by Ciana Stone
“That’s something of an understatement, don’t you think, Ms. Morgan?”
Nikki did bristle that time. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, or what you want, but my relationship with Christian away from the university isn’t open for discussion.”
“I believe the authorities might think differently if they knew that you were with him just hours before his suicide.”
Enough bells went off in her head for a five-alarm fire. How could he have possibly known she was with Christian? Unless…holy shit, what if the men chasing them worked for him?
“You’re mistaken, Mr. Robinson.”
“No I’m not. And I’m not much for playing games either, Ms. Morgan, so let’s come straight to the point. I know you and Professor Bernard had a short-lived affair. Just as I know that he was associated with a very dangerous group of individuals who are responsible for at least five murders in the last few years—a group that includes one Gaspar de Troyes who, coincidentally, was a close friend and associate of Professor Bernard’s. On the day of his death, Professor Bernard placed a call to you and asked you to meet him. You arrived at the university and shortly after left with Professor Bernard. Hours later his body was discovered in his home. Now I will ask you once more, what exactly is your relationship with the deceased?”
Fear made her hands clammy but she couldn’t afford to let him know how scared she was. “I’ve already told you. He was my friend. Yes, at one time he was my lover, but that ended. As to Gaspar de Troyes, I do recognize the name. Anyone in my field would. But I don’t know anything about some group or de Troyes’ involvement and if you’re implying that Christian was part of it then you’re delusional. He was a good, decent man and would never be part of a group that condoned murder.”
Mark slid closer to her. “Ms. Morgan, I want to believe you. I really do. But you have to understand my position. I can’t afford to take chances. Not when the safety of the Weston family is at stake.”
“I can understand that, Mr. Robinson, but I just don’t see how Christian or I could possibly threaten their safety.”
“You could pose a great threat, Ms. Morgan. Particularly if you’re involved with Gaspar de Troyes.”
“I already told you that I’m not.”
Mark leaned back and regarded her in silence for a few moments then stood. “Very well. I hope, for your sake, you’re being honest with me, Ms. Morgan. Mr. Weston is fond of you—quite fond. I’d hate to find out that his affection has been taken unscrupulous advantage of.”
Nikki rose and looked him in the eyes. “I assure you that’s not the case but if you don’t believe me then tell Mr. Weston to fire me and you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Mark nodded and stood as if to leave. “Richard did ask that I tell you how much he is looking forward to seeing you again. He speaks—highly of you.”
Nikki got the feeling that Mark was trying very subtly to find out if the attraction Richard Weston displayed for her was reciprocated. It occurred to her that he was the second person who had tried to find out what she thought about Richard. Deborah, the maid, also seemed curious about Nikki’s feelings for Richard Weston.
“Really?” She attempted to seem coy but did not feel it came off very well.
“Yes. He mentioned that the two of you had grown rather—close before he left for Europe.”
“Well, I don’t know that you’d call it close, but he was nice to me.”
“I’m sure he was. However, I feel sure his benevolence is far from over. He mentioned something about funding a research grant based on your work.”
She didn’t have to feign surprise. “What?”
“Yes, it appears as if he’s spoken with several key people in the field and recommended you highly. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you find yourself being offered a position on an important project in the near future.”
Nikki was floored. She’d never imagined that Richard would go to such lengths. She also had no doubt that he would expect something in return that she had no desire to give. However, she didn’t have to let Mark Robinson know that. The last thing she needed was him snooping around and finding out about her arrangement with Gaspar.
“I-I’m…sorry,” she stammered. “I just don’t know what to say.”
“I can understand how stunned you must be. And please, keep the information under your hat. I’m sure Richard wanted to be the one to tell you.”
“Okay. But…are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Mark smiled.
She blew out her breath, shook her head then looked at him. “This is unbelievable.”
“I’ve no doubt. Just as I’m sure you’d like to demonstrate your appreciation.”
Ah ha, she could not help but gloat a little. Here it comes.
“Of course I would. I mean, he gave me this job and is paying me more than I dreamed of and now this? Naturally I appreciate it, but honestly, what could I do? I mean, he has everything money can buy and employees to do whatever he needs done. What could someone like me possibly do to show him my appreciation?”
Mark smiled and Nikki thought it looked very predatory and calculating. He stepped closer. “I just may be able to help you with that.”
“Really? How?”
“By being his eyes and ears.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that. If you should happen to hear anything that you feel he should know, contact me immediately.”
“Oh, well, okay. But what could I hear? All I do is try to keep Maxwell from going off the deep end and he’s not exactly a big talker if you know what I mean.”
Mark laughed. “True. But you may overhear something pertaining to Professor Bernard. Additionally, if he was connected with de Troyes then it’s possible that de Troyes may try to contact you.”
“About what?”
“I have no idea. But remember, if that should happen—de Troyes is a very dangerous man. If he contacts you in any way, contact me immediately so that I can ensure your safety.”
“You think he’d hurt me?”
“Professor Bernard is dead, isn’t he?”
