At once, Kitt stopped abruptly beside a tall white pillar and she nearly ran into him. “What a beautiful dog,” he said. “I have one just like it at home.”
Mae followed his line of sight to a seating area across from the lobby’s front desk, where a dreadlocked black man sat on a sofa across from an older, handsomer black man.
Ever so relaxed in an easy chair, Brigadier Roger Llewelyn scratched Felix beneath the chin, the dog’s leash loose in one hand.
“What…the…feck,” she muttered, heart tumbling into her stomach.
Kitt muttered something obscene. “Take a breath,” he said softly. “Take a breath. He is Boothroyd, Professor Boothroyd. Count to five, then move.’ He began whistling Always Look on the Bright Side of Life under his breath, left her standing beside the pillar, and approached the desk to check in.
“Welcome to the Palace Grand,” the petite brunette clerk behind the desk said, casting a glance at Mae before giving Kitt a pretty smile.
Breathing in and out, Mae counted to ten and then moved to the front desk, behind Kitt, trying to be nonchalant, pretending not to see the Brigadier, shaking rainwater off her trench coat, the clerk behind the desk acknowledging her with a smile and nod.
“There you are, Mrs Valentine!” Llewelyn boomed like a stage actor.
Hair plastered like a helmet to her head, a trickle of rainwater dribbling down her neck, she muttered, “That diabolical fecker,” a little louder than she’d intended. The desk clerk glanced at her and Mae turned around, watching Llewelyn cross the space, smiling cheerfully. The dog pulled on his lead, stretching forward to reach her.
“Oh, my, you’re all wet!” Llewelyn stated the bloody obvious. “Did you forget to take an umbrella? It is my experience that Amsterdam is wetter than London. Yes, yes, I’m earlier than you expected, but you are capable and I knew you wouldn’t mind. There will be four for dinner tonight, if that’s not too much trouble to arrange. By the way, your brother sends his love. I ran into him at Heathrow, on his way to Dublin.”
“Dublin?” Mae took another breath, quashing fear that threatened to jerk her over the edge of rationality and into kicking and pummelling Kitt’s employer.
“I know you’re concerned about him travelling, but you can’t hover.” Llewelyn chided her with good-natured aplomb that hid a poison sting. “The man has to live his life. He’s feeling much better, and he quite enjoyed meeting Gibson.”
Kitt looked over his shoulder. Mae’s eyes widened for a moment and then collapsed into a very short-lived squint. She blinked once then fell right into the role as a patient butler. “Yes, I’m sure he did. I’ll see to dinner, Professor,” she said, and Felix began to lick her hand.
Llewelyn held out the dog’s lead. “Here, take the little chap. Let me know when you’ve settled everything upstairs.” His eyes cut to the black, dreadlocked gentleman heading off. “I’ll be in the bar.”
“I adore this area,” Llewelyn said melodically, hand sweeping across the view from the balcony. “The Grand Palace is so ideal for its proximity to the Oude Zijde. The oldest side of the city is so very Dutch. Pity you won’t have the time to explore it.” He crossed to the large sitting room, dumping his ink-blue Burberry car coat on a sofa. “Now then, before you ask, my dear Mrs Valentine,” he pulled his shirt cuffs straight in his jacket sleeves, “your brother is fine. The padre is with his religious compatriots in Dublin. Gibson, you remember him, the nurse? He knew your brother was, shall we say, struggling. Gibson took the liberty of arranging an invitation, and I was more than happy to see to the Major’s dog. You know I have two of my own.”
“Yes. You did all that out of the goodness of your heart.” Damp hair in place, Mae stood at the paned glass balcony doors, staring at the wet view, relieved and seething.
“Why naturally, Mrs Valentine.”
Mae went on staring out the balcony doors. The hotel, on Warmoesstraat, was situated a few blocks from the National Monument and Koninklijk Paleis, the Royal Palace. The view from the balcony of the two-bedroom suite looked down over a dead-end canal and the start of De Wallen—the red-light district she and Kitt had walked through a short time ago. The Catholic Basiliek van den Helige Nicholaas, right next door to the hotel, also bordered the dead-end canal and De Wallen. It was a strange juxtaposition of religion and sex that the Irish Catholic in Mae suddenly found rather amusing. Felix nosed his snout into her hand as she gazed down at the canal again and laughed to herself. So, Llewelyn liked this part of Amsterdam. The man probably had a penchant for prostitutes and pot, both of which were readily, and legally, available just on the other side of the canal.
