by Dylan Madrid
“Thank you, Quintin,” she said. “Did Reed speak to you about my offer?”
“He tried to, but he didn’t know all of the details.”
“I’ve been interested in…working with you for quite some time now.”
“You have?”
“Yes,” she said. “In fact, this might surprise you, but I spoke to Howard Burke about you right after we met.”
“Howard?” Quintin repeated.
How is my boss a part of this? All that old man cares about are blondes with big boobs and his golf handicap.
She nodded and smiled. “He’s quite proud of the fact he feels like he discovered you. He told me he brought you to London. He says you’re destined for great things.”
Howard hardly ever says two words to me. Where is all this so-called praise coming from?
“Something like that,” he said, mostly to fill the awkward moment of silence between them.
“He thinks you’re quite the journalist. He seemed very impressed. He felt you were the perfect choice.”
You’re laying it on pretty thick, Regina. You should stop while you’re ahead.
“I try to do a good job…to earn the trust he’s put in me to run the magazine on his behalf,” said Quintin. “Howard likes to golf a lot, so I’m really the one in charge, usually, in the office.”
She took a step in his direction and locked eyes with him. She touched his arm. “Let me get to the point.”
“By all means, please do.”
“I only work with the best, Quintin. That’s why you’re here. That’s why I insisted you come back.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, “but I would’ve come to see you if you would’ve just called or emailed me. Really…there was no need to send poor Reed all the way to Belgium to come and get me.”
Regina raised an eyebrow. She looked confused. “I heard you had other offers,” she said.
Now it was Quintin who was confused. “From who?” he asked.
“From me,” a voice said from behind him. Regina’s eyes shifted to the direction from which the words came. Quintin turned.
Arianna stood in the double arched doorway of the library looking as if she’d just stepped off the runway for Chanel’s new collection. She was the picture of ultimate style and glamour in black and white. Her makeup was flawless.
“Mr. Pearson, I’d like for you to meet Arianna Russo,” Regina said. “My new press secretary. She comes highly recommended.”
Arianna extended a hand. The British accent she’d so effectively used in his apartment was back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, flashing a white smile.
“Likewise, Miss Russo.”
“I told Regina how lucky she is you’re even interested in considering working with us. I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews about you and your work. You seem to be making quite a name for yourself in London.”
Since when? No one knows who I am. Not even the few people who read the magazine.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m very happy to be here.”
“When Arianna told me about the Royal Family wanting you to come and work with them, I knew I had to beat them to it,” Regina said. “I don’t like competition very much. No matter who they are.”
Quintin tried to hide his surprise.
Arianna intervened. “Well, lucky for us Reed convinced you to join our team. I just met Mr. Ashton this morning. He seems quite…impressed with you as well.”
“I hardly deserve so much praise,” said Quintin, directing his words and their hidden meaning to Arianna. He turned his attention to Regina and asked, “What exactly is it you want me to do for you?”
She moved to the piano and stood in front of it, as if she were in need of something large and dramatic to serve as her backdrop for the moment. She took a breath and said, “I want you to help me tell my story…to the entire world.”
“It’s part of our marketing campaign,” Arianna added. “So few people know of the extraordinary life Regina has led.”
“A marketing campaign?” he repeated. “What exactly are we selling?”
Regina’s eyes lit up. “Me,” she said, beaming as if she were a secret cure for cancer.
Maybe she has the ability to end world hunger.
“A biography?” he said to her. “You want me to write your biography for you?”
“Yes,” she said, “but an authorized one. Something to really inspire people.”
“I remember…Reed mentioned something about this…it’s starting to come back to me.”
“You will have everything you need during the process,” Regina explained. “And I mean everything. Whatever you want, just ask.”
“This project might take a while, Regina,” he explained. “I have a job. I have commitments to the magazine. A personal life.”
Arianna spoke. “Everything has been taken care of, Mr. Pearson. You are on a leave of absence. Paid, of course. Mr. Burke approved our proposal this morning—as a personal favor to Regina.”
He turned to her. “And who’s taking my place while I’m gone?” he asked.
“Fiona Cassidy will be the editor-in-charge while you’re here,” Arianna explained.
Quintin nearly laughed aloud at the thought. “And Howard agreed to this?”
“Actually, it was his idea,” Arianna said.
“Howard and I go way back,” said Regina.
“Do you?” asked Quintin. “I don’t know how long I feel comfortable being away from my work. While Fiona is capable, she’s not the most reliable person I know.”
“Then we shouldn’t wait to get started,” Regina decided. “Tomorrow morning?”
Quintin looked at Regina and then to Arianna. He knew he was already in too deep. He had long since passed the point of return. There was no going back now.
“Tomorrow morning,” he agreed.
“I’ll send a car for you at eight a.m. sharp, Mr. Pearson,” said Arianna.
“A car?” he asked.
You mean I’m not staying here? Against my will? Maybe this little make-believe gig won’t be so bad after all.
