by Elin Gregory
"None at all," Briers said. "Though I believe she may be a little more wary about whom she allows into the compartment in future."
"That's hardly fair," Falk's protest was quiet but earnestly meant. "He was lying in wait for them. I'd heard someone enter the compartment a little before they did, and I thought it was you."
"Ah, yes, well." Briers grimaced. "Possibly I'm being a tad over-protective."
"You?" Falk snorted. "I don't believe it. No truly." He snorted again. "And your companion is chafing at your concern? I can imagine how galling it might be to be with someone who treats one as a child."
"That's not fair!" Briers scowled at him. A change of subject was obviously in order. "And how are you getting on with the other people in your compartment?"
Falk grinned. "Utkin, the Russian, reminds me of a Weimaraner I had when I was a child. The least graceful creature I have ever met, but filled with boundless and genuine goodwill. Apparently he trained for the ballet and I would love to see him dance. He'd be felling ballerinas like skittles! But the musician... interests me."
"In what way? Professional or personal?"
Falk met his eyes with the smallest of smiles. "In every way. He threw himself between the gun and the lady without a moment's hesitation, even though he is otherwise very wary. I feel he has something to hide. I would like to find out whether it is the same secret we share, or something even more reprehensible."
"And what do you plan to do?"
"Cultivate an acquaintance, of course." Falk blew smoke towards the window. "We shall see. He seems happy enough to talk."
Briers smiled. "Enjoy the journey, then. If it's of any interest, Millie is certain he's not who he says he is."
"Are any of us? Ah and your mother in law has reappeared and - yes - it is your lady's turn. Shall I escort Madame back to her compartment and sit with her?"
"No, it might be better if you wait for Millie." Briers trusted Falk with his life, for the time being at least, but wasn't fool enough to leave him alone with Lady Siward. He knew from experience, delicious and fondly remembered experience, just how persuasive Falk could be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Miles
Miles's ribs were reddened and sore, but a rather more vicious poke didn't cause the pain that a cracked bone surely would cause. He dressed again, hurriedly, washed his hands and checked his makeup in the somewhat foxed little mirror. Not too bad - he was both convincing enough to pass muster and attractive enough to command just a little attention, but not too much. He rearranged the fall of pale hair at his cheek, gave himself a morale-boosting nod, and opened the door.
"Oh, Father!" He stared at Falk who was leaning against the nearby door and closing his book. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were waiting."
"I was waiting for you, my dear," Falk said and offered his arm.
There was no choice, so Miles took it with a totally false smile of gratitude. "I am quite capable of walking the few yards to my compartment unaccompanied," he murmured.
"I'm sure you are," Falk conceded, "but we have a fiction to maintain. Anything to increase your appearance of fragile innocence - though since I know you to have been alone in Briers's company on many occasions in the past three years it must surely be just an appearance, otherwise my very good friend is badly slipping."
Miles took in a long breath. There had been an emphasis on 'good' that implied far more than acquaintance, but that was in the past. It was the present that counted. "Your very good friend is not slipping," he said. "But let us maintain the illusion at all costs. I'm trying to give the impression that I'm a modern young female tolerating the un-needed gallantry of an elderly man. How am I doing?"
"Depressingly well. And surely not that elderly. I flatter myself I am in my prime."
"You may be in your prime but Father Falcone most certainly is not. I would be interested to hear how you knew to be on this train."
"I imagine you would be." Falk drew Miles to a halt on the pretext of pointing out a particularly fine stretch of - Miles assumed it had been wheat, but all that was left was greyish stubble - mile after mile of greyish stubble. "I had word that your lady mother had interesting information and was being targeted, then that she had gone astray in your company. It seemed logical to me that, if you needed help, you might try to get to Allerdale, or at least that you might contact him for some assistance. And since I was in Belgrade on other business, keeping an eye on him was the logical thing to do. When I saw Mr Bassett racing about I knew my hunch was correct."
