“He saved Quinton.”
“Yes, but he’s dangerous. Have you seen that
grin of his?”
“He saved Quinton.”
“All right, Portia. But you’ll forgive me if
I keep a gun handy?”
“If it will make you happy.”
“The only thing that will make me happy is
shooting him between the eyes.”
* * * *
Davy, the groom who took care of our horses,
led a sleepy-eyed, blue roan out of the stable and handed the reins
to Mark. “This is Blue, sir.”
Mark studied the animal for a moment, before
bringing his mouth close to the horse’s ear. Quinton had mounted
his gelding and was distracted by Testament’s playful reaction to a
colorful leaf that was being blown by the wind, so he didn’t hear
Mark’s words. But I did.
“You make me look bad in front of Quinn,” he
whispered in the horse’s ear, “and I’ll make you sorry you’d ever
been born. I carry a gun, y’ know, and I have no problems using
it.”
“Did you say something, Mark?”
“Just sweet-talking this horse, Quinn.” He
rubbed the spot between Blue’s eyes. “I have a way with
animals.”
Quinton nodded and began walking Testament
in a tight circle, and Mark turned back to his mount.
“Do we have an understanding, Blue?”
The horse shook his head and snorted, and
Mark looked at his sleeve with a pained expression.
I smiled. “Take that as a yes, Mark. Here.
Give him this.” I leaned toward him and handed him a carrot. “Make
sure you keep your palm flat or he’ll take a finger.”
Blue delicately lipped the carrot from
Mark’s hand, and Mark wiped his palm off on his thigh. “How did I
let Quinn talk me into this?” He set the toe of his riding boot
into the stirrup and swung his leg over the horse’s back.
My son smiled at him. “Blue is good-natured,
Mark. Just don’t kick him. I told Davy to make sure Testament and
Pyrrhic Victory had the fidgets shaken out of them, so this will be
an easy ride today.”
“Don’t hold back on my account, Mann.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you could spare the time
to do much riding, Mark.”
He hunched a shoulder. “I’ve seen
The
Black Stallion
.”
Quinton burst into laughter.
I looked on, smiling with pleasure. Quinton
hadn’t laughed like that in a very long time.
* * * *
We rode longer than we’d intended and so
decided to forgo drinks at the country club. Quinton and Mark drove
to Great Falls afterward to have lunch with me and Gregor. And of
course Mark and Gregor spent the entire time sniping at one
another. Quinton leaned an elbow on the table, his chin propped on
his hand, and watched them, smiling.
It was as Mark excused himself to use the
bathroom that I realized he was endeavoring not to limp.
I went into the kitchen, where Gregor was
loading the dishwasher.
“What can I do for you, Portia?”
“I want to send Quinton home with some Epsom
salts.”
His brows beetled. “Quinn’s not sore.”
“No, but Mark is.”
“He is? Well, praise Jesus! There is a
God!”
I shook my head. “Just give me the Epsom
salts, please?”
“God, this is so choice!” He took a box from
a shelf and emptied it into a brown paper bag.
“Stop gloating, Gregor.” I left him laughing
like a maniac and found Quinton standing by the front door. I
handed him the paper bag. “Epsom salts. I think Mark is going to
need this.”
“You noticed?” He sighed. “I wish he would
have said something, but that’s Mark for you.”
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m all right.”
I raised an eyebrow, and he gave a tired
laugh.
“I’ve been having some trouble
sleeping—probably due to what happened in Paris last spring.”
“Might it be a good idea to see someone
about that?”
“I am, at Langley.” He shrugged and changed
the subject. “I took Mark to see
Phantom
last night. I think
he was surprised by how much he enjoyed it.”
“Might he be interested in
Les Mis
?”
Jack had taken me to see a West End production of it, and the young
man who played
Feuilly
had an amazing high
baritone. I was certain we’d see more of him.
“You know, I think I will. Although he’ll
probably mock Jean Valjean for not shooting Javert when he had the
opportunity.”
“He takes it that seriously?”
“Oh, yes. He was annoyed the Phantom
didn’t—” He coughed lightly. “—didn’t take revenge on Raoul and
Christine instead of letting them sail away. At any rate, we’ll
probably have to wait until he finds another place.”
