by Tinnean
But I made sure my Smith & Wesson was close at hand.
It was Jefferson and Ludovic, and I opened the closet door, slid the revolver into my coat pocket, and then closed it, before unlocking the front door.
“Merry Christmas!”
“Tony is such a…a …” Jefferson snarled. He gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “I don’t know why you’re not irritated!” I didn’t know if his face was red because of the chill in the weather or because he was furious.
“I take it you’ve spoken to him?”
Ludovic stepped around Jefferson and hugged me gently. “Happy Christmas, Portia.”
“Happy Christmas, Ludovic.” I kissed his cheek before turning to my brother. “Tony is who he is. Cara Mia is his wife, and it’s only natural that all his concern will be geared toward her and Sunday. Besides, he’s promised to be at Shadow Brook for the New Year’s Eve party.”
“Well, Bryan could have come.”
“Yes, he could have. I wonder if things out there are more difficult than either of them is letting on.”
“I’ve made you worry. I’m sorry, little sister.”
“It’s all right.” I patted his cheek. “Now, Quinton said he and Mark would meet us at the cemetery.”
“All right. Where’s your coat?”
“Right here.” I handed him the Russian sable, and he held it so I could slide my arms into the sleeves.
“Where’s the lynx—ow!” He glared at Ludovic. “What did you do that for?”
Ludovic glared back at him. “You know that was ruined in the car wreck!”
“Jesus, Portia, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s all right.” I adjusted the shawl collar.
“What’s this?” Jefferson touched the flowers I’d pinned to it.
“Really, Jefferson.” Ludovic gave him an exasperated glance. “They’re violets.”
“I know that! What I want to know is what they’re doing there.” Before Ludovic could respond, Jefferson growled, “There’s only one person who gives Portia violets.”
“Gave,” I corrected him. “And she’s dead. Or had you forgotten?”
“Not likely!
“Not our business, dear one,” Ludovic reminded his partner.
“Perhaps it isn’t, but Tony would want to know, and since he’s not here—”
“Let’s go, shall we?” I raised my voice. “Gregor, we’re going now.”
“Okay. And tell Vincent I’m putting something special in his food.”
“Gregor still doesn’t like Vincent?” Jefferson asked as he handed me into his Mercedes.
“No. He takes it as a personal affront that Mark managed to wipe the security tapes, not once, but twice!”
“It’s going to be interesting to finally meet him.”
“Just remember we’ll be in a cemetery. Please don’t brawl.”
“Brawl? Moi? Not likely, little sister.”
* * * *
Quinton and Mark were there when we arrived.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“That’s okay, Mrs. Mann. We just got here anyway.”
“Shall we, Mother?”
“Yes, sweetheart.” I took his left arm and Jefferson’s right, and once we arrived at Nigel’s grave, Jefferson stepped back.
“I’ll just go introduce myself to Vincent,” he said.
Quinton and I exchanged glances as we watched him walk away. “He can take care of himself.”
“Jefferson or Mark?”
Quinton laughed, and we both turned to Nigel’s grave.
“Merry Christmas, darling.” In spite of the number of years it had been, my eyes burned. “Do you remember that old Chinese curse, May you live in interesting times? Well, this has certainly been an interesting year.” I went on to tell him about meeting Mark Vincent as Harriman Patterson in January. “Although Mark’s never admitted to the fact in so many words.”
“I mentioned him last year, Father. Do you remember? I learned he was keeping a dossier on me, and we began playing a series of mind games. Somehow we became…involved. I hope you wouldn’t be disappointed in me.”
“Never, sweetheart,” I murmured. I slipped my arm through his and held it tightly. “Mark rescued Quinton in May, after he’d been kidnapped by a lunatic who wanted to create an antiterrorist organization to replace the Division. I’m sure you remember Richard Méchant. I seem to recall you having a few choice words to say about him and that witch who’d recruited him”
“Was that his name, Mother? No one seemed to know.”
