Andrew Brudgland had that confident British air of looking as if he was sitting up straight when slouching. He ate his food with smooth, precise movements, nothing dropped or spilled and no crumbs or drips left. Fascinated by such fastidiousness, I studied his unremarkable face closely. Half-closed lids couldn’t disguise the directness of his gaze as he talked with Conrad about some shared past adventure. They’d met and trained together when Conrad had spent time on detachment in England as a young soldier. Andrew worked now in one of the British government’s security services. From his fit appearance he didn’t sit at a desk so much.
‘I’m sorry I missed you both last time you came to London, Carina. How are you enjoying it?’
He watched carefully for my response to his formulaic question. I had the impression he never wasted a word.
‘Good to have a few days to recover after the exercise – something I guess you know all about,’ I said, and looked up at him through my eyelashes. I saw a half-smile of appreciation and heard a chuckle from Conrad.
‘Sorry,’ Andrew said, and smiled. ‘That was rather trite. Seriously, let me know if there’s anywhere particular you’d like to visit and I’ll do my best.’
‘Well, thank you. That’s a great offer.’ But I doubted he’d get us into Buckingham Palace, something that would have been pretty intriguing.
When we’d finished eating, I excused myself, making my way through the frosted glass door and up the narrow red and gold papered stairway to the restrooms. Back down again in the tiny lobby, I stretched my hand out to open the door back into the restaurant when I heard Conrad’s voice, clipped and tense. But strangest of all, his usual faultless English was spoiled by traces of a Latin accent. Only when he was exhausted or stressed out did his accent slip.
‘… not a clue. It was hand delivered. As soon as I read it, I stuffed it back in the envelope. Gods, I can’t believe it! The signature just said “Nicola”. Who the hell is she?’
That got my attention. I froze where I was.
‘Let me have the letter, Conrad, and I’ll get somebody at the lab to process it. If there’s anything, even a partial, we’ll find her. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Not a word to Carina.’
‘Jupiter, no. She’s as sharp as all hell and can pick up a conspiracy in a breath of air.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ came the dry reply.
What in Hades was that about?
I shucked off my shoes and crept back up the stairs. At the top I slipped them back on and came down the stairway making light shoe noise on each uncovered tread. I swung through the door, a smile on my face. The two men smiled back equally blandly and we made nice conversation for the rest of the evening.
*
Next morning, I woke at the touch of Conrad’s lips on my forehead. Totally relaxed, I enjoyed the soft tingle as it spread through my skin. I smiled before I opened my eyes. But when I did, I was disappointed to see him dressed, and in sweats and sneakers.
‘Just going for a run in the park.’ He pulled his glance away a little too quickly, turned and shut the bedroom door behind him before I could say anything.
That was weird. We ran together whenever we could. He’d recovered so well from his accident earlier this year that he’d now resumed full-on training. The first proper run, he’d scarcely managed a kilometre before collapsing, heaving breath like a suffocation victim. Luckily, we’d kept to the parkland behind Domus Mitelarum but it hadn’t lessened his humiliation and anger at himself. He hadn’t said a word as we walked back, him limping badly. But for Juno’s sake, his leg had been smashed in several places by that truck running him down. I’d reassured him, but his confidence had suffered. Although he seemed fit now, months later, even he had to admit he’d lost his edge.
If I hadn’t overheard his conversation last night with Andrew Brudgland I would have shrugged it off as quirky, or thought he was letting me rest some more. But not this time.
I leapt out of bed and frantically pulled on my own jogging sweats and sneakers. Yanking the door to the landing open, I startled the guard and tore down the service stairs. Would Conrad have taken the elevator? At the foot of the narrow stairwell, I hurried past a surprised maid and headed for the staff door leading to the lobby. No sign of him through the shaded window panel. Damn! I edged into the main lobby, sidled along to the elevator doors then stepped out briskly across the marble lobby. Outside I glanced up and down Park Lane. It was only half seven in the morning, but already busy. I peered between the traffic and spotted Conrad’s figure across the road as he ran along the park railing at a gentle pace.
