The Hornbeam Tree

by Susan Lewis

She laughed too, remembering how she’d been so helpless at the time she couldn’t even point the camera.

  ‘And what about the spectacular entrance you made when we arrived?’ he reminded her.

  Closing her eyes she started to laugh again, for as they’d walked into the hotel she’d twisted her ankle, buckled to the floor, and rolled sideways down the steps into the lobby. Elliot hadn’t stopped laughing for a week, and he was laughing again now.

  There were other amusing incidents and people they’d come across during their trip, which led them on to other places they’d visited, or people they knew, until inevitably they found themselves talking about the time they’d spent at Max Erwin’s place in Mexico. It was where they’d made love for the first time, in the candle-lit courtyard of Max’s exquisite hideaway villa, where the vast tropical plants drooped over the pool like mystical guardians, while the gloriously triumphant arias of Puccini had urged them to even greater heights of shared bliss.

  ‘I’d like to go there again, wouldn’t you?’ she murmured, turning to look at him.

  His eyes rested on hers, then dropped to her mouth as she came forward to kiss him.

  He didn’t kiss her back, so she kissed him again, until finally she felt him starting to respond. Then he wrapped her deeply into his arms and kissed her for a long, long time, holding her close and feeling her desire pulling like a magnet at his own. Everything about her felt so right, and so profoundly his that he knew it would be the easiest thing in the world now to lift her in his arms and carry her up to bed. His hand moved to her legs and began to smooth the bare skin of her thighs. As he felt them part the temptation to move his hand higher was so intense that making it stop was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He wanted her so badly, but tomorrow she was likely to be in the bed of another man, and until that was resolved he wouldn’t allow himself to make love to her again. So pulling away he gazed down into her eyes and said, ‘I have some calls I need to make.’

  For a moment she seemed dazed, as though she hadn’t heard him, but as he eased her gently from his lap she moved aside and buried her face in her hands. ‘I just don’t understand you,’ she said, as he got up.

  He waited for her to look up at him, then in a voice heavy with meaning he said, ‘I think you do.’

  He started to walk away, heading for his study.

  ‘Can we at least sleep together tonight?’ she asked. ‘Just sleep.’

  ‘I’ve already made up the guest bed for myself,’ he told her, and carried on walking.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘YOU FANCY HIM, don’t you?’ Molly teased.

  ‘Who?’ Katie winced at the elbow in her side as Molly made herself more comfy in the bed beside her.

  ‘You know who. I saw you last night, when we were having dinner, laughing at all his jokes and speaking in that funny voice …’

  ‘What funny voice?’

  ‘The one you always put on when you fancy someone. You should hear yourself, you go all like, posh and witty and blah …’

  ‘I’m always like that,’ Katie protested, laughing.

  ‘Yeah, but you still fancy him.’

  ‘Of course I don’t.’

  ‘Of course you doooo!’

  Katie gasped as Molly started to tickle her. ‘Stop it! Stop,’ she cried, trying to push her away.

  ‘Not until you admit it. Say, I fancy Tom Chambers.’

  ‘Ssh, someone’ll hear you.’

  ‘Like who? It’s not even eight o’clock and we’re the only ones here.’ And feeling like, so released because Michelle wasn’t there, and so able to breathe again, she wrapped her arms round her mother and hugged her hard.

  ‘Ow! What was that for?’ Katie grimaced, wishing she’d taken her morphine already, because the pain was quite bad this morning and she didn’t want to get up yet.

  ‘It was just for nothing,’ Molly told her.

  Turning on to her side so she could see her better, Katie said, ‘So tell me about this Brad.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Molly protested, blushing. ‘We’re not changing the subject until you admit you fancy Tom.’

  Assuming one of her best long-suffering looks, designed to tell someone of fourteen that they were right in what they’d picked up on, but wrong in the way they’d interpreted it, Katie said, ‘He’s a very attractive man, and I like him a lot, but even you must have noticed he’s mad about Michelle and …’

  ‘Do you reckon he’ll take her with him when he goes?’ Molly jumped in. ‘It would be so cool if he did, wouldn’t it? We’d be like, just you and me again, the way it used to be. It’s better like that, isn’t it? I mean, I know like, Michelle’s your sister, and all that, and she’s company for you, but this place isn’t really big enough for all of us, is it?’