“Is that a smile, Mrs Valentine? You’re quite attractive when you smile.”
At the bar on a sideboard, Kitt sorted through a disappointing selection of booze on offer. He looked up at her as her smile died. “My hole,” she said under her breath, and turned around, slipping on the comfortable mantle of composed professional, her attention on Kitt. “Excuse me, sir, I’d better take Felix out, unless there’s something you need.”
Kitt shook his head at a bottle of Yellow Label Four Roses. “A better bourbon.”
“Of course, sir.” Mae gave him an agreeable nod and patted her hip. “Come, Felix.”
“Mrs Valentine,” Llewelyn said.
Mae faced him, smouldering fractiousness concealed in a fist she held clenched behind her back. walking the dog and the better bourbon would have to wait. “Brigadier?” she said, watching the dog trot over to the man and latch on to his calf.
With a scowl, Llewelyn pushed the animal away. “I must apologise,” he said. “It is unusual for someone in my position to step in to a field action so abruptly, before any real intelligence has been gathered. It’s not typica—” Felix wrapped his paws around Llewelyn’s knee. “Oh, not again. Get down!” He pushed at the animal and the dog scampered off, leaping upon the sofa. “You need to take this dog to an obedience course, Major.”
“Felix tends to do that when he’s anxious,” Mae cocked her head, “or with people he dislikes.”
Kitt chuckled softly and took a glass from a small shelf. “Care for a little bourbon, sir?”
“No thank you, it’s a bit early in the day for me.” Llewelyn gave his vintage Rolex a glance and smoothed his moustache, eyes shifting to the dog shaking a throw pillow like a rat. “It’s not typical for the head of Special Operations Division to step in, Mrs Valentine. I generally leave the relay of information to my assistant. However, Morland’s dealing with an internal matter and I’m here because AIVD Director Kurt Albert requested a meeting, Major. Two birds, one stone.”
“What is AIVD?” Mae asked.
“The Dutch Secret Service,” Kitt said. “What information would I have expected from Morland, sir?” Pillows spilling to the floor, the dog launched off the sofa and rocketed about the room.
“We’ll discuss that after Albert liaises with his Croatian counterpart this afternoon.”
Kitt poured a splash of amber liquid into the glass. “Another bird, another stone,” he said, glancing at Mae straightening cushions and pillows on the long sofa.
“There’s an additional circumstance that’s rather compelling—if it’s true. We’ll see if either matter has legs. Albert’s reque—Major, you really ought to take this silly, bad-mannered dog to obedience training! You’d never find my Bambi and Thumper behaving this way.”
Mae refolded a wool throw and looked over her shoulder. Felix had wrapped his white-dipped paws around Llewelyn’s leg again, humping energetically as the man shook him off and pushed him away.
Glass of bourbon in hand, the left corner of his mouth lifted with amusement, Kitt said, “Off, Felix!” The dog huffed and plopped onto the carpet, white paws crossing daintily.
“As I was saying,” head shaking, Llewelyn brushed tiny ginger hairs from his trousers, “Your need for local assistance, and Albert’s request to meet, made it necessary for me to step in as Professor Boothroyd.”
Step in. The wily bastard was staying, taking on field work. Kitt swallowed the amber liquid he’d just drawn into his mouth. Christ. He hoped like hell he wouldn’t be expected to do the man’s paperwork.
“So, your morning with Vlaming,” Llewelyn purred. “Tell me about it.” He looked at them both, his light brown eyes vulture-like.
Mae glanced at Kitt and had a seat. Felix jumped into the chair with her and settled beside her, head on her lap. She rubbed his ears.
