by Jagger, Kait
‘Okay?’ Stefan asked, squeezing Tilly’s shoulder and kissing Luna’s forehead, gathering them to him. ‘Okay?’
Behind them, the house groaned in lament as fire devoured it, blazing up into the cold night sky.
*
At just gone eight the following morning Luna and Stefan exited their Land Rover to behold the devastated, smouldering ruins of the Dower House. Two fire engines were still parked outside and a number of firefighters were hard at work making the site safe, but there was nothing left, save for a pathetic skeleton of charred timbers and the blackened stone archway where the front door had once stood.
Stefan had saved their lives by turning them back from that door, according to the fire chief. Ironically, renovation work to install secondary glazing and fireproofing had turned the entry hall into a deathtrap. All it would have taken was a sudden influx of oxygen to spark a fatal flashover. In the end, the firefighting crew had to hack a hole in the roof to ventilate the house before they could safely combat the blaze, a delay that had spelled the Dower House’s doom.
Stefan and Luna, meanwhile, had spent the rest of the night in the local hospital’s A&E department, ensuring that Tilly and subsequently Helen, who collapsed in nervous exhaustion, were looked after. Luna had had to look away as Helen wept uncontrollably into Stefan’s chest, thanking him over and over for rescuing her daughter. Tilly, in contrast, recovered with remarkable alacrity, holding court from her hospital bed, delivering a concise and chilling account of the events preceding the fire.
No, she said, she hadn’t brought a candle or matches with her. She hadn’t thought any further than getting to the Dower House, teaching her mother a lesson. And there’d been no sign of fire or smoke when she snuck her way in the back door. That had come later, after she’d settled herself on her sleeping bag in the master bedroom and begun to have second thoughts about the wisdom of running away. She’d been on the verge of phoning home when she heard voices downstairs. Men, two of them she thought, speaking in a foreign language. Moving fast and making a great deal of noise, banging things around, before departing on foot.
‘And then I smelled smoke,’ Tilly said, yawning and looking up at Luna. ‘And you came.’
Standing with Stefan on a patch of muddy grass that had been trampled by the firemen, Luna stared disbelievingly at the ruins before her. The house where she had drunk wine with him in the kitchen, curled up on his lap in the living room, made love with him in Margery’s bed… all gone now.
‘Accelerants,’ Stefan rasped, his voice still hoarse from smoke. Luna wrinkled her brow and he added, ‘I smelled chemicals in the front hallway. And this fire, it went up too fast.’
‘Arson, then.’
‘Yes.’
The blood drained from Luna’s face. ‘Putinov… would he go this far?’
‘It appears so.’ Stefan turned to face her, taking her hands in his. She winced and he turned over her palm to reveal the blisters where she’d been scalded by the iron door latch. With a fraught growl he gripped her shoulders and gave her a shake, gritting out, ‘You are never to do something as stupid as running into a burning building again, do you understand? Next time you phone me.’ Another shake. ‘You wait for help.’ His voice broke. ‘What if you’d—’
‘I almost didn’t hear her,’ Luna whispered, stopping him dead. She looked up at him, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I almost didn’t hear Tilly calling for help, Stefan. I almost didn’t hear her.’
She choked off, hysteria threatening, and Stefan pulled her into his arms. ‘But you did,’ he said, holding her close, burying his nose in her smoky hair. ‘You heard her, and we saved her.’
Chapter Fifteen
And then Stefan fell off the edge of the world. One moment, he and Luna were collapsing in bed, too exhausted to even bathe, the next she woke to find him freshly showered, dressed in black jeans and a grey jumper, packing his leather duffle bag.
‘What?’ she mumbled blearily. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ve had a message from the Russian,’ he said. ‘Lowering his offering price for Arborage due to possible smoke damage.’
Luna bolted up in bed. ‘That bastard!’ she seethed. ‘What can I do? How can I help?’