  Katie’s heart weighed heavily as she looked into Molly’s pretty green eyes, that, ironically, were so like Michelle’s and so unable to disguise all the inner turmoil she was trying to suppress. If ever there was a right time to tell her the truth it was probably now, she realized, while no-one else was around and wouldn’t be for several hours, until Tom and Michelle came back for lunch. So could she muster the words? Was she able to tell Molly right now why Michelle had to stay, and why nothing was going to be the same again?

  Almost as though sensing what was coming, Molly started to draw back. At the same instant a giant fist of pain clenched Katie’s insides. She gasped, and quickly turned it into a laugh as Molly paled. ‘Come here,’ she growled playfully, starting to tickle her. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  ‘No! Stop! Stop!’ Molly cried, laughing.

  ‘Not unless you go and make some tea and bring up the paper.’

  ‘All right! All right! Anything, just stop … tickling …’

  Katie let her go, and grinned as she watched her catch her breath.

  ‘You know what would be really cool,’ Molly said, rolling on to her back and staring up at the ceiling, ‘is if Michelle went and Tom stayed.’

  ‘Molly! Will you get it out of your head that I fancy Tom. I told you …’

  ‘I know, I know, but it would be cool, wouldn’t it? I mean, we could be like a family, and then you might stop flirting with everyone and embarrassing me.’

  Katie exploded with laughter. ‘I do not flirt,’ she protested.

  ‘Oh, excuse me. What about that time with Elliot Russell? Oh my God, I wanted to die.’

  Katie was still laughing. ‘Actually, if anyone was flirting with Tom last night, I think it was you.’

  Molly was totally grossed out. ‘Oh puhleeze,’ she snorted. ‘He’s old enough to be my grandfather.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Katie responded. ‘Not even close, in fact.’

  ‘Well, he’s definitely old.’

  Though Katie was still smiling, the pain was forming such a grip on her now that she could hardly think past it. She closed her eyes and held herself rigid as she waited for it to peak, knowing she should breathe through it, but she couldn’t with Molly there. At the top she thought she might scream it was so bad, but mercifully, after a moment or two, it started slowly to shrink back, and not long after that she was able to say, in a voice that was only slightly shredded, ‘Where’s that tea? I’m gasping.’

  Springing out of bed, Molly charged off down the stairs, Trotty at her heels, while Katie forced herself up and into the bathroom. The fact that the pain was so bad this soon after the chemo top-up was scaring her badly, though she tried to take comfort from the fact that she was rarely this late with her drugs.

  After swilling down the morphine, followed by the anti-emetics, then the megace, she stood over the sink waiting for the fiery swords inside to blunt, and finally fade. It was several minutes before she could lift her head, or even move a muscle, but finally as the morphine started to take effect she was able to inhale a deep, shuddering breath and look in the mirror. Thanks to the fake tan she’d used for her interview she didn’t look as bad as she felt, though the yellowness o
f her eyes seemed much more noticeable this morning, and her lips were bloodless and cracked.

  Improving that with water and a faint smear of lipstick, she took another deep breath and started back to the bedroom. As she reached the landing she could hear Molly clattering about downstairs, while singing along to the radio, and chatting to Trotty. She paused for a moment to listen, and pictured her dancing about in her white lacy tank top and thin pyjama bottoms, thinking she was the coolest thing ever to hit fourteen. Was she really planning to decimate the poor child’s rare good mood with the worst news imaginable? Tom was fairly certain he’d have to leave by tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest, so why spoil what little time he was here? It wasn’t as if she was going to pop her clogs in the next twenty-four hours, or even the next week – perhaps even month … Aha, there was that old devil hope again, batting around in the positive court, and knocking back the horizons every time it took a swipe.

