Remember

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

‘You had my suite searched, you bastard!’

  He hesitated only fractionally, then obviously decided to admit to this. ‘Yes, that is perfectly true, I did. But followed?’ He shook his head. ‘No, no. Most decidedly not. I did not have you followed, Nicky.’

  She ignored this denial. ‘You faked your death and ran away to start a new life,’ she cried in an accusatory tone. ‘That was despicable and cowardly. Unconscionable. I don’t know what your reason was, but nothing you could tell me now will ever explain that to—’

  ‘I had no choice,’ he cut in peremptorily, in a voice that was icily calm and controlled. ‘I did what I did because I had no choice.’

  ‘Everybody has a choice!’

  ‘In this instance, I did not. It was a question of duty.’

  ‘Duty!’ she exclaimed shrilly. ‘That’s hard to believe!’

  ‘I want to explain why I did what I did, then perhaps you’ll understand and go away and leave me alone.’

  When she did not respond, Charles added, ‘You’re putting me in jeopardy, Nicky.’

  ‘What do you mean by jeopardy?’

  ‘You’re putting me at risk, putting my life at risk, running around the world asking questions about me, showing my photograph to all and sundry,’ he said, his voice suddenly low, almost conspiratorial. ‘No one must know I’m alive. Not even my mother.’

  Although she was extremely startled by this statement, and thrown off-balance, Nicky made no comment. She simply gave him a curious look. Her eyes were full of speculation as she weighed his words.

  Charles said, ‘Come and sit down, and try not to be so angry.’

  ‘It’ll take me a long time to get over my anger!’

  ‘Just so,’ he murmured, nodding. ‘But won’t you endeavour to calm yourself sufficiently, in order to listen to me quietly, and in a reasonable fashion? Your anger is only getting in the way, blocking you.’

  ‘Reasonable fashion!’ she repeated, sounding incredulous. ‘Good God, you expect too much!’

  Unexpectedly, he released her, let go of her wrists, and her arms fell to her sides.

  Nicky lifted them immediately, looked at her wrists, and began to rub first one, then the other. They were red and sore. ‘Look what you’ve done.’

  He said, apologetically, ‘I’m so sorry. I never did know my own strength, did I? Would you excuse me for a moment, Nicky, I’ll be right back.’ He went out through the side door.

  Nicky leaned against the wall, feeling weak in the legs. She was still shaking, and the anger fulminated inside her. But that was the only emotion she experienced; there was nothing left but anger, and perhaps a degree of hatred for Charles Devereaux. Otherwise she felt absolutely nothing for him.

  When Charles returned a few seconds later, he was followed by another young man, not Javier. The man carried a tray with a bottle of water and two glasses on it, and as he walked past Nicky, and placed it on the coffee table, she caught a whiff of a pungent cologne. It was one she recognized instantly, and she stiffened, drew back slightly, staring hard at him.

  Immediately, Charles noticed this, and when they were alone again he said, ‘Why did you react to Pierre like that?’

  ‘Because he’s the one who searched my suite,’ she replied in a hard voice.

  Charles was silent.

  ‘Don’t even try to deny it!’ she exclaimed, her anger surfacing again.

  ‘How do you know that? Did you see him leave your suite?’

  ‘No, but I smelled him.’ She glared at Charles.

  Charles frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘His cologne. My suite smelled of his cologne!’

  Charles frowned once more. ‘He’s too young,’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘Too inexperienced yet. He was very careless.’ Charles did not say anything else for a split second, looked thoughtful, then murmured quietly, ‘Pierre didn’t find anything.’

  ‘That’s because there wasn’t anything to find,’ Nicky said. ‘Except the photographs, and I had them on me.’

  Charles made no comment about the pictures, but said, ‘Now come, sit down, Nicky. Your temper hasn’t helped us thus far. Please, do try to be calmer so that we can talk in a sensible, civilized manner.’

