by Dylan Madrid
“But you handled it well,” she said. “You bounced back, as you self-congratulatory Americans like to say.”
“No,” he said. “You’re wrong. I just hid it well. I’m still bouncing. I’m not back yet.”
“Until now?” she said. “Until Luca?”
She’s testing you. Don’t let it show.
“Too early to say,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “We hardly know each other.”
“Tell me, Mr. Pearson. Do you usually abandon your life, your job, your safety and run off to Belgium for a man you aren’t certain about?”
“I had nothing else better to do,” he said.
She looked at him with disbelief.
“You want the truth?” She waited for him to continue. “Fine. The truth is Luca has been a big reminder to me of just how boring my life really is.”
“You seem like the type of man who appreciates predictability.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “I’d do anything to bring a sense of adventure to my life.”
“Adventure?” she repeated. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
“Yes,” he said. “I crave it.”
“And what about love?” she asked.
“Since you and whoever else is following me claim to know everything about my life, you tell me.”
How in the hell does she know Luca? Who are these people? A woman pretending to be a maid? Another who gives cryptic instructions at Trafalgar Square? A Diplomatic Security Service agent who follows me everywhere? What do they have to do with Kevin?
“You’re exactly what he needs,” she decided. “In fact, you’re perfect for him.”
Quintin gave her a look. “Oh, yeah?” he said. “According to whom?”
She looked Quintin directly in the eye and said, “According to his mother.”
“Great,” he said. “Where is she? Driving the boat?”
She smiled, reached up, and pinched his cheek with soft fingers. “You’re looking at her, Mr. Pearson.”
Quintin was so stunned he couldn’t pretend to hide it. “I don’t understand,” he said. The storage closet felt like it was closing in on him now. The air felt thick and cruel. It was difficult to breathe. “You’re Luca’s mother? You’re not Italian.”
“His father is,” she said, “or I should say was. It’s no surprise he’s followed in Giorgio’s footsteps.”
“You have to forgive me…I wasn’t expecting this,” Quintin said.
“Am I a disappointment to you?” she asked. “Have I lessened his value somehow? His appeal? You look either dumbfounded or disgusted. It’s hard to tell with Americans, I’m sorry to say.”
“I don’t mean to appear rude,” he said, “but for a second, can you imagine how I’m feeling right now, what I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours? Up until I went to that stupid party, my life was dull. Maybe this is something I shouldn’t get…mixed up in.”
“Unfortunately, it’s too late to back out now.”
“When was I given the choice?”
“You weren’t, I’m afraid.”
“None of this is coincidental,” he said. “It’s all part of something. A plan.”
“You’re as clever as you look,” she noted. “I’ve almost forgiven you for where you were born.”
“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” he asked. “I feel like the only who’s not getting the punch line of a really bad joke.”
The speed of the boat slowed. “We’ve arrived,” she said. “Welcome to France, Mr. Pearson.”
“Is that your way of telling me none of my questions will be answered?”
“All in good time,” she said. “Luca will tell you what you need to know.”
Quintin could no longer contain his frustration. He lashed out her with his words. “This is bullshit,” he said. “I want to go home.”
She seemed surprised by his sudden change of mood. “What? You can’t be serious.”
“Well, I am. I’m going back to London.”
“You’re bluffing. You’ve come too far.”
“Try me.”
“All right. What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with your name.”
“Call me whatever you want,” she said. “You don’t need to know my name.”
“And why not? Who are you? Obviously you’re not just someone’s mother who happened to be on the same boat as me.”
“You’re going to see me again very soon,” she said. “In a different context. As another person.”
“As Regina Bremington’s new maid?”
“Precisely. Although she prefers the term housekeeper. She says it’s more polite.”
“I thought she only hired men,” he said. “It’s her rule. The detective told me so this morning.”
“I’m the exception,” she said. “I remind Regina of her estranged mother. At least that’s what she said when I interviewed for the position.”
“And how do I fit into all of this?” he asked.
“It depends on which side you choose to be on.”
“And if I choose neither?”
“Then you will lose.”
“I’m not here by accident, am I? I didn’t just happen to be invited to the party last night. Was meeting Luca in that bedroom planned?”
“Yes,” she said, “but not by him.”
“You arranged this?”
“I chose you,” she said. “Yes.”
“And now what? I just walk off the boat and pretend like none of this happened? That I didn’t meet you or see Kevin? Why won’t he talk to me?”
“He doesn’t belong to you anymore,” she said. “Forget you even saw him.”
She turned and opened the door and slipped out into a narrow corridor. Quintin followed, but she was gone, disappearing from his life just as quickly as she had walked into it.
The boat was docking. An announcement was made, first in French and then in English. He followed the crowd as they surged and swelled, moving toward the exit, anxious to get on land.
Within minutes, Quintin’s feet touched solid ground. He sighed, grateful another leg of the journey had come to an end.
He thought about waiting in the port terminal for all of the passengers to exit the boat, just to see Kevin, to confront him face-to-face. To ask him how he was involved with the Bremingtons and their new maid. To ask him where in the hell he’d been for the last five months and why he didn’t have the guts to even say good-bye.
