The Wedding Cake Tree (25 page)

The colonel explained that somehow, someone had cottoned on to my connection with British intelligence sources. Sam had probably been paid to get close to me and find out what I knew.

He explained that I was kept in the dark regarding their suspicions about Sam so the friendship could ride its course. They hoped to discover who he was working for and what the bigger picture was. If I had been told about the surveillance operation I might have got spooked and given the game away. I was hurt. The worst thing, of course, was I had finally succumbed and slept with Sam. I felt like a prostitute sitting with her pimp. I didn’t cry. I excused myself, walked to the toilet and threw up.

When I returned to the office the colonel continued to explain what he knew. On the whole the operation had been a success. They had uncovered details of a Soviet cell working in both Zagreb and Vienna. Lastly they gave me credit for my behaviour (God, that was a joke). Major Brown made it clear to the colonel that I had let nothing slip to Sam. I confirmed this was correct but asked him how he knew, which was when I discovered my apartment and our regular café were bugged. When you consider what happened between Sam and me during the previous afternoon, you can imagine my horror on hearing this.

I was confused about why Sam was killed. They had no answer for this. It was possible he had been some kind of mercenary, or perhaps he had been working for different groups, playing one off against the other; maybe I had simply been a cover for him, they just didn’t know. But the fact that his killers (if indeed that is who the two men were) had come back to the apartment building, and had been potentially looking for me, was their greatest concern.

Apparently, the ‘unfortunate turn of events’(i.e. Sam’s death) was unexpected and they admitted they had miscalculated the amount of risk I had been subjected to.

The colonel went on to discuss the question of my ongoing safety. I was surprised by this. Naively, as soon as the aircraft touched down in the UK, I considered myself to be on home turf. Unfortunately, my safety could not be guaranteed until more was discovered regarding the nature of Sam’s death. The situation was an unholy mess.

The colonel had contacted Geoff who was given ‘only minimum information’ … we all knew what that meant. I was to be taken to Arisaig and was to lie low with my husband at the RAF Lodge. This would provide me with a degree of safety as, like any other military institute, the lodge was guarded around the clock. I boarded a helicopter for a remote landing pad at Plockton, and was then taken by car to Arisaig. I fell into Geoff’s arms a broken mess. If I could have remained nestled there for the rest of my life I would have gladly done so but, yet again, fate was to conspire against me, and more devastation was not far away.

Back to the present. I told Alasdair there would be no requirement to scatter my ashes in Zagreb, I tried to put the place out of my mind a long time ago. Despite the trauma the city brought to my life, however, it is terribly important to me that you go there. I suppose I live in the desperate hope you will put yourself into my shoes, just for a few hours, and appreciate how the pretty little streets and promenades, beautiful architecture and wonderful summer weather can turn a person’s head just for a moment, even if it is in the wrong direction. I hope somehow you are able to understand what I have told you and comprehend how it was possible for me to lose my way.

By the way Grace, some opportunities happen along only for one fleeting moment in a lifetime; just thought I would mention that, my love.

As ever, my darling girl.

Mum.

X

I
folded up the letter, stuffed it back into my bag and sat for a while gazing up at the altar and the ornate gilded décor of the church. Mum certainly knew how to whip things up in her day. I wasn’t sure what to think of it all. Disappointed in her? Quite the contrary – I was in awe of her. Mum’s final words came into my mind,
once in a lifetime opportunities
. With a sudden urge to live my own life in Technicolor, I sprinted out of the church – not minding how loudly my heels clicked this time – put on my sunglasses and hotfooted it back to the hotel, humming an evocative song as I walked.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

After chasing up three flights of stairs to our rooms, I slipped off my heels and carried them down the corridor – I didn’t want Alasdair to know I was back. I slipped the keycard into the door and tiptoed into the room as quietly as possible. There was a notepad and pencil sitting on the vanity desk. It was my turn to write a note:             

Alasdair             

I’ll call for you at 7pm
sharp (that’s 1900 hours to you). I’m taking you out to dinner.

Grace

X

I wondered if only one kiss was a little standoffish. Maybe I should have put two, maybe I should have put it was a date. I folded the note in half, pushed it under our interconnecting doors, sat back on the bed and stared at the door. Placing a fingernail nervously between my teeth, I smiled and panicked at the same time. What if he didn’t see the note? I should have left a tiny bit of the paper under my side of the door so I would know when he had taken it.

Crou
ching down on the floor I peered under the door to see if the note had gone. It would be a disaster if I called for him, all dressed up, and he hadn’t read it. I was just doing my best caterpillar impression, prostrate on the floor with one eye open and peering through the crack, when another piece of paper shot under the door and hit me in the eye.

