Connie picked up on the shift. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. Just . . . thinking about my mum.’
She correctly inferred his meaning, while wrong about the specifics. ‘I think about my mum a lot too. I miss her.’
‘Me too.’
She nodded in sympathy. A pause, then: ‘We can talk about something else. How about . . . politics? That won’t cause any problems.’
‘Politics isn’t really my thing,’ he said. She smiled again. ‘What?’
‘It’s funny,’ Connie replied, ‘but it’s something I’ve learned as a nurse. People who claim they aren’t interested in politics usually have very strong opinions on things.’
‘So are you interested in politics?’
‘Very much. In parts.’
‘Which parts?’
‘Well, the NHS, obviously. I work inside it, so I feel my view’s as valid as any politician’s.’
‘And what’s your view?’
‘That it’s being deliberately starved of funds so it can be privatised. Targets are set that can’t be met on the money we have. Then we’re accused of being “inefficient” – and only the private sector can fix it.’ She gave him a probing look. ‘And your view is . . . ?’
‘I can’t argue,’ he replied. She was pleased, and a little relieved. ‘Same thing in the military. All the money goes to companies who build the big, expensive toys. Carriers, stealth jets, submarines. They won’t spend anything on the little things, though.’ His sarcasm was acidic. ‘The things soldiers on the ground actually need.’
Connie nodded, then smiled. ‘See? We did politics, and nobody got hurt.’
‘We did. So what other parts are you interested in?’
Her deep breath suggested she had a lot to say. ‘The country’s falling apart. It’s getting . . . nastier. More divided. People with money are hoarding it, and the ones who don’t have less than ever. There’s a lot of anger. I’m worried something’s going to spark it all off. Maybe something good would come from that eventually, but lots of people will get hurt.’
‘We wouldn’t let that happen,’ he said.
‘We?’
‘The system,’ he backtracked, not wanting to mention SC9. ‘The British establishment. They won’t let things get that bad.’
‘They’re a big part of the problem,’ Connie countered. ‘They want things to stay the same, with them on top. But the country’s changing – the world’s changing. If they don’t change with it, something’s going to give. We need politicians who’re willing to move forward instead of looking back.’
Reeve tried to temper his discomfort at the conversation’s turn. ‘That’s assuming you can trust any of them.’
‘I think there are a few who are genuine. Like Elektra Curtis,’ she said, animated. ‘I like her. She’s progressive, and she really believes what she’s saying.’
‘I don’t know much about her,’ he said. ‘But isn’t she more “kick everything down” than “move forward”?’
Connie pulled a mocking face. ‘Ooh, get you, Mr Reactionary! Shall we go back to England for your copy of the Daily Mail?’
‘I’m not a reactionary,’ he objected. ‘I just prefer stability over chaos.’
‘Or change?’
‘They’re the same thing – at least for me at the moment. I’d love some stability after the last few days. Maybe after I meet Scott, I’ll get some.’
‘Scott?’
Another slip. Christ, tiredness was making him sloppy . . . ‘The man I need to talk to. If I prove to him I’ve done nothing wrong . . .’
He let the words hang. He’d already had similar discussions with her and Maxwell. This would end the same way. ‘Anyway, let me know when you want to swap.’
‘Typical man,’ Connie said. ‘Soon as they’re finished, they roll over and go to sleep.’
He smiled back. ‘I’m just enjoying the scenery.’
‘How much further?’
Reeve consulted the phone. ‘We’re coming up on Dijon, so . . . about five hundred kays. Halfway there.’
‘I could use another break.’
‘Me too. There’s another aire not far away.’
This stop was home to a service station. They used the facilities and bought food. Reeve took the wheel once more, and the journey continued.
CHAPTER 33
The hours rolled by with the landscape. It gradually changed as they continued south. Uplands rose to the east: the foothills of the Alps. Their destination was tucked against their southern edge. Montsalier was a tiny village, too small for a hotel. The nearest town with accommodation was Banon, a couple of kilometres away.