Stefan sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her seriously. ‘You can help by not helping.’ Luna stiffened, opening her mouth to protest, but he raised a hand. ‘Listen carefully, flicka. That bastard makes his living doing bad, illegal things. In order to stop him, I may have to do bad, illegal things.’
‘But, the police,’ she said haplessly. ‘Surely…’
He gave her a quelling look and she read his thoughts: the police would be of no help, not with a monster like Putinov. He went on calmly, ‘For your sake, for Arborage’s, I need you to be separate from this. Plausible deniability, in case things go awry. Matthias is flying in tomorrow and I have given him carte blanche to make improvements to our security arrangements.’ Luna opened her mouth again, but Stefan cut her off. ‘You are to do everything he says. Everything, Luna. Then, when he’s finished here, he will join me.’
‘Join you where?’ Luna asked, voice high and anxious. Everything was moving too fast, her whole world tilting on its axis.
Stefan lowered his head to hers. ‘Plausible deniability, flicka. Don’t ask where I’m going. Don’t phone me. Don’t text me. If anyone asks, tell them I’m in Stockholm dealing with a family situation. When I’ve done what I need to do, I’ll be in touch. And then I think—’ He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘—I think I will never want to be parted from you again.’ He smiled and kissed her. ‘I will expect a wedding date from you then, yes?’
Help by not helping.
Of course, he hadn’t meant that, not entirely. For Stefan’s absence placed the full weight of handling the fire’s aftermath – overseeing the clean-up, dealing with the police, fire investigators, the insurance company, the media, the board of trustees, not to mention distraught staff and volunteers – all of it, squarely on Luna’s shoulders. Arson, the word on all their lips. On Florian Wellstone’s too, when he conducted a round of interviews with the press insinuating that Stefan’s poor stewardship and lax security at the estate had invited the attack.
Thank heavens for Mika’s friend with the society magazine, who produced a sympathetic sidebar about the fire to go alongside the cover story on the Robert and Margery party. Thank heavens, too, for Helen and Mark’s agreement that Tilly’s rescue from the Dower House should be kept quiet, another detail of the attack that Stefan deemed necessary to conceal.
Somehow Luna kept these and other plates spinning over the lonely, difficult days that followed. Working long days, much of them spent out and about on the estate, she fell back on old habits, coping with the strain by pretending to be someone else, cloaking herself in the persona of the calmest, most logical, most Swedishly unflappable man she knew.
A bitter pill, then, that the man Stefan sent to help her proved to be the biggest challenge to her equilibrium. Matthias Salonen rubbed Luna in all the wrong ways from the moment he arrived on the estate two days after the fire. Starting as he clearly meant to go on, he immediately annexed Stefan’s office for his personal use, commandeering her staff and usurping control of her security team. Never had she more bitterly regretted her decision to remove the door between Stefan’s office and her own than she did now, forced to endure him prowling around like a white tiger in the anteroom, holding meetings and making calls in a mixture of English, Finnish and Swedish.
It was transference, she privately acknowledged to herself on his third day there, when the two of them sat glowering at each other over dinner in the staff canteen. Pained as she was to admit it, she was vexed not so much by him but by all he represented; the danger that seemed to be encroaching on Arborage from all sides, the strictures that had been placed on her life, the absence of Stefan, and the terrible, needl
ess loss of the Dower House.
It didn’t help, of course, that Matthias possessed all of his youngest brother’s worst characteristics – his curtness, his imperiousness, his infuriating assumption that he knew best – without any of Mika’s leavening humour or kindness.
Now, for example, when all she wanted to do was eat a quick, quiet meal and get back to her desk, he insisted on questioning her about her movements. Did she really need to attend a conference in Bath the following week? Could she not delay a planned trip to Loch Lomond to meet with Gus? Yes and no, she replied bluntly.
‘Then we should consider hiring a bodyguard to go with you,’ he said.
‘I don’t need a minder,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not a child.’
‘Then stop acting like one,’ he snapped right back, the scar on his cheekbone glowing white against his tan skin. ‘By refusing to take reasonable precautions, you make yourself a pointless distraction for Stefan.’
