The Rain-Soaked Bride

by Guy Adams

  ‘Homely,’ he said. ‘I could fit my whole apartment in here.’

  ‘Wait until you see the conference room,’ said Fratfield, leading them up to a door on the right, beneath the stairs. He gestured inside the pink-walled room. It looked like the belly of a whale, a whale that had swallowed a massive mahogany meeting table. ‘I run every morning, trying to keep in trim, if it rains one day I could just do a couple of circuits in here. Damn room needs three fireplaces to keep it warm.’

  ‘It would take a lot of your fifty pees to keep the place going,’ Toby whispered to April.

  She tutted and nodded. ‘Never own a dining room you can get lost in,’ she said. ‘They’re more trouble than they’re worth.’

  Fratfield led them back out into the entrance hall and across to the other side. They were in a corridor winding its way around more function rooms and living areas. Each took on a bold colour, leavened by stark white cornicing.

  ‘We’ve hired in a fully vetted catering team,’ he said, gesturing vaguely towards another set of stairs leading down from the corridor. ‘Kitchens and staff quarters are down there. There’s also a second stairwell servicing the other wing. This place is a rabbit warren, built in the times when servants walked a different route to guests. I’ll be shocked if you don’t get lost during your first day. I’ll happily admit to a frustrating twenty minutes I spent yesterday wandering around the cellar.’

  ‘Cellar?’ asked Toby, conscious of security.

  Fratfield smiled. ‘What isn’t taken up by the kitchens and staff quarters is just storage space. You can’t move down there for relics and dusty paintings. There’s no external access and it’s been thoroughly swept for possible threats. Very thoroughly, given that I couldn’t find my way back out again. Whole place is sealed up. Not my job, really, but Rowlands’ boys appreciated the helping hand. You’ve seen the size of the place.’

  They had reached the rear of the building, the corridor opening out into a large conservatory filled with potted plants, extensive seating and a bubbling water feature. The sudden rush of light through the glass walls and ceiling made them realise how dark the rest of the building had been by comparison.

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ said Fratfield, nodding towards a man sat at a small table in the corner who was working his way through a stack of paperwork. ‘Morning, Mark.’

  Mark Rowlands looked up as they approached and Toby was all too aware of an appreciative sigh from April.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, with an affable smile, getting to his feet, ‘the spooks have arrived.’ He shook Shining’s hand and then turned to Toby. ‘Good to meet you, we have a mutual acquaintance, actually, Jeffrey Dean?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Toby, feeling immediately uncomfortable. ‘Yes, Jeffrey.’

  ‘Took over from you handling the music chap.’

  ‘Yoosuf.’

  ‘That’s the one. Gave you quite a beating, I heard?’

  ‘Not really, just got the jump on me.’

  ‘Bust of Beethoven wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All better now?’

  ‘Much.’

  Yoosuf had been his last assignment before being sent to Section 37, an asset he had let slip, a mistake for which his previous Section Chief had struggled to forgive him.

  Toby wondered if he could make his awkwardness any plainer to Rowlands.

  ‘Your loss,’ said Shining, trying to turn the conversation around, ‘was definitely our gain. Toby’s a real asset to the department.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Rowlands, giving Toby one last appraising look before turning back to Shining, ‘and what a department! I was very surprised when Bill told me just now that Clive King had brought you onboard. I’ve only just finished looking at your files. Still, I’m sure he knows best.’

  ‘Hello,’ said April, pushing her way through, her initial impression of Rowlands fractured by his attitude towards Toby and her brother. ‘I’m April Shining. On attachment to HMDS.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rowlands, distractedly, ‘another late addition.’ He glanced at the paperwork on the table. ‘I don’t seem to have a dossier for you.’

  ‘Never mind,’ she said, ‘all you need to know is that I’m here and there’s nothing you can do about it. Now, if you’ve quite finished swinging your dick around and being patronising?’ She turned to Fratfield. ‘Any more to see?’

  ‘No need to be rude,’ said Rowlands, sneering at her. ‘For a diplomat, that’s a remarkably big mouth you have.’

