Jamie laughed. “Am I so transparent?”
“Sometimes, though not often enough,” she said. Her heart was hammering because she had a good notion of what he meant to say and she understood why, but it didn’t mean the hearing of it would be any easier because of that.
“I think, perhaps, Pamela, you need to be away from the home—for now—where you stay up nights waiting for the step on the stair that is not coming.”
She flinched at his words, though she knew he did not say them to hurt her, only the truth as he saw it; the truth, if she were honest with herself, as everyone outside her saw it.
“There is ample room here and you know this house has always had more empty rooms than is good for a home. Just stay for a bit, let your friends look after you, not because you need it, but because we do.”
He was being gentle with her, she knew, and he was right. At home she felt tethered to the pain of Casey’s absence, straining with every cell, even now after all this time, to hear him, to sense him somewhere there, somehow. She had to move forward for the sake of the children, for her own sake, and for the sake of the man who sat looking at her with such worry in his eyes. And so they stayed.
With spring’s arrival they moved outdoors into the world once again. They hiked and explored Jamie’s mountaintop—the ponds and springs and small hidden valleys rich with plant life and little secret things that delighted the children. For Conor’s birthday Jamie gave him a microscope and waders and the two of them became amateur botanists for the season. Slowly, she saw her son give his trust to Jamie, how he would take Jamie’s hand when they were wading through tricky spots, how he looked to Jamie now for answers to his particular questions about the world. Questions he would have asked Casey. She wondered if she would ever be free of this—this lack of Casey in her world, in the small details of her day, free of the void that carried within it always his absence—absence of body, mind and spirit. Sometimes she thought she would do almost anything to be free of it, and other times she thought she would rather lose a limb than lose that absence of him. Because if that was lost, he would really be gone from her, forever.
As she roamed the hills and valleys with Jamie and the children, she remembered what it was to be a child herself, where an idea could fill your entire body until you felt so giddy with it that you were like a balloon carried on a summer breeze. How an oyster shell found unexpectedly could fill an entire day, a tree with a bird’s nest an entire week, the sea and the stars an entire life. She rediscovered the passion she’d had for botany as a child. She assembled a herbarium with Conor, filled with what plants they could find so early in the spring. Many of the pages were taken up with mosses and lichens. Beside each specimen she had drawn small quick sketches of them, and added the name and classification next to it. Through that endeavor she rediscovered her childhood love of drawing and took to sketching illustrations for the stories Jamie had been telling to the children in the evenings.
The world away from this mountaintop seemed terribly distant. There had been no word of whether the police intended to pursue a case against her for the murder of Jamie’s uncle, there had been no word of anything, for Jamie had put a moratorium on bad news of any sort, unless it was absolutely vital that she know it. So far he hadn’t considered anything vital enough to be relayed to her. Pat and Kate had been up to visit several times, but they were careful in their conversation with her and told her nothing she didn’t already know.
When April arrived she knew it was time for her to move back out into the world, and that included returning home with her children, even if she dreaded it a little for the fear that came with living there alone. She wanted to talk to Jamie about it first, in part because he had taken such good care of them all, and also because she tended to want to discuss all matters in her life with him now. She had begun to feel that a piece of news was not properly digested until she had talked it through with Jamie. And there, she knew, lay very dangerous territory for the both of them. It was partly why she knew she must go home.
Two nights later, she had her chance. She had gone home that day to check over the house, and make sure it was still intact. Lewis and Owen had been looking after things but she wanted to set eyes upon it herself. She’d gone alone for she had other business which required her attention as well.
They were alone in the study, a rare event as there was almost always someone around. Shura had retreated upstairs in the grip of one of his dark Georgian melancholies and Vanya was out, having found work at a rather grotty pub in the Cathedral Quarter. The children were snug in their beds, sleeping deeply after an afternoon spent out-of-doors.
“Chess?” Jamie asked. He had brought the beautiful Alice in Wonderland set up from his grandmother’s cottage and they had played several games in the intervening weeks.
“I don’t think I quite have the mental fortitude for chess tonight,” she said. The trip home and her other errands had exhausted her.
He was standing by the chess set where it sat before one of the long windows. Each piece glowed where the light of the fire touched it. There was a sort of fine-drawn tension to him tonight. It wasn’t uncommon, only this felt different to her somehow. It was probably time, she thought, to stop keeping company with Russians steeped in mysticism. The next thing she knew she would be consulting the Ouija board to collaborate on her decisions.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think I should attempt alcohol just yet. You know that even when I’m in the pink of health, an eyedropper full can make me tipsy.”
He poured himself a drink from one of the decanters in which a very fine make of his own whiskey was kept. She was surprised because he was normally more abstemious than she was. He came, whiskey in hand, and sat down in the chair across from her. The room around them was warm and cozy, a sense heightened by the wind moaning at the windows, and sleet hissing against the glass. It was lovely to be inside, with a fire and only Jamie for company. It was rare to have him to herself and whether it was selfish or not, she did enjoy having his undivided attention every now and again.