Grace

Sounds wonderful.

Al
asdair xx

Two kisses! It was definitely time for the ultimate weapon in Mum’s armour
y
–
the little black dress.

Riding high on a wave of euphoria at the excitement of our night ahead, I selected the music channel on the TV, and sang away merrily while applying my new make-up. I took in my reflection and sighed a contented sigh: my hair was silkier than usual, my skin more vibrant and my eyes shone – I was happy.

I stepped into my little dress, slipped on my shoes
and heard one of Mum’s favourite songs playing on the TV. A good omen, surely?

Dancing around the room I felt eighteen again
, although thinking about it, I didn’t want to feel eighteen – at eighteen you are still just a girl. No, I was a
woman
; and this woman was certainly intending to push Alasdair’s buttons!

I decided to try a particularly tricky
dance move: a backside rotation – the type where you’re supposed to slap your bum at the end of each rotation – and that’s when I glanced in the mirror and an unexpected object caught my eye: it was Alasdair, he was standing at the interconnecting door and smiling at me – wryly.

There is
simply no way to shrug off being caught dancing around your bedroom with a hairbrush in your hand. I flushed the colour of beetroot, grabbed the remote control and pressed mute in a manner similar to someone halting the needle on an old 45.

‘
Oh, don’t stop on my account,’ he said, hovering at the door. ‘I was enjoying it.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘And I mean
really
enjoying it. Although I will confess, at one point I wasn’t sure if you were dancing or putting out a fire on the carpet.’

I resorted to emergency banter.

‘Sod off! I was just working up an appetite for dinner, that’s all.’

He picked up a cushion from the bed and slapped me on the backside with it.

‘Come on; move that sexy ass downstairs. I’m starving.’

‘You look great by the way,’ he said as we stepped out onto the street.

For once I didn’t blush
. ‘So do you.’

I took the lead.
I knew exactly where I wanted us to go, to Mum’s promenade and to the St Catherine’s Square Café. It didn’t take long to reach the promenade. Lanterns lined a low stone wall that edged the path as it zigzagged its way down the hillside. We paused for a second by the wall and gazed across the city. The evening light was dusky red while street lamps and office lights added a touch of sparkle to the view. Alasdair turned to face me. He propped his back against the wall, took my right hand in both of his and wrapped the span of his hand around my wrist – there was plenty of room to spare. He closed his grasp gently.

‘
So, how’s the injury?’

‘
Agony,’ I joked. He lowered my wrist.

‘
Where are you taking me?’ he asked. ‘The note said dinner.’

‘
Somewhere special, I hope.’ I turned on my heels and began to walk. ‘Come on, we need to find St Catherine’s Square. I don’t suppose you remembered the little map did you?’

‘
You
have the map,’ he said. ‘I gave it to you to find the church.’

‘
Ye of little faith,’ I teased. ‘How difficult can it be? We don’t need a map. You’re just not used to someone else taking the lead that’s all.’

Twenty
minutes and a few false starts later, we found St Catherine’s Square Café. An al fresco dining area spilled out onto the cobbles. Our waiter led us to an outside table, pulled out my chair and handed over the menus.

‘
So, why this place then? Good choice, by the way.’ Alasdair placed an unopened menu on the table in front of him and looked around.

‘
Mum’s letter. This was one of her haunts.’ I picked up the wine menu. ‘Hey, they have your favourite wine, Alasdair. Let’s order a bottle.’

He
flashed me his questioning look – an irresistible one.

‘
And?’

‘
And, what?’

‘
And, what else was in the letter? You can’t freeze me out now, not at the juicy bit.’ He picked up his menu.

‘
How do you know Zagreb is the juicy bit?’ I whispered, peering over the top of the menu.

He leant forwards across the table.
‘You don’t need to whisper and glance around,’ he said with a grin, ‘who do you think is listening?’ He sat back. ‘Anyway, Zagreb must be the juicy bit because she told you there was going to be a change afoot at the end of the last letter,
and
because she told me not to scatter her ashes here (very suspect),
and
because we’ve come all the way to Croatia for one night.’ He put his menu down for a second. ‘Like I said, juicy.’

‘
You’re right, it’s very juicy. I'll give you the letter later, I wouldn't know where to start.’

Alasdair ordered the w
ine and we gave serious attention to the menu. He held it a significant distance from his face.

‘
I’ve been meaning to say, you need glasses.’

He put his menu down.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘
Yes, you do. Go on, pick the menu up again and read something without holding it at arm’s length.’ He picked the menu up, before putting it down onto the table again.

‘
How the hell is anyone expected to read anything in this light?’

We decided on the Chateaubriand. A violinist wearing traditional costume weaved through the tables. The conversation halted occasionally to accommodate applause.