  Going to snuggle back under the duvet she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift as the pain continued to subside. Michelle’s talk at the village hall had gone down well last night, and everyone had been delighted to have Tom join in. Molly, predictably, had muttered that Michelle was dead boring – though she’d looked fascinated enough – but it seemed Tom could do no wrong in her eyes, and for that, at least, Katie was thankful. Tom was going to play a big part in Molly’s life, Katie was sure of it, because one look at Michelle’s flushed and happy face last night was enough to tell her that something had been decided between them. Katie suspected, hoped, it was the commitment Michelle longed for, and that would give Molly the family and stability she needed.

  After a while her thoughts moved on to Laurie and how things might have gone with Elliot last night. It was easy to imagine it all working out between them, for she didn’t doubt that they still loved each other, but would that be enough in the end? She certainly hoped so, though if the past few months had taught her anything, it was that life had a peculiar way of changing the course just when you were least expecting it. Actually, she wouldn’t mind it changing course for her right now, but since that was unlikely to happen, she’d pluck herself from the shallows of self-pity, and plump up the pillows a bit, because Molly was trudging up the stairs with breakfast. In fact, she was starting to feel a bit peckish, she realized, so the megace must be motoring home to the right address.

  Putting the tray on the bed, Molly tucked one leg under her as she sat down next to it and began to pour out the tea. After passing a cup to her mother she sat chewing on the side of her thumbnail, while Katie spread out the paper.

  ‘What’s going on in that head of yours?’ Katie asked, scanning the editorial page.

  Molly shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yes it is, so come on, out with it. I expect it’s Brad, so I want to hear all about him.’

  ‘It’s not Brad,’ Molly protested. ‘If you must know, I was thinking that it really would be cool if Tom could stay here, and Michelle could be the one to go.’

  With a sinking heart Katie looked up and fixed her with implacable eyes. ‘Michelle’s staying,’ she said gently.

  Molly flushed and quickly picked up her toast. ‘You’re not eating yours,’ she said, passing a slice to Katie.

  Katie took it, and started to eat, wondering what was really cooking in those frontal lobes of her daughter’s, for she surely wasn’t telling herself that a relationship with Tom Chambers was possible. ‘Are you going to help me with lunch?’ she said after a while.

  Molly sighed. ‘OK, but do I have to stay?’

  Katie looked at her in surprise.

  Molly’s expression was already moulding itself round a begging sort of protest. ‘Oh Mum,’ she cried, before Katie could even speak. ‘Please! You know I hate Sunday roast, and I said I’d go over to Allison’s to watch EastEnders, because I haven’t seen it all week, and she’s got this new DVD with all these pop videos …’

  ‘But Tom and Michelle are coming. I thought you’d want to see Tom …’

  ‘I do, but he’ll probably still be here when I get back so I can see him then. Oh, please, Mum, please.’

  Katie was frowning suspiciously. ‘Is this Brad going to be there?’ she asked. ‘Is that why you’re so keen to go?’

  ‘No! I swear. I just want to go over there. And you know what you’re like, when you all get together. It’ll be the same as last night, you’ll just talk about politics and boring stuff like that, so you don’t want me hanging around.’

  Having to concede that it probably wouldn’t be much fun for Molly when they became engrossed in all the research again, which they inevitably would, she said, ‘OK, just stay and say hello, and at least have a starter.’

  ‘All right,’ Molly agreed, and climbing back into bed next to Katie she rested her head on her shoulder and started flicking through the Review.

  Stuart Fellowes was with DI Jack Wilding at Paddington Green police station. They were waiting for the arrest warrant to come through that would allow them to pick up Tom Chambers, who they now knew was holed up with his girlfriend in a Wiltshire hotel. Unofficially Fellowes was running the show, which wasn’t sitting well with Wilding, but the man would just have to swallow it. Britain might be his territory, but this was predominantly America’s war, and Chambers was one of theirs.

  The instructions were to keep it low key. No SWAT teams, no sirens, and as few uniforms as possible. They already had a satellite positioning on both locations – the hotel and the girlfriend’s home – knew how long it would take to get there, and had just primed the nearest safe facility to be ready for Chambers once they had him. An advance team of two was on its way down the M4 now to stake the place out and keep Fellowes and Wilding in touch with what was happening on the ground.