Scott’s retreat, the Villa Mielena, had taken some work to find. It was not listed on any online maps. Reeve eventually located it from a passing mention in someone’s walking tour blog. A picture contained embedded GPS coordinates. The minor road at that point wasn’t included in Google Maps Street View. However, zooming in on the satellite imagery revealed only one property nearby. It matched what Maxwell had told him; in the hills above Montsalier.
Part of his mind wanted to reconnoitre before finding a hotel. The rest of his brain mentally shouted it down. He had been awake for over fourteen hours, and he was hungry. The junk food sold at the aires had left him feeling vaguely sick. He followed the signs for their destination instead.
They entered Banon from the south. Like the other villages in the area, it was both quiet and beautiful. The sun gave the stone buildings an almost golden glow. The oldest structures defensively topped a small hill. The centre, below, was relatively newer, but still timelessly and distinctively French.
The town square housed a car park. ‘It’s free?’ Connie remarked as they got out. ‘France really is civilised.’
‘It makes up for all the toll roads,’ Reeve pointed out. ‘Still, Jammer paid for them.’ His stolen credit card was contactless. That it hadn’t been cancelled suggested Jammer hadn’t left hospital.
He checked the phone to locate the hotels. Two were at the end of the square, a third in the old town. He slowly turned, taking in his surroundings. ‘What are you looking for?’ Connie asked.
‘That,’ he said. At the car park’s far end was a black Range Rover. He moved closer. As expected, it had British plates. ‘Wait here.’
Leaving her behind, he walked past the Range Rover. At first glance, it appeared unremarkable. But he knew what he was looking for. A discreet antenna on the roof. Run-flat tyres. A black box on the dash connected to the car’s USB slot. Exactly what he’d expect in an MI6 pool vehicle.
SC9 requisitioned mundane equipment from the other intelligence services. Scott’s bodyguards had travelled from England in this 4x4. There were two hotels nearby; which were they staying in?
Whichever, it ruled out either for him and Connie. The risk of being spotted was too high. He had taken a chance just by coming this close.
He returned to her. ‘Scott has bodyguards. They came in that Rangey.’
She was alarmed. ‘Do they know you’re looking for him?’
‘I don’t think so. But if their car’s here, we can’t stay at the hotels in the centre. I don’t know which one they’re in.’
‘If they’re his bodyguards, why aren’t they at his house?’
‘Scott’s a VIP trying to relax. He won’t want two guys with no necks constantly looking over his shoulder. Or monopolising his bathroom.’ That drew a laugh from her. ‘They can reach his villa in a few minutes, though. I’m sure they’ll be on his speed-dial.’ He checked the phone again. ‘There’s another hotel up the hill.’
The ascent took them through a minor maze of cobbled streets. The result was worth it, providing a stunning view. Lavender fields nearing bloom blanketed the valley floor below. Connie was entranced; Reeve was more concerned with the hot
el. It was open, but did it have any rooms? ‘I’ll check reception,’ he told her.
‘I’ll enjoy the view,’ she replied, letting the sun warm her face.
She entered the building a few minutes later. To her surprise, she found Reeve sharing a joke with the owner in fluent French. ‘Oh, there you are, darling,’ he said. ‘We’re in luck. They have room for us! Only bed and breakfast, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh?’
‘No they can’t . . . darling,’ she replied, hiding her confusion.
He spoke to the owner again, then led Connie back outside by her hand. ‘She’s going to make up the room. We’ll get the stuff from the car.’
‘Okay. What’s with the “darling”?’
‘It makes us seem obviously a couple if anyone comes asking.’
They started back downhill. ‘Do you think anyone will?’
‘Probably not, but I’d rather be safe. Also,’ he went on, faintly embarrassed, ‘the only room has a double bed. We’re in a rural part of a Catholic country. I thought it was better to pretend we were married. In case she changed her mind about the room being available.’
They reached the car and collected their belongings. ‘So, you speak French?’ Connie said.
‘Part of my training. I speak four languages fluently, and a couple more enough to get by.’
‘You learned all that in a year? Along with all the,’ she mimed a couple of punches, ‘other stuff?’ He nodded. ‘God. It took me three years to get my nursing degree.’