Then a thought occurred to Quintin.
Did he have something to do with the assassination of the ambassador? No. That isn’t possible. Not Kevin.
“Mr. Pearson?” a melodic voice called out from the crowd. He turned in the direction it came from. She was all of five feet tall and looked like someone’s sweet, gray-haired grandmother. She waved at him as if he were a relative she hadn’t seen for years. She was wearing white gloves and a black dress. Hanging from one wrist was a shiny black purse with a gold clasp. She was a walking time capsule from a bygone era: a wide-brimmed black hat, a handkerchief, a string of pearls, stockings, and just a little too much rouge.
“Hello,” he said. He couldn’t help but smile at her.
“You may call me Louisa,” she said.
“You may call me Quintin,” he replied.
She sized him up and nodded with approval. “You’re a nice fellow. I can tell.”
“I’m too nice,” he explained. “That’s my problem.”
“I’m a good judge of character. Ask anyone.”
“You’re not French,” he said.
“I’m from Bath. Have you been there?”
“Only in a Jane Austen novel.”
“You’re a man with exquisite taste,” she decided. “I’m sad our time together will be so brief.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m your personal chauffeur, if you will. I’ve been given the task of delivering you into the hands of one Luca Russo. He’s waiting fo
r your arrival in Knokke.”
Luca Russo. I finally know his full name.
“Where?” he asked.
“Knokke. It’s on the North Sea. In West Flanders. Have no fear,” she said. “I know the way.”
She was off and moving then. Dazed, Quintin remained still. His feet felt frozen, stuck to the ground. Louisa looked back. “Come along, then,” she instructed.
He still couldn’t move. He was fighting with the urge to turn around, get back on the ferry, and sail home to England.
Leave this craziness behind. Go now. While you can.
Louisa returned. She lowered her voice and tried a different approach. “I know my opinion means nothing to you, Mr. Pearson, but I’ve known Luca very well. I’ve seen him with my own two eyes. And if I had a fellow like that waiting for me, not even the authorities could keep me from getting to him.”
He felt he could trust her. “I’m scared, Louisa.”
She placed a palm on his arm and patted him a few times. “Oh, now. It’ll be all right,” she said, and he believed her. “Just think of it as a holiday. You don’t look like you get many of those.”
“I don’t,” he agreed.
“You work hard. I know this. Is there any room left in your life for some love and happiness?”
Quintin felt tears rising from somewhere in his body. “I hope so.”
“Well, you’ll never know if you stand here and watch the world go by. Besides, everyone around us is French. They’d just as soon see you suffer. Die right here of a broken heart. They’ll just step right over you and not look back. Now, you don’t want that to happen, do ya?”
He shook his head.
“Good,” she said. “Now, wipe your eyes and let’s get you to Belgium.”
*
To reach the seaside town of Knokke from Calais required driving 130 kilometers. Louisa explained this to Quintin as they moved through the crowd in the port terminal. “Some of the views along the way are just gorgeous,” she said.
Quintin nodded. Fatigue was setting in.
Outside, Quintin followed Luisa to a vintage black car. He stared in awe at the beautiful vehicle.
“It’s a 1946 Hudson Commodore Eight,” Louisa said with pride in her voice. “It belonged to my father. May God rest his soul. I always believed he loved this car more than us, but who could blame him? It was the first thing he bought after the war. It’s been in the family ever since.”
“It’s American?” he asked.
“Just like you.” She looked at Quintin and smiled. “There’s no need to worry. You’re safe now.”
“I didn’t realize I was in danger.”
“As long as you’re with me, you’re not,” she said.
Louisa opened the passenger door for Quintin. On the seat was a basket filled with delicious-looking muffins. “For you,” she said. “Fresh-baked strawberry muffins. The best strawberries in the world come from France. I figured you might be hungry.”
“I haven’t eaten all day.”
“How do you expect to fall in love on an empty stomach?”
He grinned at her. “Who said anything about falling in love?” he said. “I’m just here for the muffins.”
He slid onto the leather bucket seat, placed his computer bag on the floorboard, and reached for the basket. The interior of the car was just as exquisite as the outside. The dashboard was a shiny combination of light wood and chrome. A clock above the glove compartment was frozen, time stopped forever.
Within minutes Louisa was behind the wheel and they were on the coastal road, heading northeast to Knokke.
Quintin had devoured half of a strawberry muffin when a thought struck him.
What in the hell am I doing? This is insane. Luca and I spent less than ten minutes together—in the dark—and here I am, traveling across Europe just to see him again. For what?
And what about Kevin? Why wouldn’t he see me?
“Second thoughts?” she asked.
Louisa was more than intuitive, she was spot on. Quintin suspected she was telepathic. “How’d you guess?”
“You have the sort of face…it’s difficult for you to hide your emotions.”
“I’m an open book?”
“And the store it’s being sold in,” she said.
