The Mission

by Naomi Kryske

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “Did you ever want to be a doctor?”

  “Not an option. When I joined the Royal Marines, I wasn’t certain I’d take to the medical training, but it enabled me to be useful. I’d still rather hold a rifle than a scalpel, though.” He paused. “Dessert? They have chocolate pudding on the menu.”

  She smiled. He knew her preferences. “Too heavy. My meal was more filling than yours. I’ll have the lemon sorbet.”

  He ordered coffee for both of them. “Still using your camera?”

  “No, I discovered I wasn’t going to be the next Ansel Adams. My pictures would be a good cure for insomnia.”

  When the waiter brought the sorbet, she gave Simon a taste. “How old were you when you had your first car?” she asked.

  He wasn’t bothered by her questions. Dating curiosity, he hoped. “I didn’t have any money until I joined the military, and then, not much. And there’s good public transport here. Didn’t need my own vehicle until I became a police officer. How about you?”

  “I was eighteen. In Texas people don’t walk anywhere if they can help it. If we could drive up to the dinner table, we would.” A shadow crossed her face. “I think I’m addicted to walking now. When Colin died, I needed the outlet. Walking and tea are universal palliatives. Americans are poorer for not making them a habit.”

  He settled the bill. “Ready to go?”

  Suddenly nervous, she wished she had another cup of coffee. “Not quite.” She took a sip of the water in the bottom of her glass and tried to think of another topic. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

  He hadn’t.

  “Or ice skated?”

  “No, have you?” he asked.

  “Not very well,” she confessed. “I fell down. A lot! The only thing spinning was my head.”

  “Not much call for winter sport in Texas,” he guessed. “I’ve snow skied, however. Learnt in the Special Forces.” He paused. “Jenny, we’ve finished our coffee, not to mention everything else on the table. I think it’s time for us to go.” He held her sweater so she could slip her arms into the sleeves but didn’t take her hand.

  She was pensive on the slow walk back to her flat. “We’re very different, Simon. Our family life, our education. I’m afraid of everything, and you’re not afraid of anything.”

  He was afraid she’d not come to love him, but he didn’t contradict her. “We have a good deal in common, actually. We’ve both had missions that kept us from our families. We’ve both suffered combat injuries. You have drive, and you’re independent and resourceful. We like physical activities. Besides, we’ve already lived together, so I know we’re compatible.”

  Compatible? He was way ahead of her. “In witness protection? That’s hardly the same thing.”

  “More’s the pity,” he teased.

  She was quiet, not sure how to respond to his flirting. They were approaching her flat, and she didn’t know what he was going to do. “I feel like I’m walking on uneven ground,” she said. “You don’t stay with women for very long. Are you going to love me and leave me like you did your other girlfriends?”

  He took her hand. “I’ll not leave you. I’ve no exit strategy.”

  “Even if I get mad at you and tell you to go away?”

  “No.”

  “What if you get mad at me?”

  “We’ll sort it.”

  He hadn’t hesitated in his responses. “Simon, you’re so definite in the things you say. I probably won’t get pregnant, but if I did – ”

  “I’d want you to tell me.”

  She stopped and tried to read the expression on his face. “Why? It’s my body.”

  “Yes, but what’s inside would belong to me also.”

  “But – ”

  “No buts. Promise me, Jenny.”

  “Okay. Yes.” She hung back, nervous about what he would do when they reached the door.

  “Take it easy. I’m not coming in. Jenny, I’ve – ” He cleared his throat. “Been with other women. But you should know: I’ve been careful, and I’m healthy.”

  She stared at him. What did he expect her to say? Me, too? It was all too embarrassing.

  He broke the silence. “I’d like to see you tomorrow, if that’s acceptable.”

  “Simon, I’m still ashamed of my mistake.”

  “No need for that, Jenny. But it’s down to me now. And you can trust me.”

