Midnight Harvest

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “He’s expecting you. In the lounge, by the settle, ma’am,” said the publican. “Can I send anything in to you? We aren’t strictly open yet—won’t be for an hour—but given as you’ve come a distance and Mr. Sunbury is an old acquaintance, I think I can make an exception for you—”

  “A dry sherry, if you would,” said Doña Isabel, and swept into the lounge where she saw Miles Sunbury seated, as the publican had said, by the settle, a small table in front of him. “Mr. Sunbury,” she said, starting toward him, her hand out.

  “Doña Isabel,” said Sunbury, getting to his feet and taking her hand to kiss. He was dressed for London in a handsome three-piece suit of charcoal wool, a white linen shirt, and a claret-colored silk tie. His hat lay on the bench next to where he had been sitting. There was a pony of sherry on the table in front of him. “Thank you for coming to meet me.” He slid around the end of the table and held the chair out for her.

  “I was glad to, Mr. Sunbury; it’s given me a chance to get out and do a bit of exploring. I enjoyed the drive over very much. Such wonderful little villages you have in this part of England: Addlestone, Laleham, Aldershot, and dozens more. As I drove in from Hampshire, I found so many of them,” she said, taking her seat and crossing her legs the way Marlene Dietrich did. “Why did you want to meet with me in this place? You could have come to Briarcopse if you wished to visit a pretty little town, though it is farther away from London.”

  “Well, you see, I didn’t want to call upon you at Copsehowe, because there are those who would make note of such a visit, and if you were to come to my chambers in London, it would be equally obvious. Also, I have reason to think I might be observed, and I would not want to put you at risk by leading my follower—whoever he may be—to your door. If there is such a follower.” He gave a subtle emphasis to you and smiled uncertainly. “I know this may seem overly cautious, but I believe it is better to be prudent than to be lax in this case.” He resumed his seat. “It’s about Saint-Germain, you see.”

  “Ah,” said Doña Isabel. “Is there trouble?”

  “There may be,” said Sunbury. “I thought it best to tell you of this, in case it is as serious as I fear it may be.”

  “Gracious,” said Doña Isabel. “This sounds dire.” She liked the way the word dire sounded, almost Latin, but with more edges on it.

  “It may not be so very dreadful. Not that I want to make light of it, but I have ho wish to distress you.” Sunbury laid his hand on hers for a moment. “I want you to know that my concerns are more of an anticipatory nature than an actual—” He broke off as the publican came into the lounge, a pony of sherry on a wooden tray. “I’ll pay for the lady’s drink,” Sunbury said as Doña Isabel reached to open her purse.

  “That’s very good of you, Mr. Sunbury,” she said, smiling at him.

  “You’ve done me the honor of coming here; the least I can do is buy your sherry.” He handed a half-crown and sixpence to the publican.

  Although this was nothing more than what Doña Isabel expected, she found herself flattered. “How nicely expressed.”

  Sunbury looked a bit nonplussed. “Thank you.” He motioned the curious publican away. “Let me put you at your ease as much as I can, which is difficult for me to do, under the circumstances. I may be jumping at shadows, but who knows—where Saint-Germain is concerned, there are so many problems…”

  When Sunbury did not go on, Doña Isabel asked, “Has this anything to do with what is happening in Spain?”

  “I think it may,” said Sunbury. “I’m not entirely sure, of course, or I would say so, but it certainly is possible.”

  Doña Isabel looked directly at him. “What do you feel?” She saw him falter. “Not think, Mr. Sunbury: feel.”

  “I’m a lawyer, Doña Isabel, and I am paid to think. I am asked for assessments and opinions.” He saw the slight distress in her eyes, and went on, “I tend to distrust my feelings.”

  “That must be very trying for your wife,” said Doña Isabel.

  “I am not married, Doña Isabel,” said Sunbury huffily.

