True to Your Service

by Sandra Antonelli

He glanced at the towels on the arm of the chair. “Are you being well cared for here?

  She nodded once and waited, but what she waited for she had no idea. He was here for a reason that would soon show itself. While she doubted it, it was possible he had simply come to pay his respect, to be thoughtful. Blandly, she fixed her gaze on him.

  “If there’s anything you need tonight, just let Gibson know. He’s a fine fellow, Gibson, an excellent nurse. He was in the Army, matron in the AMS, with the Queen Alexandra’s Nursing Corps, a captain, I believe.”

  “Yes, he’s quite efficient.” Mae went on being courteous like the professional she was. “Do I have you to thank for my lavish surroundings?”

  “Consider it a token, a small gift to express my gratitude for your service earlier this year.” Beneath a perfectly groomed moustache, Llewelyn smiled his perversion of a smile. There was an envelope tucked between his thigh and armrest. “I know you don’t like me. Well, I know I have been a bit ill-mannered, neglecting to say thank you. Rest assured, I was most impressed by your assistance with the counterfeiting business earlier this year, Mrs Valentine. You have the gratitude of the British government…and my gratitude as well.”

  “Last year, you accused me of murder, money laundering, informed me my husband was a polygamist, and earlier this year you suspected me, and my employer, a man who works for you, of theft and treason. With respect Brigadier, fuck your gratitude,” she said most politely.

  Chuckling robustly, he motioned to her teacup and the china on the table. “Shall I ring Gibson for some fresh tea?”

  “Thank you, I don’t care for tea.”

  He chuckled again. “Just like your employer.”

  Llewelyn lifted an envelope that he’d tucked beside him on the chair. Well then,” the older man said, “perhaps it’s best I take my leave as well, and let you rest, Mrs Valentine.” He paused, and turned slightly. “Would you mind terribly if I used your lav?”

  “Of course not,” she gestured to the ensuite, wanting nothing more than to be in that room beneath a spray of scalding water. She moved back to the windows, drawing back the curtain to again stare out glass hazed by bird shit. She was still there when Llewelyn came out of the bathroom.

  He said, “Before I go, Mrs Valentine, there is one thing.”

  Mae turned, toes bunching inside slippers that were too big on her feet. “What do you want, Brigadier?”

  “There is something refreshing about getting right to the point.”

  “Then please get right to yours.”

  Enveloped under his arm, Llewelyn crossed the room and went to the table, pouring himself a cup of the tea Gibson had made. He watched her with devilish, amused eyes and added sugar and milk to his teacup, the spoon a chiming ting-a-ling on green and white garland-edged china Kitt would say was Royal Albert or Royal Worcester or Royal Stafford. “It’s hard to imagine a man like Major Kitt owning a dog, but there you are, looking after the animal the way you look after him. I do hope the Major appreciates all you do for him, Mae. May I call you Mae, Mrs Valentine?”

  “No.” Mae touched her head. It had begun to ache and sting. She moved to sit in one of the overstuffed chairs.

  “Yes, yes. All right.” He sipped his tea, rather daintily. “There is something I am hoping you can help me with.”

  “Which is?”

  He put down the cup, opened the envelope, pulled out a few pages of something, and crossed over to her. “These are some images we were able to isolate from CCTV footage. Do you recognise these men? Do they look like anyone you’ve seen before, perhaps when you were working for Dr Julius Taittinger earlier this year?” He turned a paper about. The image on it was somewhat grainy, but the colour photo showed two men, one with orange sunglasses and a dark stubble of beard, the other, muscly with no neck, black-framed glasses and a pork-pie hat too big for his head. His features were obscured by the hat and sunglasses

  “I don’t know who these men are, but I saw them this morning, just before the lorry hit.” She released a brittle laugh and pointed. “The man in the hat spoke Spanish. He reminds me of Li Man, the Chinese ‘cleaner’ who the killed the UN banker, Aurelio Martini, in Sicily last year.”

  “How interesting” Llewelyn said, as if amused rather than fascinated.

  “Did the man in the hat die?”

  “No.” He shuffled to the next few pages, showing her other images of a brunette woman in ice blue, of men on bicycles, a mother with a pram.