  She looked at him, dressed up, hands at his sides. Usually he was good at concealing his feelings, but now she saw hope on his face, and her heart softened a little. “Come by late in the afternoon. We’ll take Bear for a walk, and then I’ll make dinner.”

  “Will you give us a kiss, Jenny?”

  She froze. Although he had used the polite plural, she felt sure he wanted more than a kiss on the cheek. And then what?

  He waited until she put her hands on his chest before bending down to meet her. It was not what he would call a proper kiss. He forced himself after to step back.

  CHAPTER 5

  Jenny watched Simon carefully over the next several days, but there was no sign of the Simon who had drunk too much and come on to her. He seemed to respect her still, in spite of what she thought of as their disastrous coupling. Nor was he the old Simon. This Simon kissed her when he saw her, held her hand while they walked, and brought her little gifts, which pleased and embarrassed her and made it hard for her to stay angry with him. “An orange!” she exclaimed. “Why an orange?”

  “For your health,” he answered.

  “Then we should share it.” She removed the rind and fed him some of the sweet, juicy sections.

  He watched her while she ate, wanting to kiss her for another taste of the fruit.

  “Orange you glad you’re here?” she asked with a smile.

  Laughing and groaning at the same time, he gave her a kiss – a quick one, because he didn’t want to push her – to show her that he was.

  Another day he brought her a chocolate éclair, and yet another, a sprig of lavender. On Sunday he brought a kite, and they took Bear with them to the Heath. She watched his fingers as he tied the string and adjusted the reel. The kite rose as they ran, and she felt her spirits rise. “Simon, that’s what I want,” she called. “To rise above everything but still be connected. I want to fly and be tethered at the same time.”

  “That’s what love is,” he called back.

  She nearly stumbled, she was so startled by his romantic response. Some time later he reeled in the kite, and they headed back to the flat for supper. They worked well together, she thought. While he chopped the vegetables for the salad, she boiled water for the fettucini and sautéed garlic, green onions, and chicken strips.

  “Are you trying to make a chef out of me?” he asked while he worked.

  “No, I don’t go for lost causes,” she laughed. “Being a prep cook will do.” She added seasonings and a few dollops of cream cheese and mixed her ingredients together. “We’re having a tossed dinner.”

  He smiled and tucked in. “I ran into Hunt at Leman Street not too long ago,” he said between bites. “He asked after you.”

  Jenny remembered the brash young officer. He was the type to lose at strip poker on purpose, certain that displaying his physique would have a good result. He had shocked her at first with his outspokenness, and it had taken some time for her to adjust to him. Later, however, he had become a bridge for her to the real world, where people wouldn’t be as kind about her appearance as the rest of the protection team had been.

  “He hasn’t changed. Still overimpressed with himself. He was nearly ticketed from drink driving recently but talked his way out of it. The traffic officer was female.”

  “Is he married?”

  Simon added a bit more shredded parmesan to his fettucini. “No, but he has a girlfriend, he says. Not sure how long it will last, because he puts it about a bit. More than a bit, actually.” He could tell from her frown that she wasn’t sure of his mean
ing. “He wants to bed every woman he meets,” he explained, “and to hear him tell it, when he uses the macho armed police approach, he’s usually successful. That same traffic copper paid him a visit at home when his girlfriend was out.” Hunt had described with enthusiasm his sexual prowess, but Simon rephrased for Jenny. “He was near consummation when his girlfriend came home unexpectedly.”

  “She caught them in the act?”

  “Nearly caught him,” Casey admitted. “The copper was still clothed but wasn’t in uniform, so Hunt spun some tale about her being a nurse visiting someone in the area who saw him collapse after a run. He was so pale that his girlfriend believed it.”

  “Are you trying to restrain a smile?”

  “It would have been funnier, actually, if she’d well and truly caught them. But blokes like Hunt – they have more luck than they deserve. He always was a loose cannon.”

  “Were you like that?”

