.”
    “Are you rehearsing for life in a Muslim country?”
    “Not especially.” He was looking very solemn.
    “What’s the matter?” she asked.
    “I need to have a serious talk with you,” he said.
    “We had it, three days ago—don’t you remember?” she said flippantly. “You asked me to leave my boyfriend and go to Afghanistan with you—an offer few girls could resist.”
    “Be serious.”
    “All right. I still haven’t made up my mind.”
    “Jane. I’ve discovered something terrible about Ellis.”
    She looked at him speculatively. What was coming? Would he invent a story, tell a lie, in order to persuade her to go with him? She thought not. “Okay, what?”
    “He’s not what he pretends to be,” said Jean-Pierre.
    He was being terribly melodramatic. “There’s no need to speak in a voice like an undertaker. What do you mean?”
    “He’s not a penniless poet. He works for the American government.”
    Jane frowned. “For the American government?” Her first thought was that Jean-Pierre had got the wrong end of the stick. “He gives English lessons to some French people who work for the U.S. government—”
    “I don’t mean that. He spies on radical groups. He’s an agent. He works for the CIA.”
    Jane burst out laughing. “You’re absurd! Did you think you could make me leave him by telling me that?”
    “It’s true, Jane.”
    “It’s not true. Ellis couldn’t be a spy. Don’t you think I’d know? I’ve been practically living with him for a year.”
    “But you haven’t, though, have you?”
    “It makes no difference. I know him.” Even while she spoke Jane was thinking: it could explain a lot. She did not really know Ellis. But she knew him well enough to be sure that he was not base, mean, treacherous and just plain evil.
    “It’s all over town,” Jean-Pierre was saying. “Rahmi Coskun was arrested this morning and everyone says Ellis was responsible.”
    “Why was Rahmi arrested?”
    Jean-Pierre shrugged. “Subversion, no doubt. Anyway, Raoul Clermont is running around town trying to find Ellis and somebody wants revenge.”
    “Oh, Jean-Pierre, it’s laughable,” said Jane. She suddenly felt very warm. She went to the window and threw it open. As she glanced down at the street she saw Ellis’s blond head ducking into the front door. “Well,” she said to Jean-Pierre, “here he comes. Now you’re going to have to repeat this ludicrous story in front of him.” She heard Ellis’s step on the stairs.
    “I intend to,” said Jean-Pierre. “Why do you think I am here? I came to warn him that they’re after him.”
    Jane realized that Jean-Pierre was actually sincere: he really believed this story. Well, Ellis would soon set him straight.
    The door opened and Ellis walked in.
    He looked very happy, as if he were bursting with good news, and when she saw his round, smiling face with its broken nose and