  She smiled. ‘All the better to eat you up and spit you out, my dear.’ She walked back into the house. ‘Come on then, some of us have work to do.’

  c) Lufford Hall, Alcester, Warwickshire

  ‘Well,’ said Fratfield, as he led them back towards the main entrance hall, ‘so glad there won’t be any squabbling between sections.’

  ‘There won’t be a problem,’ Shining assured him. ‘My sister does tend to get easily riled.’

  ‘Something of a character flaw in her line of work, I’d have thought.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ she said. ‘I just can’t stand jumped-up office boys, that’s all.’

  ‘In fairness,’ said Toby, ‘as security’s his show, you can’t blame him for being put out when three extra people get dropped into the mix. As far as he’s concerned, we’re extra complications.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Fratfield, stopping in front of a large oil painting of red-jacketed huntsmen being beastly to a stag, ‘on the subject of which … obviously your role is clear, Miss Shining, but the Korean contingent have been told Section 37 are here as independent security consultants. We didn’t really want to get into the whole, erm …’

  ‘Preternatural is a good word,’ said Shining, ‘it sounds more scientific than some of the alternatives.’

  ‘Fine,’ Fratfield nodded, ‘yes, we didn’t want to go into the whole preternatural angle. King felt it was best to be vague about that side of things. Not just because …’ he struggled to think of diplomatic phrasing.

  ‘Nobody believes in it?’ suggested Toby.

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Fratfield. ‘As I said, your record stands for itself. It’s just not a discussion King thought would be helpful. Better all round if we’re seen to be adopting a wide-ranging response to security matters.’

  ‘Just not too wide-ranging?’ Toby asked.

  ‘Hell,’ Fratfield sighed, exasperated, ‘you’re here, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I’m not dismissing your work, just asking you to be discreet.’

  ‘I can’t see that being a problem,’ said April, staring at him, an open challenge in her eyes, ‘can you?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he replied. ‘Anyway,’ he smiled, eager to change the subject, ‘I should introduce you to the rest of the diplomatic gang.’

  He looked to Shining and Toby. ‘Can I leave you to it?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Shining, giving him a friendly wave.

  Fratfield began to lead April away when a last thought occurred to Shining. ‘Oh!’ he said, ‘one other thing before we get stuck in. Our bedrooms?’

  ‘Ah … yes.’ Fratfield looked awkward again. ‘Bit of a snafu with that, actually. They’ve put you downstairs.’

  ‘Downstairs?’ asked Toby. ‘As in the basement?’

  ‘Servants’ quarters. Sorry, I’ll try and have a word and see if we can’t get it shifted to the guest rooms. No idea what they were thinking.’

  With that, he made a break for it, April complaining in no uncertain terms as she followed on behind.

  ‘Bloody servants’ quarters,’ Toby muttered. ‘Nice.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Shining, ‘in fact we might be better off down there.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, if someone is determined to bump off the delegates, I’m happy to be sleeping a couple of floors away,’ he grinned. ‘Let’s go and take a look, shall we?’

  d) Lufford Hall, Alcester, Warwickshire

  ‘Well, yes,
’ said Shining, stuffed into the corner of a room that felt like a prison cell. ‘All it really lacks is a window.’

  ‘And a bathroom,’ added Toby, sat on a bed whose springs were slowly but surely giving out beneath him, inclining him towards a piece of graffiti that had been chipped into the plaster of the wall. ‘Sven fucks Janice,’ it warned, though whether that was an ongoing situation or an ungrammatical yell of pride, nobody could tell. ‘And a wardrobe,’ he added, ‘and more than one pillow, and an absence of mildew.’

  ‘Well, it’s bound to be a bit damp down here,’ said Shining. ‘We’re planted in the Warwickshire earth like a potato.’

  ‘A sad and uncomfortable potato.’

  ‘We could list its deficiencies all day,’ Shining admitted, ‘though we’ve probably got more important things to do.’