  “I did not mean to insult you, Mr. Sunbury,” said Doña Isabel, noticing his stiffness. “But whatever your marital status may be, I cannot rely wholly on thought in such circumstances. Thought can be very misleading when there may be trouble brewing. You may not have experienced the gathering storm, but I have, and it has made me appreciate my emotions, and listen to their promptings. The only reason I got safely out of Spain was that I put more faith in my feelings than in thought, for thought would surely have made my departure seem capricious.” She was not as self-possessed as she wanted to be, and she could feel color mounting in her face. “If there is hazard here, I want to know what your sense of it is.”

  “That is why I am meeting with you now, Doña Isabel, if I may say so,” said Sunbury.

  Doña Isabel took her glass of sherry and offered a silent and rueful toast to Sunbury while she gathered her composure. “Then tell me what has happened that has alarmed you so much that you asked me to meet with you away from your chambers and my house. I must suppose that it was more than your logical interpretations of events that led to this meeting.” She tapped the edge of the glass with one perfectly lacquered nail.

  Sunbury coughed diplomatically. “Desmond Reeves, who is Saint-Germain’s steward at his London house, has recently reported to me that a man has been to the house asking for Saint-Germain’s present location. He implied acquaintance from Spain, and was able to glean enough information to know he has gone to America. The man’s name, he said, was Ash.” He regarded Doña Isabel. “Ash. Do you recall a man of that name?”

  “Ash? No, no one comes to mind. Nor anyone called Ceniza,” she said, translating the name to Spanish. “But I did not know everyone he knew in Spain. He had associates in cities other than Cádiz, and they may be able to identify this man. Of course, the government has seized Saint-Germain’s businesses, as they have the businesses of many Spaniards as well, and I may not be able to contact any of these—”

  “I’ve already sent a telegram to Eclipse Aero, and received notice that only the government can provide answers in regard to the business or the persons employed by it,” said Sunbury. “All connection to Saint-Germain has been officially severed.”

  “Then I begin to understand why you may want to speak with me. This person named Ash is the cause of your concern. You suspect he may be intending something against Saint-Germain, and seeks to do it through those who know him.” Doña Isabel took another sip of sherry. “Do you suppose he will find me, and seek to learn more from me?”

  “It may be unlikely, but I cannot rule out the possibility,” said Sunbury.

  “And you think this man might be dangerous to me as well as to Saint-Germain?” Doña Isabel’s voice caught in her throat.

  “I would hope not,” said Sunbury, once again putting his hand over hers. “But it would be remiss of me not to warn you.”

  “You haven’t met this Ash, have you?” she guessed aloud.

  “No, but I have reason to believe that he has called at my chambers—at least a foreigner matching his description has done so, and was turned away when he refused to disclose the reason for his call to my clerk. But I have to assume he is aware of who I am.” He sighed apologetically. “When I telephoned you, I was relieved to hear that you had not yet been visited by him, and I hoped that meant he was unaware of your residency in England.”

  “But you have changed your mind,” said Doña Isabel.

  “Yes. After a night’s sleep, I realized he might well have more than one set of clues to follow, and that it was incumbent upon me to warn you.” He lowered his gaze to the tabletop.

  “How very kind of you,” said Doña Isabel most sincerely. “I truly appreciate your concern, Mr. Sunbury, and your effort on my behalf, but I cannot think that this man will know how to find me. Why should he?”

  Sunbury nodded. “I do agree that it is doubtful that he is aware of you, but I could not
take the chance that it was wholly impossible.”

  “Of course you could have, Mr. Sunbury,” said Doña Isabel. “It is very good of you to let me know about this man, though I may have no reason to be troubled. I would prefer to be alert to something that doesn’t happen than asleep to something that does. It is very sweet—and very English—of you to extend yourself on my behalf. I count myself fortunate to have so scrupulous a guardian.” She had another sip of sherry. “My stay here would be much more difficult if not for you. I thank you for all you have done.”

  “In spite of all my thought?” Sunbury said, one eyebrow arched. He had more of his drink, liking the warmth it spread through him.

  “And because of it,” Doña Isabel conceded.

  “So you are willing to grant that deduction has its place in the world,” Sunbury said, liking the smile this remark brought to her face.