  Somehow Mae felt filthier than before. “The woman in blue was dead right beside Major Kitt’s car. I don’t know who they are. I’m sorry I can’t help you more than that.”

  “Oh, but you can. I once told you your loyalty to your employer was commendable. I understand you’re grateful to him for sorting out that trouble with your husband, the money laundering, you killing those two men. You may feel beholden to him for his help with that mess, perhaps you’re even in love with him. But we both know what fruitless nonsense that is. We both know his tastes run to women who are, frankly, younger—and disposable. However, he values you and your dedication, your friendship even, and rightly so. Good help is so hard to come by, particularly help you can trust with certain confidences. It hasn’t escaped my attention that you’re a very capable woman. I’ve been informed you are quick to think on your feet and take direction well. I need you to do me another favour. Like you did earlier this year.”

  “I’m a butler, not feckin’ Mrs Pollifax.”

  “And we’re not the CIA.” He sipped more tea. “You’ll simply observe what’s going on about you. You are exceptionally well-trained as a butler. Your observation skills are excellent. This suits you perfectly. You’ll be briefed beforehand, but the observation is all there is to it. Afterwards, have a little holiday on the British government. I’d say you’ve earned it.” He smiled handsomely. “The Netherlands can be quite pretty in the spring. Your husband was a gardener, wasn’t he? Yes, a Master Gardener, if I’m not mistaken. In your short time with Caspar I imagine you learned quite a bit about trees and flowers and grass and such. So then, what do you say?”

  “Have a pleasant afternoon.”

  “Let me think how to rephrase this.” He paused, put the photos back in the envelope, returned to the table, and helped himself to a cucumber sandwich.

  Mae wondered what the penalty would be for smashing a china teapot over the head of a Brigadier General. She’d had a traumatic experience and concussion, she could say she wasn’t right in her head, and that could be used as grounds for defence in breaking vintage crockery and killing Llewelyn.

  Llewelyn, brushed crumbs from the lapel of his jacket and moustache. “There are some who were dissatisfied with the Major’s conduct in his last two assignments. There were consequences; he’s been censured, removed from field duty, and rightly so. There’s been a push for a far harsher penalty; he did, after all, break several international laws and treaties that are punishable by imprisonment.”

  Mae’s stomach melted into her feet, taking her liquified heart to the tips of her toes. Her fingers closed around the teacup she’d left on the table beside her chair. “Are you about to extort me, Brigadier?”

  “Indeed.”

  Instead of lobbing china at his handsome face, Mae swore crudely, in English, Italian, and Sicilian, calling him every filthy name she could think of.

  Llewelyn smiled again. “How marvellous that you are multilingual, Mrs Valentine.”

  Mae put a hand to her forehead, teacup hanging from her forefinger. “Jaysus, Jaysus, you people,” she muttered. “You won’t let go. I’ve given you no real cause, done everything you’ve…asked me to do, and yet you think I’m hiding something. We both know it is not my antipathy for you.”

  “To be frank, my dear, I don’t trust you.”

  “Well, we share common ground there. I don’t trust you either.”

  He smiled. “All of our operations require legal authorisation, approval in advance, to avoid political risk. Ou
r political allies don’t like it when we shit in their garden. They don’t like if we leave shit in their garden, and they’re especially unhappy if we take shit from their garden, particularly without asking. In the last year, Major Kitt has created quite a shitstorm. One might think the Americans complained the loudest, but the Italians have shouted even louder. Of course, the Major got the job done, he saved lives, including yours, and, to put it bluntly, a fucking load of money. Nonetheless, the Foreign Secretary is being rather vocal about making an example. For some reason, it reminded her of the concealment of sexual abuse and exploitation scandals that took place in Bosnia, the ones that implicated UN personnel, well over twenty years ago. She is adamant that we can’t brush things under the rug anymore. Transparency, she believes, is key to international relations.”

  She wrapped her hand around the cup. “How exactly is extortion, your threatening to imprison Major Kitt if I refuse to cooperate, transparent?”

  “Major Kitt?” Llewelyn chuckled. “I have no doubt Major Kitt could survive quite well in prison, yet he’s better placed, far more suitable where he is. Yes, Kitt would fly through imprisonment, but I’m not so sure about your brother.”

