Love in the Shadows

by Dylan Madrid

  This pleased Regina. “Really?” She beamed. “I haven’t noticed.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Even Arianna mentioned it to me.”

  “She did?” He nodded. Regina lowered her voice as if the information she was sharing with him was top secret. “I don’t usually hire women to work for me, especially when they look like Arianna, but she’s very good at what she does. I need her.”

  “It’s hard to imagine a woman like you would need anything.”

  “You’d be surprised, Quintin. There’s so much you don’t know,” she said. “The public has no idea what goes on behind these doors…these old walls.” For effect, she glanced over at the gold-patterned wallpaper. The sight of it made her cringe.

  “Do you not like the estate?” he asked. “It’s a historical landmark. It’s been around for centuries. Some very famous people have lived here, from what I’m told.”

  “I think it’s dirty,” she said with a shudder, as if bugs were crawling on her skin. She dropped her voice to a hushed whisper again. “And it’s haunted.”

  He leaned in. “Ghosts?”

  She nodded. “More than I can count.”

  Is one of them your husband?

  “I suppose I’ll be leaving soon,” she said. “Once they decide on who’s going to replace Everett.”

  “I’m curious. Why didn’t you and your husband live at Winfield House in Regent’s Park?” he asked. “Every other American ambassador has.”

  “Because my husband fell in love with this place,” she said with a disdainful glance around, like she was sitting in hell. “God knows why. I would’ve rather lived in Regent’s Park. I dreamed about it once Everett became ambassador. I thought we would be there and not here in some old damp, moldy castle. Everett made a deal with the State Department. He got permission for us to live here. But they always gave him whatever he wanted. They loved him. They thought he was going to go far.”

  Quintin clicked the top of the shiny pen in his hand.

  “And you?” he asked, knowing she was inching closer to the truth.

  “That remains to be seen,” she said, with sheer confidence glowing in her eyes. “But yes, I have…plans.”

  “No,” he said. “Did you expect your husband to go far as well?”

  “At first,” she said. “And he could have. My God, he could have. So many people were rooting for him. They were so sure he was going to make it all the way to the White House. But he didn’t want it badly enough. He gave up. He was happy just living here and talking to ghosts.”

  “Will you stay in London?”

  “No,” she said without a pause. “I’m going back to America where I belong. Even though the press here has been very good to me, I’m ready to go home. The State Department has given me some time…but not much. Once I receive word from the Secretary of State, I’m gone.”

  “Where will you go?”

  She gave Quintin a look of disbelief. “To Washington, D.C., of course.”

  “And what’s waiting for you there?” he asked.

  “My future,” she replied, with certainty.

  “Regina,” he asked carefully. “Are you planning a new career in politics?”

  She was grinning from ear to ear. “Off the record?” she asked.

  Like hell.

  “If you’d prefer,” he replied with a reassuring nod.

  “I’ve been preparing for a career in politics since I was a little girl. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of. But just like so many women before me, I knew in order to get into this circle, I had to marry my way in. No one was going to vote for some poor girl from Fresno. The world just doesn’t work that way. So I did what I had to.”

  He took a quick breath before he spoke. “Are you saying your marriage to Everett was a career move?”

  Here we go.

  Regina gave him a look. “Are you asking me if I loved my husband?”

  He swallowed and said, “Yes.”

  She leaned back in the chaise and took a good look at him. “You’re good at what you do, Quintin.”

  He smiled at her and said, “I could say the same about you, Regina.”

  “Yes,” she said. “There was a time early in the marriage that Everett and I loved each other very much.”

  “Did something happen to change that?”

  She looked away. “Sometimes love changes.”

  “Into what?”

  “Into other emotions.”

  “Hate?” The word caught her off guard. She almost looked guilty, caught. But within seconds, her composure was back intact.

  “We resented each other,” she admitted. “I thought he should be more aggressive. Play the game. Strategize his political career. I wanted him to make big moves and he refused.”

  “And this killed the marriage?” Quintin pressed.

  “The marriage was long dead before my husband was ever appointed U.S. ambassador to the U.K., if you want to know the truth.”

  “Are we back on record now?” he asked. “Are the details you’re sharing with me information you want in your autobiography?”

  Her voice was stern. “No.”

  “You have more to tell me?”

  “There’s so much more I could say.”

  “About your marriage?” he asked.

  “About ambition,” she said. “About what happens when two people collide who desperately want opposite outcomes. The chaos it creates. The anger.”

  “Are you angry, Regina?”

  “I am when I don’t get what I want or deserve.”

  He leaned in, closer to the porcelain teacups, the sterling silver tea seat, the black coffee table, the black widow sitting on her purple velvet throne. “And what is it you feel you deserve?” he asked.

  Her answer didn’t take long. “To win.”

  “So you and your husband were in competition?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s impossible to compete with someone who isn’t even in the running. The second my husband gave up and settled for whatever came his way, it only made me want my own victory even more.”