Kitt had a sip of subpar bourbon, put his tumbler on a side table beside a crystal clock, and painted Llewelyn a picture of the meeting with Vlaming, telling him about Mae’s chance eavesdropping on his secretary’s conversation in the greenhouse, following the gardener to the sex shop, and the locked storeroom, the body, the end of the gardener, the lodgings on the upstairs floor next door, the probability of human exploitation.
A smile, the sort matinee idols of the 1940s had, bloomed on Llewelyn’s face. Kitt knew that handsome grin was an I-told-you-so regarding the value of Mae as an asset on this assignment, and the man went on smiling handsomely. “I take it you informed the locals?” he said.
“I have, sir.”
“What’s the secretary’s name?”
“Tanja Goedenacht.”
“What a good sturdy Dutch name. It’s eyes on her then?”
“It appears so. We’ve arranged to meet for a drink. She doesn’t know she’s having dinner with me instead.”
“Yes, I know. Bryce advised you needed briefed, local support. However, since Albert is coming for dinner, there’s no need to roust Ivar or Tilly. Bring the secretary here, Major, we’ll perform a little play in this suite.” He turned his attention to Mae. “Mrs Valentine, please see to ordering a rijsttafel supper, and whatever other necessary things for breakfast,’ he said then paused for a moment, watching her with a wry little smile and careful scrutiny.
She mirrored his expression.
His laugh jolly, his smile even merrier Llewelyn. “When you unpack, you’ll find Morland tucked a delightful packet of chai for me. I believe it’s in my smallest bag. I’ll take the chai in the evening, but whatever tea you find in the kitchen now would be suitable,” he said, brows arched expectantly.
“The Major doesn’t drink tea,” Mae glanced at Kitt.
Llewelyn sat back, fingers flicking in an insouciant wave. “I’m sure you can scrounge up some coffee for him.”
Mae rose, hands behind her back. “If I may, Brigadier, in what capacity am I here, to serve as your butler or as an observer who need not be informed of anything?”
“Oh, dear. I’ve forgotten myself entirely.”
Filthy words hit the tip of Kitt’s tongue but remained trapped behind his teeth. Llewelyn never forgot himself.
“I was quite out of line,” the older man said. “Forgive me, Mrs Valentine. I am quite capable of looking after myself,” he cast a sidelong glance at Kitt, “but yes, let’s establish ground rules, shall we? I think it best we maintain our roles and, given your career, you look after me as you would any employer, making tea, unpacking my things, taking that pretty, little, silly dog for his walk and such. Does that clarify things?”
“As you wish, Brigadier.” With a nod, her expression dispassionately professional, Mae turned and the dog followed her across the polished wooden floor to the luggage near the door. She took bags into one bedroom and then the other.
Llewelyn had a seat on the dark green sofa, a little blue folder of information on his lap.
Kitt set the empty bourbon glass on an end table and sat on the fat arm of the charcoal grey upholstered club chair had sat in earlier. “My dog, sir?”
“Not quite the dog I expected you to have.”
“So you’ve said.”
“A dog is not the most practical the thing a man in your profession to have, is it?”
“You have dogs.”
“I am not a field officer.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Why is he here? Why are you here?”
“Careful, Major.” Llewelyn shook a finger. “Her brother was struggling and needed support. We support our own, Major. I sent Gibson to look after the Padre, and having the dog here gets Mrs Valentine out of the way.”
“You said her presence here was necessary and now you want her out of the way?”
“Your butler is exactly where she needs to be. It’s obvious she’s quite fond of you, perhaps even a little in love with you. You have noticed how she looks at you, haven’t you?”
Chapter Twelve
God damn it all, what had he done? Why had he ever been such a quixotic fool and given in to foolish emotion and attachment? It all would have been different if Mae were still in love with a dead man, if she’d still clung to that desperate bond to a ghost of a man she never really knew. But no, she’d let go of Caspar and let go of any pretext of professionalism that she’d hidden behind, she’d reached out, opened herself, opened her heart to him, loved him and Kitt was lost to her foolishness, to his own foolishness. Here they were, fools in love, fools who loved each other in a foolish profession that was no place for fools.