‘It wasn’t like going to university. There was hardly any downtime. If we weren’t sleeping, we were training. You can get a lot done if there aren’t any distractions.’
‘Like a social life?’ His reply was a lopsided smile.
They returned to the hotel. Their room was now ready. ‘Cosy,’ said Connie. There was just enough space to walk on either side of the bed.
‘I’ll sleep on the floor,’ Reeve assured her. ‘But before that, we need some food.’
The owner recommended a restaurant not far away. It turned out to have a terrace overlooking the valley. ‘Oh, we have to,’ said Connie, on seeing it. Reeve checked they would be out of sight from below, then nodded.
They ordered dinner, Connie also requesting red wine. The lowering sun’s warmth and the valley’s calm beauty gradually relaxed Reeve. Cicadas thrummed in nearby trees. ‘This is stunning,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad I forced you to let me come.’
‘My pleasure,’ Reeve replied, amused.
The food was soon before them. Connie had opted for spicy piperade topped by baked eggs. Reeve went for a traditionally French beef bourguignon. Connie’s wine also arrived. ‘Sure you don’t want some?’ she asked.
‘I’m good. I’ll need a clear head tomorrow.’
‘Oh well. Santé.’ She clinked her large glass against his, then sipped. ‘Nice. Very nice. But at that price, I’d hope so.’
‘Jammer’s paying,’ he reminded her.
‘He’s good for one thing, at least.’ Another, bigger sip, then she started on her meal.
Main course finished, they contemplated the dessert menu. Connie was now on her second glass. She rested her chin on her hand and regarded Reeve, head cocked to one side. ‘You know, you’ve got a nice glow.’
‘This sun’d make anyone look good,’ he replied.
‘No, you look good anyway.’
‘Why, thank you . . . darling.’
She beamed. ‘Even when we first met, I thought, “Hmm, not bad.” You scrub up pretty well.’
‘Well, it was a pretty low bar to start with. I was a mess. I’m glad I met you.’
‘Me too. Unusual circumstances, admittedly, but . . . well. Look where we are now.’ She gestured at the landscape. ‘It’s so beautiful. Very romantic.’ A meaningful sidelong look.
Romance had not been a major feature of Reeve’s previous life. But there was no way to misinterpret that. ‘It really is,’ he agreed. ‘And we might be here on . . . business. But that’s tomorrow. We’ve got tonight to ourselves.’
She didn’t misinterpret him either. ‘We have,’ she said, with a cat-like smile.
He grinned and signalled to the waiter. ‘L’addition, s’il vous plaît.’
CHAPTER 34
Connie nuzzled against Reeve, arm draped over his chest. ‘Thank you,’ she said, drawing a deep, satisfied breath. ‘That was very, very enjoyable.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied, with a smile. ‘It’s . . . been a while.’
Even as the words escaped, he was sure he’d committed a faux pas. But Connie’s response was amused curiosity rather than offence. ‘Really? A handsome guy like you?’
‘I didn’t have time for anything except the job.’ A half-truth. There had been women occasionally, but he’d never let any get too close . . .
The windows were open, wooden shutters ajar to let in air. Somewhere nearby, a cat started yowling. ‘Are you kidding?’ sighed Connie. ‘I like the cicadas, they’re exotic. But I can hear noisy cats at home.’
Reeve was glad of the change of subject. ‘No, he’s fine. I like cats. All animals, really. Had one as a kid. Smudge, she was called. All white, except for a black patch on her back.’
‘Did you have to leave her behind when you joined the army?’
‘No, she . . . she died before then.’ He paused, dark memories drowning nostalgia. Connie registered his change of mood and sat up. He knew she would ask what happened. Normally he would have said nothing. But after what they had just shared, he felt she deserved the truth . . . ‘My dad killed her.’
She was shocked. ‘What? Oh, my God.’
