The Mission

by Naomi Kryske

  “Was Sinclair with you?”

  “No, I didn’t tell him until afterward. He can’t stand to see what they do.”

  She had protected him. He understood why, but he didn’t like it. “Is Sinclair making you do this?” he asked.

  She looked up. It had been a long time since she’d heard that hard, cold edge in his voice. “No. He wants to know what the problem is, of course, but I do too. I wish they’d find something they could fix! Have I always been – infertile? I hate that word! It sounds so final. Or did the monster do this to me, Simon?”

  He knew she was referring to the man who had attacked her. He had beaten her so severely that she had required surgery to correct internal injuries. Her spleen had been removed. “I can’t answer that, love. What does the doctor say?”

  “Not much.” She shifted her weight and closed her eyes briefly at the discomfort.

  “Shall I brew?” he asked.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  She smiled when he returned with their cups. He’d found the lemon cake in the kitchen and put a slice on her saucer. He was indifferent to sweets but knew she wasn’t.

  “You could adopt, Jenny,” he said.

  “I don’t want to adopt! Women have been having babies for millions of years. I don’t know why I can’t join that club.”

  When she made up her mind about something, she didn’t quit. He respected that but tried anyway. “You could help a little sprog.”

  She nodded. “I helped one the other day. A little boy at Beth’s school. His teacher couldn’t get him to sit at his desk, so I took him aside to talk to him. And he told me how sore his bum was. When I touched his thigh, he cringed, so I thought he got more than a spanking. The school nurse discovered bruises from the waist down. I seem to attract the wounded ones.” Her tea was cool enough now to sip. Simon had finished his. Was his throat made of asbestos?

  “Did she report it?”

  “Yes, and I kept thinking that if he were mine, he wouldn’t be hurting like that. Hurting and ashamed. Loving his mom and afraid of her at the same time. There’s no dad, you see.” She paused. “Would you ever want children, Simon?”

  “With the right woman and at the right time, yes.” And he now knew with certainty that it wouldn’t be with Jenny. She and Sinclair were happy. They wanted to start a family. It was time for him to be open to a serious relationship. He hadn’t gone out with anyone since he’d broken it off with Amanda. He’d keep in touch with Jenny – he’d always want to protect her – but he needed to let go. “Let’s have a walk,” he suggested. “Nothing strenuous. It’ll do you good to get out. I’ll wait while you dress.”

  She sighed. He believed exercise, like tea, could cure almost anything. She climbed the stairs to the bedroom, pulled on jeans, a pink and white striped oxford cloth shirt she didn’t bother to tuck in, and a dark cardigan. Downstairs she laced her tennis shoes and picked up her umbrella.

  They ambled through the narrow residential streets, he adjusting to her slow pace and she searching for a subject. Hampstead was replete with austere Georgian homes, each with a small lawn facing the street, so she pointed out the ones with multiple chimneys and dormer windows. “There were four King Georges in a row,” she said, realizing when she saw his frown that her comment sounded like a non sequitur and she’d have to explain. “They reigned for almost 100 years, and culturally it was a rich period. Handel in music; Jane Austen in literature; the painters Gainsborough, Turner, and Constable; and the Romantic poets all lived then. Try to look interested,” she teased. “What else? The American Revolution, the French Revolution, and – ”

  “The police,” he interrupted. “Sir Robert Peel created the Met.”

  “And ice cream was invented!” she concluded. “The history books say that George Washington loved it.”

  They continued their walk, but when they passed a young mother pushing her baby in a pram, Jenny’s smiles dissolved. He saw the longing on her face and wanted to comfort her. Not my place, he reminded himself. Nonetheless, it was going to be more difficult to discipline his feelings for her than he had thought.

  CHAPTER 17

  Alcina rarely missed her family, but her birthday was an exception. She could recall the gifts her parents had given her, and she would never forget how they had made her feel on her special day: like a princess. Her mother had prepared her favourite foods for every meal, culminating in a candle-lit dinner. She wore a new dress then, a real treat because nearly all her clothes had been worn by her three older sisters before they came to her. She had wished for birthdays more than once a year, because the rest of the time she was disregarded, dismissed, and ignored.