Nikki hoped her gasp seemed genuine. “You mean—oh my god, you think de Troyes had something to do with Christian’s suicide?”
Mark shrugged. “If indeed it was suicide.”
Nikki wrapped her arms over her chest. “You’re starting to scare me.”
“I give you my word I’ll protect you, Ms. Morgan.” Mark reached out to put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s what Richard wants.”
She nodded and looked down for a moment. “Thank you.”
Mark removed his hand and straightened his jacket. “Then I can count on your cooperation.”
“Absolutely.”
Mark pulled a card from his jacket pocket. “You can reach me at this number, anytime—day or night.”
She accepted the card. “Thank you, Mr. Robinson.”
“Certainly.” He smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “Now I must be going. Thank you for your time, Ms. Morgan, and your help.”
She nodded and gave him a weak smile.
“Have a pleasant day,” Mark said as he headed for the door.
“You too,” she said to his back then rose and followed him out.
Osgood met them in the hall. “Ah, there you are. Have you concluded your business, sir?”
“Yes, thank you, Osgood. I’ll show myself out.”
“Yes, sir. Good day.”
As soon as Mark disappeared down the hall, Osgood cut Nikki a hard look then made his way to the household staff office. Louise was reading the paper. She looked up as he entered.
“My, you’re in a great huff. What has you in such a state? Maxwell?”
Osgood shook his head and took a seat. “Mr. Robinson was here. He made a point of the fact that Mr. Weston is quite taken with Ms. Morgan. Not only to me, but to Maxwell as well. Moreover, he had to deliver a quite lengthy private message to Ms. Morgan from Mr. Weston and
said as much in front of Maxwell.”
Louise’s face took on a look of indignation. “He has no business discussing such matters with that boy. What has gotten into his head?”
“I don’t know, but it concerns me, Louise. It concerns me quite a bit. Things just haven’t been right of late.”
“In what way?”
“I can’t put my finger on it. I just know that something’s afoot.”
“That it is.” She huffed as she pushed herself up. “Mr. Weston’s starting again with his pussyfooting around, that’s what it is. Panting after that young woman like a love-starved boy, he was.”
“Now, Louise, you know I don’t like that sort of talk. Should one of the staff overhear—”
“They don’t need to hear it from me to know it. Don’t think they haven’t seen it with their own eyes. Mark my word, that girl’s going to bring trouble just as sure as I live and breathe.”
“Then you think she is trying to insinuate herself into Mr. Weston’s life?”
“No.” Louise turned to look at him. “Quite the contrary. I don’t think she wants any part of him. I’ve seen the look on her face when he starts his lothario ways. It’s not him she’s interested in.”
Osgood looked at her in shock. “Good Lord, woman, have you gone ’round the bend?”
“Not in the least,” Louise interrupted. “I might be old but I’m not blind. I see the way she looks at Maxwell when she thinks no one is watching. She’s tender on that boy.”
“Good Lord, Louise!”
“Good Lord is right, because the boy’s just as taken with her.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Is it now?”
“But of course it is! You know as well as I do that Maxwell isn’t capable of—of those kinds of feelings.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. In fact, since that girl’s been here, I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve not misjudged the boy on several fronts. Maybe he’s more aware than we give him credit for.”
“Enough, enough! I don’t want to hear it. You’re mistaken. I can’t hear any more of this.”
Louise watched him go then reclaimed her seat. Maybe Osgood was right and it was just the idle fantasy of an old woman, wishful thinking that perhaps Maxwell could be a little more aware than they knew. But she’d seen the look in Maxwell’s eyes on more than one occasion when Nikki had entered the room, and she’d seen the looks that passed between them. She might be old, but not so old she had forgotten what that look meant.
She only hoped that if her suspicions were right, Nikki would be careful. Affection and attention were not things that had been abundant in Maxwell’s life. To have it for a short time only to lose it when Nikki’s job ended and her attention moved on to more interesting things, might do Maxwell far more harm than good.
She would speak with Nikki about it at her first opportunity.
—
“Nik! Hey! Nikki!”
Nikki stopped and turned toward the voice. Ben jogged across the parking lot. “Hey, stranger!”
Shifting her papers and books into one arm, she used the other to give him a hug. “I was just headed for your place.”
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask a favor.”
“Thesis?” He indicated the things in her arm.
“Not exactly.”
Ben pried a paper loose, looked at it, then at her. “‘Not exactly’ is right. What gives?”
“Just some independent research.”
“On post traumatic stress disorder and Gulf War syndrome? This for you or your new project at the Weston estate?”
“He’s not a project!” Nikki quickly turned to unlock her car. She put everything in the seat before turning to look at Ben again.
He was regarding her with a knowing expression. “How about a cup of coffee? Or better yet a drink?”
“Coffee. Wanda’s?”
“Where else?” Ben grinned. “Meet you there in ten minutes.”
As Ben jogged off, Nikki got in her car. She thought about how to ask Ben for the favor without saying too much about Max. Why was she so hesitant to discuss Max with Ben? Ben was her closest friend. He knew more about her than anyone.
