Things Happen That Way Page 12

  Ms. Fournaise raised her eyebrows. They were thicker and darker than Mother’s, but it was still an elegant action. I expected her to deny doing anything, as Mark would have, but she smiled. “I could do nothing less for my dear Portia.” She turned to Mother. “Do you remember the tearoom at the end of the cul-de-sac?”

  “How could I forget it? They had the most delicious pastries.”

  “They still do,” she assured Mother. “I have someone I’d like you to meet. She’s holding a table for us.”

  “Certainly. Quinton?”

  “Go ahead, Mother. I’ll browse the stacks and join you in about an hour or so?”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” She kissed my cheek, linked arms with Folana, and they left.

  Thinking back to the only other time I had ever seen them together, I found myself wondering if their relationship had been more than simply dear friends. And I remembered something Mother had said last spring, indicating her brother Jefferson and I weren’t the only members of the family who preferred our own sex. Had she? Or could she possibly have been referring to my father? I’d never know for certain. Neither of my parents was careless enough to commit information of that nature to paper…

  “They’re amazing women, ain’t they?”

  Goddammit! I wheeled to face the craggy-faced blond who seemed to morph out of the dim shadows. I hadn’t brought my handgun with me, but I carried the pocketknife Father had given me, and while my overcoat would restrict my movements, I was nevertheless ready to defend myself.

  He smiled wryly, as if he could read my thoughts. “No need for violence, mate.” He extended his hand. “I’m Bart Freeman.”

  “Ah.” I relaxed enough to shake hands with him. “You’re Ms. Fournaise’s partner.”

  “In a manner of speaking, though right-hand man might be more apt. And you’re Quinton Mann. I didn’t have to overhear Queenie introducing you to the Duchess. You’ve got your dad’s looks. And your mum’s cool smile.”

  I gave him that cool smile. “Why do you refer to my mother as Queenie?”

  “She’s that regal, isn’t she?”

  “Indeed.” I didn’t ask if he’d been in love with her. I was aware of which Sebring he’d loved.

  “You are the Ice Man, ain’t you?”

  I arched an eyebrow but didn’t respond to that. “You knew my father?”

  “Nah. I was what you might call on the periphery of things in Berlin back then. I’ve seen snaps, though.” He changed the subject so quickly I thought I’d get whiplash. “I was under the impression your uncle was to accompany your mum.” A blush mounted his cheeks, obviously painful in one so fair.

  I knew he was speaking about Jefferson. “A last minute change of plans. He came down with a bad case of the flu. Ludo had to insist on him going to the emergency room.”

  “That’s too bad, though I have to say I’m not surprised Jeff went along with him.”

  “Oh?”

  “He could be a stubborn son of a bitch, but I know how much Rivenhall came to mean to him.” His gaze became wistful. “We were never exclusive, and it was okay with me that Jeff had his toff to go home to. Well, it wasn’t as if I didn’t have plenty of pretty boys to keep me occupied between times, was it? But I have to admit... the day Jeff told me he was no longer available for a shag—that was when I knew he’d found his one.”

  “Did it bother you that it wasn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I’d have wound up breaking his heart—I like variety too much. We were fine when it was just for giggles, but... No, it was just as well Rivenhall gave him an ultimatum.”

  “Ludo did that?” I hadn’t heard.

  “Well, he must have. It had to’ve taken something like a brickbat to the head to get Jeff to wake up to what he had.” Abruptly he said, “Y’know, there’s a pub just down the road. Why don’t you join me for a pint? It’s got to be more interesting than this dusty place.”

  I wondered if he regretted not being my uncle’s one, not making more of a push to keep him. It would be cruel to question him, though, so I simply asked, “You don’t care to read?”

  He gave me a grin that was actually quite charming. “I’m more what you might call your action bloke.”

  “I see. Well, a pint sounds good.” I needed to kill some time until I could join Mother and Folana Fournaise. And I’d make sure I restricted it to no more than a pint. I didn’t mind getting tipsy with Mark—I trusted him—but I didn’t know Bart Freeman well enough to let the Ice Man façade drop.