  Slouched in his chair, Fellowes looked at the clock. Ten thirty-six. That would put it at five thirty-six a.m. in Washington. Someone had to be out of bed though, to have sent the email telling him a warrant was being prepared for Chambers’s arrest, so he needed to get himself over to Paddington and be ready to move.

  So he was here, and ready, and now Fellowes would like to know what the hell was taking them so long.

  Not much more than a mile away, at SIS HQ in Vauxhall Cross, Michael Dalby, Sir Christopher Malton and Edmund Foxe-Randall, the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff, were engaged in a highly secure video-conference call to Washington. At the other end were Daniel Allbringer, Deborah Gough, and the deputy director of the FBI, Stanley Jacobs.

  ‘I repeat,’ Dalby was saying, ‘to pick him up in this country is asking for trouble. The press will be straight on it, and if you’re not ready to back up those charges …’

  ‘He’s carrying the evidence,’ Allbringer interrupted, ‘we just need to make sure he’s in possession when they make the arrest. Or that it’s in the vicinity.’

  ‘And if it’s not?’

  ‘Our guys can deal with it. Once he’s in custody, he won’t be your problem.’

  ‘Do you have a press statement ready?’ Foxe-Randall enquired.

  ‘It’s being worked on now. It’ll be finished by the time it’s needed. Now, you’re certain Russell, Forbes and van Zant are all in London?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Dalby confirmed. ‘But let me remind you again that if you want to do this out of sight of the press you’re choosing the wrong location. Katie Kiernan, the girlfriend’s sister, isn’t only one of them, but in her time she was extremely influential, not least of all with the public. Add to that the fact that she’s a single mother dying of cancer, then you tell me if you think that’s the house to go storming into.’

  ‘It won’t be necessary if Chambers is still at the hotel,’ Deborah Gough stated. ‘And let’s not forget, gentlemen, this man has a long track record of associating with terrorists, and since he’s currently carrying evidence of a plot to attack one of your nuclear sites I don’t see what the hell difference it makes where we pick him up.’

  The three men in Dalby’s office exc
hanged glances. The woman had obviously made up her mind about this. She wanted Chambers in custody, which none of them had a problem with, but for as long as he was on their territory they were going to be answerable to the House and the British public – and with Elliot Russell asking the questions, they had to be damned certain they could make this stand up.

  ‘We need to see the press statement and the warrant,’ Foxe-Randall stated. ‘Until then, no-one moves.’

  Laurie and Elliot were walking hand in hand along the river path, heading towards Tate Modern. It was a chilly, dull morning, so they both wore coats and scarves, and in Laurie’s case dark glasses to mask her tired eyes. She hadn’t slept well, and she didn’t think Elliot had either, for the light in the guest room had been on when she’d gone downstairs to get a drink around three, and he’d been up before her this morning, because he’d brought her tea and croissants in bed.

  He’d stayed to eat with her, and had linked his fingers through hers as they’d talked, but when she’d allowed the strap of her nightie to slide off her shoulder, almost revealing a breast, he’d merely lifted it up again, and after kissing her briefly on the mouth had picked up the tray and carried it back downstairs.

  That his willpower was so unshakable was unsettling her badly, though for the moment they’d put their relationship problems on hold in order to discuss what Tom’s next moves were going to be.

  ‘Chris is already on standby to whisk him over to France,’ Elliot was saying. ‘He’ll leave tonight, or in the morning, and I’ll join him in a couple of days, down at Jean-Jacques’ place in Burgundy.’

  Remembering the long weekends they’d spent at the quaint little cottage at the edge of a tiny hamlet, Laurie said, ‘Don’t forget Jean-Jacques always expects the best wine to be left after he’s loaned the place out.’

  Elliot smiled. ‘Considering the location, that’s never a problem,’ he responded. Then bringing them back to today, ‘What time is Nick expecting you?’

  ‘Around one,’ she answered, managing to keep her voice as neutral as his.