Nightingale

by Andrea Bramhall

  “It’s going to be okay.” Charlie risked a quick glance and smiled at her, and wondered if she remembered how to speak English, or even understood anything she was saying, but Charlie doubted it. She brushed her hand over the little girl’s head, soothing her.

  They had about an hour’s drive to the British Embassy from the small village on the outskirts of Taxila on the Peshawar Plain, and soon the rutted dirt roads gave way to smooth tarmac and the growing lights of the city on the horizon as dusk began to descend.

  She clipped her Bluetooth earpiece into place and dialled. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel while she waited.

  “Goddamn it, Porter, where the hell are you?” Jasper Jackson’s voice shook as he clearly tried to control his anger.

  Charlie flinched at the volume directly in her ear. “I’m about an hour out. I’ve got the kid with me, so you can get the mother on standby.”

  “What the hell did you do?”

  “Nothing. I just talked to the guy.”

  “We’ve been talking to the guy for weeks. What the hell did you have to say that was any different this time? Why did you have to go in person? Why did you go alone? You know the rules. Damn it, Charlie! What the hell—”

  “Sorry, JJ, you’re breaking up.” She hung up quickly, knowing she’d pay for that later, but at least not while she was driving.

  Charlie ran her fingers through her short curls and rubbed the back of her neck in a useless attempt to ease the tension that caused a headache behind her eyes.

  She turned off the Grand Trunk Road onto the Kashmir Highway, keeping up a litany of useless information for the child. She told her about the High Court building as they passed it, the Pakistani flag flying proud and true as the lights shone and the gentle breeze stirred the air. In the distance, she could make out the illuminated pillars of the Shah Faisal Mosque with its ornate marble façade reflecting the light into the sky, a siren’s call to the faithful. She exited the highway and made a couple of turns before she was driving down Embassy Road into the heart of the diplomatic conclave.

  It had always surprised her how drab and ugly the British Embassy building was next to the other ornate buildings within the diplomatic heart of Pakistan―utilitarian, box-like, and beige. But it was safety. It was British soil and protection in a land that was foreign and rarely forgiving.

  Armed guards swung the gate open and let her inside as she flashed her ID. She had barely pulled the car to a stop when a small group hustled to the car and pulled open the doors. The child startled and began to cry as hands she no longer recognized pulled her out of the vehicle.

  “Horia.” The woman cradled the child to her breast and fell to her knees. “My baby.” Tears rained down her face as she looked over the little girl’s head at Charlie. “Thank you. Thank you. You’ve brought me back my angel.”

  Charlie smiled, choking back her own tears. “I don’t know how much English she still knows. I don’t think she understood me at all.”

  The woman waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter.” She cupped Horia’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “She’ll learn.”

  Charlie felt a meaty hand on her shoulder. “Another maverick stunt, Porter? What am I going to do with you?”

  Charlie turned and grinned up at her tall, redheaded boss. “Give me a raise?”

  Jasper Jackson shook his head and tried to hide his smile beneath a scowl. “I should put you on some sort of probation or something. You can’t keep going off and pulling stunts like this. Every time you go out there on your own, you’re in danger.”

  “JJ, I know what I’m doing.” She watched the woman and child as they were led into the building.

  “Yes, but even you can’t control everything out there, Charlie. What if you’d shown up at his house and he’d pulled a gun?”

  Charlie rapped her knuckles on her chest and the unmistakable metallic sound of a bulletproof vest sounded.

  “That doesn’t protect that pretty blond head of yours.”

  Charlie laughed. From anyone else she might have taken offence at the comment, but they had worked together for almost three years now. She knew the giant of a man had nothing but the utmost respect for her professionally and cared for her deeply as a friend. “I’d spoken to this guy for weeks, JJ. He wasn’t going to pull anything like that. He wanted the kid off his hands. He wanted to make life a bit easier with the new wife now that she has a baby on the way. This was convenient and allowed him to save face. He wasn’t going to do anything to me.”

  “He never mentioned anything about any of that in the calls.”

  “No, but his father and father-in-law posted an advert in the local paper announcing the happy news that his son and new wife were expecting their first child.” She buffed her fingernails against her shirt.

  Jasper shook his head. “And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell me this?”

  “I just did.”

  “Before. As you damn well know you should have done.”

  “Look, the info came in. I saw an opportunity, and it paid off. We got the result we wanted, and a mother and daughter are back together and will soon head safely back to the UK. What more do we need, JJ?”

  “Come with me.” Jasper led her into the building, not stopping until they were in his office. He stepped behind his desk and reached for a file, flipping it open before he held it out to her. “We have a new recruit coming on board.”

  Charlie took the file and glanced over the photograph and basic info. There were six members of the task force, including the two of them. They all had different areas of expertise to aid in their mission, which was to return British nationals who had been forcibly relocated to Pakistan back to the families and loved ones waiting for them in Britain. “Okay. And?”

  “I want you to train her.”

  Charlie dropped the file back onto his desk. “JJ, no. You know I can’t do that.”