Shadowing him on my side of the road, I jogged in parallel, but staying a few steps behind. After he disappeared through the park gate, I counted to five, saw a space in the traffic and sprinted to the middle. A taxi screamed past me. Crap, I forgot they drove on the wrong side of the road. Once safely across, I made for the gate Conrad had taken.
Concealed behind a tree, I watched as he trotted in the direction of the Serpentine lake. I set off down the Broadwalk, keeping him in my line of sight at all times. It was too open for me to follow him directly. A little further south, the added cover of shrubs and trees let me cross westward past the bandstand towards the lake. I closed up on him, but keeping a healthy distance between us. Was he simply out jogging? Where did he get the energy after last night?
I followed him across the bridge, hiding in a small group of other runners. If he looked around, I didn’t want him spotting me. He started back along the south bank, switching on to Rotten Row and diverting through the formal gardens and stopping eventually on the east side of some Greek warrior statue. He affected some stretching exercises, but by now I had caught him up and was hiding only a few metres away behind a tall shrub.
He tracked an imaginary line running from the middle post around the statue and a tall chestnut tree at the park railing. He turned to look at the statue itself, but all the while glancing around him checking that nobody else was in view. His hand came up and he rubbed his fingers along the hairline above his right eye. Gotcha! Now I knew he was up to something. Love him as I did, I thought his tradecraft was sloppy. He strolled over to the tree, sat at the base of the trunk and made a call on his cellphone.
A vibrating buzz from my pocket answered. It sounded as loud as a jackhammer drill. I leapt up, sprinted away to a safe distance out of earshot, careful to remain just out of his line of sight. I found a shrub to crouch down by.
‘Oh, hi,’ I answered.
‘You sound out of breath. Are you all right?’
‘No, I’m fine. You surprised me. I was in the bathroom when you called. I just swallowed some water.’
He laughed. ‘Well, take it easy. I’ll be back in about ten.’
I signed off and crept forward a few centimetres. Conrad pocketed his cell, then too casually laid his hand on the tree root. His fingers contracted, darted under the root and picked something up. He stood up, put it in his pocket and jogged off.
I made it back only seconds ahead of him, threw my sweats under the bed and ran into the shower where he found me. Thank Juno, he didn’t hear my heart thumping with the exertion of getting back first. Leaving him to finish, I skipped out of the bathroom and found his discarded sweats on the floor. I hesitated. Surely I could trust him. I pulled the towel from my hair and started rubbing it dry. I stared at the sweats again. It was too tempting. In Conrad’s pocket I found two pieces of paper stapled together; a handwritten letter in precise blue ballpoint ink and Andrew Brudgland’s report.
*
We left from Heathrow later that day, arriving at Portus Airport in Roma Nova in the early evening. As we clattered down the steps we were engulfed by hot, humid air. By the time we reached home, my head was starting to throb. Juno knew what it would have been like without air conditioning. Helena and I settled the three wilting children and I looked in on my grandmother, Aurelia. It was late when Conrad and I sat down to supper.
‘I’ll wait till morning
to check up on work,’ Conrad said, reaching for his glass of beer. ‘I don’t want to disturb Daniel now, especially as he’s tied up getting ready for his anti-terrorism exercise. I had the last contact report this morning, so I can’t think anything drastic has happened since.’
‘That’s good, as I want to discuss something with you in private.’
‘Oh?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Nicola?’
He looked down and stabbed the breadcrumbed pork with his knife, swishing the meat around his plate, giving the beans a hard time. He didn’t speak for a full two minutes. I watched his jaw working as he ate, his face impassive. I found the silence oppressive, but I knew I had to wait.
‘Did you read it all?’ His voice was subdued and his eyes remained focused on his plate.
‘Yes. Conrad, I—’
‘What the hell were you doing rifling through my stuff?’