“Yes, to your flat in Ladbroke Grove,” she told him. “I was worried your car might be…unreliable.”
If only I knew where it was. I haven’t seen it since the night of the assassination.
“It’s just…old,” he offered.
“Unless of course you’d be more comfortable staying here,” Regina said, with a thick layer of hope hanging in her voice.
“No…I’d prefer to sleep in my own bed, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“Even still,” she said, “some nights might run late. You never know when inspiration will hit. I’ll have Olivia prepare one of our guest rooms for you, just in case you decide you need one.”
“That’s very kind of you, Regina.”
“Mrs. Bremington’s lawyer has prepared a contract for you,” Arianna said. “The details of your compensation are included. There’s also a confidentiality agreement you will need to sign.”
“You’ll be spending a lot of time here,” said Regina. “There’s a chance you might overhear something or see something that could be…damaging.”
He gave her a look. “Damaging?” he said. “For who?”
“For all of us.”
Reed Ashton entered the room. Everyone’s attention shifted.
“I need to see Mr. Pearson before he leaves,” he said to Regina. “I need to go over security protocol with him.”
Regina flashed a coy, somewhat secretive expression at Reed. “Very well,” she said. “He’s all yours.”
*
Reed Ashton walked Quintin to the front door. The two men stood in the marble-tiled foyer staring into each other’s eyes.
“Looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time together,” said Reed.
“Oh?” Quintin said. “Are you planning on helping me write Regina’s biography?”
Reed grinned, licked his lips. “You should be so lucky.”
<
br /> Quintin smiled and said, “Likewise.”
Reed lowered his voice to a whisper. “You know…she’s got you right where she wants you.”
Quintin leaned in closer and said, “That’s what she thinks.”
Reed spoke, so close that his words touched Quintin’s lips. “There’s a car waiting for you outside. To take you home,” he said. “Alone.”
Quintin whispered into Reed’s ear, “That’s what you think.”
*
Quintin was secretly surprised Regina had even allowed him to leave the estate. On the ferry ride from Calais to Dover, Reed had him almost convinced Regina really was the murderous monster that Luca and his sister claimed she was.
Quintin silently hoped he’d walk into his apartment just to find Luca there waiting for him. Maybe he’d cooked dinner, something Italian with a lot of garlic and parmesan. Or better yet, maybe he was naked and waiting for Quintin to join him in bed.
Instead, the apartment was dark and empty. Quintin sighed and slid the key out of the lock, accepting defeat. He stood there, staring at the place he’d called home for nearly two and a half years. Sure, the place was his and his belongings were there—but home?
No. This isn’t home. It never has been. Not even when Kevin was here. There was always something missing.
That same thing was missing from the childhood home he’d grown up in. A houseful of strangers just trying to stay out of each other’s way, careful not to touch or speak unless necessary.
And then it dawned on Quintin that loneliness had been pursuing him all of his life. London had promised love and adventure, new friendships, new ideas and possibilities. None of which had been a part of his mundane existence in Illinois.
No wonder I came here. I ran away from home.
Quintin looked down. One of his shoes was on a small piece of paper, covering the edge of it.
He reached down and picked it up.
The words written on it could’ve been considered a warning.
Don’t look for me, it read.
And it was signed K.
At once, Quintin’s mind started to race, flooding with questions and theories.
Kevin was here. He slipped these words under the door. But why? How did I get myself mixed up into this craziness? And how is Kevin a part of this? Or is he?
Quintin held on to the piece of paper for only a few more seconds. A flash of hot anger suddenly surged through him. He crumpled up the message, tossed into the waste basket, plugged in the hot plate, and filled the red teakettle with water. He made himself a cup of peppermint tea, sat on the sofa in the dark, kicked off his loafers, and weighed his options.
He knew it was too late to walk away. He would have to see this through and somehow get the confession from Regina that everyone was desperate for.
And then what? Find Luca in Italy and spend the rest of our lives together?
A part of Quintin ached for that happy ending. He just didn’t think it was possible. Maybe their worlds were so different there was no way the two could merge.
Maybe their chances had been doomed from the start.
Everything around me feels so complicated now. I just want my life to be normal again.
Or do I?
But from the moment he’d met Luca in the dark, there was no chance of that. He knew deep down that nothing would ever be the same.
There was a knock at the door. He looked at it with a sense of dread. He feared more stress, more mystery and fewer answers. He worried what was waiting from him on the other side, should he choose to open it.
The hour was late. It was already after nine. He considered ignoring the knock and allowing whoever was standing out in the hallway to walk away. If it was important, they’d come back.
Another knock.
This time there was more insistence in the sound.
Reluctantly, Quintin stood. He finished the last few sips of peppermint tea and placed the empty mug in the kitchen sink.
He moved to the door. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Who is it?”
“You called for an escort?” a familiar voice responded with a lifelong tinge of an Irish brogue breaking through her words.
Quintin was already smiling by the time he got the door unlocked and opened.
“Fiona,” he said, relieved and grateful. “You’re exactly the person I need right now.”