  “My brother?”

  He sipped tea and sighed. “Your brother, Mrs Valentine, he was a Chaplain with UN Peacekeepers in Bosnia all those years ago, wasn’t he, with the bunch of chaps who were kidnapped and held? I’ve been around long enough to recognise PTSD in soldiers. It’s insidious how it lingers, how it digs into a man, how it can return. Anything can trigger it. There are hospitals, you know, institutions that treat that sort of thing. Long-term.”

  The air rushed from her lungs, her mouth sagged open, and Mae stared at Llewelyn malevolently. Gibson. Fecking Gibson wasn’t just a nurse. He was a bloody information-gathering mole for The Consortium.

  “Now then, it’s quite simple really. I want you to go to The Netherlands and see if you can make an identification. Aside from one or two minor issues to tend to, it’s already been authorised. My assistant has already made arrangements.” He crossed to her, smiled, leaned over slightly, and held out the envelope. “I certainly hope the Major and your brother appreciate all you do for them.”

  There came a slight rap and quiet hiss of the door opening. Kitt entered, smiling softly, but his smile widened and the earlier warmth that had shone in in his blue-grey eyes dimmed to ash.

  Llewelyn straightened, envelope in hand. “What took you so long, Major Kitt?”

  “Excuse me, sir. You said to meet you in Ward B.” Kitt said. “This is Ward D.”

  “Did I? I thought I said D. Not to worry, here you are.” Llewelyn’s tilted his head, his grin self-satisfied. “And here’s your delightful housekeeper. Oh, I do beg your pardon. Butler.”

  Mae’s heart beat in her temples while casual, dispassionate, Kitt slid a hand into the pocket of his trousers. “I’m very pleased to see you’re not severely injured, Valentine.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He stopped smiling. “And my dog?”

  “Felix is fine. My brother collected him. I am sorry about your Bentley,” she said, throat tight. “I’m afraid it’s a write-off.”

  “It’s only a car, Valentine.”

  “Yes, yes, and you are insured, Major.” Llewelyn tapped the envelope against his leg. “So, now that you are here, let’s get on with it. We take pride in thinking best under pressure. Your meeting with Jan Vlaming has been moved forward to tomorrow. Mrs Valentine will accompany you to Amsterdam.”

  Any protest Mae had was lost in a freakish little thrill followed by an abrupt paroxysm that rendered her tongue immovable. She watched the dimmed ashes in Kitt’s eyes spark to skilfully contained, molten rage. “Valentine will accompany me?” he said, perfectly still, utterly composed, words burning with frostbite.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it your plan that Valentine pose as Jill Charteris?”

  “My word, no! Mrs Valentine will simply accompany you.”

  “Whatever for?”

  Mae let out a noisy breath.

  Llewelyn shrugged one shoulder offhandedly and ignored the question. “As I said, you will meet with Jan Vlaming. Mrs Valentine will observe.”

  Mae snorted suddenly, mumbling, “Jan Vlaming.”

  Kitt said nothing for a moment. He glanced at her. She held a teacup in her hand, her top lip in a cynical twist. She didn’t look at him, her attention fixed on inspecting the gilt edge of a china cup he automatically identified as Royal Grafton. Oh, Christ.

  Llewelyn went on, “Hedison’s has agreed for you to stand in for Charteris and meet with Vlaming. Bryce is making the necessary arrangements.” He shook the envelope. “Here are the necessaries.”

  “Sorry. I’m unclear as to the necessary purpose of including my Valentine in this action.”

  “Dear boy.” Llewelyn gave a slight sniff. “You’ve seen the rough CCTV footage Tech’s managed to pull, but even before you did, I know you thought this was related to the ghastly business with the freeports that nearly saw you dead last year, and I know you think your Mrs Valentine is in a unique position to identify any player we may have missed.”

  “I am in exactly the same position,” Kitt said bloodlessly. “Send me alone?”

  “Professor Boothroyd has been invited to the garden party thrown by Polly Dankwaerts, but can’t make it. Mrs Valentine will go at his behest.”

  “Professor Boothroyd? Are you serious, sir?”