  He turned toward the door.

  “Did we ever thank you for bringing Jeff home to us?”

  “It wasn’t necessary—I couldn’t do less for him—but yeah. Your mum got me some cooking lessons. The Duchess says now I can burn water in French and Italian.”

  I started to chuckle, and then sneezed two more times.

  “God bless.”

  “Thank you.” I took a handkerchief from my pocket and blew my nose. This wasn’t the most opportune of times to discover a dust allergy.

  He opened the door and gestured for me to step out onto the street. Once I’d ascertained it was safe, I did so.

  “I see the apple don’t fall far from the tree.”

  I made a noncommittal sound and crossed the street.

  The Pear and Chestnut was as dim as The Best of Times, but at least it wasn’t dusty. The air was redolent with the odor of spilled beer and cigarette smoke. Since the lunch hour was coming to an end, most of the tables were emptying as workers hurried back to their places of employment. We walked up to the bar, and Bart Freeman ordered us each a pint.

  “I’ll get this,” I told him.

  “Ta, I’m sure.”

  I laid six quid on the counter. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, mate,” the barman said. He filled the glasses and handed one to Freeman, while I took the other one.

  “Let’s take that table in the corner,” Freeman suggested, and once we were settled, he said, “Your uncle was quite the charmer, you know.”

  “Was he really?” I raised the glass to my lips, took a swallow, and then licked off the foam mustache.

  “Yeah.” Freeman’s smile was nostalgic. “He took me punting on the Thames once. Nearly capsized the boat.”

  “That sounds like a Sebring. We don’t do well on boats. Well, I don’t do well on them.”

  “Yeah, you went boating with a friend. Mark Vincent, wasn’t it?”

  I kept my expression cool. “Was it?”

  “Sure it was. The Duchess looked into him. He’s got that island off Costa Rica.”

  Oh, Mark wasn’t going to be happy to learn of this.

  I pulled my Ice Man façade more firmly about me. “Be that as it may, I fail to see what he has to do with me.”

  Freeman sat back in his chair, an indolent smile curling his lips. “Do you think something could go on in your mum’s life and Folana wouldn’t know? She even checked out your dad. He had quite the reputation for being Mr. Freeze.”

  “I’m aware of that.” I was also aware of the powerful love my parents had had for each other, and it hadn’t taken my inadvertent eavesdropping the day we’d buried Father for me to understand that.

  “You are their son.”

  “I am called the Ice Man, you know.”

  “Yeah.” A couple of menus were on the table, and he pushed one toward me. “Fancy a bite?”

  I opened the menu and scanned the items listed.

  “The Pear and the Chestnut has the reputation for wicked fish and chips,” Freeman said.

  “That sounds like a good idea.” Mother and I wouldn’t be dining until eight, so something to tide me over until then would be smart.

  “I’ll go order the grub, and since you bought the pints, I’ll get this.” He waved away my thanks. “There’s malt vinegar on the table for the chips, unless you’d prefer red sauce?”

  “Freeman, I have had fish and chips before.” And when in London, I preferred vinegar to ket
chup.

  He chuckled. “No need to bite my head off, mate.” He pushed back his chair, but paused for a second. “And of course we’ll get a side of garden peas.”

  “Of course.”

  He winked and strolled to the bar to place our order, and then returned with two more pints of the dark beer we were drinking. “The waitress will bring our order in a bit.”

  I frowned, then shrugged. “All right.” The meal should soak up most of the alcohol. “Cheers.” I tapped my glass against his, and we each took a swallow. “So. What shall we talk about now?”

  He grinned. “How about your uncle?”

  In the middle of a tale of how he and Uncle Jeff first met—which I had no doubt was expurgated—the waitress brought two plates of fish and chips, the side order of peas, and bread and butter. I smiled up at her.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Yeah, ta, luv.”

  She winked at Freeman and headed back to the kitchen, a distinct sway to her hips.