She laughed. “I wish every bloke said that to me when they found me in their doorway.”
“Get in here before the neighbors talk,” he joked.
She stepped inside and unbuttoned her faux fur coat, revealing a tight blouse, a miniskirt, and high heels that looked like weapons. “Now I know why you never invited me over before,” she said. “This place is depressing. It’s like a funeral home in here.”
“Be nice. I live here,” he reminded her.
She gave him a look. “Yeah, but for how much longer?”
“What do you mean?”
A fire crept into her already-bloodshot eyes. “How was Belgium?”
“Amazing,” he said, unable to hide his smile.
“I can tell by that wicked grin on your face. You’ve been bad,” she said with complete approval.
“No matter how bad I was, I still probably didn’t do half the things you’ve done.”
She nodded in agreement. “Only a brave few can claim that right, love. The almighty Madonna being one of them.”
“What are you doing here, Fiona? It’s nighttime. It’s late. Shouldn’t you be at a pub somewhere getting smashed and grabbed?”
She took a step farther into the flat. “I was worried about you,” she said. “Ol’ Howard comes to my desk and tells me you’re taking a leave of absence. Immediately red flags are going up. That isn’t like you. You love that place more than anything. Then he officially puts me in charge, which makes me downright suspicious. Something is going on. I’m here to find out what it is. Help you sort it all out.”
“By that look on your face, I see you already have a theory.”
She sat down in the oversized brown leather chair. “By midday, I’d convinced myself you ran away to Belgium and eloped.”
Quintin sat down opposite Fiona in the matching love seat. “Almost,” he admitted. “And believe me, I was tempted to walk away from my life.”
“But then I started to think about it…about what happened when you left the office the other day. When you snuck out and took the stairs.”
“Did Reed Ashton interrogate you?” he asked. “Are you the one who told him where I was?”
Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Who are you talking about, love?”
“The DSS man,” Quintin explained. “The one who followed me to Belgium and forced me to come back to London with him.”
“I think you’re confused,” she said. “Once you ran away like a cat down the stairs, the elevator doors opened. You were right about one thing you’d said to me, it was indeed a man. Only he was no Diplomatic Security Service agent.” She took a breath before she finished her thought. “It was Kevin.”
“Kevin?”
“The bloke you used to be shacked up with,” she said. “But now that I get a good look at this place, I’m not surprised he disappeared on ya. I mean, really, Quintin. You’re a gay man, for God’s sake. You should know how to decorate.”
“Fiona, what did he want?”
“He wanted to know where you were,” she said. “Where you were going. I guess he knew about the trip. He just didn’t know your destination.”
“And you told him?”
“Well, of course I did. You’ve been searching for this man for nearly six months.”
“That explains why he was on the boat.”
“What boat?”
“The ferry from Dover to Calais. He was there.”
“What did he say to you? Did he explain where he’d been? Believe me, I asked. He told me in polite terms to mind my own fucking business. But we both know that’s impossible for me to do.”
>
“We never spoke. I saw him. I knew it was him. I went after him.”
“And?”
“And he got away again.”
“On a boat? He got away from you on a boat?”
“It was obvious he didn’t want to speak to me.”
“Then why go after you? Why show up at the magazine office full of questions?”
“If he wants to know something, why doesn’t he just come directly to me and ask?” Quintin wondered aloud.
Fiona shrugged. “Maybe there’s some strange reason why he can’t.”
“Do you think Howard might know why?”
“Howard?” she repeated. “He’s neck-deep in prostitutes and golf clubs. I can’t imagine him giving a damn about your love life, Quintin.”
“But he’s the one who introduced Kevin and me. He’s also the one who gave me a job and brought me to London to begin with.”
“He’s an old fart who bought a magazine company so he could sit behind a fancy desk and pinch the arses of his secretaries—even the old ones.” Fiona stood up and fished her cell phone out of her fur coat. “I’m ordering Chinese food.”
“Maybe Howard’s the link to all of this,” Quintin said, aware Fiona had no idea what he was talking about. He looked at her. “Chinese actually sounds really good.”
“Excellent,” she said. “Because I’m starving…and you’re delusional.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “but I really think I’m falling in love.”
“And he’s Italian?” she said.
Quintin smiled and nodded.
“Then for God’s sake, don’t do it. Those bastards will break your heart every time.” Someone on the other end of the phone answered. “Mr. Chong? Hello, darling, it’s Fiona. I’m in Ladbroke Grove, love, but I need some of your delicious crab Rangoon and moo shu pork real bad.”
The Shadows
The dream was back with a vengeance.
Quintin was sitting at a table inside the smoky jazz joint, listening to the saxophonist onstage play his heart out. The music felt like it was eating Quintin alive, swallowing him headfirst. There was such sorrow in every note, he ached with a longing he’d never felt before.
Instinct told him to get up. He moved in slow motion. The hazy air drifted around him, touching his clothes, his body. He could taste the stale air that stank of regret and desperation.