‘He didn’t like animals. My mum brought her home. But Smudge clawed things; it’s what cats do. My dad left his jumper on a chair, and she tore it. So . . . he kicked her against the wall. Hard as he could.’ Images flashed through his mind with awful clarity, even after fifteen years. ‘She started screaming. He’d broken her back. So he kept kicking her, and kicking her, until . . . she was dead. I tried to stop him, but he started on me as well.’
Connie’s hand went to her mouth, eyes wide. ‘Oh, Jesus. Alex, that’s – that’s terrible.’
‘He was drunk,’ Reeve replied, feeling a buried rage rise. ‘He was a piece of shit. He was – a murderer.’
It took her a moment to take in his words. ‘A murderer?’
‘He killed my mum.’
A long silence. Connie held him, unsure what to say. Finally, she whispered: ‘My God. I . . . I’m so sorry. I . . .’
He held her. ‘It’s okay. It’s not your fault, is it?’ He was aware his natural Mancunian accent had slipped back out. Sadness welled alongside the simmering anger. ‘I was thirteen. He was horrible to her – he was horrible to everyone. No idea why she married him. They were both young – maybe she thought he’d grow up, get better. But he just got worse. Got involved with the local drug dealers, started beating people up for them. Killing Smudge and beating me up was . . . the last straw. She was going to leave, take me with her. But he found out what she was doing. And killed her.’ He felt his eyes prickle.
‘What happened?’ she gasped. ‘Did they arrest him?’
‘Not right away. He . . . I hated him, but he was smart. Cunning, I mean. Mum had already packed up some stuff. He dumped it somewhere, then called around, asking if people had seen her. Pretending that she’d left – without me.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing, at first. I was too scared. He said if I told anyone, he’d kill me too.’ The darkest of all memories returned. Cold, grey, bleak moorland, an open hole yawning before him. And inside . . . ‘He buried her. Out on the moors somewhere. He made me see the body. Then he told me he’d bury me next to her if I talked.’
‘Jesus,’ Connie whispered.
‘I had to go back home and . . . pretend
I didn’t know where Mum was. For weeks. But then a farmer found the body. Once they realised who she was, the police questioned my dad. But he’d already set up his story. They’d broken up, she walked out weeks ago. She’d gone to some friend he didn’t know in London. They didn’t arrest him because he’d done a good job of cleaning up. There wasn’t any physical evidence in the house. So then they asked me, and . . . ’ The shame almost choked him. ‘I was so scared of him, I backed up his story.’
Connie said nothing, horrified. His words kept tumbling out. ‘But eventually they found some evidence that pointed to him. They finally arrested him. Once he couldn’t hurt me, I . . . I spoke up. I told them I saw him kill her. They charged him, put him on trial. I gave evidence. They put him away. He’s still in prison. And I hope he fucking dies there.’ That last came out with a snarl of raw emotion.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘What . . . what happened to you after that? Did you have any other family to go to?’
He shook his head. ‘Not in Britain. I’ve got an aunt and uncle, but they’d moved to Australia. Mostly to get away from my dad. That’s how big a shit Jude Finch was. Not even his sister wanted anything to do with him.’
‘Jude Finch – that’s your dad?’
Reeve nodded. ‘Now you know why I was happy to change my name. It finally meant I had nothing to do with him.’
‘So where did you go?’
‘Foster homes. I was with five, six families. And what happened wrecked me at school. I wasn’t qualified for anything . . . except the army. Soon as I was old enough to join up, I did.’
‘Did you think that was all you could do?’
‘It was all I wanted to do. It meant I’d have something to focus on. I wouldn’t have to deal with other people. Not on a personal level. Just professional. All I had to do was get the job done.’
‘You didn’t have any friends?’
He shook his head. ‘Nobody did anything to help me after Mum was killed. I was just this . . . thing that had to be dealt with. Stick me in a foster home. Stick me in a school. Remind me what I’m supposed to say in court. Then after they’re finished with me, that’s it. Nobody cared. So . . .’ A sigh. ‘I decided, why should I care about them? And once I was in the army, I didn’t need to. I knew what I wanted to do. I was going to push myself. I was going to be a fighter, better than anyone else . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘Because I didn’t want to be afraid of anyone any more.’
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