by Tinnean
“The one you found on the beach and brought home to live with you?”
“It rained. The basement flooded, and the fish drowned. Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” He stood up and walked away, not giving me a chance to say anything, even if I’d wanted to.
I did notice that after a moment, Matheson rose and followed him.
I stared after them, chewing my inner cheek and wondering if I should pay a visit to the men’s room myself.
Our waiter cleared his throat. “Scusi, signore.” I hadn’t even realized he was standing there. “How was the meal?”
“It’s excellent. Thank you.”
“Perfetto. You are finished? I take the dishes, no?”
Mark’s plate held only the remnants of his meal. “Yes. And bring us coffee. We’ll wait for il signore to return before having dessert.”
“Sì.”
He had just brought the small cups of espresso when Mark returned.
“You order dessert, Quinn?”
“I was just waiting for you.”
“I’m here.”
I turned to Cesare. “You can bring it out now, please.”
“Sì. Immediatamente!”
“Is everything all right?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Mark gave me that manic grin of his, and I sighed and shook my head.
“I thought we knew each other well enough by now….”
“Ah, geez, Mann. Can’t a guy keep a few secrets?”
I shrugged and turned my head slightly so I could observe the table where his agent and his former landlord were seated. Matheson was just coming from the direction of the men’s room. The expression he’d worn earlier, which I’d come to think of as routine WBIS, was replaced by a relaxed look that made him seem younger.
“Okay, fine. Everything is okay, okay?”
“Fine, Mark.”
“Don’t get passive-aggressive on me, Mann.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Look. I’ve grown… fond… of you. The last thing I want is for you to have problems at work because you’re involved with me.”
“Yeah? You planning on breaking up with me, then?”
“You can be the thickest man in the universe, Vincent. No, I’m not breaking up with you. But….” But I knew the WBIS wouldn’t react well to the knowledge that its best senior special agent—even though he was no longer in the field—was having an affair with an officer of the CIA. “… if there are any difficulties—”
“I’ll deal with any problems that come along. Not that I’m anticipating any.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“Well, I’m n—”
Cesare came to the table just then, bearing two shallow bowls. “Poached peaches topped with vanilla ice cream and raspberry sauce.” He kissed his fingers and grinned broadly.
“This looks delicious. Thank you.”
He must have sensed the tension, because he looked from me to Mark, and his grin vanished. He said nothing more, though, just swallowed and left us alone.
“Look, let’s just have dessert, and then we can get going.”
“Certainly. It’s a long drive, and we wouldn’t want to be late.” I wished that Matheson hadn’t shown up until after we’d left. Or better yet, hadn’t shown up at all.
“Quinn….”
We were going to have to deal with this sooner or later, but not now.
“This has been a delicious dinner, Mark.” I was repeating myself, but I hardly cared. I picked up my espresso and raised it, waiting until he did so as well before touching my cup to his. “Thank you.”
X
MARK had borrowed my CD, Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Rodgers and Hart Songbook, and the second disc was playing as he merged onto the Beltway.
Neither of us spoke. We actually hadn’t spoken since we’d left Raphael’s.
When we’d gotten into the car, I’d stretched out my legs and crossed them at the ankle. Now I uncrossed my ankles, shifted in my seat to find a more comfortable position, and crossed them again. He turned his head to look at me. “Are you pissed at me?”
“No.” Worried, concerned… scared might be more like it. The lack of relief and overwhelming pleasure on seeing the letter from Armand had led me to the startling conclusion that my first lover had not been the one. If that was the case….
“Are you going to give me the cold shoulder all night?”
“No. And please keep your eyes on the road. I may be willing to give up my life for my country, but the last thing I want to do is become a statistic on New Year’s Eve.”
He gave a huff of sour laughter. “Okay. Mind telling me why you haven’t said a word to me since we got in the car?”
“You haven’t said anything either.”
“I’ve been concentrating on the road.”
“Of course. All the insane drivers who are out on it tonight.”
“Yeah.”
Why did I find that difficult to believe? “Something else is on your mind.”
“I could say the same of you.”
And he’d be right. His tension since seeing Matheson at Raphael’s had become more obvious—to me at any rate.
“So get it off your chest, Mann.”
“Very well. I’ve been marshaling my arguments.”
“Marshaling your…. What the fuck for?”
“You’re not only a very smart man, Mark, you’re clever as well. I’ll need every bit of ammunition I can come up with to keep you from attempting to walk away from me, from what we have.”
“Is that what you think I’m going to do?”
“Aren’t you?” I frowned when he started laughing. “I fail to see what’s so amusing in my question.”
“There’s nothing inherently funny in what you said, Quinn. It’s that you answered my question with a question of your own. Remember when your mother was in the hospital?”
My brow furrowed as I recalled that harrowing time. “Oh, yes. She asked what happened, and you asked what she remembered. She said answering a question with a question was a Sebring trait.”
“Generally. And then she said it used to drive your father nuts when she did that.”