  Freeman picked up the wedge of lemon, squeezed it over his fish, and then took some tartar sauce from its little pot and dabbed it on.

  I added salt and vinegar to my chips, but before I could take one, Freeman pushed across another small pot, this one containing red sauce. “No, thanks.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he muttered. He dipped one of his chips into the sauce and shoved it into his mouth.

  “I’m sure.” I bit my lip to keep from laughing and reached for a chip of my own.

  Freeman had just finished telling me about an incident in Rome more than forty years before when my cell phone played the “Flower Duet.” He raised both eyebrows.

  “That’s Mother.” I took my phone from my pocket. “Shall I come get you, Mother?”

  “Yes, please. And Folana is waiting here for Bart.”

  “We’ll be right there.” I said good-bye and put my phone away. “They’re waiting for us.” I took out my wallet for the tip, but Freeman put his hand on my wrist.

  “I’ve got this, Mann.” Something was bothering him, but he simply placed a couple of bills under a plate. “The Duchess don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  When we arrived at the tearoom, it was to find not only Mother and Folana Fournaise, but Lieutenant Colonel Abigail Francis, who was not in uniform.

  “Good afternoon, Abby. It’s a pleasure to see you again so soon.”

  “Hello, Quinton.” The strained sound of her voice wasn’t the only hint that something was off. As long as we weren’t in the same room as Major Drum, she usually addressed me as Quinn. “I wasn’t expecting to see you in London.”

  I could have said the same. “I accompanied my mother. Are you here on assignment or vacation?” I never saw a woman turn so pale. For a moment I thought she would faint.

  “Vacation.” She rose. “I’m sorry, Vanessa. I… I have to leave. I can’t—I need to get back to my hotel. Mrs. Mann, it was a pleasure to finally meet you. Quinton, it... it was nice seeing you again.” She bolted out of the tearoom. There was no other way to put it.

  Folana Fournaise caught Freeman’s gaze and gave a subtle nod toward the door that was swinging closed. “Portia and her son will see me to the townhouse.”

  He gave a nod in return and turned on his heel. This time, when the door swung closed, it was behind Bart Freeman.

  “Would you care for a cup of tea, Quinton?”

  I could see Mother didn’t want to leave just yet, at odds with her earlier phone call, so although tea was the last thing I needed after the beer I’d imbibed, I sat down and said, “I’d love one. Thank you.”

  Mother signaled to the waitress. “Another cup, please?”

  Once it was brought and she poured for me, I added a splash of cream, stirred it, and waited.

  Finally, her smile wry, Ms. Fournaise said, “I’m sure you’re wondering why a lieutenant colonel in the United States Marines would be having tea with me.”

  “Does it have anything to do with national security?”

  “Excuse me?” It was obvious my question startled her. “No, of course not!”

  “In that case, it would be the height of rudeness for me to wonder about something that isn’t my business.”

  She stared at me for a few moments, then turned to Mother. “You have a wonderful son, Portia.”

  “I think so.” Mother raised her cup to her lips and took a sip.

  The bells above the door tinkled, indicating someone had entered, and I glanced over my shoulder. “Abigail.” I stood.

  “I’m sorry, Vanessa. I realized me running out like that would raise more questions than me staying.”

  Did Abby not know who this woman really was?

  “Not in the least, Abigail. Quinton has just informed me that as long as it doesn’t concern the security of your country, he wouldn’t dream of prying.”

  “You always were a gentleman, Quinn. Please, sit down.” She dropped into the chair beside Ms. Fournaise and took her hand. “I met Vanessa Woods when I was on assignment in Belgium, before I was transferred to the OIG. We… became friends. More than friends.” She looked tired. “If word of that got back to my superiors, I’d not only be dishonorably discharged, I’d lose my career as well.”

  “I’ve told Abigail I would be more than happy to support her—”

  “I can support myself!”

  “Of course you can, darling girl. And yes, Mr. Mann, she’s aware of who I am.” She was an amazing woman. Mark had been impressed by her, and now that I’d met her, so was I.