As the meal neared completion
and the wine took effect, Alasdair’s eyes began to dance and it was time for my speciality – nervous conversation.

‘
I’m pleased you didn’t turn out to be an axe murderer by the way,’ I said casually. ‘Handy that.’ Alasdair struggled to swallow his wine through spontaneous laughter. I took a quick bite of my dessert and carried on.

‘
Although
why
we have to burden murderers with a heavy axe I will never know. For example, how many murderers throughout the world—no, that’s too broad a cross-section, let’s stick with the UK. How many murderers in the UK actually carry an axe? Not many I bet. Poison, yes, an actual axe, no. It might be different in Canada, for instance, lots of trees.’

Alasdair was smiling at me.
‘Grace, you really are priceless.’

He sat back in his chair and looked at me
with warmth; and something else perhaps?

‘
You know, you look so relaxed tonight. You seemed tired when we started the trip.’

He said nothing but leant forward and s
urprised me by taking my hand. ‘Come on,’ he said, gently pulling me to my feet, ‘they’re playing our song.’

‘
What? I can’t hear any music. And anyway, we don’t have a song.’ I lied.

‘
There’s a jukebox inside, I had a quick look when I nipped to the gents. Trust me, our song is on there.’

I
glanced at him nervously.

‘
Don’t you think it’s a bit … 1950s.’

‘
No, I don’t.’

Stepping into the café, I wa
s transported into a world belonging to Mum’s era: smoky, atmospheric, intoxicating.

Alasdair walked con
fidently over to the jukebox. He scrolled down the list of songs, turned to look at me with a cheeky grin, turned back to the jukebox and selected a song. He didn’t seem to notice attention from the diners as he took me by the hand and led me to an area clear of tables.

I
hoped he would have found the song from the wedding, but he chose something else entirely –
You Make Me Feel So Young.

It was perfect
– I thought I was in heaven!

We jived around our makeshift dance floor giggling like school kids
and I felt utterly, utterly free. Yet despite brushing my face against his
several
times, and despite holding his gaze seductively – pleadingly – as the song ended, we didn’t kiss.

What was wrong with the man
?

Instead,
he tipped me backwards across his arm, and our perfect moment came to a close. I retired to a bar stool to rest my weary feet while Alasdair sought out the maître dʹ to pay the bill. A man crossed the room and sat on the stool next to mine. He swivelled in his seat to face me. I knew exactly what was coming.

‘
Where are you from, beautiful lady?’ His eyes rested lazily on my legs. I had been there before; best to appease him and then walk away.

‘
Er, the UK. Sorry, I’m just waiting for—’

‘
You look like you need a good time. I can give you a good time.’

‘
No, thank you.’

I tried to rise
from my stool but he held my shoulder and ran a finger along my leg. I was just about to wriggle out of his lecherous grasp when Alasdair appeared. He grabbed the man’s wrist aggressively and held onto it. Alasdair’s face held such evil menace I couldn’t be sure what would happen next. The chatter in the room quietened. The man’s expression was one of absolute fear; so much so that I almost felt sorry for him.

I
touched Alasdair’s shoulder. ‘Can we go now please?’ But he still didn’t move; his gaze was fixed unblinkingly on his prey.

‘
Alasdair, please?’

H
e released the man’s wrist and watched him scurry away. I took Alasdair’s hand and led him out of the bar into the darkness of St Catherine’s Square.

‘
Come with me,’ I said, ‘I’ve got something I want you to see.’

I led him by the hand to St Mark’s Square in silence. We paused to look at the church roof but the fabulous mosaics weren’t discernible in the dark.

‘
Let’s see if it’s open.’

The
church door opened with a turn of the handle. I thought of Mum and took a candle from the rack and lit it with a taper before walking in silence down to the altar. We stood still for a moment and glanced around in the candlelight.

‘
This is the church where Mum asked me to read her letter. I wanted you to see it before we go home tomorrow.’

He didn’t respond
.

S
lightly disappointed, I started back down the aisle, but as I turned, he took my hand and pulled me back towards him. We faced each other by the altar. His eyes searched mine with a mixture of trepidation and absolute longing. I knew I couldn’t let this moment pass. He stroked my face.

‘Grace, I—’ I didn’t want to listen. I took a step closer and gently pressed my body against his. I thought he was going to pull away so I arched even closer to him, my lips sought his with pleading expectation. He lowered his head and allowed his lips to brush against mine.

One hand edged
to the small of my back, the other to my hair. We kissed tenderly at first but our bodies ached for more. Alasdair pulled away and whispered into my ear.

‘
God I need you, Grace. But this isn’t right.’