  Nicky remained standing where she was, her bright blue eyes focused on Charles. She knew her anger was justified; it was an anger that had bubbled in her for three years now. And she did not regret her outburst, or anything she had said. But he did have a point. She would not find anything out if she did not control herself and let him speak, tell his tale.

  ‘Come, Nicky,’ he said again, waving his hand at the chair nearest to her. ‘Please, do sit down, won’t you?’ As he spoke he lowered himself into the other chair, reached for the bottle and poured himself a glass of water. He glanced up at her. ‘Would you care for a glass of this?’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks, it’s very hot in here.’

  He jumped up at once, went to turn on a fan standing on a table in a corner, and returned to the chair. After sitting down, he poured water for her, picked up his own glass and drank.

  Nicky still continued to watch him intently. This was a man she had loved and adored, whom she had been intending to marry, and to whom she had been wholly committed. She had slept with him, been intimate with him on every level, shared so much with him, but at this moment he seemed like a total stranger to her.

  Finally walking forward, she sat down, took a drink of water and said, ‘I’m calmer now, Charles. So talk.’

  ‘What I’m about to tell you is extremely confidential. You cannot tell anyone. Not ever. And not even my mother.’

  When Nicky remained completely silent, he said, ‘Promise me that you won’t reveal that I am alive, or repeat what I’m about to tell you to anyone, least of all my mother.’

  ‘I don’t know that I can do that.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid I cannot tell you.’

  ‘Why mustn’t Anne know anything?’

  ‘Because she would want to see me, if she knew I were alive, and that’s impossible. It could be dangerous… for her,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  He did not answer this question. Instead, he told her, ‘If you give me your promise, swear on your honour that what I say will remain absolutely confidential, then I will tell you everything. Well, at least I will tell you why I faked my own death and disappeared.’

  ‘Okay, I promise. I won’t tell Anne, or anyone else, that you’re alive. Nor will I disclose what you now say to me in confidence.’

  ‘No other living soul, Nicky. Say it.’

  ‘I won’t tell another living soul. I promise.’

  ‘I sincerely hope you mean that. I think you do.’ He gave her a hard stare. ‘It’s not in your nature to break your word. So I trust you. But let me just add this… what I’m involved in has to do with national security. British national security.’

  Nicky leaned forward, returning his stare, her eyes narrowing. ‘I told you I wouldn’t say a word, and I won’t.’

  ‘All right.’ He sank back in the chair, and after a moment said in a low voice, ‘I’m a British agent.’

  This was the last thing she had expected to hear, but thunderstruck though she was she kept her expression neutral. Why ever didn’t I think of the intelligence business, she wondered, but said in a cool, very steady voice, ‘You’re with MI6, is that it?’

  ‘The Secret Intelligence Service, which is the same as MI6, more or less. And I faked my suicide and disappeared because it became necessary for me to assume a new identity.’

  ‘Why?’ Nicky asked, leaning forward ever so slightly again.

  ‘I needed a new identity in order to infiltrate a foreign intelligence service.’

  ‘Are you telling me that you’re a mole?’

  ‘That is correct, I am.’

  ‘Which foreign intelligence service have you infiltrated?’

  ‘Now you know damn well I can’t reveal that to you, Nicky. Come on, use that intelligent head of yo
urs,’ he said in that mellifluous voice of his.

  She nodded. ‘I understand. How long have you been an agent?’

  ‘For years. Fifteen years to be exact. Since I was twenty-five.’

  ‘So you were working for British Intelligence when you met me,’ she said, twisting her hands together, suddenly understanding there was a part of him she had never known.

  ‘I was indeed,’ he confirmed.

  ‘But we were going to be married. How did you ever hope to keep that a secret from me?’

  ‘Very easily. First of all, you were heavily involved with your career, to the exclusion of all else, except for our relationship, of course. And you travelled a lot as a war correspondent. My secret had been safe from everyone for years. I had the perfect cover, you see. My wine importing company.’