  He paused. “In my younger days I looked for opportunities, yes, but I had no home life to risk.”

  “Weren’t you ever serious about anybody? Before Marcia?”

  “Yes,” he nodded, “but it’s been a good while.”

  “When you were in the Special Forces?”

  “Yes, I had someone to come back to then.”

  His answers were short, as usual, but at least he was answering. “What happened?”

  He put his fork down for a moment to let her catch up. “I was angry. I drove her away. After my injury. When I realised I couldn’t requalify physically for service.”

  “Why? You weren’t mad at her, were you?”

  “No, at the world, but she got the brunt of it.” He remembered Rita crying that his life wasn’t over, he was still in one piece, he wasn’t paralysed, and he still had her. At the time it hadn’t been enough. “I didn’t want comfort. I was that angry.” He saw the concern on Jenny’s face and knew he needed to get the conversation back on an even keel. “I regretted it later, but she had found someone else. Since then I like to think I’ve learnt from my mistakes.”

  “What are you looking for now?”

  He chose his words carefully. “Most of the blokes I work with are risk takers. The risks they take in their personal lives don’t signify because they put the Job first. On the Job we train to minimise the risk, but we can’t eliminate it entirely. If I let my concentration waver during an op, I could endanger not just myself but every man on the team. Depending on the nature of the op, perhaps members of the public as well. So for that time the Job comes first. I’ve no choice. Any other time, I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.” He smiled and picked up his fork. “Like Davies with Beth. He’s loyal to her because he loves and respects her.”

  Jenny had given herself smaller servings, but he was nearly finished anyway. “He’s a good man.”

  Simon nodded. “I don’t want the wild life. I want what he has.”

  Jenny blushed slightly and didn’t answer.

  “My leave’s over,” he told her as they were washing up. “I have to parade early tomorrow, and I’ll not be able to see you for a while.”

  “Simon, what you do is so dangerous. Please be careful. It’s okay if you don’t think about me.”

  “I’ll be all right. Our scenarios are approved by our supervisors. I’m trained for what I have to do. I’m armed and all kitted up.” He tried for a lighter tone. “Besides, I can always send Davies in first.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to him either,” she said.

  “Nor do I. Jenny, my military training taught me to be aware of my surroundings. And if I can survive SBS ops, I can survive life on the Job.”

  Colin hadn’t survived, and the depth of her anxiety for Simon surprised her. “Will you call me when you’re finished? So I know you’re okay? I don’t care how late it is.”

  Her concern warmed him. “Promise,” he said and collected another kiss. It was the first time she hadn’t just accepted his move but had responded by kissing him back.

  CHAPTER 6

  Day one of Jenny’s twelve days without Simon dawned. He had explained to her that a seven-day week was followed by five days on duty. He wouldn’t be coming by every night, and she was curious to see if she would miss him and if so, how much. Meanwhile she located the journal he had given her and titled a new page, My Options.

  Should she take up a musical instrument? Sign up for drama lessons? Learn to paint? She could learn to sew. No, sewing involved more pinning, cutting, and ironing seams than actual stitching. She still had nothing on her list. She could join a gym. She walked regularly with Bear, but she felt sure that Simon would approve of additional exercise. Gym, she wrote.

  Learn to cook better was her next entry, but Simon wasn’t particular about food. Gardening? Dull, but growing vegetables would be useful at least.

  Bird watching? The Heath attracted all kinds of birds, birds of prey like kites and osprey as well as a number of varieties of ducks and geese. Shore birds migrated through the area. Colin had pointed out the resident species to her, robins and starlings, the noisy jays and magpies, robins, wrens, and woodpeckers. He had even identified, with a straight face, the great tit, which he considered misnamed since it was only 5-1/2 inches long. She had been unable to restrain her giggles when he told her that although tits in the wild fed on insects and seeds, in captivity they were attracted to nuts. He hadn’t really been a bird watcher; as a result of his profession, he had simply been aware and informed about his surroundings. Watching birds didn’t appeal to her. Besides, her bird watcher stereotype involved balding rotund men and women with flyaway gray hair.