  “But he’s gone now,” he reminded her, because he wondered if she’d forgotten that less than a week ago her husband had been viciously murdered. There was no remorse. None. “He’s dead. He was shot to death by a guest at your party.”

  “We may never know who pulled the trigger,” she said. “It’s a mystery.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he told her.

  Cracks in her façade began to show. Panic was seeping into her eyes. “Oh?” she said, trying too hard to sound nonchalant. “Have you heard something? Is there new information?”

  “Yes,” he lied. “I spoke with DS Evans this morning.”

  “And what did she have to say?”

  More lies came tumbling easily out of Quintin’s mouth. “They’re very close to catching their suspect. She said new evidence had been found. Incriminating evidence.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible. They searched this place seven times over and came up with nothing.”

  “I thought you would be relieved,” he said. “That the police are close to discovering who murdered your husband. Do you think it was a political rival?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

  “Any theories?”

  “As to who killed Everett? Take your pick,” she said. “He pissed off a lot of people on his way to London.”

  “But who would have motive to actually murder him?”

  “That’s for the police to find out.”

  “I’m sure whoever assassinated your husband will be brought to justice soon.”

  “I’ll just be glad when this whole ordeal is over with.”

  “To move on with your life?”

  She summoned up some tears, right on cue. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes daintily with the back of her hand. “So I can heal,” she said.

  “Is that why you decided to have an autobiography written? To share your grief with the world?”


  “No. I want my story to be told.” Already the tears were subsiding. “Everyone already knows his.”

  “You’re absolutely right. He’s not here anymore. It’s you that matters now. Your future.”

  She responded to his compliments with a high-voltage smile. “Arianna was right,” she said. “You are the perfect man for this job, Quintin.”

  “I hope so. I don’t want you to be disappointed when this is all said and done.”

  Her words sounded like a warning. “Do the job I hired you to do and that won’t happen.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Let’s go back to the beginning, before you became the ambassador’s wife. When did you leave Fresno?”

  “The first chance I got I was on a Greyhound outta there,” she said with pride. “I worked at the snack bar at a bowling alley, making patty melts and selling hot dogs and Cokes. I flirted my ass off and the men filled up my tip jar on the counter. I saved up every penny and used it to escape.”

  “Was life there really that bad?”

  “Have you ever been to Fresno?” she asked.

  “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  “It’s useless.”

  “Where did you escape to?”

  Her words hung in the air, suspended in the space between them. “Las Vegas.”

  *

  Quintin felt his cell phone buzz and vibrate in the front pocket of his khakis. Hope fluttered inside his heart. Maybe it was Luca. Maybe he was calling to let him know the mission was over, Quintin was free to go, and they would meet up in Manarola as planned.

  I will tell him I’m more than ready to start a new life with him…no matter where he is in the world. I have nothing in London anymore. Because Luca isn’t here.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Pearson?” Quintin recognized the singsong voice of his favorite female detective immediately.

  That’s strange. I was just lying about you less than an hour ago.

  “DS Evans?” He couldn’t imagine why she would be calling him. “What can I do for you?” He imagined her response would be somewhere along the lines of: “I have a few more questions for you.”

  What he wasn’t expecting was for her to say, “I think you are in terrible danger, Mr. Pearson.”

  Quintin was sitting at an ornate mahogany desk in a private study, staring into the screen of his laptop. He’d been in the middle of transcribing his notes from Regina’s first interview when he answered the phone. He’d lost track of time. He knew the hour was late. It might even be after midnight.

  “What?” he whispered, even though he was alone in the room. But in Regina Bremington’s world, one could never be too careful.

  “I will be at the Bremington estate tomorrow morning,” she explained. “Hopefully with an arrest warrant. I urge you to be gone by then.”

  “That will be almost impossible,” he said. He turned around in his chair and glanced at the open doorway of the office, just to make sure no one was standing there.

  All clear.

  “I’m working for her now, DS Evans,” he explained. “She’s hired me in an official capacity.”

  “I have reason to believe she’s a very dangerous person,” the detective said.

  Quintin closed his eyes.

  Of course she was right.

  Regina was a cold-blooded, ruthless woman insane with ambition. “You’re probably right.”

  He could hear the curiosity in the detective’s voice—he’d piqued her curiosity. “You’ve discovered something, haven’t you? While working for her?” she said. “Mr. Pearson, if you have proof—”

  “I don’t,” he said. “Not yet. But I might very soon.”

  “You have until tomorrow morning. Once I question her and I leave, I have to insist you come with me—for your own safety. I’m convinced this woman is capable of anything.”

  *

  Half an hour later, Quintin climbed the grand staircase up to the second floor of the castle. He stopped for a moment and gazed up to the skylight, taking in the beautiful sight of the stars and the bright moon. He wondered where Luca was, what he was doing. Was he lonely?

  Are you thinking about me?

  Quintin thought back to their night together on the beach in Belgium and what it felt like to be held in Luca’s arms. He hoped they would share many more romantic nights together. Maybe they could go back to the cottage eventually and stay even longer.

