by Jaye Rothman
There was only one way to find out, and I made up my mind, there and then, that when this mission was concluded, I would insist that Eva be released from this prison and have a life of her choosing. She needed to live and enjoy life. I couldn’t leave her here. No, I wouldn’t do that. If she moved to London, perhaps we could see if we had a future together.
I thought Eva had fallen asleep; her breathing was deep and regular. I shifted in her arms. She kissed me on my forehead and spoke in Czech.
“I’m falling in love with you. Nikki.”
I smiled under the cover of darkness – but she knew.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because I’m feeling the same.”
“You are?”
“Yes. I am.”
Eva sighed and her voice broke. “Nikki, please, please don’t say anything to me unless you really mean it. Really mean it, because I couldn’t bear it if you broke my heart. I don’t know what I would do, so please darling, don’t break my heart. Please.”
I kissed her forehead gently. “I want you to come to London with me.”
“Nikki, Nikki.” Eva pressed herself into me. “I’m so happy that you’ve told me this. If you’d ask me to fly to the moon with you I would. The way you look at me, the way you want me … and when you touch me it’s powerful, crazy and truly amazing. All my life I’ve yearned for this intense emotional and physical connection, and I’ve found it, darling, with you. Chci tě.”
I gripped her shoulders and gently pushed her back on the pillows. My mouth found hers and our kisses left me breathless and wanting more of her. I kissed her neck, and then my lips and fingers found her breasts. Eva writhed underneath me as I inched down her body, kissing and caressing it. I took my time. Sweat had started to pool on her stomach and when I entered her she cried out. “Nikki, don’t stop.” I didn’t.
I must have fallen into a deep sleep, because I didn’t hear Eva leave for work. It was 9 a.m. when I woke and looked out the window. The rain had abated and the sun was attempting to break through the heavy grey clouds. Both cottage gardens looked unloved and desolate, and it seemed to me as though winter had returned. As for Squirrel Cottage, it would be foolhardy to remain there to be a sitting target. I decided to take a room in CJ’s bed and breakfast for the duration of the mission.
I drove to Pagham Harbour with Lonnie to find CJ. Lonnie had slept in my bed, but he hadn’t heard the previous night’s commotion. He was mortified that he hadn’t come to my aid, and agreed that for our own safety we should base ourselves at Pagham.
Lonnie was fast asleep with two minutes of getting into the car. I secretly queried the wisdom of Manning insisting that Lonnie continue with the mission in the shape he was in.
When we arrived at the bed and breakfast, we were told that there were two rooms available; there was a double next to CJ’s quarters and I took that, while Lonnie headed for a single in the attic. CJ had a new lover now, and I knew she wouldn’t want to share with me. But where was she now? She should have been here waiting for us.
Suddenly filled with anxiety, I drove the few hundred yards to the quay to try and find her. CJ was smart, but she hadn’t operated in tough conditions in the field. I had been stupid and selfish insisting that she be part of the mission. If anything happened to her, the buck would stop with me, and I would never forgive myself.
It was with considerable relief that I spotted her chatting to an elderly fisherman who was sitting by his boat mending a pile of nets. After a moment, she stood shook his hand and it looked, from my vantage point, as if she slipped him a wad of notes. I resisted the impulse to run to CJ and throw my arms around her, but she had seen me and walked casually towards me.
The distress of last night must have shown on my face, because she linked her arm with mine and walked me back to the car. She opened the passenger door and helped me in. To my shame, tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. CJ shot me a concerned look as she put the engine in gear. She drove quickly to The Snug and hurried me up to her room. I slumped into the armchair and hid my face with my hands. How could I break down in front of her? I was supposed to be the tough, strong and experienced agent, and yet, once again, I was crying like a baby.
CJ sat on the arm of the chair and rocked me in her arms. Eventually, to my relief, my sobs subsided. I went and washed my face.
“Hey, Nikki, what’s up?” Her voice was kind and gentle. “What happened, honey?”