‘“Pointless distraction”, eh?’ Luna said coldly, gracing him with an icy stare straight out of Hallviken. ‘I’ll tell you what, you do your job, and I’ll do mine.’
Really, she thought as she swept out of the canteen, transference or not, this was too much. If the eldest Salonen brother thought she was going to change one iota of her schedule, or her behaviour, or herself to suit him he could Fuck. Right. Off.
Working in such close proximity to Matthias, Luna was certain he was monitoring her conversations, so when Nancy’s name flashed up on her mobile the following day she didn’t hesitate to step out of the office into the hallway beyond.
‘Nan!’ she answered in a glad whisper.
‘Hey there, Firestarter,’ came Nancy’s familiar rasp. ‘Save any small children or animals today?’
Luna groaned softly, glancing at the open door to the anteroom. ‘I miss you,’ she said, apropos of nothing.
‘Well, little lady,’ Nancy replied, ‘I got the cure for that.’
Two hours later, Luna emerged onto the upper floor of Dumbarton House, the London members club to which Stefan and Nancy belonged, to find her friend tucked into a corner table, her phone, laptop and tablet arrayed before her.
Nancy looked up, her eyes crinkling behind her wire-rimmed glasses. ‘Still delivering packages, I see,’ she joked, taking in Luna’s Gore-Tex suit and biker boots. It had been a small act of rebellion, bringing her Enduro out of winter retirement to sneak out of the estate behind Matthias’s back. Nancy, by contrast, was immaculate as always in a black designer dress and Hermès scarf, and she was such a welcome sight that when she stood, Luna flung her arms around her, kissing her full on the lips.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Luna asked shortly thereafter when they sat with cakes and a pot of Darjeeling between them, Nancy’s taste in comestibles being even more English than the Queen’s.
Her friend lifted her shoulders. ‘A bit of this, a bit of that. Not a word to Jem and Kay about seeing me, by the way. I’m back on a plane first thing tomorrow.’
‘Aww,’ Luna smiled. ‘But you found time for me.’
Nancy squinted at Luna and shook her head. ‘Of course I did. I’m worried about you.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that you almost burned to death, that you’ve got some Russian gangster threatening you, and your boyfriend chooses now to go on vacation.’
‘Stefan’s not on vacation,’ Luna contradicted.
‘He’s gone, Lou. He’s gone and he’s left you to clean up after his family’s mess, as usual. It’s too much to ask of you. This time last year you were just a PA.’ Nancy stopped herself, realising too late she’d misspoken when Luna arched a cool eyebrow at her. ‘I didn’t mean…’
‘I know what you meant,’ Luna said quietly. ‘But I’m okay, Nan. Stefan asked me to deal with this because he knows I can, and because he’s got more important things to do.’
‘More important than you,’ Nancy retorted bitterly. Not a question, but a damning indictment. ‘When you broke up with him last year, you told me it was because you weren’t sure you came first in his life. From where I sit—’
‘Nancy.’
‘—From where I sit, it doesn’t look like anything’s changed. You’ll never come first with him.’
Luna raised a hand, slicing it through the air. ‘You’re going to have to stop, Nan,’ she said firmly. It was… too much, having Nancy give words to her simmering dislike of Stefan. Eager to put the conversation back on an even keel, Luna added in a lighter tone, ‘Besides, he’s left me with a little helper,’ going on to enumerate all the ways Matthias Salonen drove her round the twist.
The mood between them lifted after that. They spoke of Nancy’s family, of Jem and Kayla, and of Nancy’s on-off boyfriend Robert, a photographer for whom she’d just secured an assignment taking pictures at one of her client’s weddings. ‘He was pissy about it at first, going on about selling out and his “art”, but his art doesn’t pay the bills.’
Noting that Nancy sounded remarkably detached about the man whose cheating ways had once driven her to set fire to his bed, Luna tilted her head. ‘You and Robert…?’
Another shrug. ‘Catch and release, baby. I’m enjoying life as a free agent at the moment.’