  A new idea came to her: Learn a foreign language. To pass the time in witness protection, Simon had tried to teach them Italian, with varying success. She had thought the language beautiful, almost musical, but none of them had been very serious about the lessons. The travel phrases had seemed useless to her. Brian had been preoccupied with cooking terms, and Danny only wanted to learn romantic phrases. She’d forgotten most of the vocabulary for money, weather, and food. She’d have to start over, but Waterstone’s would have an Italian dictionary. Learning something new would be a way to look forward.

  Still needing a longer list, she set the journal aside and went downstairs to collect the newspaper. Maybe she could find some additional ideas for activities in its pages. Not today, however: Someone had cut it into shreds which had blown across the front garden and down the walk. She sighed. That meant another call to PC Dugger. Would teenagers have done this? So early in the morning? If not, it was more than a prank. She gathered what she could and disposed of it, then checked to be sure the doors and windows were locked.

  Upstairs again, she answered a call from Dr. Millar requesting her assistance on compiling the results of the first group of questionnaires.

  “It would be unethical for the CCSS to evaluate themselves,” he said, “and my staff is overworked already.”

  “Don’t you need someone with credentials to do this?” she asked.

  “At this stage you’ll do,” he said.

  She heard the smile in his voice.

  “Since you’re coming from Hampstead, perhaps you’d like to spend several hours here each time. I don’t imagine the work will take more than a day or two to complete. May I count on you?”

  “I don’t do mornings,” she said. “How about Thursday and Friday afternoon? I can give you a little time next week, too, if necessary.”

  He thanked her and rang off.

  She returned to her list. In ordinary circumstances a new relationship would be time consuming, but Simon’s schedule precluded that. However, she was now less anxious about his physical expectations of her. He had been restrained; he had not pressed for more than a kiss. She laughed at herself. Whether he had intended it or not, he had whetted her appetite a little.

  Was he in love with her? Surely it was too early for that, and he had only used the word once, indirectly. Instead he’d said he fancied her. What did t
hat mean exactly? He’d fancied Marcia but had broken up with her. He wasn’t careless with words, and he’d said he needed her and wouldn’t leave her. That sounded like a commitment, the lack of appropriate romantic vocabulary notwithstanding.

  Everything about their relationship was strange. It had begun in witness protection, when she needed his medical help but didn’t want it because she was scared of him. Next had come their often adversarial relationship during the healing process, punctuated with what she had considered his unrealistic expectations of her. When she finally came to trust him and rely on his support, an unlikely friendship had been the result. Danny and Brian had been like brothers, but Simon had never fit into that category. After her return to London, they had kept in touch. He’d been attentive, often advising her when she asked for information or guidance. A colossal lapse of judgment, and now they had to start over. They couldn’t be friends; he wanted more. And she had no idea what she wanted. She missed him, but at the same time she was a little relieved to be out from under his scrutiny.

  She looked down at her lap. She hadn’t made much progress with entries in the journal. She focused her mind and added: Writing. She smiled, wondering what Simon would think if he received a note from her. She knew he lived in Ruislip, but not his address, and she had never seen his flat. “A second storey with one bedroom,” he had told her once. “Indian restaurant on the ground floor, proprietor and his wife on the first. I fall asleep to the aroma of exotic spices and wake to the smell of stale exotic spices.”

  Writing, not correspondence, she reminded herself. “Ham & High,” the weekly periodical that covered events in Hampstead and Highgate, had a health column, but it only covered physical health news. Their “submit a story” option requested ideas from subscribers for stories their editorial staff would pursue. She felt sure that her experience of grief and recovery could be helpful to others, but it didn’t seem to fit any of the “Ham & High” formats. It wouldn’t be an intellectual exercise because she couldn’t write from a reporter’s point of view.