“You seem very wise,” he said. She smiled in response. She looked adorable sitting next to him, barely able to see over the large wooden steering wheel. Her gloved hands gripped the round edges of it as if for dear life.
“That’s been said about me on more than one occasion,” she said.
“What would you do, if you were me?” he asked.
She glanced over at him and then shifted her eyes back to the highway. “I’d eat another muffin,” she said. “And then I’d wait until tomorrow to see what life had in store.”
As Louisa’s words sank in, Quintin leaned back in his seat and let out a long, deep sigh. Already he could feel the tension between his shoulders start to lessen.
Louisa’s right. Why not just wait and see?
Quintin reached into the basket for another muffin.
“Feel better?” Louisa asked.
“Yes,” Quintin said, with a nod.
“Good,” she said. “Then sit back…and enjoy the ride.”
The Reunion
The beachfront cottage was secluded, well hidden away from the entire world.
At least that’s how it seemed when Quintin stepped out of Louisa’s vintage car. He stood for a moment, taking in the scenery and the sound of the ocean, rolling in and across the edge of the shore, which was directly behind the house. He breathed in deeply, immediately light-headed and intoxicated by the wild combination of smells and the wide span of the setting sun, swallowing the sky. There were flowers everywhere—tulips, roses, sunflowers, and pale blue petals shaped like miniature bells. The entire house seemed to be surrounded by sand dunes and tall, waving sea grass.
Carrying his computer bag on his shoulder, with a thousand questions and hope in his heart, he moved across the well-manicured green lawn and up the stone steps, and stood on the wide wraparound white front porch. There were matching white wooden rocking chairs, and a porch swing. For a brief moment, Quintin imagined sitting in the swing and sipping a cup of coffee as the sun rose.
He looked back at Louisa, who was standing near the car. “Go on,” she said. “He’s waiting for you inside.”
Quintin smiled and said, “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s been in the family for years,” she said. “Glad it can be a sanctuary for the two of you.”
“I could stay here forever.”
“I best be on my way,” she said. “All right, then, Mr. Pearson. We shall see you soon.”
Quintin felt a strange pang of sadness at the thought of parting ways with sweet Louisa. Yet within seconds she was disappearing down the private dirt road that led to and from the cottage. Quintin watched as the classic black car disappeared into the horizon, leaving behind in its path a rumble of dust.
He took a breath and turned the knob on the front door. It was unlocked. It creaked, announcing his arrival when he pushed it open wide.
He took a few steps deeper into the house. It was just as charming inside. Quaint. Romantic. Bright. It was the perfect getaway from a hectic world.
The ceilings were low, the floors wooden and shiny. The walls, painted in pale pastel shades, evoked a sense of happiness. The French country furniture and décor only enhanced the cozy ambience. Standing in the center of the cottage made Quintin feel as if he’d stepped into a secret world, where only goodness and love existed. Already he never wanted to leave.
“Hello?” Quintin said to the space around him.
There was no reply.
He moved through the house. In the first bedroom, he found a familiar suitcase sitting on top of a multicolored quilted bedspread. The last time he’d seen it, it was in his closet. He unzipped it and peered inside. Half of the clothes he o
wned had been neatly packed inside, complete with a matching, smaller bag filled with toiletries.
Arianna kept her promise. Has she been here? Did she bring this suitcase herself?
The bathroom was painted ocean blue and had a seashell-patterned trim running just below the ceiling line. The shower curtain was covered with images of brightly painted sailboats.
Quintin glimpsed his reflection in the mirror and grimaced.
Poor Luca. He’ll be so disappointed when he gets a look at how ordinary I am with the lights on. Maybe I should grab my suitcase and leave now and save him the trouble.
Quintin took a breath and calmed his fears. His lack of self-confidence was crippling at times, especially where men were concerned. His experience with them was limited.
There was a second bedroom, which looked just as inviting as the first. Staring at the pillows and pale-orange bedspread reminded Quintin of how tired he was, how exhausting his journey had been.
In the kitchen, Quintin found a fresh pot of coffee brewing. He was tempted to reach into one of the white cupboards with square glass panels and grab an oversized mug and fill it. The coffee smelled incredible.
Instead of giving in to temptation, he continued on to the sunken living room. There was a floral printed sofa, a matching love seat, a few bookshelves, and a stone fireplace. The room was fairly sparse, but promised peace and quiet. The farthest wall was actually a sliding glass door that led directly out to a wooden deck and the perfect view of the sea.
Quintin pulled the door open and stepped outside, breathing in the early-evening air. Relaxation crept through his veins, tiptoeing gently toward his soul. His body relaxed. The tension in his shoulders started to melt. The sun would be down soon, bringing the crazy day to a close. He scanned the shore, searching out into the pink-and-orange horizon, knowing.
In the distance, he saw a man emerging out of the sea like a perfectly sculpted creature from another world. The foamy surf slid over his feet and rushed toward the back of the house, to the edge of the beams supporting the deck. He was shirtless and wearing red swimming trunks that clung to his wet body. He was walking toward the house.
Quintin watched with intensity.
Without asking or calling out his name, he knew this was Luca.