  She had been jealous of her older sisters, Lara, Eliana, and Cecilia, of the makeup they were allowed to wear, of their freedoms, of their private conversations. Lara and Eliana had been born a year apart, almost four years before Alcina. She hated being left out, hated being the baby, hated being fat, and hated the way they patronised her. Cecilia had been closer to her age but had wanted to spend more time with the older girls.

  She had had her revenge, however. Even now thinking about it made her smile. At Lara’s engagement party, she had bumped into her, causing her to spill her red wine on the bodice of her dress. Lara had been furious, insisting that she had done it on purpose. Alcina had, of course, but she had cried so hard in apparent regret that her parents had not believed it of her.

  There had been other occasions, but although her sisters were suspicious, complaining that she got away with everything, they had never been able to prove her cunning. She had withheld their telephone messages, misplaced their keys, and poked holes in their socks. When Eliana’s favourite blouse had been laundered with bleach, the maid had been blamed and consequently let go.

  Tony had flattered and spoilt her at first; perhaps that was why she had fallen in love with him. They had met when he came into the travel agency to pick up tickets for one of the patrons at the club where he worked. He provided extra services for them whenever he could, and he made good money. He was well dressed, ambitious, and older than her sisters’ husbands, a man of the world who could show her the world. She was just a clerk, too new to the job to have much responsibility, but he had noticed her, probably because of the way she dressed. Ever since she lost weight, she had spent her earnings on herself, for clothes and beauty products. She wasn’t selfish; living at home was just practical. Her sisters had married and sprouted babies like seeds sown in a greenhouse, but she had worked hard to get a slim figure and fully intended to keep it. She had played hard to get with Tony at first, but she had always been interested in him.

  Her parents had expressed reservations about the marriage, but she was strong willed. When she got something in her mind, nothing – not discipline, reason, coaxing, cajoling, even outright bribery – could make her change it. From the time she was a toddler, her primary expression had been a pout. Over the years her mother had shaken her head in exasperation at her, but her father had called her – not without a little pride for he had no sons – his little bulldog.

  This year she wouldn’t celebrate with female friends. She hadn’t any. She had always got on better with men. The couples she and Tony had known, however, had dropped her when Tony was convicted. If the tables had been reversed, she would have done the same. She wasn’t cut out for social work. Would her parents call with birthday wishes? Perhaps. Her sisters neither wrote nor called; they had been glad when she and Tony moved to London. She would never move back to Greece. She would not hear from Tony.

  CHAPTER 18

  On Valentine’s Day Jenny and Colin walked up Heath Street to dine at their favorite Hampstead restaurant, La Gaffe, which had come about in an unusual way. Bernardo Stella, an Italian who worked in a French restaurant in London, fell in love with the young Cypriot Androulla and decided to open his own establishment. Neither their relationship nor their joint endeavor was a gaffe – a mistake – and their business had grown to include a family run hot
el on the same premises. Being greeted by their son, the current manager, always made Jenny feel welcome, and over their tricolor salad and minestrone soup, she sipped her first glass of wine, knowing she would need warmth inside and out to counter the frigid temperatures they would encounter on their walk home.

  “If I order the veal in lemon sauce, I’ll have room for dessert,” she told Colin. “But may I taste your lamb?” Over the dolci – tonight she chose crème brulée – she suggested that they continue their celebration when they returned to their flat. “I love London winters – cold, not too humid, dark early. Let’s light a fire in the fireplace and remember all our special times.”

  On their way back through the up-and-down Hampstead streets, she took his arm and asked, “When did you know you were in love with me?”

  “When I realised I’d do anything to see you smile. And you?”