“Am I driving you nuts, Mark?”
“Damn straight you are. And let me tell you something. As nutty as it might sound, I like it. And I have no intention of ending it.”
“Truly? Then everything is all right between us?”
“Jesus, Mann!” He sounded pained, and although I couldn’t help smiling, I was still worried.
“Do you think Matheson will inform anyone at the WBIS—” Of course I meant Trevor Wallace, although I didn’t say so. He was the one I was most concerned about. Not much was known about him, other than that he could be extremely protective of his organization. “—that you were seen with me?”
The corner of Mark’s mouth curved into a grin. “No. He… uh…. He thinks I’m working some nefarious scheme.”
“Excuse me? Why would he think that?”
“Something I said may have given him that impression.”
“Of course. I should have realized.” I recalled Matheson’s expression as he returned from the men’s room. He looked as if the worries of the world were no longer on his shoulders.
“What can I tell you? I have a way with words.”
“Yes, you do.”
“So, if we’re okay, suppose you talk to me. This is going to be a long drive.”
“Certainly.” I drew in a deep breath. There was something else I was concerned about. “Look, Mark. As much as I enjoyed what we did this afternoon, you don’t have to worry that I’ll pressure you to repeat it.”
“What? Listen, Mann, if you think I intend to spend the rest of my life celibate….”
“Excuse me?” He saw us together forever?
“How much wine did you have to drink? Am I going to have to pour you into bed tonight?”
“Mark, explain what you thought I said.”
He turned his head to glare at me, and a motorist passed by, blaring his horn. “Cocksucking bastard,” he snarled and flipped him off. “You just said you weren’t going to make love with me anymore.”
That was what he heard? “Mark, what I said was I wasn’t going to pressure you into doing what you did again.”
“And what I did was make love to you.” This wasn’t a term he generally used, and now he’d said it twice in the space of less than a minute.
I found myself storing away the memory of each time he said it, but I couldn’t afford to now, when it seemed he was on the brink of… something.
“No—Yes, you did, but you also rimmed me.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You never did that before.”
“Don’t try telling me you didn’t like it. Everyone likes it!”
“I won’t argue that with you. The thing is, not everyone likes to reciprocate.”
“And you think I’m that selfish….”
“Selfish has nothing to do with it. If you didn’t enjoy doing it—”
“What gave you the impression I wasn’t enjoying it? Jesus, Mann, I’ve sucked you dry and swallowed. Why would I have a problem eating your ass?”
In spite of myself, I felt a blush rise over my cheeks. “You never did before.”
“So? I never thought of it. So what?”
“So maybe the reason why you thought of it now was because of something in Armand’s letter.” As a way to one-up Armand, perhaps? After all, how many seventeen-year-olds were willing to perform that act, and if they were, could do it as well?
“I knew it would come down to that.” He fumbled in his breast pocket and tossed something at me. “There’s a flashlight in the glove compartment. Read it.”
I opened the glove compartment, and sure enough, in the corner was a small LED flashlight. I turned it on and unfolded the sheet of paper.
Quinton,
I have given much thought to your mother’s words, and I have come to the conclusion that I owe you an explanation for what happened between us so many years ago.
Not in a letter, however. The written word can so easily be misunderstood. Instead, I will call you.
I am sending a few bottles of the red Mme Mann was so kind as to compliment as a token of my lasting esteem for you, my dear friend.
Although your mother would flay me to hear me call you that, you were always mon cher, cher ami.
The new year approaches; I hope to speak with you before this year ends.
Bien à vous,
Armand
“That’s a shame about the wine. Mother always chose the best.” I turned off the flashlight, put it back in the glove compartment, and folded the letter. “I wonder what he meant about her words to him.”
“Hey, he was probably drunk at the time. Sampling too much of his own sauce.” Mark held his hand out and waggled his fingers impatiently.
“No, I think I’ll hold onto this.” I tucked the letter in my breast pocket.
“Fine.” Although he didn’t look fine about it. In fact, he looked downright annoyed.
Well, it was my letter.
“Y’know, Quinn, the only reason why I’m not kicking your ass is because you were so fucking young.”
“Excuse me?”
“You wasted all this time thinking this bozo was the love of your life.”
How had he known—Why was I even wondering that? He was Mark Vincent.
“He was supposed to love you.”
“Yes. And?”
“He calls you his dear, dear friend, but ends it ‘yours sincerely’? He addresses you as ‘vous’?”
“Ah. I see what you mean.”
“I knew you would. You aren’t stupid, even if you are CIA. And there’s one thing more, Quinn.” He didn’t give me a chance to ask what that one thing more might be, just snarled, “You can be damned sure I’d address you as ‘tu’!”
“You would?”
For a second I thought I heard his teeth grinding. He gave me a brief look and then turned his attention back to driving. “Are you gonna call him?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “It doesn’t fucking matter what Bauchet has to say. He had his chance, he blew it, and I’m sure as hell not giving him another one.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. So live with it. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go!”