“I thought he had an apartment.”
“He does, but things are a little tricky.
The agent he’s training to replace him in the field lives in the
apartment below his.”
“Hmm.” Trevor Wallace was unconcerned about
the sex of his agents’ partners, but he wouldn’t look kindly on
that partner being a CIA officer.
“…so since Mark was promoted to Deputy
Director of Interior Affair, he runs his operations from WBIS
headquarters.”
“Really? What did he call rescuing you?”
“Hauling the Company’s bacon out of the
fire.” He smiled into my eyes. “The fact that it was also my bacon
was just a bonus for us both.”
And I knew of Mark’s reaction to the gift
Quinton had given him from what Quinton had said. “You care for
him.”
“I do. He’s not my one, but he’s a good
man.”
Mark came into the foyer just then. “Y’ know
something, Quinn? Novotny’s losing it.”
“Oh?”
“He thought I was trying to steal your
mother’s john.”
We both choked on a laugh.
“I’m sure.” Quinton cleared his throat. “All
set, Mark?”
“Yes. Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Mann.”
“You’re very welcome. I hope we can do this
again.”
He gave a crooked smile. “Sure.”
“Good-bye, Mother.”
“Good-bye, sweetheart.” I waited until his
car was out of sight before I went back into the house, to find
Gregor still laughing.
* * * *
The invitation to the ball at the Bahsrani
embassy arrived in the next day’s mail. “Gregor, keep October
nineteenth free, please.” I held up the vellum card.
“Too bad it’s not a Halloween party. You
could wear your black boots and carry your riding crop and go as a
dominatrix.”
“Now that’s an idea.”
“Portia! I was joking!”
“If I thought it would make Wexler have
second thoughts about stalking me, I’d do it in an instant!” I’d
called Wexler on his private line to tell him to cease and desist,
hoping that would give him some idea of what I was capable, but the
deluded jackass had taken it as a compliment. “However, it’s not a
Halloween party, so we’ll have to set that aside for
another…Gregor?”
He stood there, gazing off into space.
“Sorry. I was enjoying the image of Wexler in a ball gag and…” He
shook himself out of his reverie. “I’ll make sure the Town Car is
washed and waxed.”
“Thank you. And I’d better let Madame Rosa
know I’ll need a new gown.”
The phone rang, and Gregor picked it up.
“Mann residence. Hi, Quinn. Your mother and I were just talking
about her dressing up as—”
I took the phone from him. “Thank you,
Gregor. Hello, sweetheart. How are you? Are you sleeping any
better?”
“Actually, I’m not. I have to go out of the
country for a week or so, but once I’m back, I plan to find another
therapist.”
“I think Allison is happy with the woman she
sees. Would you want me to get the name and phone number for
you?”
“If you wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all. Aren’t you my favorite
child?”
“I’m your only child.”
“You’re still my favorite. But what’s this
about you going out of the country?”
“I’ve got an assignment in London. I’m
flying out tomorrow. Anyway, I wanted to let you know I wouldn’t be
able to ride with you on Sunday.” He said abruptly, “I…uh…have to
go. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Have a safe flight, sweetheart.”
We said good-bye and hung up, and I turned
to find Gregor glaring at me.
“You should have told him!”
“He’s flying out on assignment. I won’t have
him worrying about Wexler.”
“Will you tell him when he gets home?”
“If Wexler hasn’t stopped annoying me by
that time, then yes, I will.”
* * * *
My cell phone rang. “Hello, Folana.”
“Portia, why is your son in Bangkok?”
“Excuse me? He’s in London.”
“He’s not. And he’s looking into an
operation of mine.” ‘Folana Fournaise’ might be dead, but ‘Vanessa
Wood’ was still a figure to reckon with. “Oh, you needn’t worry, I
shan’t harm him.”
“Please see that you don’t. And that goes
for Bart also.”
“Of course, my dear friend. So you were
unaware he’d been sent to the Far East?”
“Obviously. I don’t suppose you know who
sent him on this assignment?” Bramwell Rayner, Director of
Operational Targeting, was out on sick leave.
“Apparently an Edward Holmes gave him the
orders.”