  “It took awhile. You were so austere at first – so serious about the investigation – but you placed such a high premium on my safety that I began to trust you. And then you romanced me with such respect and restraint that I fell in love with you – with a tall, elegant man who was a citizen of a foreign country! Imagine that!”

  “And I never expected to be swept off my feet by a young, petite Texan. After my first marriage ended, I thought I had closed off my heart.”

  They had reached the flat. He set about preparing the fire.

  “Remember the first time you kissed me?” she asked as they listened to the music the fire made, the crackles and soft hiss when the kindling caught the flames. “I still felt so damaged from the attack that I was amazed that someone wanted me. Then I realized how much I enjoyed being with you, and when you hadn’t visited the protection flat in a while, I missed you. I’m still sorry that when I knew for sure that I loved you, I was too scared to do anything about it.”

  He put his arm around her. “I knew what you’d been through, Jenny. You fought so hard not to stay a victim.”

  “If anyone had told me that I’d end up sharing my life with the senior detective on my case, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

  “It’s a good thing, then, that we don’t know what the future holds,” he said.

  She snuggled closer. “I wish I could stop time. Stay in this moment.”

  “Even if I make the next moment better?” he teased, kissing her, caressing her chest, and feeling her heartbeat increase. He led her to the shower before they had finished removing each other’s clothing then laughed as she frantically stripped off the remaining items. He stroked her with the bath sheet and soap and closed his eyes while she stroked him. After they turned off the water, he rubbed her all over with a warm towel.

  In bed his startlingly blue eyes softened and his smile widened. She pulled him to her. “Maybe this time, Colin,” she whispered. “Maybe this time I’ll conceive.”

  “There is no one like you in all the world, Mrs. Sinclair,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  “Colin, I love you so much. Please don’t stop.”

  “Just starting.” Knowing where she liked to be touched and how, he enhanced her sensations. He heard her cry out, and a few moments later he called her name.

  She wrapped her arms and legs around him to keep him in place. She didn’t ever want to be separated from him. She fell asleep wishing for some way to preserve what they had, the way artists preserved their perspectives with oils or pastels.

  CHAPTER 19

  Colin had a busy morning. Following his briefing to his staff, he received a fax from law enforcement professionals in New York, requesting a visit in three weeks’ time. He instructed Bridges to make the arrangements. In addition, since he had pledged to begin a review of cold cases, he spent some time setting aside those he would bring to the attention of solicitors and scheduling meetings with them. Between phone calls, he updated his calendar and thought about his wife.

  Recently they had attended a do for Mark Twichell, who had retired after thirty years on the force. He had been Colin’s supervisor when Colin completed the detective course and was first assigned to detective work. A barrel-chested man who had not needed a microphone to address the large gathering, Twichell had made brief comments about the ways in which policing had changed. “More violence, more drugs, more guns, more knives, and more young people involved in every aspect of crime. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to leave it to you lot.”

  All the toasts offered on Twichell’s behalf notwithstanding, Jenny had been the star of the evening, stunning in a long black skirt, bolero jacket, and white high-necked blouse. She had worn the high heels he preferred, and heads had turned when they entered. All the senior officers had found an excuse to greet her, the youngest and loveliest woman present, and he had felt more than fortunate that she was his wife.

  Only a week had passed since their Valentine’s Day celebration, and they were still in the honeymoon period after her last medical test. He had scheduled a time for his visit to the doctor. Their lovemaking had new joy and hope, because they felt that each encounter could lead to the creation of a precious new life in their family. He smiled, thinking of her tousled hair and the particular little frown she had when she was concentrating on her pleasure. He wanted to surprise her with a special gift, new earrings that would show against her dark hair and move when she turned her head. He had found a pair in a shop not too far from the Bond Street station – teardrop emeralds wrapped in diamonds and suspended on tiny gold chains. If he collected them on his lunch hour, he could present them to her tonight. He grabbed his coat and left for the tube.

  PART TWO

  My grief lies onward and my joy behind.