She watched him as he relaxed, and was happy to see that he looked well. He’d regained the muscle and flesh he had lost to Russia, and he had enough energy of late to light up a city if they could have found a way to channel it. He smiled at her, as if he sensed her thoughts. A strange intimacy had grown between them throughout her recovery. It was an intimacy which she realized had always existed between the two of them but had been brought into the light because of their time together here away from the usual concerns that haunted both their lives. She had in these months, rediscovered laughter as well, for with the recovery of her body she had found a small corner of happiness and the ability to laugh without feeling like she had betrayed Casey.
“Everything was well at your house?” he asked, turning the tumbler of whiskey in his hand so that it caught the light, fretting it into small splinters of gold that darted and shimmered in the bowl of the crystal.
“Yes,” she said slowly, aware that wasn’t the question he really wanted to ask.
“And your meeting with Noah? Did that go well, too?”
“How did you know that?” she asked, sitting up sharply, the sense of cozy amiability abruptly banished.
“You didn’t take the children with you,” Jamie said drily, “and as Conor has been wanting to go home and check on all his haunts on your land for weeks now, I deduced there had to be a fairly good reason you left him behind.”
“Jamie, I don’t expect you to understand this, but I needed to see him. I fell off the map in a way and I would rather he didn’t worry, nor have his men guarding my land when it’s not necessary. He has been very decent to me, it’s simple courtesy to see him now that I’m able.”
“Don’t insult me, Pamela. You and I both know it’s not simple courtesy.”
“I know how naïve you believe me to be and maybe I am to a certain extent. Maybe you have to be born here to be as
suspicious and paranoid as I need to be to never put a foot wrong. But I’m not the girl who came here all those years ago, surely even you must recognize that.”
“No, Pamela, I don’t think you’re naïve and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because if you’re not naïve, then you’re being reckless.”
“I’m not reckless, Jamie, it’s not as though I joined the PIRA and roam the countryside looking for soldiers to shoot at.”
“You don’t need to look for soldiers, Pamela, they come to you and knock at your bloody door!” He stood up suddenly, clearly too agitated to sit.
“That is not my fault,” she said and stood up too, facing him. She was shaking but it was with anger rather than weakness for a change. Things had escalated so swiftly that her heart was pounding against her ribs like a trip hammer and her skin so inadequate a defense that she felt like a cracked eggshell, long emptied of its contents and prey to every rough wind which passed.
“Isn’t it? Had you not gotten involved with Mr. Murray, I doubt they would have interested themselves in you. Now you’re right in their damn crosshairs.”
“Yes, they are interested in me because they believe I’m an avenue for them to get to Noah. I refused them. I’m not crazy.”
“You don’t know though, Pamela, what his agenda is.”
“And you do know? What about you, Jamie? All the nights you’re not home, all the times you tell half-truths about where you’ve been. Your life is hardly an open book either.”
“I don’t lie to you, Pamela, I just can’t always tell you what I’m doing, and you know why.”
“And you,” she said angrily, “know why I went to him. I would follow Satan through the gates of hell on a brimstone pony if it meant I could find out what happened to Casey.”
“That is what frightens me. The truth is if I can’t find out what the hell happened to Casey—and believe me I have pulled in every favor and twisted every arm I possibly could—then there’s no way Noah is going to find him either. So what kind of game is he playing stringing you along with half hints and rumors, which I believe he knows full well have no foundation to them.”
She sat back down and put her hands to her face, suddenly terribly exhausted.
“Pamela, I didn’t mean—”
She shook her head. “Yes, you did. I’m not upset, only you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not quite ready to give up hope just yet.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to, Pamela. It may be that the complete lack of information is a good sign. I put things rather bluntly, and that wasn’t my intention.”
She looked up, and felt as if every day of the last eighteen months was stamped indelibly on her face.
“You know it’s not a good sign, Jamie,” she said wearily. “I just can’t help but keep looking, and if Noah can find any little clue that will tell me where to look and what I might find…” she turned her hands up helplessly.
“And what is it you think he wants from you in payment?” His voice was very soft, but she knew better than to mistake it for his temper having cooled. “Do you really believe he’s doing this just so he has a safe house now and again for a man on the run?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, and perhaps it doesn’t matter.”
“How can it not matter?”
“Because I don’t have it to give, Jamie. It isn’t like that with him,” she said, “and even if it was I don’t have to succumb to it. I am a rational being with a brain and autonomy.”
“I know, I am rather well acquainted with your autonomy, Pamela.”
“I’m not the little girl you met on Martha’s Vineyard anymore, you can’t save me from myself.”
“I know that, too,” he said. “I realize it doesn’t seem like it at times. I just don’t want you getting hurt any more than you already have been.”
“I can keep my head about it, Jamie. I do understand what he is.”
“I know you believe that you do, and perhaps you are right, Pamela. But men are territorial beasts and I have seen how he looks at you. I don’t think this arrangement is anywhere near as simple as you believe it to be.”
She looked up at him, at the green eyes blazing with anger, and the peculiar tension which still crackled off him. And suddenly she felt like someone had ripped the blinders from her eyes. It caused a visceral pain in her chest, as if she’d been cut across the heart.