We knew. “He was a few knights short a Crusade even then. Quinton killed him, darling, but Mark made sure he got the opportunity.”
“And he was so annoyed.” Our son laughed softly. “He wanted the pleasure for himself. I’m sorry, Mother. This is your time to talk to Father.”
“It all intertwines, sweetheart. This seems to be the year of ‘Richards.’ For some reason, Senator Wexler has been coming after me. You wouldn’t know him. He first came to D.C. in 1980.” At that time he hadn’t caused much of a ripple on the political scene, but in the past ten years or so, he’d made quite a name for himself in conservative circles. “His pursuit resulted in a serious car accident. Both Gregor and I are fine.”
“Not quite fine, Mother. You’ll need that cane for at least another month, and you’re still unable to ride.”
“Let me just say that we lived.” I wondered if I should tell Nigel about the dream I’d had just before I regained consciousness, but then decided against it. “Why don’t you continue, Quinton?”
“All right. We learned afterward that I was the one who was supposed to be in that accident—Mother and Gregor were in my car. Mark dealt with the man who caused Mother’s accident, although if you ask him, that’s something else he’ll deny. He’s WBIS to the core. In addition, I was sent on purposeless missions and was unable to sleep—I thought it was post-traumatic stress because of what happened in Paris. Mark got to the bottom of that as well, and the uncles dealt with it.” He lowered his voice. “A videotape turned up that showed Edward Holmes wearing lingerie and a wig and playing with two rent boys and a call girl. Uncle Bryan made Holmes promise to leave me alone, and then gave him the tape. The thing is, Holmes is so paranoid, he won’t believe that’s the only copy, and so he’ll behave. Mark…” He smiled. “He’s spending Christmas with us, and tomorrow he and I will fly to his island off Costa Rica. But we’ll be home in time for the New Year’s Eve party. I…I like him, Father.”
“As do I.”
“Do you?” He looked pleased. We were silent for a moment, and then he said, “We’d better go.”
“Yes. I miss you, darling. We’ll be back next year.”
* * * *
“So tell me,” I said as Jefferson began the drive back to Great Falls. “What did you think of Mark?”
“He’s interesting,” Ludovic responded.
“He’s WBIS,” Jefferson answered at the same time.
“Quinton likes him. I like him.”
“Yes, but what does Vincent feel for Quinn?”
“Keep in mind Mark went against WBIS policy to rescue Quinton. Is it likely he would have done that if he had no feelings for him?”
“Well…I imagine not.”
“No. Please don’t make Quinton have to choose between Mark and the family.”
“You think he’d choose Vincent?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out, because no matter what his choice, it would break his heart. Jefferson, I haven’t seen him this happy…this buoyant…since he was a boy. I’ll do whatever it takes to see he stays this happy.”
He took his eyes off the road for a second. “What do you mean?”
“This family…we say we believe in leaving well enough alone, but we don’t. Grandfather decided Mother was the perfect match for Father, in spite of the fact she wasn’t his one. Father thought the perfect solution for me was to be seen with Nigel, until he reali
zed Nigel wouldn’t accede to his demands, and then he wanted me to see other men.”
“He did? I was unaware…”
“You were in Europe most of the time, Jefferson. I finally asked Father who would be better for the ice princess than Mr. Freeze, and he backed off. But that didn’t stop him from interfering again. He decided he wanted grandsons with the Sebring name, and Bryan wound up marrying Johanna.”
“I knew she wasn’t his one, but he’d seemed happy enough.”
“And again, you were in Europe for the most part.”
“So what are you saying?”
“Leave Quinton alone. If he wants Mark Vincent, that’s his business.”
“But the Company—”
“After the marked lack of action on their part when not only Quinton but all those officers were kidnapped, do you think I care an iota about the CIA? As far as I’m concerned, they can go—”
“Portia!”
“—take a long walk off a short pier. What did you think I was going to say?”