  “I am willing to allow that it has its uses,” she said, and sipped her sherry again. “They may not be applicable now, however.”

  Sunbury took his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “It is half-one. Would you object if I asked you to join me for luncheon?”

  She finished her sherry. “I am thankful for your invitation,” she admitted. “I had coffee for breakfast and the drink could easily go to my head if I don’t have food to offset it.” Looking around, she asked, “Would you like to eat here? Have they a dining room?”

  “They serve pasties and meat pies and sandwiches in the taproom. Not quite what you would like, I reckon. There is a tolerable dining room in the hotel across the way,” said Sunbury. “I should think we could get something suitable there.” He rose, picked up his hat, and came to help her up from her chair. “I imagine you might find English food rather tame after what you have been used to in Cádiz.”

  She took his hand as she got up. “Thank you.” As she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow, she remarked, “Fortunately, I know my way around a kitchen, and so I’ve been able to prepare dishes from my own country. I wish I could find a better supply of peppers, though.”

  He held the pub door open for her and indicated the hotel on the opposite corner. “Peppers.” He considered this. “There are some Chinese markets in London that might have what you’re looking for, or something close enough. I know there are a number of peppers the Chinese use in their cooking.”

  “So there are,” said Doña Isabel. “If you will tell me where I ought to go to find these markets, next time I’m in London, I’ll look for them.”

  “They aren’t in a part of town where you should venture alone,” said Sunbury as they crossed the road together. “If you want to go pepper-shopping, let me know when you would like to do so and I’ll arrange to escort you.”

  She looked at him, so startled that she almost stumbled on the curb. “You’re a busy man, Mr. Sunbury. I can’t impose upon you in that way.”

  “I’m not so busy that I cannot find an hour or so to make sure you don’t get into anything unpleasant in your shopping. In fact, I would rather enjoy such a lark.” He opened the door into the small lobby of the hotel and removed his hat “There may also be something to your taste in the few Indian markets we have, as well.” He nodded in the direction of the dining room, and started that way.

  “Your proposed escort is turning into quite an expedition,” said Doña Isabel. “And I will accept your kind offer before it becomes so disproportionate that I must ask you to bill me for your time.” She laughed lightly, hoping he would not be offended by her jest; Englishmen could be so very prickly about such things.

  “There is no reason you should trouble yourself on that account,” said Sunbury, looking a bit awkward as he told the maitre d’ that they would like a table for two near the garden window; four of the other fifteen tables were occupied, and a few of the dining patrons turned their heads to look at Doña Isabel as she crossed the dining room with Sunbury.

  “But surely you won’t put yourself at an inconvenience,” she said.

  “Coming to Uxbridge in the middle of the day to have a meeting with—if you will allow me—a beautiful woman could be seen as an inconvenience by some; I find it a most delightful interlude, and you the most stimulating company,” he said, a hint of color in his cheeks as they were seated at a table in the corner near the garden window. He put his hat down on the edge of the table, opposite the place she put her purse.

  “How very deft you are at turning compliments,” she said, sitting down and taking the proffered menu.

  “I bow to the better … person.” He was suddenly inept, as if this reminder that she was a woman troubled him.

  “Hardly that, Mr. Sunbury,” she said, and opened the menu to give him a chance to recover. “Is there anything you recommend?”

  “I am partial to their Welsh rarebit I think the cook here has a knack for it,” said Sunbury.

  Doña Isabel looked around the menu at him. “You know this place, then?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “My father had a good many friends living in Buckinghamshire, Berkshire, Hampshire, and Surrey. The Wainfords near Slough, the Tissinghams at Maidenhead, the Pearce-Mannings at Chalfont Saint-Giles, and the Byreleighs near Ockham. When I was a young man, I think my brother and I spent half my holidays with these families. Our family came originally from Sunbury, of course, although we have been Londoners since the first King George. Still, we have cousins in and around the town. When we visited our friends, we would come here to Uxbridge from time to time, and it has remained in my memory. I am nostalgic every time I visit.”