I told her about my night adventure and she shook her head in disbelief. “Three attempts on your life in four days. I’m not surprised you’re feeling emotional. Manning should be here.”
I blinked in surprise. CJ had taken charge. As the senior agent, I should have been making the decisions, but I was thankful that she had made the call on this one.
She made a cup of strong, sweet tea and handed it to me. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I sipped my tea and lit a Rothmans. Thank goodness for tea and a cigarette. That’s what people said during the Blitz. I remembered my father saying this to me, too, when I was very young. Sometimes I thought of him when I was in tough situations, especially when my back was against the wall. I think he gave me a sense of not feeling on my own, except I was: completely and utterly alone. I had no close friends apart from Lonnie, and no family that was concerned for my wellbeing. My parents had disowned me years ago because of my sexuality. Despite everything, though, I believed my father would be proud of me for working for the security services of the country he was born in.
My reverie was interrupted by the door gently opening and closing again. CJ shrugged off her coat and sat down beside me on the arm of the chair again.
“Manning is coming down. His ETA is around three p.m. He wants you to stay with me.” She smiled impishly. “That’s an order, by the way.”
I smiled weakly.
CJ grew serious again. “Nikki, I never asked you what happened in Egypt, and I know you can’t tell me. Maybe you experienced a traumatic event, something that didn’t sit right with you. Am I on the right track?”
I nodded. CJ read the news, and would have put two and two together. I desperately wanted to unburden myself, but it wouldn’t be fair to her. It would mean compromising her security if I disclosed to her.
I took a deep breath. “I did something terrible, something I swore I would never do.”
I stood up and looked out of the window. The sea was becoming choppy, with white horses dancing on the horizon. Black clouds were scudding across the sky. How long before they reached land?
Since I had taken Amisi’s life, I had been frantically searching for a way back into the light. For a while, I thought I had found it through CJ and now Eva. Maybe I had, but on the whole, probably not.
CJ sat quietly, waiting, as I stared out the window.
I could see the path leading to Norton on the Marsh and the wood that disguised its secret. A shiver passed through me. Three times someone or somebody had tried to kill me.
My instincts told me to cut and run; I had a sense that my luck was running out. But I have a strong sense of duty to queen and country, and I also sensed that I would see this through.
Except it wasn’t really my country. I hadn’t even been born here. Would CJ describe herself as patriotic? One day I would ask her.
“Do you have a cigarette, darling?” I struggled to keep my voice under control.
“Sure.” She put two in her mouth, lit them and passed one to me.
I took a deep, calming drag, and then met her eyes. “I crossed a line, CJ, and I don’t think I can get back.” As I was saying these words, my voice broke and fresh spasms of sobs shook my body. CJ leaned in, took me in her arms and soothed me as she would a child.
“I think you might have a condition called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I’ve been reading about this, and it’s like shell shock, which is the term they used for soldiers after World War I. It can affect people after they’ve witnessed or been part of an extremely
stressful event. I know you can’t tell me the details, but you weren’t debriefed after Manning pulled you out of Hammamet, were you?”
“No. Usually when something occurs in the field, I’m sent to Surrey for a few days to make sure I’m OK.” I was referring to the MI6 rehabilitation and evaluation centre set in the Surrey countryside. But was this how I thought of my killing Amisi, as “something in the field”? What kind of woman had I become?
I was still holding onto CJ, as if she were my anchor in a rough sea. “Will you take me to bed, CJ?”
She smiled sadly. “Nikki, I wish it were as easy as that, but it isn’t. I wanted more for us than fucks in hotel rooms. If you’d asked me, I would have been exclusive. But you didn’t, and now you’re with Eva.” She paused. “Aren’t you?”
“I suppose so.”
“What do you mean, ‘suppose’?”
“Last night she told me she was falling for me.”
She frowned. “Hey, I don’t want to listen to this.”
“I’m sorry CJ, but …” I paused and looked into her hazel eyes. I could see she was anxiously waiting for my reply. “I keep thinking of you fucking me.”