"And you have ears in the Belgrade office." Miles made that a statement rather than a question.
"Of course I do. Briers has ears in my office, so it's only fair."
Miles chuckled and, since one of the Serbian officers was passing, pointed to a bird perched on a post.
"I believe that to be a rough-legged buzzard, dear lady," Falk said, picking up the cue without hesitation.
"I suppose it would take one to know one," Miles murmured.
Falk's laugh was almost inaudible. "Indeed, a most implacable bird with a taste for shrews. Almost a weakness, in fact."
Shrews. Miles directed a sunny smile at Falk who replied in kind.
"Quite so," Miles said. "I think we understand each other tolerably well."
"I'm not sure we do, gnädige Frau," Falk said with a sigh. "You persist in seeing me as a threat and an enemy, but you are quite wrong. I have no designs either upon your mother or upon our dear mutual friend. In fact I am about to throw myself upon your mercy."
"My mercy?" Miles stared at him. "In what way could you possibly expect me to help you?"
"By giving me an introduction to the right sort of people in London," Falk said. "And in return I keep your secrets. I'm sure that it would do your career prospects no good at all should it become known in certain circles just how enthusiastically you have embraced your female persona. The British upper classes are notoriously loose, but even they draw a line at airing their dirty lingerie in public."
Miles tried not to let his face show how hard that comment had struck home. And he thought he must have done fairly well because Falk tensed and drew back a little. "Let us be absolutely clear on this?" Miles said. "You are seriously threatening to blackmail me if I don't provide an introduction to whom exactly? And I'll be perfectly clear, too - give me the wrong sort of answer and I'm quite prepared to drop you off the next bridge."
"And you really think you could do it." Falk shook his head with a fond laugh. "Briers is right; you are utterly adorable. No, I merely wish to offer my services to Sir James Lorimer. Having you over a barrel - and isn't that a delectable thought? - is just a bonus."
Lorimer was the head of Miles's section and very well connected at all levels of government. In short, not at all the sort of person that Falk should be allowed to meet ever.
"And why would you offer your services to Sir James?" Miles wouldn't put a self-sacrificial assassination attempt past Falk should he feel the need.
"Because my department is under new management. And that new management has an unreasonable hatred for men of our stamp, and in particular for me."
"Heydrich?" Miles took a step back so he could be seen to be eyeing Falk with deep respect. "You have managed to get Reinhard Heydrich's back up, already? He's only been in position for - what? Six weeks? What on earth did you do to him?"
Falk made a dismissive gesture. "It's old history, but I am unwilling to give the man an opportunity to do me a bad turn. Which he would, given the chance. I could end up far from civilisation and comfort, up to my arse in goats and snow, monitoring the Russo-Chinese border, and that's assuming he allows me to live. I am a patriot, but when one's country seems to be running mad... No, I would far sooner let it be known that I was following up a promising lead in London."
And that lead, Miles was sure, would comprise the information that Falk had got the goods on a scion of a well-known diplomatic family who was ripe for blackmail, if not turning.
&nbs
p; "I hope you realise that I'm not going to go along with your scheme. If you give me away here, my mother and I will claim we were doing it for a bet, a joke - ahaha those crazy English! At home - well, I'm used to being eyed with contempt by my colleagues, even though they appreciate my skills. I might lose my official position, but I can afford to keep up my household and most of my friends are - shall we say - of a bohemian disposition. It would be a nine days' wonder, a few sticks-in-the-mud would cross the street if they saw me, a few invitations would be withdrawn - and the Secret Intelligence Service would continue to call upon me anyway. You have nothing to gain by it. And, no, I won't introduce you to anybody."
Falk had listened with a small tense smile that eased into a grin as Miles snapped out the final sentence. "I didn't think so. But you can't blame me for trying. I hope to convince you otherwise."
"And how do you plan to do that?"
"By making myself indispensable of course." Falk laid his hand on the handle of the compartment door. "As agreed I have delivered you safely to the arms of your family. So for now," he gave a polite little bow and pulled the compartment door open, "good bye, gnädige Frau."