“What else were you able to learn?”
“At this point, nothing more. I’ll keep
digging, yes?”
“Please. Let me know what you discover. And
thank you, Folana.” I hung up and worried my lower lip. Like his
father, Quinton didn’t sleep well on transoceanic flights, and this
could cause errors in judgment. My son’s performance over his years
with the CIA was impeccable, with the number of commendations
surpassing his father’s. Was someone trying to sully his
record?
I was tempted to call Mark and ask him to
look into it, but I wasn’t quite ready to turn the WBIS agent loose
on the CIA.
I’d wait to hear back from Folana.
Later in the week, Allison called to ask if
I’d join her for lunch, so I met her in the café at the Madison
Arms.
“I’ll have lunch in the bar,” Gregor told
me. “When you’re ready, I’ll drive you to your dressmaker.”
“Thank you, Gregor.” I left him debating the
merits of a Philly cheesesteak and a beer as opposed to a pulled
pork sandwich and unsweetened ice tea, and strolled toward the
café.
“Mrs. Mann.” The hostess smiled at me. “Mrs.
Dashwood is already here. If you’ll follow me?” She led me to the
table where Allison was waiting. “I’ll send your server right
over.”
“Thank you, Delores. Hello, Allison.” I
leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“Portia.” Allison rested her palm against my
cheek. She looked tired, but our friendship was longstanding enough
that I knew she’d answer questions only when she was ready.
“Sit.”
“Would you care for another martini, Mrs.
Dashwood?” our server, a young woman, asked.
“Yes. What would you like to drink,
Portia?”
“I’ll have a Dubonnet on the rocks, please.”
I waited until our server left before saying, “I thought you’d
sworn off those.”
“Not amusing, darling. I felt awful for days
afterward. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’ve been sticking with
ordinary gin martinis.”
“That’s very wise.”
“Never let it be said I don’t learn from my
mistakes.”
“Allison?” Her words made me curious as to
whether she was about to walk away from another marriage, but she
shook her head, and I let the subject drop. “What looks good?”
We perused the menus. Allison decided on the
soup and grilled shrimp and spinach salad. I knew their tomato
bisque soup, no matter how good, wouldn’t compare with Gregor’s,
and so I selected an Oriental chicken salad. When our drinks
arrived, we ordered.
Allison took a sip of her martini, then set
the glass down and blotted her lips with her napkin. “Will you be
attending the ball at the Bahsrani embassy?” she asked.
“Yes. I have an appointment for my final
fitting with Madame Rosa right after lunch. Gregor will be driving
me.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s an attractive man.”
Yes, he was, but, “He’s also my employee,
and I have no intention of doing anything that would make either of
us uncomfortable.”
“Still, he looks like he might have
something interesting in his trousers.” There was a wicked smile on
her face.
The man lived in my house. How could I avoid
being aware of that? However, “Allison, we’re not having this
conversation. Now, will you be at the ball?”
The smile vanished. “No. Chance wants to
take me to Costa Rica for our second anniversary.”
“What about his business?”
She removed the olive from her martini and
shrugged. “We’ve found someone else to run it. The young man was
Chance’s accountant before we married. It’s actually doing well. He
may break even by the end of the year.”
“That sounds promising.”
She made a noncommittal sound. “Remember the
last ball we attended? I was telling you about Chance’s
sister?”
“Yes. If I recall correctly, she was
studying for her real estate license.”
“Well, she’s got it. I hate to ask this of
you, but if you know of anyone who’s looking for anything—house,
condo, business space…”
Quinton had mentioned Mark was looking for a
new place. “Why don’t you give me her number, and I’ll see what she
has to offer? I may have someone who’ll be interested.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Portia!” She slid a
business card across the table. “I finally got her out of my house,
and the last thing I want is for her to use the lack of business as
an excuse to move back in.” Allison’s face was suddenly
flushed.
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see
what I can do.”
“God bless you!”
“Which reminds me. I’d like the name and
phone number of your therapist.”
“Is there something you’d like to tell
me?”
“It’s for Quinton. He’s having some
difficulties sleeping.” As much as I loved Allison, I wasn’t going
to tell her of his kidnapping.