  ‘Like pop out to the car for a kip on the back seat so we don’t suffer from a lack of it in here tonight?’

  ‘Oh, cheer up, mine’s just as bad.’

  ‘That doesn’t make me feel any better. You’re like my mother, trying to put a smile on my face by discussing the starving in Africa. I never quite got the logic of being cheered by the fact that others were worse off than me.’

  ‘It’s the sort of logic that has kept the secret service happy for years. Comparative misery.’

  ‘Then I should be the happiest spy in active service. Let’s leave now before I start laughing and just can’t stop.’

  They got up to leave as another private security guard appeared with their bags. He dumped Toby’s suitcase inside the door and held up a battered leather holdall. ‘This yours?’ he asked Shining.

  ‘Yes, is there a problem?’

  ‘Depends what this is,’ the guard asked, holding up a ceramic jar of dense paste.

  ‘Gentlemen’s relish.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ the guard asked, in the manner of someone who can’t even begin to process the words he’s just heard.

  ‘It’s not as pornographic as it sounds,’ Shining sighed, ‘and it harms nothing but anchovies.’

  ‘I think we’ll have to confiscate it,’ the guard said, holding it out from his body as if worried it might bite him. ‘Until we’ve done some tests.’

  ‘Might I suggest you use toast rather than test tubes?’ Shining said. ‘I’d hate to think it was completely wasted.’

  They left the man to his confusion at archaic spreads and climbed back up to the main body of the house.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Toby. ‘We’re clearly not going to find ourselves troubled by any official duties.’

  ‘Which, as I said before, is the solid advantage to our somewhat lacklustre reception. At least, by being ignored, we can get on with the important stuff. To hell with them, Toby, you really do need to stop worrying about what others think. People are terribly silly, by and large. Their opinions shouldn’t be sought.’

  Toby smiled. ‘Fair enough. I’ll still give Rowlands a slap if the opportunity presents itself though.’

  ‘I’ll hold your coat.’

  They stepped out of the front door, looking out across the wide expanse of lawn.

  ‘Do you have any of that protection stuff you can do?’ Toby asked.

  Shining raised a solitary eyebrow. ‘“Protection stuff”?’

  ‘You know, muttering in ancient languages and drawing funny things in chalk.’

  The old man nodded. ‘I do. I’m not entirely sure how effective it will be but at least a bracing stroll around the perimeter will give us a good idea of the lay of the land.’

  ‘And keep us away from people I might end up arguing with.’

  ‘A stroll it is.’

  They cut across the front lawn towards the driveway and the guardhouse beyond. The lawn split up into ornamental flowerbeds, at the centre of which was a giant urn, bubbling away as a water feature spurted up through its centre. The rush of the water seemed to build in volume before resolving itself into a different noise, the air above them filled with the roar of rotor blades. Looking up, they saw a helicopter curve down towards the edge of the lawn directly in front of the house.

  ‘And to think,’ said Toby, ‘we had to drive.’

  The helicopter dropped gracefully onto the grass and Shining and Toby watched as Clive King walked up to it, flanked by a man they had yet to meet but could guess was Ranesh Varma, the man from the Diplomatic Service.

  The helicopter’s rear door opened and four people climbed out.

  ‘The Korean contingent,’ said Shining. ‘I wonder if they have the first idea of the mess they’re stepping into?’

  ‘They will soon enough,’ said Toby. ‘Come on, let’s leave them to it.’

  They continued on their way towards the edge of the property. Having cleared the front garden, the land rose and then fell, an open stretch of lawn leading towards the external wall.

  ‘It’s like a medieval castle,’ said Shining, ‘the house itself recessed into lower ground so you can’t see it from outside.’

  ‘All well and good if the enemy attacks using bows and arrows.’

  ‘It’s still useful. As Fratfield said, it’s hard to get in here unobserved.’

  ‘I don’t believe for one moment you haven’t known someone in your time that could have managed it. What about that bloke you worked with in the sixties? The one who could remain unnoticed?’

