The Conor McBride Series Books 1-3

by Kathryn Guare

  “Don’t be afraid anymore,” she said softly. “This means I’ve forgiven you.”

  A minute later, they separated at the sound of a slight cough behind them.

  “Sorry for interrupting, only I didn’t want to leave the impression of being late.”

  Conor sat back on the steps and looked up at Winnie, surprised by how pleased he was to see him. Even now, after he’d bungled the assignment of watching Ghorbani—a basic task for someone in the business of surveillance—it was hard not to like the guy and feel some protective concern for his hapless vulnerability.

  Their onetime stalker appeared weary and rumpled but otherwise unscathed by the adventure in Hřensko. He seemed pleased to see them as well—particularly Kate. He shyly bowed his head to her and she returned his greeting with an affectionate smile.

  “How are you then, Winnie?” Conor asked. “Bit of a head this morning?”

  Obviously still smarting from his failure, the man’s pale cheeks colored. “I won’t deny it. I should have known the schnapps would be a mistake.” He gave a rueful shrug. “I’ve let me self down as well as you, and I’m ashamed of it.”

  “Don’t take it so hard,” Kate said. “You did your best. None of us expected him to disappear.”

  Conor smiled at her tenderhearted absolution, but added his own reassurance. “You’re not the only one to blame either. I gave him too much information and he reacted badly to it. Lesson learned for all of us.” He gave the strap of Kate’s shoulder bag a gentle tug. “I vote we let him go home. What do you say?”

  “I think he’s earned it.”

  They rose together, and when she presented his passport Winnie hesitated, appearing oddly reluctant to accept it, but then he took it from her hands with another bob of gratitude, and handed back Kate’s phone.

  “I suppose the arsehole’s still missing? He’s not turned up in the meantime?”

  “No sign of him yet,” Conor confirmed.

  Winnie’s face grew thoughtful as he fanned the pages of the passport. “You’re decent people, not a bit how the Zimmer House bloke described you, and not up to anything like the things he was expecting. I’m to send him a report of all the money you’ve spent over here—liquor tabs from restaurants and nightclubs, lists of the shops you’ve visited and the price paid for all the fancy rubbish you buy—room service bills, that sort of thing.”

  “Room service,” Kate echoed. “It sounds like a fantastic trip. I wish we were on it.”

  “So do I.” Winnie gave her a dispirited glance and looked down at the ground. “The thing is, I don’t feel happy about making trouble for you, but I can’t tell him what you’re really doing can I? When I got home, the black cars would be coming for me by the time I reached Cricklewood.”

  “They’d be waiting for you at the airport,” Conor said. He thought it unlikely they’d be doing anything of the sort, but a healthy fear of consequences seemed important to reinforce and he was beginning to understand where all this was headed. “I get the drift. You’re on the horns of a dilemma and you want us to help.”

  Winnie looked relieved. “I’d be grateful for assistance—if you’re willing?”

  “Sure why not? We’ve nothing else on our minds today, but let’s walk for a bit.” He looked at Kate. “I feel like we’ve been here long enough.”

  “Amen to that,” she agreed immediately. “Which direction?”

  “You’re the one with the city map stitched inside your eyelids. We’re following you.”

  As they descended the stairs with Winnie trailing after them, Conor swept a final gaze over the church, fixing it in his mind as the site of another lesson learned which would be painful to remember but too important to forget.

  They walked in the direction of the restaurant where they were meeting Eckhard for lunch and ended up in a quiet park overlooking the river. It was close to one o’clock and the sun was hot and bright, sparkling on the water and winking off the windows of the Old Town buildings on the opposite bank.

  Sitting on a park bench with Winnie sandwiched in the middle, they faced the river and Conor bluntly described the issue.

  “Stop me if I go off track with this. I’d assumed Zimmer House hired you as a precaution to protect Kate’s safety, which is insulting enough to both of us, but that wasn’t even the point, was it? Guido Brottman wants hard evidence of my unscrupulous motives, and without it you’re afraid of not being paid for the trouble you’ve taken.”