  What would life be like with Luca? Not just for one night or a weekend, but forever? Do I really want that with him?

  It was too late to have the limo driver take him back to his flat in Ladbroke Grove. Quintin decided he would spend the night and start fresh in the morning. Maybe he’d have one last chance to get Regina to admit what she’d done before DS Evans moved in with an arrest warrant.

  But as each second passed, he was feeling less and less confident he’d be able to get Regina to confess to the crime. Sure, he was certain she was guilty. He could feel it in his bones. But he doubted she would own up to it. She didn’t trust him enough. Not yet, anyway.

  Mission not accomplished. Complete fail.

  The long corridor was creepy. Wall sconces flickered, casting eerie shadows on the wall. He wondered how many people had roamed the halls of the house. What were their stories? Who were they? What had brought them to the old castle?

  He wondered if there was any truth to Regina’s crazy theory about the house being haunted. Were there really ghosts among them? What secrets had they taken with them to their graves?

  He turned the old brass knob on the door to his assigned guest room and pushed it open. The room was pitch-black. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, welcoming the silence, the refuge, the peace. It had been a long day, a long week. He just wanted sleep.

  It only took a matter of seconds for Quintin to realize he was not alone in the dark room. He felt his heart start to race. His breath quickened. His mouth went dry.

  He’s here. I know it’s him.

  Then his voice—that strong tone and deep Italian accent—cut through the blackness, washing over Quintin like a wave of calmness. “I’ve come a long way to see you, Quintin Pearson.”

  Quintin fumbled in the dark, reaching and searching. His fingertips brushed across the smooth, satiny wallpaper until they rested on the old light switch. He pushed the button. A Tiffany lamp on one of the nightstands clicked on and illuminated the room with a golden glow.

  Leaning up against one of the ornate four posters of the large bed with his arms folded across his broad chest was Luca Russo, dressed in black from head to toe.

  Quintin smiled at the sight of him. “You’re here?”

  “I had to see you,” he said. “Because I missed you very much.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Then why are you standing so far away from me? Come here,” he said. “And kiss me.”

  Quintin moved across the room. His mouth met Luca’s. They wrapped their arms around one another and held on.

  “How much time do we have?” asked Quintin.

  “We have all night,” said Luca. “And then…the rest of our lives.”

  “I’m so happy to see you,” he said.

  Luca pulled back a little so they could look into each other’s eyes. “I am very happy to hear you say those words.”

  Quintin’s eyes moved to the drape-covered windows. There was no sign of forced entry. “How did you get in here?” he asked.

  Luca placed a fingertip over Quintin’s lips, silencing him. “It’s a secret.”

  “Everyone seems to have a lot of those these days. I wish I lived in a world without them.”

  Luca sat down on the edge of the comfy bed. Quintin took this as an indication that a conversation was about to occur. He sat down next to Luca and waited for him to speak.

  “You are leaving here tomorrow,” Luca explained. Quintin waited for him to continue, hanging on his every word. “The assignment is over. We did not succeed.”


  Oh shit. Is it my fault? What were they expecting? A full confession within twenty-four hours?

  “What are you talking about?” said Quintin. “So soon? We can’t end now. I’m so close to getting what we need. She’s starting to trust me.”

  Luca reached for Quintin’s hand. “It is not our decision, I’m afraid. We have been instructed to go,” he said.

  “Go where?” Quintin asked. “Back home? Back to normal life? How can we? I mean, it might be easy for you because you’re used to this, but not me. Luca, I can’t give up now. Besides, what will happen to Regina? I thought her husband arranged her murder.”

  “It is not our job to protect Regina Bremington.”

  Quintin took a breath before he asked, “What does this mean…for us?”

  Luca smiled. There was hope in his voice. It was soft and sweet. “I am finished,” he said. “I am going home to Cinque Terre. I will wait for you in Manarola.”

  “Can’t I just go with you?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. It’s a long way to travel alone. I’ve never been to Italy. You know I don’t speak the language.”

  “You cannot,” he said. “I have some official business to complete before I leave London. Then I am yours. Do not worry.”

  “What do I do?” Quintin wondered aloud. “I mean, I have a job here. An apartment.”

  But I don’t have you.

  “Never mind,” Quintin said. He glanced down at their hands, clasped together as one. “I think I answered my own questions.”

  “If you are not certain…about us…you must tell me, Quintin.”

  Quintin turned and stared into Luca’s beautiful eyes. “Give me a couple of days to tie up some loose ends,” he said. “Then I will come to Manarola.”

  “For a visit?” Luca asked, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.

  “Yes,” he said. “And if that goes well…maybe longer.”

  “I hope it is for longer,” he said. “But I will let you decide.”

  “I appreciate that,” he said. “I want to get to know you better, Luca. More about your life. Who you really are. Not just this part.”

  “We will have all the time you want in Cinque Terre,” Luca said. “It is beautiful there. It is the perfect place for us to fall in love.”