  — William Shakespeare

  CHAPTER 1

  The uniformed officer at the door already had his warrant card out. “PC Parker, Mrs. Sinclair. There’s been an incident, and DCI Sinclair has been injured. I have a car waiting. If you’ll just accompany me, I’ll take you to him.”

  “What happened? Where is he? How is he?” Jenny’s voice rose.

  “St. Mary’s. May I suggest a coat? It’s quite cold.”

  “A hospital? How badly is he hurt? Is he going to be okay?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any details,” Parker replied. “Chief Superintendent Higham will brief you when we arrive.”

  Chief Superintendent Stuart Higham was Colin’s boss. Why would he be at the hospital? Jenny took the first sweater she saw when she opened the chest of drawers, anything to cover the old knit pullover shirt she wore. She hadn’t planned to go out but didn’t want to take the time now to change. She grabbed her purse and followed Parker downstairs. A police sedan with a driver was waiting for them, not one of the easily recognizable black-and-white panda patrol cars that criss-crossed London streets. Parker installed her in the back seat then joined the driver in the front. No one spoke, but the siren was wailing as the driver accelerated through the narrow streets. Colin has a desk job, she thought, trying to control her surging fear. This is not happening. She closed her eyes, held her sweater to her chest like a shield, and tried not to imagine the worst.

  Almost before her dazed mind could register it, the driver had pulled up to the hospital’s Accident and Emergency entrance. When she opened the door, Parker was there, extending his hand. The first set of double doors opened automatically, and he guided her through the second and down a long corridor. Near the end she saw a number of well-dressed men gathered in twos and threes, some with familiar faces, some not, but all with somber expressions. David Andrews, “amiable Andrews,” who had been Colin’s detective sergeant on her case, wasn’t smiling now. His normally cheerful face showed shock and – sorrow? He took a step toward her and opened his mouth but did not speak. She became correspondingly mute, afraid to ask any of the questions that were crowding her mind.

  Barry Bridges turned in her direction, his eyes empty of the twinkle that usually brightened them, his boyish smile smothered. He now worked with Colin at Sapphire, but he had been able to gu
ide her through the most difficult parts of her formal interviews when others had failed. She recognized Chief Superintendent Higham, a stocky man with a thick mustache and tweedy hair. Tension lined his face.

  “Mrs. Sinclair,” Higham said, stepping away from the group. “I must speak with you privately.” PC Parker moved away. “There’s been an incident, as you know. Your husband was severely injured. Ambulances were called to the scene, and he was treated and transported immediately, but – Mrs. Sinclair – I’m sorry to tell you – I’m afraid he’s gone.”

  Had she heard correctly? No, it couldn’t be! She and Colin had barely begun their life together! Just this morning they had made love, Colin providing warmth in the chilly early hours. She heard a roaring in her ears, and Higham went out of focus. Her knees turned to jelly, and she sank to the floor.

  “Mrs. Sinclair – ” “ – Jenny – ” “ – Are you all right?” Multiple voices penetrated the fog, and she felt hands guiding her to a sitting position.

  “I want to see him,” she whispered.

  “Mrs. Sinclair – ”

  “Where is he?”

  David and Barry helped her stand, neither wanting to release her to what lay ahead.

  Higham tried again. “Mrs. Sinclair, would you like someone to accompany you?”

  “No. I want to see my husband alone.”

  “Mrs. Sinclair, I must insist.”

  “No. Please.”

  “Are you certain? We are here to help.”

  How could they help? “No,” she repeated. “I want to be alone with him.”

  With reluctance he gestured to an innocuous hospital door, several yards down the corridor. “Last door on the right.”

  They stood back, watching as she reached out to steady herself against the wall.

  The door was heavy. She pushed against it with her shoulder, desperate to enter but afraid of what she would see. Empty of hospital personnel, the room was still small. Machines that would have provided life support were now silent against the walls, and there were no windows except the one to the next world. A body lay on a bed, fully covered by a sheet. That’s it, she thought, relief flooding her. It’s a mistake. It isn’t Colin.