  “No, I know you don’t like to. But you can and you will train her, and I want you to do it by the book.”

  “I’m not cut out to teach. I don’t have the patience.”

  “Charlie, you have all the patience in the world when it comes to a negotiation, and you have more than enough to train someone.”

  “Don’t do this. It won’t be good for her.”

  JJ laughed. “I think it’ll be perfect for her. And for you.”

  Charlie scowled.

  “Look, Charlie, you are by far the best negotiator I have ever worked with. You get more results, faster, with less intervention than anyone else on this task force. And this list”―he held up a stack of A4 paper filled with names―“only gets longer every day. We need to be able to give more families the result you just did tonight.”

  “Did I not just get a dressing down for that?”

  “I need you to keep me in the loop more and I need you to follow protocol, but I need you to be effective too.” He ran his hand over his face. “Next time call me en route, okay?”

  “I did.”

  “I mean on the way there. Not the way back.”

  “All right, all right.” She picked up the file again and glanced at the picture of the woman. “You’re really gonna make me train her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I need more people who can do what you do, Charlie. Walk in there without a gun and bring people home.” JJ pointed at the file in her hand. “Read it. I think you’ll find it interesting. But if you think she can’t do it, then…”

  Charlie rolled her eyes and turned to leave. “See you in the morning.”

  The streets were quiet as she drove home to her empty apartment. She left the lights off and dropped the file onto the coffee table in her lounge. The bright city lights that shone on the other side of the glass were more than enough for her to see by. She poured herself a glass of locally brewed vodka, grateful she’d had the foresight to purchase the permit that allowed non-Muslims to drink liquor. The alcohol warmed her throa
t as she sipped and stared out the window, and the question that never stopped plaguing her rose again. Are you still out there, Hazaar?

  Chapter Two

  The North of England, then

  Charlie stared out the window and drummed her fingers nervously against her bag as she neared her destination. She glanced at her watch before dragging her hand through her curls and scratching absently at her scalp. She opened her bag again to check that the music she needed was still inside and hadn’t escaped, just to finish off her morning from hell.

  She’d set off for her audition an hour early to be sure she wouldn’t be late. She waited for her first bus, not concerned when it arrived ten minutes late because she had fifty to spare. While she waited for the next bus, the rain began. Not heavy rain that’s over in a few minutes, but rather a fine drizzle that was barely perceptible to the skin and had her drenched to the core in about thirty seconds flat. She’d rummaged through her bag but couldn’t find her umbrella, and with no shelter close by, all she could do was wait in the rain. She held her bag over her head, trying to stave off the explosion of frizz that would soon attack her hair and create an untamable mass. Her crisp white shirt was quickly heading into the realms of indecent, and her black pants were stuck to her legs. The truck that sped quickly through the large puddle that had formed at lightning speed in front of her made everything so much the worse.

  She needed to get to the Royal Northern College of Music and try to dry off a little before her audition, and precious time she should use to practice would be wasted in front of a hand dryer in the ladies’ bathroom. She began to softly hum the melody of her piece, going over the trickier parts in her head, hoping her voice would hold on the top note, right at the height of her range. Music calmed her, and right now, she needed to stay calm.

  The bus finally approached her stop, and she made her way to the front, her shirt and trousers stuck to her slim body and pulling uncomfortably with each move. The bus driver’s gaze raked over her, and when he eventually met her eyes and raised his eyebrows suggestively, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. Not even if she were desperate. She spent the journey staring out the window and ignoring the way he stared at her in his rearview mirror. When they arrived, she hurried down the steps before he could speak and ran for cover under the college awning.

  She made her way to the front desk and waited patiently as the receptionist held up her hand and answered the phone. Her nasal voice grated as she spoke into the mouthpiece.

  “Hello, Royal Northern College of Music, please hold.” She looked up and smiled at Charlie as she spoke. “How can I help you?”

  “I have an audition with Mr. Swallen.”

  “Of course, your name?”

  “Charlie. Charlie Porter.” The woman trailed her finger down the computer screen in front of her.

  “Ah, yes. Charlotte Porter. If you’ll take a seat, he’ll be ready for you in a few minutes.”

  “Can you tell me where the ladies’ room is, please?” Charlie motioned at her clothes, and the receptionist looked her up and down. She smiled slightly and nodded toward the far corner as she answered another call.

  Charlie turned around and made her way across the reception area, pushed open the door, and went straight to the dryer. She tried to angle the nozzle to dry off the front of her shirt, but it didn’t do any good. She looked over her shoulder and checked all the stalls were empty before she slid off her shirt. She held it under the dryer and kept listening for the door to open, not wanting to be caught topless. She jumped when she heard a creak outside and froze till the hot air started to burn her skin. No one came in, and she relaxed. The old building must be creaky in general. She drew in a breath quickly and moved her fingers, trying to speed up the drying as the fabric creased in her hands. She didn’t react to the next creak, sure it was nothing, just like before.

  She screamed and jumped when she looked in the mirror and saw someone moving behind her.

  The young woman’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry.”