  “In that case,” I said, “I hope you’ll both be very happy.”

  “You won’t say anything, Quinn?”

  “It’s not my business, Abby.” I was pleased we were back to the shortened versions of our names. However, “I should warn you that you may have put yourself in an untenable situation. If it came to the notice of certain… parties that you have a lover who’s a woman, you might find yourself open to blackmail, and in that case, I would have to step in.”

  “Not in the least, Mr. Mann.” Ms. Fournaise gazed at me from under her lashes, then studied her polished fingernails. “If such a situation ever came about, whoever threatened my darling girl would find themselves quite… dead.”

  “All right.” I could accept that, recalling what a staunch friend she’d been to Mother.

  Mother glanced at her watch. “We need to be going, Quinton.”

  “As must we. I’ve promised to take Abigail to Monaco for a few days, and we still have to pack.” She rose, went to Mother, and kissed her cheek. “Be well, my dearest friend.”

  “You also. I’m so pleased you’ve found someone to love. Colonel, treat her well.”

  “I will, ma’am. And… thank you. Thank you both.”

  I shook hands with both women, took Mother’s arm, and ushered her out of the tearoom.

  A cab was waiting at the curb. Bart Freeman leaned casually against the passenger door. He grinned, straightened, and opened the door. “I’ll get another one for the Duchess and her lady.”

  “Thank you, Bart.” Mother held out her hand to him.

  “Thank you, Queenie.” He took Mother’s hand. “You’ve been a good friend to… Vanessa.” Of course he wouldn’t use Folana’s real name where we could be overheard. “Mann.” He shook my hand. “Give your uncle my regards. And tell Rivenhall he’s a lucky man.”

  On the drive back to the hotel, Mother and I chatted desultorily of riding in Hyde Park the next day—we could hardly discuss Folana Fournaise and her lieutenant colonel lover with the driver only a few feet away.

  The drive didn’t take long, which was fortunate, since we were running short of time. We still needed to freshen up and change into formal wear for the evening.

  The driver pulled to the curb in front of Claridge’s, and I reached for my wallet.

  “That’s all right, gov,” he said. “The blond bloke took care of it.”

  I’d have to thank h
im the next time I saw him. I tipped the driver. “Thank you for a smooth ride.”

  He grinned and touched his forehead in a small salute. I helped Mother out of the cab, and then he drove off.

  “Well, this has been an interesting day.” I offered Mother my arm, and we entered the hotel.

  “Indeed it has, sweetheart. I had no idea—”

  “Mrs. Mann!” The manager approached us. “Lord Creighton left a message for you.” He handed the note to her.

  She glanced at it briefly before folding it and putting it in the pocket of her faux fox jacket. “Thank you, Mr. Hoskins.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” He returned to the front desk, and Mother and I crossed the foyer and entered a lift that was waiting.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked after the doors had slid shut.

  “Yes. Jack will have a car waiting to take us to his home at seven thirty, and in that case, we’ll really need to hurry. This afternoon has rushed by.”

  “It has.”

  “Did you enjoy your time with Bart?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. He’s an intriguing man.”

  “But too old for you.”

  I burst into startled laughter. “Yes, Mother.”

  “Not to mention I believe he’s still carrying a torch for your uncle.”

  “I got that impression too.” We arrived at our floor, exited the elevator, and strolled down the corridor to our suite. “I wonder if he and Ms. Woods would have become a couple if he weren’t gay and she didn’t prefer women.”

  “An interesting supposition.” Mother smiled at me. “But I imagine they’re much happier with their relationship the way it is.”

  I unlocked the door and let us in. She went to her room, and I went to mine, where I found my tux and dress shirt on the suit rack. Obviously, Mr. Henderson had done that. He’d also laid out shorts, undershirt, socks and tie on the bed. Shirt studs, matching cufflinks, and cummerbund were on the dresser.

  I put the suede dust bag with Mark’s gift into my suitcase, stripped off my clothes, and went to take a shower.