  ‘Cyril? He’d have had a job on. It’s not as if he were invisible, after all, people were just inclined not to pay attention to him in the first place. A set-up like this is different. We have a whole stack of folk whose job it is to be alert at all times, Cyril couldn’t have snuck past them. Besides, there’s the electronic security systems, too.’

  ‘Security systems can be overcome, we know that.’

  ‘True. In fact it is often our job to do exactly that. Still, short of holding the conference in an underground bunker, we’re as secure as we could hope to be.’

  They’d reached the perimeter wall now and Shining had taken a small metal case from his pocket. Opening it, he took out a piece of chalk and began to draw on the old stone. Toby glanced towards the guardhouse, where the man who had reluctantly let them in earlier was keeping an eye on them.

  ‘I give it five minutes before he’s over here with a bucket of hot water and a jay cloth,’ said Toby.

  ‘He can do what he likes,’ said Shining, holding up the chalk. ‘This is somewhat specialist. Good for outdoor work. Once the sigils are drawn, they’re indelible. The act of drawing them makes them permanent. Even if he wiped away the outward signs of them, their effect would cling to the stone.’

  ‘A graffiti artist’s dream. So what do they do?’

  ‘They’re the magical equivalent of the security system. If someone comes over the wall I’ll know about it.’

  ‘They linked to a walkie-talkie in your room?’ Toby grinned.

  ‘Something like that. In modern terms, think of them as an open circuit. When someone crosses them, they close that circuit and energy flows through them. That energy will trigger an alarm in my delightfully cosy room. A candle I picked up in Peking in the eighties; its flame turns blue when the line is crossed.’

  ‘Of course it does.’

  ‘It’s the same as the bursts of coloured light you’d see when exposing different chemical elements to heat.’

  ‘Magic as the lost branch of physics again?’

  ‘Precisely. Though the candle is extremely sensitive to work at such a long distance, of course.’

  ‘I shall, as always, just nod wisely and trust you.’

  ‘Much the best way. I usually know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘So what else should we do?’

  ‘Well …’ Shining led Toby further along the wall, stopping after about twenty feet and drawing again. ‘Like so much of our work, magic will only take us so far. We’ll need to fall back on our more traditional skills too.’

  ‘Eyes and ears open.’

  ‘And expect the worst
, yes. We may be superfluous given the security staff involved, but they’ll miss the sort of things we’re looking for. If nobody believes the assassin is using magical methods, they’ll discount clues that may be all-important to us.’

  ‘If they even strike again.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure that’s a given. Anyone willing to kill three times doesn’t just give up. They’ll see this through until the bitter end.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT: THE TRANSLATOR

  a) Lufford Hall, Alcester, Warwickshire

  Fratfield led April to a small drawing room that lay just off the main conference room then did his best to get out alive.

  ‘And you’ve diplomatic experience, you say,’ asked Ranesh Varma, after Fratfield had briefly introduced them before running off in a strafe run of insults from April.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘just ten years or so, a while ago now. He made me cross, that’s all.’

  ‘It is to be hoped our Korean friends don’t do the same.’

  ‘It is, I do so hate being cross.’ She smiled and shook his hand. ‘Don’t worry, I can be a fiery old hag but I’m not such a liability as to bring the conference down in flames.’

  She gave Ranesh a quick once-over: early forties, public school, terribly sweet. His eyes, always a fair measure of a man, she believed, sat gentle but inquisitive behind the lenses of a pair of wire-framed spectacles. She made an instant judgement: Ranesh Varma was, indeed, to quote her brother, ‘a good egg’.

  ‘I hope you won’t think me rude …’ he said.

  ‘Uh-oh, that’s never a good start to a sentence.’

  Ranesh smiled. ‘I know, it’s like when someone prefixes a statement with “No offence, but …” I was just going to admit that we were surprised to have you sprung on us at the last minute.’

  ‘Entirely my fault, and I won’t tread on anyone’s toes. Probably. Or if I do, feel free to stamp on mine in return. I just felt I might be useful.’