‘Excuse me? Why were you hiding such a letter from me? And asking a foreign security service to investigate it for you?’
He waved his hand and looked irritated.
‘How did you find out?’
‘I heard you in Rules.’
‘Gods, do you always eavesdrop on private conversations?’
‘That’s in my job description, remember?’
He was as mad with me as Livius had been during the link fight.
‘I’m not your target,’ he said. ‘Or have you decided to make me one?’ I winced at the sarcasm. His eyes narrowed and slanted upwards and the skin covering his cheeks tightened. When he closed his face down like that, he closed down mentally as well.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I smiled a smile I didn’t feel. ‘Surely this is some con woman on the make? We can deal with it together, like we always do.’
I touched his forearm.
He shook my hand off. ‘For Jupiter’s sake, don’t give me any platitudes.’
‘Okay,’ I said and swallowed. ‘We’ll do it straight.’
He glanced at me, then went back to looking at his plate.
I waited, but he kept silent.
‘This is how I see it,’ I continued. ‘As family head, I have to know about anything that threatens us. So give me the full story.’
He took a large swallow of his beer, stared at the bookshelves behind me.
‘I’ll deal with it. It’s nothing to do with you or your family.’
‘What do you mean, my family? It’s our family.’
He’d belonged to it for nearly fifteen years. In Roma Nova, men married into their wives’ families, taking their nomen, the family name, and leaving their birth name behind. Although my grandmother headed our family, I was taking on more of her responsibilities, trying to keep the hundreds of cousins in order, running the businesses, deputising in the Senate as well as my day job. It was pretty tiring, if I was being honest. I could do without any further complications.
‘It’s a Tella family matter.’
A door slammed in my face. He’d ceased to be a Tella the moment he signed the family register on our wedding day. His eyes refused to meet mine and a pink flush appeared on his face. The cords in his neck stood out. I’d have bet my last solidus he was deeply embarrassed as well as angry.
‘Okay, I realise this is difficult for you, but let’s try and look at it logically…’
‘Don’t you ever turn off the logic and reason button?’ He snorted and I thought I saw contempt, but also uncertainty.
‘Look,’ I said, and laid my hand on his, ‘I’m trying to understand how upset you must be, but you’ll have to help me out. Of course, anything affecting you affects me and I’m not talking family politics here.’
He said nothing. He pulled the letter and report out of his pocket and laid them on the table, drawing his hand back as if to disown them.
I picked them up and read the letter again.
Hello, Dad.
I expect you’re surprised at being called that by a complete stranger, but then I’m not a stranger.
You met my mother, Janice, when you were here twenty-five years ago. Her diary is full of the good times you had together. I expect you thought it was a few weeks’ fun with an easy English girl, but my auntie told me you broke Mum’s heart.
She brought me up by herself, on benefits, too proud to contact you for help. Auntie said you probably didn’t know I was on the way, but you didn’t bother to check, did you?
I looked into you and your family. Not very good you having a human rights abusing traitor as your stepfather, was it? Or a slippery politician like the uncle who brought you up.
That posh wife of yours won’t like me popping up, so I think we need to come to some arrangement. You wouldn’t want me turning up at your ex-girlfriend’s palace, or telling my story to your daily rag, would you?
You owe me and I’m going to collect.
Nicola.
I found it as crude and tasteless as when I first read it in London. Andrew Brudgland’s report identified her as likely to be Nicola Hargreve, born twenty-four years ago in Darlington Memorial Hospital. Finger print data were not as strong as Andrew would have liked, but he was eighty-five per cent confident. Why had she been finger-printed? I thought they were pretty tough on destroying them after a specified time in the UK. So why were hers still on record?
With dark blond hair, shifting copper-brown and green eyes and strong, sculpted lines to his face, Conrad was an attractive man. When he smiled, he was devastating. I’d met him when he was thirty-two, in his prime. It wasn’t merely his face, his athletic body or his fascinating cat-like walk. It was his plentiful charm. At twenty-one, in an English army town full of young soldiers, he would have been the hottest thing in pants.