“All right, Mark.” I settled back in the seat and pretended to observe what scenery I could see courtesy of the lights on the interstate.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him glare at me again, but once he realized I wasn’t going to argue with him, he relaxed and grinned. “All right. Now suppose we talk about something else.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
“Well, for one thing, is that champagne we’re bringing going to be okay?” He’d suggested I choose something suitable to take along with us. “I mean, it’s just one bottle.”
“Trust me, Mark.” The “one bottle” was a magnum of Moët & Chandon Dom Perignon 1985—a very good year. “It’s fine.”
XI
MARK did the three-and-a-half-hour drive in a little under three hours, and it was just after eleven when I pointed out the winding road that led through the farm and to the manor house.
“Where do you want me to park?”
“Follow the drive. The garage is about four hundred yards beyond the house.”
“Jesus, is it in the next county?”
“Amusing, Mark. There it is.”
The headlights illuminated the carriage house that had been converted to a garage in the early twenties by my grandfather. Above was an apartment that had originally been for the chauffeur and his family, but was now used by the mechanic who cared for the vintage cars Jefferson collected, and the Aston Martin Ludovic had shipped over to America when he knew he’d be staying here.
I leaned over and tapped the horn, and within moments, one of the bay doors rose. The Dodge rolled forward until it was completely in, and then Mark killed the lights and switched off the ignition. We got out of the car and retrieved our overnight cases.
Nick Stanton, the mechanic who’d taught me how to drive a stick shift, stood by the door, ready to lower it. He was wearing a cardigan sweater, his hands tucked under his arms and his breath a plume of white in the night air.
“Thanks, Nick.” I knew he must be cold and didn’t want to keep him standing there. “Happy New Year to you and your family.”
“And the same to you and yours, Quinn. And to your friend also.”
The door came down, the light went out, and then Mark and I were alone in the night. “Come on. The house is this way.”
After a few minutes, Mark huffed, “The garage isn’t in the next county; it’s in the next fucking state!”
“The walk is good for you.”
“Maybe, but my ears are freezing. And don’t say a word about my ears!”
I swallowed a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Huh.” He looked ahead, and I knew he could see the house in the distance. “Are we going in the back door?” he asked hopefully.
“No, we’ll go around to the front. You’re my guest, and this is a special occasion. Tomorrow we can go riding, and when we return we’ll go in the back way.”
“You didn’t tell me we were going riding.”
“Didn’t I?” I regarded him with mild inquiry, concealing my amusement, but I should have realized he would, if not see it, then suspect it.
“You’re so full of shit, Quinn.” He knew me well, and I liked that.
He grabbed my arm and yanked me back, and the sudden movement caused me to drop my overnight case.
“Look what you made me—It’s a good thing I didn’t drop—”
He kissed me.
“Mmm.” I closed my eyes, leaned into him, and savored the wet heat of his mouth. “Mmm.”
“Yeah.” He took my lower lip between his teeth and tugged ge
ntly. “You really gonna make me go riding tomorrow?”
“The practice will be good for you.”
“You worry too much about what’s good for me,” he muttered. “I didn’t bring any riding boots. And I can’t borrow a pair of yours, since my feet are bigger than yours.”
“Yes.” I petted his ass and then frowned. There were too many layers of clothes between my palm and the warm flesh I knew was there. “You could borrow a pair of Ludovic’s.”
“Rivenhall’s won’t fit either. They’ll be too big.”
I wasn’t going to ask Mark how he knew that. He was Mark Vincent—he had a way of finding out even the most esoteric of things. “You can stuff the toes with tissues.”
He grunted, let me go, and pulled something out of his pocket. I heard the clink of keys, and then a thin beam of light illuminated the spot where my overnight case was.
I bent to pick it up and sighed. “I was only teasing, Mark. If you really don’t want to go….”
“Y’know something, Quinn? You’re too easy.”
“Indeed?”
“Yeah.” He slung an arm around my shoulders, and while I couldn’t see his grin, I could hear it. “You have to learn to get tough.”
“So you’re saying that I’m not tough enough for you? That if I want you to do something, I should twist your arm? I’ll remember that.”
“No, that wasn’t what—”
“Perhaps you should watch how you phrase things, Mark.” By this time we’d reached the front of the house, and I started up the steps to the portico in front of him. I jumped when he pinched my ass.
“Face it, Quinn. Age and cunning will beat out youth and charm every time.”
I dropped my case, set down the champagne, and wrapped my fingers in the lapel of his overcoat. “Mark—”
“Someone’s coming.”
Immediately, I released him and took a step back.
The door swung open, and a petite woman stood there. Olive Plum had been housekeeper at Shadow Brook for as long as I could remember. She and her husband Henry had worked for my grandparents, and stayed on after they passed away. “Mr. Quinton! It’s so good to see you!”
“It’s good to see you too.” I stooped and kissed her cheek.