"Thank you so much." Miles bobbed the smallest of curtseys, stepped into the compartment and closed the door.
#
There was a tea tray, complete with milk jug and a little dish with slices of lemon. This probably hadn't caused the rather tense atmosphere. Mother looked as beaming and cheerful as she had been when he last saw her but there was something drawn in her expression. She looked tired and, for the first time he could remember, he was conscious of her age.
Briers too seemed on edge, and Miles realised that their earlier argument was bound to be revisited. On the other hand Briers had spent some time alone with Falk and perhaps new information had been revealed?
"Is everything all right?" he asked. "Don't tell me the milk is off!"
Ma chuckled and raised her cup to him.
"Did the good Father keep you entertained?" Briers asked.
"We were bird watching and apparently saw a rough-legged buzzard."
"Well, it takes one to know one," Briers said and Miles couldn't help laughing. "Quite a man for bird-watching, is Father Falcone. I ordered some tea because I felt we'd earned it. Would you like a cup?"
Miles seated himself beside his mother and watched Briers pour.
"I've never travelled on this route," he said. "Is the border crossing difficult?"
Briers shrugged as he passed him the cup. "It can take a while. They do this little ballet with the engines because only the rolling stock crosses. We'll be shunted into limbo while they check our papers, then across into Hungary where we'll pick up a new engine and probably a couple more carriages. Then off to Buda and, hopefully, a really good supper."
"No need to fear for that," Ma said. "Unless the Grand Royal's kitchens have suffered a cataclysm. I'm more concerned about the sleeping arrangements. Your Mr Bassett did promise a suite, but with so little notice I know they can be in short supply."
"If necessary, Ma, I can sleep in a chair with a gun under my pillow," Miles suggested and shot Briers a challenging glance, "and we can put Briers in another chair outside the door to protect our virtue."
"Oh, so cruel!" Briers clutched his heart. "But actually - if it's necessary - that's a good plan. I can always catch up on my sleep on the train."
"Speaking of which," Ma said. "I promised myself a nap. I love you both dearly, but sometimes the best way to make a journey pass quickly is to be unconscious for some of it."
Miles moved to the other side of the compartment and seated himself opposite his mother's feet. She gave him a small smile, closed her eyes and was apparently out like a candle. Miles chuckled, leaned back against the rather hard cushions and opened his copy of Rogue Herries. Briers continued to look out of the window, but there was a tension in the line of his shoulders, in the way one long leg had braced against the wall, that warned Miles that he was only waiting for Ma to go to sleep before resuming their previous altercation. Miles continued to read and managed another five pages before Briers turned to face him.
"She looks comfortable," he said, nodding to Ma.
"She's amazing," Miles said. "Could sleep on a tightrope, my father always said. Comes with good digestion and a clear conscience."
Briers grunted. "That's good. So ... if I ask what's getting your goat, maybe I stand a chance of an honest answer?"
There was so much in that comment that Miles could have taken issue with and he seriously considered applying his book to the back of Briers head, but he decided that honesty was the best policy and it would be wise to take the opportunity.
"There are a number of things on my mind," Miles said. "Falk just tried to blackmail me into allowing him to meet Sir James Lorimer. I can't help wondering how many other foreign powers have unleashed their jackals in pursuit of my mother. And I know M Lacroix is lying, but I can't quite describe how." He felt his cheeks heating. "I'm hoping I’m not being suspicious just because - well, because he's not white."
"If it has occurred to you to fret about that, then it probably isn't," Briers said. "But I wasn't actually talking about Falk or Lacroix or the rest of it."
There was a crease between Briers's brows that made Miles frown in response. He didn't feel any need to ask what Briers was talking about.
"I don't feel it's appropriate in present company," he whispered with a nod towards his sleeping mother.