There was a silence between us that seemed to stretch out for minutes and then, unexpectedly, she grabbed the collar of my denim jacket and pulled me forcefully to her. Her kiss ignited a fire in me and immediately I responded to her, turning and grinding myself against her thigh.
“How do you want it, Nikki?” CJ growled. With her left hand, she pulled my t-shirt up and found my nipple, and was squeezing, pinching and rubbing it. I moaned. She knew what I liked.
Her voice rasped. “Tell me what you want. Let me hear you say it.”
I loved how she spoke to me during sex. I gasped, “Fuck me, like you did in Hammamet.”
She roughly pulled down my Levi’s and underwear and her fingers searched for my sex and slid into me. I groaned and bit down on her shoulder. I thought she would take me quickly but, as usual, she determined the control and the pace of our encounters. She was an expert in prolonging the agony and the pleasure, holding me on the cusp until I had to implore her to release me, just as I had the first time she fucked me. But, this time, she ignored my pleas and I was at her mercy … until she chose to release me into a series of powerful orgasms.
If she hadn’t held me up, I would have sunk to the floor. I was still recovering, but I wanted her to know. “CJ, you’ve taken me to the max. God, I love what you do to me, it’s…” I searched for a word. “…amazing. I’ve never experienced sex like this. I keep thinking of you fucking me. You’ve fulfilled my ultimate fantasies but you’ve ruined me, damn you, CJ. You’ve ruined me.”
I could see how she revelled in the compliments. She purred in my ear. “I love how you come for me. You’re such an exciting fuck, Nikki.”
I knew she was attempting to lighten the mood, as if sensing that confidences might be shared and perhaps regretted later.
“Don’t strangle me this time.”
We both laughed, to break the tension between us. I hadn’t lasted three days without CJ. How I loved and craved the rawness, the intensity and the submission during sex. When I had admitted that she had ruined me, I had spoken the absolute and honest truth.
Suddenly I caught sight of the clock. “Is that the time?” I exclaimed. The hands showed 11.30 a.m. Damn.
“Why?”
“Miss Reynolds invited me to lunch at 1 p.m. I need to ask her and her mother some more questions about Polakoff.”
CJ looked concerned. “I’m coming with you.”
For once in my life, I didn’t reject the assistance that was offered me. “Thanks, CJ. We’ll need to be armed. That place is a vipers’ nest.”
She nodded. “Oh, I forgot to tell you – you were right about Maksimov. Manning’s heard from our ‘friends’. He wasn’t working for them. They were concerned about his mental instability, apparently.”
“Mmm. That makes sense. Another piece of the jigsaw is fitting together.” Reluctantly, I drew away from her and straightened my clothes. “Can I shower? I can’t go to the Reynolds’ smelling of sex.”
CJ laughed. “That would give them a shock.”
“Yes, it certainly would. So… a shower?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Only if I can join you.”
I laughed, and then bit my lip. The offer was far too tempting and my willpower had dissipated again. Last night I had committed myself to Eva and today I was in a bedroom with CJ.
“Linda’s not going to come barging in on us, is she?”
“No, she’s on a walking tour all day, and I wouldn’t care anyway.”
Good. I hoped Linda had been a fling. My mind began to wander again… In Hammamet CJ and I had shared a bed, and in the early mornings, when the sun had sent shafts of light into my room heralding a new day, I would feel her hand between my legs and I would relinquish control to her. She had loved that, and the thought sent a spasm of lust through me.
What the hell was I doing committing to Eva, when I hankered after CJ who was red hot and fulfilled all my fantasies?
“It has to be quick, CJ.”
“Honey, I can do quick.”
I laughed and bit my lip again. She was irresistible.
Promptly at 1 p.m. I rang the bell at Oak Cottage, the home of the Reynolds. The cottage had the same redbrick work as the pub and the Manor House, and thick black-painted beams were inset in the brickwork.
It was grander than Squirrel Cottage and had a large bay window to the left of the black front door. The garden had been carefully tended, the lawn mowed, and there was a profusion of colour from daffodils, tulips and hyacinths. Unlike the Squirrel Cottage garden, there was not a weed in sight.
