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Patience studied Rosemary’s face for a moment, as though assessing whether this seemed remotely likely. Then she tapped the down arrow on her keyboard, peered at the screen, and asked, “You’re a British citizen?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Did you check in with your embassy in Kathmandu before your flight?”
“No. I didn’t think to.”
“And you didn’t fill out an ESTA application?”
“I think I might have done, through the airline. In Abu Dhabi, a flight attendant asked me questions about my passport and typed them into her computer.”
“Were you involved in a crime, bereavement, or natural disaster during your visit to Nepal?”
Rosemary blinked. A bereavement?
She meant had anyone died.
A great many people had died.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m sorry. A natural disaster, yes. There was an avalanche. But as you can see, I’m very much alive.”
“Are you traveling with anyone?”
“Yes, an American. He was also there, on Everest. He put me on the helicopter, actually. Kal. Kalden Beckett.”
Patience looked at the other agent, who pulled the radio off his belt and disappeared through the door.
Rosemary thought of her broken mobile and the laptop she’d been too cowardly to open. While the others on her climbing team had made travel arrangements, no doubt contacted the embassy and set up appointments in Kathmandu, she’d boinked a stranger and slept for seventeen hours straight, then hopped on a plane without even getting her travel documents in order.
“What is the purpose of your visit?” Patience asked.
“I wanted to see my daughter. She lives in New York.”
“Can you give me her address?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know where she’s living at the moment. I usually send things to her father, Winston, my ex-husband.”
“And where does he live?”
“He’s also in New York. I do have his address.” Rosemary reached for her mobile, then remembered. “I did do. It’s on my mobile. But I’ve stepped on it, you see, and the screen’s gone black and won’t come on.” She pasted on a smile, though it had no obvious effect on Patience.
“Where were you planning to stay?”
“Either at a hotel or perhaps at Winston’s. I’ve still got to sort that out. If I’m permitted to enter, of course. Which I’d very much like to be.”
Patience spent an interminable amount of time tapping something mysterious into her computer. Finally, she asked, “What is your occupation?”
“I suppose…I suppose I’m a writer.”
“What is your relationship to Kalden Beckett?”
“I’ve no relationship with him.”
“Ma’am?”
“I mean, I’ve only just met him. We’re friends, I suppose. We were stuck in the same situation, and it made sense for us to team up together.”