Until now, a voice inside reminded her. Max knows things even Ben doesn’t. Like about your foster father.
Nikki closed her inner ear to the voice, despite knowing it was right. She’d revealed far more to Max than she’d intended. While he didn’t know everything about her, he knew things that no one else did.
Maybe it would be good for her to talk to Ben. Sometimes a sounding board helped put things into perspective and at the moment she really didn’t feel she had a very good handle on being objective. Try as she might to remind herself, warn herself and even stop herself, her feelings for Max were growing. Too fast.
Yes, it would be good to talk to someone. Even if she couldn’t summon the courage to discuss Max, she could get Ben’s take on the meeting with Mark Robinson—another dilemma she was trying to deal with. With a change in attitude, she started the car.
Ben was waiting in his normal booth when she arrived. Two cups of coffee sat on the table.
“So what gives?” Ben asked as she sat down.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“How about the beginning?”
She took a sip of the coffee and propped one elbow on the table, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. Hesitantly at first, then gaining in momentum, she poured out everything that had happened since she had first met Gaspar and had gone to see the Westons, leaving out only the part about Danu and what had happened the previous evening when she’d conducted some preliminary tests with Max. She also left out the favor she wanted from him.
By the time she finished they’d gone through an entire pot of coffee, two club sandwiches and a slice of pie with ice cream.
Ben whistled and leaned forward to take her hands. “Nik, you know I don’t like being a killjoy, and you know I love you for your big heart, but this time I really think you’re in way over your head. I mean, the way I see it, you’ve got a couple of major problems. One, you took off on some…quest for the Holy Grail—”
“The Blue Stones of Atlantis.”
“Yeah, whatever. My point is you take on this quest with only some story from some guy to go on.”
“He’s not just some guy! Don’t you recognize the name? Come on, Ben, I know you took medieval literature.”
Ben shook his head and Nikki cocked her head to one side as she said, “Parisfal?’”
Ben’s facial features all moved upward, from the preliminary rise of his eyebrows to the smile that came to his lips. “Oh yeah, yeah, I remember. The Grail stories. So?”
Nikki shook her head. “And you call yourself Mr. Logic. Okay, walk this road with me for a second. Centuries ago writers used what they read from writers and historians who had come before them. They then based their own new stories on the myths and legends that were the result of tales that’d been passed down. Now bear in mind that for centuries, many of which were centuries of oral tradition, there were no records. So from the original telling of the deed or event, it’s logical to assume that the stories the medieval writers read were widely divergent from the original. Can you agree with me thus far?”
“Provisionally, yes.”
Nikki couldn’t help but smile at Ben’s answer. He always left himself room to maneuver, change tactics or position. She supposed that was what made him so brilliant. He never left himself in a position where there was no way out. She’d often wished she could siphon off some of that particular talent for herself.
“Okay.” She pushed herself back toward the topic on the table. “But even though the tales the medieval writers wrote are vastly different from the original tale, there always remains common elements.”
“Well, I’m not exactly an expert on this particular subject, so I’d have to rely on your judgment in that.”
“Okay, f
ine. So let’s say you take my word for it and go from there. What’s most striking in every tale ever written about certain objects, people or events is that if you take away the names and the geography, make everything very depersonalized, you see a definite pattern that’s woven through all of the myths and legends.”
“Which is?”
Nikki suddenly wondered if she had been the one leading the conversation or if she had somehow managed to fall into a skillfully laid trap. She couldn’t count the number of times she and Ben had come to this point. And every time the outcome was the same. Despite what she thought was the truth, because she had no proof, she couldn’t disregard the possibility that she was wrong and until she knew for sure, she had no position to defend.
Which, in a strange way, was the sum of her life thus far. Never in her life had she had anything she could put her trust or faith in. Every time she did, she left herself wide open to having life kick her in the gut and leave her groaning and gasping in a shattered world.
A memory played through her mind of coming home from school and finding her mother lying on the bed, a syringe still in her hand and her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, with a smile on her face like she was seeing the most beautiful thing imaginable.
Nikki had never forgotten her mother’s face. Nor had she ever forgotten the revelation that sight gave her at only nine years old. Her mother had been happy to die. She’d wanted to go away and never come back. She’d wanted it more than she wanted to be a wife or a mother.
Now she could reason and justify what her mother had done, and perhaps even sympathize. But the little girl inside her still felt that her mother hadn’t considered her important enough to live for. And when you’re nine, if you can’t trust in your mother’s love, what’s left?
“Hey.” Ben reached over and nudged her.
“Sorry.” She shook the memories away.
“Back in that dark place you can’t share?”
She looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and guilt. She knew he tried to understand when she chose not to share with him. That was why she loved him. But she also knew that he was disappointed that she couldn’t trust him enough to share her burden. She shared that disappointment. It’d be a most marvelous thing to trust someone that much, but she’d yet to find that someone she could truly and completely believe in.