  Without denying the facts, Winnie quibbled with the characterization. “It’s the expenses that mainly concern me, of course. Air tickets and hotels, car hire—it’s not cheap, Prague, and I had to draw on funds not strictly my own. Funds that are expected back with interest. Within a strict timeframe.”

  “You’re in trouble with a loan shark.”

  Perspiring lightly, Winnie loosened his collar and stretched his neck. “I engaged a firm which provides assistance on short notice.”

  Kate abruptly shifted on the bench with a choking grunt. Conor was tempted to continue on this farcical line to tickle an outright laugh out of her but decided to cut to the chase.

  “So what are you suggesting here, Winnie—extortion? No. All right,” he said, responding to the man’s wordless horror. “Then I expect you’re hoping to finish the job without staining our reputation, but I don’t see how. We can’t let you keep following us.”

  “Nor would I want to,” Winnie quickly replied. “I’ve had my fill of that, but I was thinking perhaps I could offer my services, a sort of transferred allegiance, if you take my meaning.”

  “You want to work for us?” Kate’s amazement was transparent and Conor chimed in, equally incredulous.

  “Doing what, for fuck’s sake?”

  After turning his head back and forth between them with a force threatening whiplash, Winnie braced his hands on his thin knees. He stood up and turned to address them both at once.

  “It’s not only a matter of finances,” he said with careful dignity. “It’s a matter of pride, really. I know I’ve done nothing to impress, but I’m not half the dozy muppet you think and I’d like the chance to prove it.”

  “Fair enough,” Conor conceded. “But again, by doing what?”

  “By tracking down this bloke Farid. It seems he was important to you, but now he’s done a runner and unless I’m wrong you’ve made no plan to find him.”

  Conor exchanged a long look with Kate. He was absolutely right. They hadn’t forgotten about Ghorbani, but there were too many balls in the air at this point and he had pretty much tossed that one off to the side.

  “How—” Kate stopped, apparently questioning her authority to pursue the idea, but Conor urged her to continue. He was game for a little more insanity if she was. “How would you go about it?”

  “He left his jacket behind,” Winnie said, pleased to be taken seriously. “I found a hotel room key in the pocket. No name or address, but there’s the room number, and I thought I could poke around a bit, see if I could find the place.”

  Conor had to admit it was a solid idea. “He seemed to be a regular at the Praŝná Vĕž. You might go there tonight and see whether the bartender or anyone else knows where he was staying.”

  “Protcha Veg is it? Crikey, you’ll need to spell that one for me.” Winnie removed a small pad and pen from the pocket of his sports jacket and grinned at them, his fingers poised over the paper. “It’s agreed then? You’ll have me on for the job?”

  Conor moved down the bench to sit beside Kate and they studied the man before them. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “We’re probably crazy, but I say we do it. What could go wrong?” Her cheeks dimpled with the slow smile that had left him spellbound the first time he’d seen it.

  “Okay, then. Contract accepted.” He got up to shake Winnie’s hand and squinted a warning at him. “Nothing fancy. If you find him, keep your distance and let us know. We don’t want to scare him off again.”

  “How will I re
ach you?” Winnie asked. “Should I give you a bell if I’ve something to report?”

  “Jaysus, no. Don’t use the phone again.” Conor thought for a minute. “I’ll give you the address where we’re staying. Buy a roll of white adhesive tape, and if you need to communicate put a strip of it on the lamppost in front of the building as a signal and leave the message for us at your hotel. If it’s needed, we’ll leave one for you, and we’ll take it from there. Got it?”

  Nodding vigorously, he wrung Conor’s hand with surprising strength. “I’m chuffed, mate. Truly pleased, and I won’t let you down again. I swear it.”

  They parted a few minutes later, Winnie towards his hotel to get some rest before his night shift, and Conor and Kate in the direction of the Café de Paris for their lunch date. Whenever possible, Eckhard made it a habit to have a meal with his soloist before a performance, believing the experience of sharing good food and wine in a convivial atmosphere helped strengthen the bond between conductor and artist.