  “Do you ever come here with your brother?” She saw his expression change, and said at once, “I’m sorry. What have I—”

  “My brother, and my mother and sister, died in the Influenza Epidemic. It quite devastated my father, who was never the same after that.” Sunbury shook his head. “We’re hardly the only family to have such losses.”

  “True enough,” said Doña Isabel. “My husband lost his first wife and his daughter to the Influenza. And my grandfather—who raised me—died of it leaving me with only my widowed mother. Fortunately, she sent me to school where I learned English, among other things. It has proven the most useful of my studies. My mother said that because of the Great War, husbands would be in short supply for years to come, and I would need to be well-informed to attract a man able to support me in the manner to which I had become accustomed, or, failing that to have some means to make my way in the world, such as commercial translation.” She wished she could turn the conversation to something more pleasant, but her mind seemed unable to shift its focus. “I don’t know what … I’m sorry I’ve brought back such painful losses, Mr. Sunbury.”

  “It is not your fault, Doña Isabel,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “I think all of us lost someone dear to us in that tragedy.” He looked up. “I hope you will not think the less of me for my lapse.”

  “How could I? I do not believe that honoring the dead is a lapse, Mr. Sunbury.” She did her best to look encouraging, to hearten him again.

  “It is hardly appropriate luncheon conversation, I agree.” He pretended to scrutinize the menu. “I recommend the soup. They do a very good puree of peas with heavy cream. Also, their baked onions make an excellent side-dish. The mushrooms with soft cheese is also quite a good dish, if a little bland.”

  “The soup sounds delectable,” said Doña Isabel, allowing herself to be distracted; it actually did sound better than a great many English dishes. “I’ll have some, and, I think, the breast of chicken with chutney sauce.” She doubted that the chutney sauce would be as flavorful as she hoped, but it was more promising than the lamb chop with mint sauce or the filet of plaice in bread-crumbs with butter, and the thought of something called shepherd’s pie filled her with apprehension. “Yes. The breast of chicken will do very well, after the soup. And perhaps a glass of white Burgundy to lend it savor?”

  “Shall I order a bottle? They have a tolerable cellar here.” He was calmer now that he was back on saf
e conversational ground.

  “That would be lovely,” said Doña Isabel, relieved at the very idea.

  “Very good, then.” He signaled for a waiter and placed their orders, adding a side-dish of baked onions. “If you have Meursault ’32? The Leroy?”

  “Very good, sir; I believe we have a bottle or two left,” said the waiter, and left them alone.

  For the greater part of a minute the two were silent, then Sunbury said, “I am going to notify the men guarding you to be on the alert for this Ash fellow.”

  “Do you think that’s necessary?” she asked. “I would have supposed that the need for all this protection was diminishing, not increasing.”

  “Last week, I would have agreed with you. Now, I would prefer to take the extra precaution, in case you are in any direct danger. I would not like to have to answer for any harm that could come to you.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gold cigarette case and a matching lighter. “Would you like one?”

  “Not before a meal. Perhaps afterward,” she said.

  “All right,” said Sunbury. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Of course not,” she said, and gestured to him to go ahead.

  He selected a cigarette, tamped it on the gold case, and lit up. The faintly acrid odor of burning tobacco wafted over their table. “I have to admit I thought the Count was overdoing it when he said you should be guarded, even out at Copsehowe, but I can see it was a wise decision.”

  The waiter returned with a bottle, which he presented to Sunbury, who read the label and nodded; the waiter took out a corkscrew and began to open the wine.

  “But who would want to do me an injury? This Ash person may be dangerous, but what can he want of me?” She felt restless, and her patience began once again to fade. “I know nothing that could interest anyone. I don’t know where Saint-Germain is, other than in America. My husband has a life of his own in l’Argentina”—she pronounced it in Spanish—“with his mistress; I haven’t seen him for nearly five years now, and I can reveal nothing about his business, or anything else, for that matter, not that he has ever told me much about his dealings in any case. What could anyone want with me, that he would seek me out? He would have to be desperate indeed to think I could provide any useful information.” She waved her hand in dismissal while she watched Sunbury taste the wine and examine the cork.