Ludovic burst into laughter, and finally, reluctantly, Jefferson joined him.
“All right, little sister. I’ll back off.”
“Thank you. Now, can I persuade you to tell me what you got me for Christmas?”
“No, no! You’ll have to wait, just like the rest of us!”
“Spoilsport.” We spent the rest of the ride regaling Ludovic with tales of presents of Christmases past.
* * * *
“I understand Quinn took you to see The Phantom,” Jefferson said to Mark as we sat down to dinner.
“Yeah.”
“What did you think of it?”
“I thought the ending was all wrong, but…” He shrugged. “It was good.”
“What was wrong with the ending?”
“I kept hoping he’d win.”
“He was a psychopath!” Gregor snapped. “How could that be possible?”
Mark smiled at Quinton, but when he turned his gaze to Gregor, it was cool. “It was for me.”
“You’re not a psychopath!” Quinton snapped at Mark. “And don’t give me that bull about being a sociopath, either!”
Mark hunched a shoulder, but I could see he was pleased.
Gregor opened his mouth, and under the table, I stepped on his toe. “Pass the biscuits, please?”
* * * *
We exchanged gifts after dinner and had coffee and Medovnik, a Czech honey cake Alyona had taught Gregor to make.
Christmas with my family was always good, but I couldn’t remember one that touched me as much. Quinton had seen the lynx coat his father had bought me on our honeymoon was repaired. I kept myself from weeping over seeing it in one, perfect piece again, but it took all the training Mother had insisted upon.
In addition, Mark had given me a family portrait he’d commissioned of me, an adult Quinton, and Nigel appearing as he would if he were still alive.
I knew that portrait would hang on the wall of the bedroom that had once been mine and Nigel’s and was now mine alone.
Now it was getting late. Quinton and Mark had left. My brother and his partner were staying the night, and while Jefferson read the directions for the model of the USS Constitution, Ludovic picked through the basket of goodies that were from home.
Mark gave them those gifts.
Gregor grumbled about the white socks that were his gift from Mark, and I couldn’t help laughing at him. In red lettering, one read Big Bad Gregor’s Sock, while the other read Big Bad Gregor’s Other Sock.
“It was a lovely day,” I murmured as he followed me into my bedroom, carrying the portrait Mark had given me. Each time I saw it, it took my breath away.
“Vincent did something of good, and if you tell him I said that, I’ll deny it!”
“Very well, Gregor.”
“Now, where do you want to hang this?
I gazed around the room. “This wall.” The space between the two floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the side lawn would be perfect. The seascape that had once hung there had long since been placed opposite the desk in my office.
“Okay.” He propped the painting against the dresser and took the tape measure and the level I’d brought up. “How high?”
I stood back by the door and studied the wall. “I’d say about here.” I pointed to the spot.
Gregor measured and leveled, put in the hooks, and hung the painting.
“Oh, yes, that’s perfect! Thank you, Gregor!” I hugged him and started to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head, and our lips met and for a second clung.
“Oh God, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He was shaking, and I tightened my embrace for just a moment.
“Shh. It’s all right. Shh.” This time I did kiss his cheek, and then I released him.
“Can we forget this even happened?” He looked shaken.
“Yes.” Although I had a feeling it would take me some time to accomplish that. It had been a good many years since I’d kissed a man’s mouth, and I’d forgotten the electrical shock of it.
But Gregor was not only my employee, he was my friend as well, and I wouldn’t do anything to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was.
“Portia…”
“It’s Christmas. Why don’t we simply consider this as being caught under the mistletoe?” I smiled at him. “Now, suppose we go downstairs and have a cup of tea?”
“May I tell you something, Portia?”
“Certainly.” I slid my arm through his, and we strolled out of my bedroom.
“I’ve always hated tea.”
I laughed and squeezed his arm, but I remembered that dream in the hospital. Had it been a dream?