‘She says she’s my daughter, mine and Janice’s.’ His shoulders slumped and he brought his hands up to support his head. ‘Mars help me if I’ve abandoned a child of mine.’
After a few moments, he stood up, catching the end of his knife and fork which clattered on to the table; the sound echoed through the room.
‘I’ll talk to Uncle Quintus. Perhaps he’ll have some ideas how to deal with this. And he’s the head of my family.’
Quintus Tellus, who’d retired as Imperial Chancellor a few years ago, would no doubt have all kinds of clever advice, but I was unnerved to see Conrad at such a loss. Not a trace of his famous detached decisiveness; his mind was like a bowl of puls porridge. And this reverting to his previous family. My instinct would be to pay this Nicola a little visit and scare the crap out of her. Unfortunately, the letter had bitten straight into Conrad’s Achilles’ heel.
What made him such a good father was his determination that none of his children would want for love or care. It was an obsession that reached back into his own ruined childhood.
‘Of course, we’ll consult Uncle Quintus,’ I said, ‘but we’ll handle this together. Between us, we can see off this little blackmailer. She’s probably only bluffing.’ I smiled at him and reached out my hand.
But he kept his own back and looked down at his dirty plate.
‘I know that after we met, I was a coward not to tell you about my children with Silvia,’ he said, his voice only just above a whisper. ‘Or about Silvia herself, but I was shit-scared of losing you.’
It had been a bitter time when I’d discovered the truth in the most humiliating way possible. We’d parted for nearly a year, each nursing a deep hurt. It was only after hunting down the killer who was after me that we’d been reconciled. It was simple – we’d found we couldn’t live apart. A cliché, sure, but that’s what clichés were – common occurrences. But it hadn’t been a smooth run in anybody’s language.
‘But this, this…’ He failed to find the words.
‘Little accident?’
‘Don’t be facetious’ He looked as angry as all Hades.
‘Sorry. That was insensitive.’ I waved my hand at him and stifled my irritation.
‘I swear I didn’t know about this.’
IV
The gods knew what Conrad discussed with his uncle the next day, but he didn’t, or wouldn’t, tell me anything when we met in his office in the afternoon. I decided to pay a call on Quintus Tellus myself.
Domus Tellarum was even older than ours, some parts dating back over a thousand years. Not so tall and less pristine than Domus Mitelarum, it exuded a shabby charm. Today’s strong sunlight emphasised the flaking portico columns, and the red brickwork exposed here and there, but the world wouldn’t end if they weren’t re-faced. I left my side arm in the vestibule safebox and made my way through to the atrium.
‘Carina. I am honoured. Both of you within a day. Dear me.’
‘Don’t give me that bullshit, Uncle Quintus.’ I grinned at him, leaned over and kissed his cheek. ‘You know why I’m here.’
A little over eighty, Quintus still thought and spoke like the clever politician he’d been. Not only that, he had the sharpest sense of survival I’d ever seen and everything was subordinate to it. I loved him dearly.
He gestured me to a seat by the window overlooking the garden. Only the night irrigation was keeping anything green in this summer’s heat. But this evening a breeze was just starting to relieve the heaviness of today’s exceptional temperature. I was sure we’d have storm rain tonight. A servant brought us wine, then we were completely alone.
‘Is this an official visit?’
I wore my PGSF summer uniform; I’d come straight from work.
‘Believe me, Quintus, if this was an official Mitela family visit, I’d have half the family council here to support me.’
The Mitelae were the senior of the original Twelve Families who’d founded Roma Nova. Endowed with privilege, the Twelve had been the ruler’s supporters and servants for over sixteen hundred years. But to balance it, they had greater responsibilities. They served the imperatrix while protecting their own families and the Roma Novan society they’d helped found. The Families’ Code regulated and balanced affairs between these powerful families in a fair but disciplined way. Undemocratic, but it kept order. It worked.
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