  ‘But it was so successful,’ she exclaimed, sounding surprised. ‘Most cover operations are just that, a cover. They don’t necessarily make money.’

  He smiled. ‘That was always one of my problems, Nicky. Whatever business I became involved with instantly prospered. My immediate boss, my spymaster, said I had the golden touch. That’s why I dropped my other businesses in the early years. I then started the wine company, and although this too flourished, at least it was a splendid cover.’

  ‘I can see that it worked very well for you.’

  ‘It truly was ideal. I could travel anywhere I wanted, any time,’ Charles said. ‘But you know that. Once I’d brought Chris Neald in as my partner, I wasn’t tied to a desk at all. Chris ran the business, and I wandered around the world, doing what I had to do whilst purchasing a bit of wine for the company.’

  ‘It always seemed so legitimate to me,’ Nicky murmured with a small frown.

  ‘Oh, but it was. In the end, of course, it was really Chris’s company, in as much as he was doing most of the real work. Naturally, that suited me very well. I gained more and more freedom.’

  ‘Did Chris know you were an agent?’

  ‘Good God, no!’

  ‘But you did have an accomplice, didn’t you? I mean someone who helped you to fake your death and get out of England.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘You know very well I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Another agent?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Why did you have to do a vanishing act at all? You just said you had the perfect business cover. Why couldn’t you have married me and then just continued as before, Charles?’

  ‘That’s what I had always intended to do. But a few months before our marriage I found out I had to go away for a long time. You see, it had become imperative for an SIS agent to infiltrate a particular foreign intelligence agency and to go under deep cover in order to do so,’ he explained. ‘And we all understood that the deep cover would last for years… many years, perhaps, if it was to be effective. And so it seemed kinder to disappear before we were married than afterward.’

  ‘I see. But why you, Charles? Why not another British agent?’

  ‘Because of my expertise in certain areas, the foreign languages I speak perfectly. I was the best candidate. And it was vital for British national security that I infiltrate as soon as possible. You don’t do that overnight, you know. It takes time to gain people’s confidence and trust, to be accepted.’ He took a sip of the water, and continued, ‘As I said, we all knew that I would be working undercover for many, many years. That’s the gist of it really.’

  ‘And so you sacrificed our life together,’ Nicky murmured softly, looking at him closely.

  ‘I had to… for my country,’ he replied, gazing back at her, his eyes suddenly very soft. There was a regretful look on his face.

  She was quiet, sat extremely still in the chair.

  He said gently, ‘If it’s any consolation, I did love you very much.’ He wanted to add that he still loved her, but he did not dare, and, anyway, it would be inappropriate.

  She said slowly, ‘You caused me a lot of pain, Charles.’

  ‘I know I did. Can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Under the circumstances, I suppose I can. I do already.’ Now she gave him a penetrating look. ‘Your mother was as devastated as I was, inconsolable.’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘She’s much better now. She’s become engaged to Philip Rawlings.’

  ‘I know. I saw the announcement in The Times. He’s wanted to marry her for years. He must be very happy.’

  ‘They both are.’

  ‘I’d like to ask you something now, Nicky. How did you discover that I was actually alive? And how on earth did you get that photograph of me, I mean the photograph of me as I look today?’

  ‘It was a fluke,’ she said, and proceeded to explain everything to him.

  When she had finished, he shook his head. ‘And I never knew that that damnable television camera was even focused on me. I’d been dining with a friend in a restaurant near the square where the rally was being held, when we heard the hullabaloo. It was the shooting. My friend and I dashed out to see what was happening. I saw the television camera, of course, and I should have followed my instinct and left the scene at once. I’m usually much more careful.’

  Nicky nodded. Then she remarked, ‘You changed your appearance by growing a moustache and dyeing your hair. But you didn’t change your eyes; they’re still green.’

  ‘I have brown contact lenses, which I usually wear,’ he confided. ‘But I didn’t think it was necessary to do so for you. But not to digress. Tell me what led you to Athens, Nicky.’