"No," Briers shook his head. "We need to clear the air and this is probably the only opportunity we'll have. Miles, I love you like a rat loves Cheddar but I've got an inkling that, right at this moment, the feeling isn't reciprocated. What have I done to upset you?"
"Done? Nothing," Miles drew a deep breath. "Nothing in particular. I'm horribly on edge. This whole situation is very uncomfortable, and frankly I'm worried sick. So when you talk over me, or patronise me or - in short - behave like most men do with their wives - it is a little... irking."
Miles became aware that Briers jaw had dropped. "Talk over - I don't!"
"Yes, you do. Think about it. When we were at dinner - "
"That's just playing a role!"
"See! You did it then."
Briers rocked back in his seat. "Oh heck. So I did. And, yes, now I come to think of it, my father does that to Ma all the time."
"And I expect she's the sort of saintly female who puts up with it - but Briers, I shouldn't have to any more than she should."
"No more should you." Briers shifted a little closer and reached for Miles’s hand. They both looked at Ma again, but her breath was still deep and even. "I'm sorry, my lad. I've just been caught up in having you - Millie - here again. Being together. And we haven't talked about it but - Christ alive Miles, that hour when I was convinced that you had been killed was the worst of my whole life. I was scared Miles. I wanted to reach down the phone and pull out Smethwick's spine for daring to tell me that I'd never see you again. Never hold you." His thumb traced the ridges of Miles's knuckles but it was the intensity in his eyes, in his voice that made Miles tremble. "And then you turned up, bright as a penny and happy as Larry, as though none of that mattered. As though me being scared out of my wits and wanting to burn Bucharest to the ground didn't matter a bit."
And of course that must have felt abominable, and Miles could imagine all too well how he'd have behaved under similar circumstances. Just the thought of it made his throat close and his eyes prickle.
"Oh, Briers." Miles clasped Briers's hand in both of his. "I didn't realise. I thought - I don't know what I thought. I was so focused on reaching you and hoping that you would be there. And you seemed so - cheerful."
"Of course I was fu- of course I was cheerful," Briers shrugged. "There you were in that frankly shameful skirt, that I could see right up, by the way, you should be more careful how you stand on the stairs - "
"I should be more careful? You didn't have to look! You could have not looked!"
&
nbsp; "Darling, my eyes were glued to that delectable arse that I had thought I'd never see again, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kiss it or spank it! And now here we are, and I daren't risk any of the things I really want to do to show you how much I care for you and how I never, ever want to go through that again."
Briers's grip on Miles's hand was becoming uncomfortable, but he could have put up with far more discomfort to see that look in Briers's eyes and hear the rough tone of his voice. Miles's throat was aching and he had to swallow twice before he could reply
"I'm so sorry." Miles raised Briers's hand to his lips then rested his cheek against it. "I've never meant to scare you."
"I know, kid, I know, but things keep on happening, don't they? The Perils of Pauline have got nothing on you."
"The Mayhem of Millie?" Miles suggested.
"Hah! That's about right." Briers's gaze was fixed on Miles's mouth, and if they had been anywhere more private he was sure that he would be about to be soundly kissed. "God help us, this is so inconvenient."
"I know," Miles smiled. "Does it help if I promise to make it up to you later?"
"No, I want my hands on you now." Briers glanced at Ma again, then began to grin. "Oh - yes - I know what you need," he said.
Five minutes later Miles eyes had fluttered closed and he suppressed a moan by biting his lip.
"Oh Briers," he breathed.
"Good?"
"Oh yes. A little higher."
Briers's thumbs worked into the taut tendon in the sole of Miles's foot and Miles moaned again.
"High heels are the work of the Devil," he said.
"They make your legs look stunning," Briers said, "but yeah. I wouldn't like to have to wear them."
Miles snickered at the thought of it. "Can you imagine Naylor's face? Houndstooth tweeds and a lovely little pair of heels in pale peach pigskin."
"Now you're being silly," Briers said. "Peach with tweed? I'd be blackballed from the Army and Navy Club!"