Heavy brocade curtains obscured most of the bay window, where a figure sat in a wheelchair, bundled up with blankets and wearing a wool scarf that was wrapped around her neck. I could hear the echo of footsteps coming to the door, then the clanking of a chain. The thick oak door opened slowly and Miss Reynolds stood before me. The hallway was so dark I could barely see down the passage.
“Good afternoon, Miss Faber. Do come in. We’ve been so looking forward to your visit.”
“Thanks, Miss Reynolds, but please call me Nikki. These are for you.” I handed her a bunch of flowers from the garden at Squirrel Cottage.
“Lovely, dear. That’s very thoughtful of you. Come and meet dear Mother.”
She ushered me into the dining room. Dear Mother had been wheeled away from the window and was now sitting in a corner of the room. I didn’t know why English people liked dark, dimly lit rooms; I had to peer into the gloom to see her. I spoke loudly because of her deafness. “Good afternoon, Mrs Reynolds. Nice to meet you.”
Mrs Reynolds spoke in a low-pitched, modulated voice. “Hello, Nikki. How are you settling down to life in our quiet little village?
The room wasn’t particularly warm, so it wasn’t surprising she had a number of blankets tucked around her legs, and a scarf wrapped around her neck. She probably felt the cold, as most old people did. She noticed that I was staring at her. “When you get to be eighty-eight, you have to wrap up warmly.”
Her white hair was carefully permed into a style similar to her daughter’s. She wore a Harris tweed jacket, with a Wedgewood broach pinned to her left lapel. Sensible brogues peeped out of the blankets. Then I realised who she reminded me of: she was a caricature of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple as played by Margaret Rutherford, the acclaimed English actress who had brought the character to life in a number of films.
“I don’t know about quiet,” I told her. “I was attacked on the pathway from Pagham Harbour two days ago.”
Mrs Reynolds spoke. “How very unfortunate. But a young girl like you shouldn’t be wandering off into the woods. Don’t you agree, Martha?”
“Yes, Mother. That’s exactly what I told Nikki. I’ll bring the sherry.”
“I’m hardly a young gi
rl, Mrs Reynolds.” This remark was met with silence. Strange – she didn’t appear to be hard of hearing as Bryant claimed.
Miss Reynolds brought a tray on which were placed three small glasses. She took a glass over to her mother and held one out to me. “A glass of sherry, dear?”
I hated sherry, but I didn’t want to appear unsociable. “Lovely. Thanks.” I took a sip and replaced my glass on the table. It was extremely sweet and tasted like a particularly foul cough syrup I remembered from my childhood.
“The disappearance of Mr Polakoff must have been a shock to you both.”
Mrs Reynolds’ little brown eyes stared at me. “Why do you say that, Nikki dear?”
“The Professor told me you were good friends.”
Miss Reynolds spoke. “He was our next-door neighbour, and it’s advantageous when neighbours are good friends, don’t you think? He often popped in to see if we were alright.”
“Do you have good friends, Nikki?” Mrs Reynolds enquired. I was disconcerted by the sudden interest in my social life.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“By the way, Mr Polakoff was here with us on the days that Mester and Maksimov were murdered.”
A look of bewilderment must have shown on my face.
“That was the reason you accepted Martha’s invitation, wasn’t it? To ask us about our relationship with Mr Polakoff?”
Her little brown eyes bored into mine. I was on the back foot here. Had they been tipped off that I was working for MI6?
“So was Polakoff here on both those days?”
Both Reynolds glared at me, but Martha spoke.
“Most certainly he was. We’re all Scrabble devotees, and we often played together. He was very good, and won most of the time.”
“Scrabble. I love it. Perhaps we could play after lunch?” I enthused.
A stony silence ensued. I would have loved to light a cigarette, but I had a feeling this would be prohibited.
Mrs Reynolds enquired. “Are you married, Nikki?”
I detested questions about my marital status; often I was tempted to reply, “I’m a lesbian.”
“No.” I answered shortly.