  Conor already shared a bond with his maestro that had a tensile strength it would be hard to break, but he was happy for any excuse for a hot meal, and the emotional strain of the morning had made him ravenous.

  The restaurant he and Kate stepped into was small and unpretentious, and filled with a delicious meaty aroma. They found the conductor already seated near the window on a red-leather banquette. A sweating bottle of white wine sat in an ice bucket in front of him.

  “No, you are not late.” Eckhard waved off their apologies. “I was early. Come, this is a spectacular Sancerre. You must try it, both of you.”

  He was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck to reveal a triangle of wiry dark hair, and had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. As he poured for them, Conor watched the muscles rippling in his powerful forearms, wondering how often the conductor had been pressed into service to advance one of Frank’s covert objectives. This gave him an idea for dealing with one of the loose ends he was facing. He considered it as the meal proceeded, and by the time dessert arrived he’d reached a decision. After cracking the brittle surface of his crème brûlée, he set the spoon aside on the table.

  “Eckhard, I think I’m going to need your help with something.”

  The smell of exertion. He’d forgotten about it, the scent that always wafted over him as he walked out to join the orchestra. Its character wasn’t that of the locker room; no grassy smells of the outdoors or muzzy odors of athletic gear and gym socks. It was hot lights on dark suits growing damp with perspiration; it was the blend of overheated cologne and makeup, the spicy tang of rosin and old wood. It was heaven. He followed Eckhard, threading a path through the music stands, and after the ritual handshake with the concertmaster he took possession of the small pocket of space next to the conductor’s podium.

  There wasn’t much time to look around, but in the few seconds before the opening Conor took in the shadowed elegance of the Mirror Chapel along with a sea of beautifully dressed strangers. These were the symposium’s attendees—ministers, ambassadors, UNESCO representatives and curators of the arts, many accompanied by spouses—all with their faces turned to him, relaxed and expectant.

  In the front row, Kate was sitting with the Labuts and Sonia. She was wearing a midnight blue dress, and both its scoop-necked bodice and three-quarter length sleeves were made entirely of lace. She’d been thrilled to learn a ball gown wasn’t required for the evening. “I’ll be able to run this time, if I need to,” she’d observed earlier, laying the dress on the bed. Conor had taken one look at it and asked her to be sure not to sit next to Martin.

  He saw she’d humored him. She was separated from the minister’s wandering hands by both Sonia and Petra, who sat next to her husband with a hand on his thigh. Kate was sitting very straight, fingering a small diamond pendant and looking nervous on his behalf. Their eyes met for a second and he flashed her a smile. Then the audience faded from sight and Kate disappeared from his mind entirely as Eckhard picked up the baton, and Mozart’s cheerful “Allegro aperto” filled the hall.

  He waited calmly for his moment and thought it fitting to have his second debut begin with a solo entrance. As the theme exposition ended he lifted the violin to his shoulder, and when the music came to an abrupt halt he sent the first soaring notes of a six-measure adagio out into the silence. The melody hung in the air of the chapel like something ripe and sweet, and he savored it in a way he could not have if the entrance had been something more explosive. It was rich, expressive, and it was exactly right.

  When the concerto and its ovations had ended, the chamber orchestra went to a large classroom to pack up their instruments. Conor thanked the musicians, shaking hands with each of them, and accepted his conductor’s accolades. Then he retreated to a far corner of the room and sat on a folding chair, staring down at the violin lying across his knees. After a few minutes a shadow fell across the floor in front of him. He looked up at Eckhard, opened his mouth to speak, and failing closed it again.