  Charlie glanced at herself in the mirror. Her curls were somewhat wild, her trousers were stuck to her legs, and she clutched her shirt to her chest, dismayed that it wasn’t covering her bra. She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I got caught in the rain and I have an audition and I can’t go to it like this. I was just trying to dry off a bit, and it’s not going very well.” She tried to adjust her shirt to afford herself some modesty, with little success. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you.”

  “You’ll find the second one along is quicker.” She pointed to the next dryer. “It happens all the time. I’ve no idea why, but the second one always gets things dry quicker.”

  Charlie moved over and pressed the button. She kept her eyes focused on the task in hand and hoped the stranger would just move away and let her carry on.

  “Who’s your audition with?”

  “Mr. Swallen.” Charlie caught a glimpse of amused eyes watching her in the mirror as the young woman washed her hands and moved to the dryer next to her. Her arm brushed against Charlie’s as she reached out, and she shivered under the jolt of electricity that coursed through her, and her shirt flittered to the ground. They both squatted to pick it up. Charlie’s fingers trembled as she picked it up off the floor, and she couldn’t help but stare into the young woman’s eyes. They were chocolate brown with flecks of honey gathered around the pupils, and she licked her full lips with a deft flick of her tongue. They looked so soft Charlie wanted to reach out and touch them, to run her fingertips over their soft fullness, perhaps even taste them with her own.

  She shook her head to clear the fog, unable to recall anything the young woman had said as Charlie stared at her mouth. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  She smiled, those beautiful lips pulling back to reveal a row of even, white teeth. “I said, that must mean you’re a singer. He’s a good teacher. Hates people who sing show tunes at the auditions, though. He gets inundated with people singing songs from musicals. Anything else gets in without any problem. What are you singing?”

  Charlie wanted to groan as they stood up together, and she took in the full exotic Arabic beauty that stood in front of her. Mahogany dark hair hung in soft waves around her shoulders. Long, graceful fingers were still wrapped about her blouse, and Charlie could make out the full womanly curves beneath the flowing gypsy style skirt and blouse. “‘I Dreamed A Dream’ from Les Misérables.”

  The woman laughed and pointed to the shirt. “Might be best to leave it wet then.” She laughed harder, and her hair swayed as her head moved. “I’m just kidding. But your bra is just going to wet the shirt straight through again anyway.”

  Charlie sighed, knowing the woman was right. As soon she left, with a cheerful “good luck,” Charlie removed her sodden bra and tucked it into her bag before quickly redressing. She couldn’t get the woman’s face from her mind. The striking beauty she assumed to be Middle Eastern played on her mind as she went over and over each detail of the brief encounter, and she was shocked to find herself more turned on than she could remember being in a long, long time.

  The reception area was quiet when she left the bathroom, and she looked for the woman who had spoken to her, relieved when there was no sign of her. She let out the breath she was holding and made her way toward the chairs.

  “Miss Porter, Mr. Swallen is ready for you now.” The receptionist pointed to the door next to the reception desk that led to the main auditorium. Charlie paused before she walked through the doors, just long enough to push away the butterflies gathered in her stomach.

  “Make your way to the stage, please.” The deep male voice rumbled toward her from the front of the seating bank, disembodied from the person that never glanced in her direction. She walked slowly to the front of the huge room and up the steps onto the stage.

  “Thank you. Miss…?”

  “Porter. Charlie Porter.”

  “Thank you, Miss Porter. Now what have you prepared for us toda
y?” Charlie stuck her hand into her bag and pulled out her sheet music, the number from Les Misérables lying on the top. The words of the young woman in the bathroom echoed in her head, and she quickly shuffled the piece to the back and held on to the stack with trembling hands.

  “It’s a song called ‘Nightingale’ by Norah Jones.” She heard papers rustling and the creak of a chair.

  “Very well, an unusual choice of song, I must say. May I ask why you have chosen this piece?”

  “It’s a favourite of mine, a simple song with a beautiful melody. I just love to sing it.” She smiled as she spoke and gained confidence in her snap decision as she did so.

  “Give your music to the pianist, and when you’re ready, please begin.”

  She walked slowly toward the piano, and her hand shook as she neared. The woman from the bathroom grinned at her from her seat on the piano bench.

  “Do you want me to play it in the key it’s written?”

  Charlie nodded, then cleared her throat. “Yes, please.”

  “No problem, and don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I’m very good at keeping secrets.” The woman winked and took the shaking pages from her hand. She laid them out quickly as Charlie returned to centre stage. The first chord rang from the piano and held in the air, twisting on the breeze of the air-conditioning unit. Her eyes closed as her lips formed the first sounds of the song and gave life to the simple words.

  The piano followed her effortlessly; the chords danced about the auditorium, and her voice caressed every note.

  It was over much too quickly. The piano’s notes faded as her voice drifted to a whisper, and she let her head fall to her chest. A small applause sounded from the seating bank.

  “Very refreshing, Miss Porter, thank you very much. I’ll have an answer for you quickly, I’m sure.”

  She could make out the faint scratching of a pencil against paper as she walked to the piano to collect her music.