I didn’t think I was going to find out. Being honorable was difficult, but it was the only route Sebrings took.
* * * *
Ludovic packed away the suitcases, gifts, and containers of leftovers into his Aston Martin, and now he and Jefferson were ready for the trip back to Shadow Brook.
“A little Boxing Day gift for you, from me,” he murmured as he handed me a small package. He got behind the wheel. “Don’t dawdle, pet.”
“Coming. Thank you for a wonderful time, Portia.” Jefferson kissed my cheek. “We’ll see you next Tuesday.”
They were gone with a final wave, and I opened the box. Inside was a locket, and when I opened it, I found it engraved with the words Just because the way you love someone isn’t the way they want you to…It doesn’t mean you don’t love them with all you have.
I turned and made my way into the house, closing the door behind me.
Gregor was coming down the stairs, carrying a duffel bag. “I’m…I’m driving up to see Alyona.”
“Oh. Well, give me a few minutes to pack and I’ll go with you.”
“No. I mean…your hip isn’t well enough to handle the five hour drive.” He was pushing me away.
However, I wouldn’t hold on when he wanted to leave. I gave him a faint smile. “I imagine you’re right. I’d better pamper it for next week’s drive to Shadow Brook. Give Alyona my love. And drive carefully.”
“I will.” He hesitated for a moment, then tightened his grip on his duffel and walked out the door.
I turned the lock and used the cane to limp through the rooms on the first floor. Each one was tidy, and in the kitchen, the dishwasher had been run and was empty. There was nothing for me to do. And I had never felt so alone.
I was startled by the sound of the front door banging open and rapid footsteps coming down the hallway.
“Portia!”
I breathed a sigh of relief and slid my Smith & Wesson into my pocket. “I’m in the kitchen!” I called.
Gregor came to stand in the doorway. “I…I…”
“What is it, my friend?”
“I want to be more than your friend. I’m sorry, I know you’ll always love Nigel, but I swear that doesn’t matter to me. Please let me…”
I limped toward him, so intent I didn’t realize I’d left my ca
ne behind, and raised my hand to cup his cheek. “Gregor,” I breathed. I recalled what I’d told Ludovic so many years ago, the words he’d had engraved in the locket. “My dear one.”
The accidental kiss had been nice, but the one on purpose was so much better.
* * * *
Epilogue
I had to be dreaming. It was the middle of February, and the warmth of this place was more suitable for early summer.
Someone was approaching me, but the brightness of the sun prevented me from seeing who it was. I raised my hand to shield my eyes, but it was still difficult to see.
And then I heard, “Portia.”
“Nigel?” I would have run toward him and embraced him, but unlike other dreams, I was unable to take a step. “Why can’t I…?”
“I always liked Gregor. He was a sweet boy who grew into a lovable man.”
“Were you aware he was in love with me?”
“Darling, how could anyone not love you? But yes, it occurred to me, when one day I happened to see him gazing at you. You were playing peek-a-boo with Quinton, and Gregor’s expression was filled with such longing.”
“I never realized…For the longest time I thought he barely tolerated me.”
“And that was how he wanted it.”
“He’s twelve years younger.”
“That makes no difference.
“Does it bother you that I’m with him?”
“I never expected you to go all these years without love. More than anything, I wanted your happiness.”
“I was happy with you.”
“I know, darling. And the years I spent with you were the happiest in my life.”
“Will we be together again, Nigel?”
“Never doubt it.” I could feel his lips against mine. “And Gregor will be with us, and when his time comes, our son and his partner and eventually their children…”
Now I was certain I was dreaming, but it was such a lovely notion.
“I’ll always love you, darling,” I murmured.
“Share some of that love with Gregor. I won’t resent it, and he deserves it.”
There was a tap on my bedroom door, drawing me out of the dream, and Gregor entered, carrying a tray with a bud vase containing a lovely red rose. “Good morning, adorable. Happy President’s Day!”