“Jamie, is it only Noah we’re talking about here?”
“No,” he said at last, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him. “I don’t suppose it is.”
“Jamie, I—” she began, but he shook his head.
“Please don’t. I already know what you’re going to say and you don’t need to. I’m out of line tonight, and I apologize.”
She stood, weary and knowing that there was nothing she could say that would help to alleviate this divide which had, without warning, opened up between them.
“You’re tired, you should go up to bed.” He had walked over to the windows and she understood that he required distance from her.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” she said, afraid that she was going to cry if she didn’t flee his presence. She would not do that to him. Leaving the room was the least damaging option at present.
“I’m going to pack up the children and go home in the next few days, Jamie. I think I’ve stayed long enough. I’m strong enough to manage on my own now.”
He nodded, but did not turn to face her. The subtle tension had become something raw which she knew he did not want witnessed any longer.
She turned back in the study doorway. “I would have you know this—there isn’t anything between Noah and me and there never will be.”
“You might, Pamela,” he said, his tone cold, “want to make sure he understands that, too.”
Chapter Forty-two
Fire Without Smoke
YEVGENA ARRIVED FOR A VISIT near the end of April. She came with her vardo in tow and only a girl for company, a shy young thing called Esme. This lack of a retinue was unusual in itself for a woman who normally had a cluster of courtiers that travelled with her from one country to another, as she followed the sun and seasons. The vardo was parked on the far side of the mountain, away from the house and the view over Belfast, in a hollow ringed with ash and oak and holly.
On the first Friday of Yevgena’s visit, she invited the lot of them to dinner at her encampment. And so it was they made their way down from the house in the late April afternoon, muffled in sweaters and scarves, and wool caps, children in their arms and bottles of wine and whiskey to share. Shura carried his balalaika because music at such a gathering was inevitable.
Pamela, Isabelle in her arms, glanced sideways at Jamie, as he walked companionably at her side, Kolya propped up on his shoulders and Conor by his side, taking three steps for every one Jamie took. It had been two weeks since she had moved back home, but she still felt a reserve with him, and while he was as friendly and informal with her as he always was, she sensed that he had, in some way she couldn’t quite define, distanced himself from her. She understood why but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
There was a great fire burning when they arrived, its flames leaping high and hot in tongues of crimson and violet and gold. The scent of roasting meat and abundant spices pervaded the air. Around the fire was a circle of low-slung canvas chairs, fitted with quilts in jeweled colors and cushions of silk adorned with feathers and beads. Pamela had long ago decided that Yevgena was in possession of a magic trunk which had a limitless capacity to store treasures of this sort.
Their hostess awaited them in a crimson wool-lined caftan, embroidered with golden thread, her dark hair bound up in a length of violet silk and her hands beringed with a variety of precious metals and stones. Her dark eyes were impossibly huge, outlined with smudged kohl, and a collar of purple stones ringed her throat. Tonight she was pure Roma, a vagabond spirit as mutable as smoke, and a conduit of fortune and fate.
The ancient cauldro
n in which Yevgena had cooked innumerable meals over the years hung over the fire and was the source of the savory smells. She came forward to greet each of them, enfolding both Jamie and Pamela in her embrace, along with Kolya and Isabelle. Conor, she knelt down to greet, and got one of his rare but effusive hugs for her pains. Vanya kissed her on each cheek and presented her with a bouquet of scarlet anemones, which he had grown in the vast greenhouse on the estate.
“Why thank you, beautiful boy,” Yevgena said and kissed Vanya’s flushed cheeks. Shura, in a manner totally at odds with his usual gregarious nature, hung back in the shadows of the April dusk, his balalaika forgotten at his side.
“Are you all right?” Pamela asked, wondering what had silenced the man in such a thorough manner.
“She is like an empress from a fairy tale,” Shura said, lifting a hand toward Yevgena, his whole countenance one of wonder.
“She is,” Pamela agreed, “now come and meet her. If you make her come to you, you may well regret it.” She gave him a tug on his sleeve to pull him forward into the firelight.
“You must be Alexsandr Kobashivili,” Yevgena said, using the formality of his name as Russians did to show respect.
Shura swallowed and looked up at Yevgena. He appeared to be rendered speechless, and so he settled for bowing low over the hand Yevgena had given him and kissing it with the effusiveness only a Georgian could get away with. Yevgena spoke to him in Russian, the rumble of Slavic vowels and consonants like smoky cold vodka and chilled black earth, causing Shura to smile and look down, his ears bright red with pleasure.
Dinner was a Hungarian stew, well flavored with paprika, onions, tomatoes and peppers and accompanied by a great floury wheel of country bread. The conversation flowed easily, along with wine and whiskey for the adults and milk for the children. There was laughter and talk of everything from cabbages to kings; music and books and travel and the politics of lands other than their own. Jamie led the talk and the laughter, as he so often did, flinging out the filaments of fancy and filigree, poetry and prose, humor and history and they all followed the bright shining threads and helped him to weave a whole tapestry in which everyone partook equally in the making.
In the Country of Shadows (Exit Unicorns Series Book 4) Page 45