  ‘After I’d spent the weekend at Pullenbrook, two weeks ago, I decided to go to Rome, which was the source of the film. I was hoping I would come across something that would lead me to you. By a curious coincidence, our bureau chief’s secretary recognized your photograph. She’d seen you at the airport in Athens.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the lovely American girl I assisted with her luggage, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And so from Rome you went to Athens,’ he asserted. ‘And started asking questions at the various big hotels.’

  ‘You had been there, hadn’t you? I mean, you weren’t merely passing through, were you?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. I spent two days in Athens, as it happens.’

  ‘You stayed out at Vouliagmeni, didn’t you?’ Nicky said, leaning back in the chair, studying him again.

  ‘Actually, I didn’t. But I did spend some time there with one of my contacts. I had several luncheons there and dinner. But I was living in a safe house in the city.’

  ‘Is this a safe house?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘But you don’t live in this apartment, do you?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Did you find out I was in Madrid when I got here, or did you know I was coming before I arrived?’

  ‘Before. I knew of your presence in Athens the moment you started inquiring about me, and I knew when you left for Madrid. I was always one step ahead of you, Nicky.’

  ‘Someone at the Grande Bretagne told you, didn’t they? Was it Costa? Aristotle? Or Mr Zoulakis out at Vouliagmeni?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. And incidentally, why did you suddenly come here? What led you to me?’

  ‘Nothing led me to you, Charles. I didn’t even know you were here. I wanted to see your former Spanish partner. I hoped Don Pedro would agree with me that it was you in the photograph. Or tell me I was wrong.’

  ‘But you said my mother didn’t believe it was me!’ he exclaimed. ‘Wasn’t that enough for you?’

  ‘Not really. In any case, deep inside myself I felt you were still alive. Call it gut instinct.’

  ‘Yes, you always were very strong on that. I’m curious about another thing… once you decided I was alive, what did you think my motive had been for slipping off the face of the earth?’

  ‘To be very honest, I wasn’t sure. After your so-called suicide, there’d been no scandal in England, so
I knew you couldn’t have been involved in a big financial swindle. Therefore, I thought it must be some kind of illicit operation, and that you’d decided it was wiser to disappear and start a new life.’

  ‘What kind of illicit operation did you think I was caught up in?’ Charles asked, his brows coming together in puzzlement.

  ‘Arms dealing or drug smuggling,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Good heavens, Nicky, you didn’t think very highly of me, did you?’

  ‘How could I?’

  He rose, walked over to the window, paced up and down for a second or two, and then came back to his chair. After a moment, he said, ‘It perturbs me that you believe someone followed you in Madrid. Are you sure of this?’

  She shrugged. ‘Not absolutely certain, no.’

  ‘Tell me what leads you to think this?’

  ‘There was a man who was hovering around me, when I was speaking to the concierge yesterday morning. I almost stumbled over him again in the shopping arcade underneath the Plaza Hotel a short while later. Then when I came out of the Prado, early last evening, he was there too, but he was preoccupied momentarily, and I slipped past him.’

  ‘I see. Can you describe him to me?’

  ‘Of course. He was definitely Spanish, of that I’m quite sure. Medium height. Well dressed, dark hair slicked back. About forty years old, or thereabouts, and always smoking a black cigarillo.’

  ‘What makes you think he’s Spanish?’

  ‘He looks it. Also, he spoke Spanish to the concierge. I heard him as I was walking away from the desk.’

  ‘Do you think he might have been a guest in the hotel?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He may not have been following you. He could have been a local lothario who likes beautiful blondes,’ Charles pointed out. ‘A man who was simply trying to pick you up. That’s not so unusual.’

  ‘Are you worried that I might have led him to you?’

  ‘No, I’m sure you didn’t do that,’ he reassured her confidently.

  ‘There’s one other thing. My phone rang last night, but when I went to answer it, no one spoke. However, I checked with the operator and I did get a phone call. Someone did ask for me.’

  He nodded. ‘That was me.’