  “A performance like this takes something from you.” The conductor removed his tailcoat and squatted down with his elbows on his knees, eye-to-eye with Conor. “From all musicians at times, but from you more often, I think.” He ran a finger over the violin’s scroll. “This has no life without yours. You drain your own to give her voice expression. In return, this Pressenda gives you a tone as complex as any I’ve heard from more famous instruments, but when the music stops everything must somehow be made to fit inside you again. It’s the old feeling, yes? Intense, exhausting—and isn’t it wonderful to have it back again?” He gave Conor’s knee an affectionate slap and stood up. “If you think that was something, wait until the Kreutzer.”

  Conor smiled, then laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re a very wise man, Maestro.”

  “Good for many things, eh?” Eckhard gave him a wink.

  “Right.” Vaguely, he looked at the clock over the door and came to his senses with a jerk. “Oh, Jaysus. Right. We need to get going. This feckin’ night is just beginning.”

  18

  He left his violin with one of the orchestra members, all of whom were staying at the hotel he and Kate had left a few days earlier. The musician was storing his cello in the safe in the manager’s office and had agreed to have the Pressenda placed there as well.

  When Conor left the chapel with Eckhard, Kate and the Labuts were waiting outside along with straggling members of the audience. Sonia had disappeared, having already provided her migraine excuse, and Martin dismissed Conor’s obligatory concern with a sniff. He took Petra’s hand and gave it a gentle swing.

  “It happens sometimes. She will be fine. Shall we go? It’s only a short walk.”

  Exiting the complex, they made their way along the lanes of the Old Town pedestrian district, passing brightly lit shops and restaurant chalkboards promising traditional Czech meals. Eckhard strolled with the Labuts, still discussing the concert, while Conor and Kate followed several yards behind. As further proof her learning curve was shrinking, Kate had removed her heels for the trip over the cobblestones, replacing them with black satin shoes that looked like slippers.

  “How did you even fit them in your purse?” Conor asked, digging in his pocket for the wristwatch he’d removed just before the performance.

  “They’re ballet flats. They fold.”

  “Folding shoes. That’s brilliant.” He checked the watch as he fastened the strap. “Are you following the time? How long has she been gone?”

  “She left about five minutes before you came out, so if she’s still planning for eight o’clock she’ll be back in an hour.” Kate looped an arm around his. “Can’t we linger for at least a minute longer on how amazing you were tonight?”

  “Since you put it that way …” He laughed. “You enjoyed it, then?”

  Kate stopped and pulled him around to face her. “You’re special in so many ways, and tonight I got to see how other people look when they start to recognize it. You were magnificent, Conor. You co
uld have gone on for another hour and nobody would have moved.”

  “Thank you.” He wrapped an arm around her as they resumed walking. “That’s better than a hundred curtain calls.”

  It wasn’t quite dark when they reached the main square, but the large, open area was already assuming its nightly New Year’s Eve atmosphere. Visitors were pouring in from the streets at the corners to sample the attractions, which included street music, fire-eating magicians and rotisseries spinning sides of ham. At Old Town Hall the seven o’clock performance of the astronomical clock had just ended. A traffic jam quickly formed as dispersing spectators tangled with symposium guests filing in for the reception.

  Kate stopped to put her heels back on and Conor looked up ahead at Eckhard. He was easily visible, standing at least three inches above the next tallest man in the crowd. Before passing through the doorway, the conductor took a phone from his pocket and frowned in annoyance as he looked at it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the Labuts. “I’ve missed a call that’s really quite important and I must return it. I’ll step away and rejoin you shortly.”

  He slipped back through the crowd with surprising grace for a man so large and repeated the story to Conor and Kate. Promising to have a glass of wine waiting, they shared a conspiratorial smile with him before he disappeared around the corner.

  Do you think he’ll be okay?” Kate asked.

  Eckhard had readily agreed to the role he’d been asked to take on that evening. His assignment was to double back to the Charles Bridge and wait for Sonia to appear, then use his phone to signal updates as he followed her to the Town Hall. At first, Conor was surprised by his composed acceptance, but after giving it some thought realized he shouldn’t be.

  “I think he’ll be fine. I’ve an idea it isn’t the first time he’s done this kind of thing.”