This job was his for life, he’d known that from day one. Mae understood and accepted that cold fact. The problem was he never expected love would burrow into his life or that he’d love someone the way he loved Mae. He’d never prepared for love, never considered it…necessary. What he had expected was that he’d be dead before he hit fifty, which wasn’t that far away, yet he now had a compulsion to stay alive that went far beyond self-preservation. He looked at Mae coming out of the second bedroom wearing a navy-blue shirt dress—and an apron. The woman travelled with her uniform and an apron.
Dog trailing behind, she headed through the dining area and into the small but well-appointed kitchen, the packet of Llewelyn’s chai in hand, pushing through a swinging door, and Kitt’s insides scrambled, nausea bubbled up hot and acidic to burn his throat. He swallowed back the sick that reached his mouth.
Kitt stared at Llewelyn shuffling papers in the folder, knowing that he had to find a way to get her out, to get Mae away. His immediate thought was to plot Llewelyn’s demise. His next thought was equally preposterous, but he glanced down at his left hand anyway, at the missing quarter bits left of his ring finger and pinkie. Losing the rest of his hand might get him out, put him on the second reserve list, but it would do nothing to extricate Mae. “What’s obvious to me is that she’s loyal and faithful to her husband.” Kitt said, matter-of-God-damned fact.
Llewelyn tossed the folder on the coffee table. “As loyal and faithful as you are to me and the Consortium’s service. She may be twenty-five years beyond your tastes, but have you slept with her?” He held up a hand. “Oh, I know, it’s hardly a gentlemanly question, but you two have been in several stressful situations together, and sex can add a level of trust, a particular intimacy, can make another more agreeable to undertaking something disagreeable. Yes, yes, she might be too old for you, but even if you pretend not to notice, even if you keep the propriety line of employer-employee relations very much in place, I’ve seen how she looks at you and I imagine Mrs Valentine would happily get in your bed. All you need do is ask—if you haven’t already. Then again, I could be mistaking her respect for you and gratitude to you for saving her life as love, infatuation, or simple hero worship.”
“I assure you,” Kitt said, “Valentine fails to see me as heroic.”
Llewelyn chuckled. “Good help, as we know, is hard to find. A trustworthy employee is an asset, and taking advantage of that trust might be unseemly, but you’ve already taken advantage of her, Major. The woman would do, and has done, anything for you.”
“I know Valentine well, and she’s not doing this for me. I am aware you coerced her to participate by offering an…alternative for her brother’s ongoing mental health therapy. While your faith in me has been restored, you don’t trust her. Why is that? Why is it not enough that she offered her assistance twice before and exposed true crimina
ls and corruption within our offices?”
Llewelyn smiled faintly. “Two things, really. For a while, someone has wanted to embarrass us, to have it look as if various government departments are entangled in illicit activity, to create scandal, to redirect attention to disguise the actual criminal acts. We suspected this and had eyes on you, Gettler, Springer, and Dalton. If you recall, my money was on you.”
“Yes, I recall.” Kitt smiled back broadly, looking up through his lashes. “Perhaps someone bears a grudge.”
“I know that’s not your style, Major. My name being bandied about as the account holder paying off the assassin who tried to kill your butler and you—the one you stuffed into the boot of a VW Beetle in New Mexico, what was his name?”
“Derek.”
“Yes, attaching my name to paying off the assassin you killed was a grudge move by Dalton and Molony to discredit me, and had you not succeeded in clearing yourself of suspicion, it would have embroiled me in scandal that ended my career. This is far reaching, stretching much farther than we thought. In our discussion this morning, AIVD Director Albert mentioned something we’d come across before. He’ll bring it along this evening. You’ll want to have a look at it. The sweeps, surveillance, internal audits and, well, the actual business with the container and smuggling revealed it was Dalton. His activity with Molony proved me wrong about you. I can’t tell you how happy that made me, how happy I was that you didn’t die last year.”
“Is that an apology, sir?”
Llewelyn chuckled aridly. “With Dalton and Molony’s demise, we’d believed we’d found the chink in our armour and repaired it. Only the rot is much deeper than we realised, and encompasses so much more. The Americans report that Ruby Bleuville was found dead in her cell this morning. It’s early, but a preliminary report suggests suicide.”
True to Your Service Page 15