They parted with another hug and a kiss, their earlier acrimony forgotten. Luna was preoccupied on her way out of the club, mentally mapping her route home and girding her loins for another fun evening with Matthias, so she almost missed James McGregor sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, checking his texts. He was looking very nice indeed in black trousers and a coral cashmere jumper that might have jarred on a man less at ease with his metrosexuality.
Luna thought about stopping to say hello. Then considered the strong possibility that the text he was looking was from Nancy, indicating that the coast was clear. ‘Free agent’ her arse, Luna thought, heading for the stairs.
The M4 west was gridlocked, stop and go as far as the eye could see; never a pleasant experience for a biker. She spent most of the drive home weaving a path through the stationary lanes of traffic, occasionally revving her engine to warn cars of her approach, braking hard when some oblivious driver switched lanes in front of her. Then, just as she got through the worst of the jam, the heavens opened and transformed the motorway into a treacherous slick of oily water and spray kicked up by lorries.
She would never, upon pain of death, admit that Stefan was right to disapprove – as he most vocally did – of these little jaunts into London on the Enduro, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she finally exited onto the B road that led to Arborage. Unfortunately, even the B road presented a challenge in the fading light, wet and full of twists and turns.
Luna was about two miles out from the estate when she saw the Mercedes G Wagen in her mirrors, tailing her dangerously close. She grimaced inside her helmet. Since being forced off this very road into a hedge just over a year ago, she’d become a little militant about tailgating, and this was beyond the pale. If he – and she knew it had to be a he behind the wheel, doubtless some jumped-up City boy whose choice of vehicle compensated for his anatomical failings – would just be patient, they’d be through the worst of this twisty bit and she could pick up speed.
But no, when she braked for a corner he came right up behind her, so close he practically touched her bumper. And then he – oh, the bloody tosser – switched on his brights, filling her mirrors with blinding light. What the fuck was he playing at?
Luna considered the road ahead of her, which she knew like the back of her hand; a half-mile stretch of straight tarmac to go before the final hairpin turn close to the entrance of the estate. Smiling grimly inside her helmet, she steeled her shoulders, bent down over her handlebars, and gunned it.
The G Wagen careered out of the hairpin turn moments later and screeched to an abrupt halt in front of the Enduro blocking the
road, parked at an angle across the tarmac. Standing in the grass verge with hands on hips, its rider wasted no time in storming up to the heavily tinted driver’s-side window, flipping the visor of her helmet back and slamming her gloved fist on the glass. Immediately there came a whirr of the window motor, glass sliding down to reveal a pale, acne-scarred face staring back at her.
Luna blinked. Putinov had sent his thugs back here, to the gates of Arborage, to Stefan’s very doorstep. The image of the Dower House in flames sprung into her mind, and the sound of Tilly’s terrified voice. They’ll get us if we go down there. A torrent of ice-cold fury flooded her veins.
‘Step out of there, you fucking bastard,’ she spat. ‘Show me what a big man you are.’
Both doors of the G Wagen opened simultaneously and he and his lantern-jawed comrade hurled themselves out, converging on her in a rush. Luna rocked up onto her tiptoes, jabbing her finger at the driver’s chest, but she never made contact. Instead, she found herself flailing in mid-air, lifted off her feet.
With a furious curse, Matthias flung her like a sack of potatoes into the arms of the security guard behind him. ‘Take her to the gatehouse,’ he ordered, and turned to face Putinov’s henchmen. A brief stand-off ensued between him and them, which Luna was forced to observe whilst pacing back and forth inside the gatehouse, but eventually the two Russian men got back in their Mercedes and drove away.
And oh the shame of being questioned outside the gatehouse by Matthias, who now clearly thought she was insane. ‘And this seemed a good idea to you, challenging the driver of a four-ton truck?’ he enquired phlegmatically, taking a drag on his cigarette. ‘Tell me, what outcome did you hope to achieve?’
‘I—’ She hesitated, studying her boots. ‘I wasn’t really thinking of an outcome. I was just… angry.’