  “I am. It’s all arranged and it’s an excellent cover. Mrs Valentine will go about her business, shadow you, and observe. You were training Eaton, now you are training Mrs Valentine. Understood?”

  Kitt glanced at Mae, reality stinging, tiny poison-tipped darts piercing his heart. “This is impossible,” he muttered.

  Llewelyn held up the envelope. “If you truly need me to spell it out, the reasoning is all here, along with the ‘Professor’s’ background for Mrs Valentine. Brief her thoroughly.”

  Mae saw Kitt chew on his superior’s explanation and swallow it along with his ire. “She is not a professional,” he said, “and she’s had head injury. With respect, sir, she’s a butler, not an intelligence officer.”

  “She has proved herself to be excellent in observation, no detail is beyond her scrutiny. As for her injuries, Gibson informed me her scans were clear. She’ll be fine after a good night’s rest, and come now, she’s already participated in two previous actions.”

  “Her two previous actions were enough. She’ll get in my way. I can assure you the woman is a nuisance.”

  “A nuisance?” Llewelyn half turned, chuckling. “See what he thinks of you, Mrs Valentine?”

  “My point is, sir, recruiting, using untrained civilians is criminal.”

  The corners of Llewelyn’s mouth lifted and kissed the edges of his moustache. “Criminal, dear boy? Don’t lecture me about what’s criminal. Insubordination does not reflect well on your position. I admit I find your sense of chivalry admirable, even if it is exactly what got you stabbed in the back all those years ago. However, I hardly think a woman like Mrs Valentine would see you stepping in as an act of gallantry, when she’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and she’s already decided to assist.”

  Kitt sustained a mask of nothingness, but his blistering gaze slid to Mae as she set aside the teacup. He stared. Mae looked at the floral wallpaper, at the tea set and lone sandwich on the table, at Llewelyn, at anything but Kitt. She’d been cornered, rendered speechless, someone else had taken control of her life, a life now wholly intertwined, married to someone fascinating and reprehensible who did things fascinating and fiendish. She watched Llewelyn’s grin turn smug.

  “I object to this.” Kitt said. “Untrained civilians are a liability.”

  “Your objection is noted, Major, but things are settled. So be a good lad and teach the woman. Brief her well.” He dropped the envelope on the table beside the tea things, chuckling, and moved to the door “The flight leaves before ei
ght tomorrow morning. It may still be early enough in the season. If the weather’s fine, as you fly into the Netherlands, you’ll see the fields of tulips in bloom.”

  Llewelyn crossed the room and left. The door hinge shushed open and hissed closed, and everything was at once utterly still. Kitt stared at the door. “What have you done?” his words might have been barely above a whisper, but Mae heard them.

  Chapter Five

  “I did the only thing I could,” she said, rising gingerly, hand to hair darkened by dried blood, and went to pour water into her china teacup.

  All the acid that had cooled in his chest and throat had returned to squeeze in around his heart and infuse his muscles. The caustic heat was different now, the sharp sense of this panic—and despite wanting to convince himself otherwise, those moments in the Bereavement Suite had been panic and this was as well, and it was fuelled by self-loathing and swelling antipathy for a man he had respected for years. Except he knew the hatred for Llewelyn was misplaced. The man had always been calculating, and had to be in his position. Kitt knew what was more accurate, what was more abhorrent was that he only had himself to blame for all of this. The shortcomings that put him in this situation, that put Mae in this situation, were entirely his responsibility. “This is impossible,” he muttered again, and then swore, vile words strung together nonsensically.

  She stared out dirty windows. “Llewelyn made threats,” he said.

  “Yes. And you know he’s a man who follows through, who carries out his threats.” He moved behind her.

  The too-large slippers she wore tripped her slightly as she turned. “I know you’re angry.”

  “And what are you, Mae?”

  “I’m numb, sticky, and I can’t think.”

  “Did you think when you agreed to do him another bloody favour?”

  “What would you have me do?”

  Full of rage, of fear, Kitt stared at her. “God damn it, Mae. You have not, despite what you may think at the moment, developed a taste for this work. You have not.”

  “I love you, Hamish. I want to be with you. I had no other choice.” She turned about again, watching birds outside dirty windows.