Miss Fairmont and The Gentleman Investigator

by Pat White

  But when could he call in? If he was to keep Grace safe by sticking with her every minute of the day, there wouldn’t be much opportunity to call and ask Eddie for research specifics about Grace’s mum, the PIRA and MI5. With any luck, Eddie would call Bobby with some news.

  In the meantime they were safe here in bed.

  At least Grace was safe. Bobby, on the other hand, was at high risk of losing his heart.

  He lay there, wide awake, trying to make sense of things. It didn’t tally: her mother’s involvement with the PIRA, having Grace, leaving her behind. Unless it was because she loved Grace so much. Bobby didn’t understand how that worked, but parents were known to do incredibly selfish things and claim love for their child motivated their actions.

  He thought about that, thought about what would make her mum leave. No, he couldn’t understand it, unless the child was bad, like Bobby, or in danger.

  From the PIRA.

  Blast, that’s it. Her mum had left to protect her.

  But why would the PIRA even care about Grace’s mum, a woman who had died twenty years ago? It made no sense.

  Unless her mum had had something on the group, something that could destroy them.

  But they weren’t active these days. They were more into discussions than bombings.

  He thought about the man in the woods telling Bobby to take her back to the States. It almost seemed as if he cared about keeping Grace safe, not as if he wanted to harm her. Which meant?

  Bobby’s head ached the more he tried to puzzle through it.

  Grace stretched across him, claiming his body with an arm over his chest. He couldn’t move, could hardly breathe, the pressure of her arm seeping through his shirt to his skin and deeper still.

  The clock on the dresser read six.

  “Gracie?” he said.

  “Hmm?”

  “We’ve got an hour until supper. Maybe we should think about getting ready?”

  “Okay.” She didn’t move.

  “Or not,” he whispered. Truth be told, he could lie here all night, content, with Grace leaning into him.

  Someone knocked softly on the door. Grace didn’t budge. Bobby slipped out from beneath her and cracked open the door.

  Anne smiled at him. “Did you two have fun out at Killiecrankie?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “We’re getting ready for dinner. You may come early if you’d like. Mum was so excited to hear about Grace.” Anne strained to peek in the room.

  “She’s asleep,” Bobby said, not sure why he felt the need to protect her from her own family.

  “Right, well, do come down soon. My parents are so anxious to speak with her.”

  “Thank you. We will.”

  She walked down the hallway, turning once to smile again before she disappeared down the stairs. He closed the door. Grace looked up from the bed to smile at him.

  His world tipped a bit, and not because of the blow to his head.

  “Thanks for the nap.”

  “Don’t thank me.” He went to the bed and sat down.

  “I haven’t slept that well in days,” she said. “Having a live, warm teddy bear must have helped.”

  “Is that all I am to you? A cuddly toy?” he joked.

  “You don’t really want me to answer that.” Her smile faded. “So, let’s get ready.” She jumped off the bed and raced to the bathroom.

  “No fair!” he called.

  She poked her head out the door. “We women take longer to make ourselves beautiful.” Then she shut it.

  Bugger, he wished she was making herself beau tiful for him, not to impress long-lost relations. He glanced at the bed, the rumpled spread and tossed pillows. It was going to be a long night if she expected a repeat of this afternoon, both of them sharing the bed, not touching as lovers, not kssing.

  No, he’d take a spot on the floor and stretch out. It was safer that way.

  He hoped this reunion with her family would be the end of it. Dinner tonight, maybe a day or two after that, Grace spending most of her time with the newly found relatives. It will be over soon, mate. Then you can get away from temptation.

  THE EVENING went just as she’d imagined: Aunt Rosie and Uncle Gerry showering her with questions and advice. Grace could barely get a word in edgewise.

  “And a teacher,” Aunt Rosie said. “What a lovely profession.”

  “I enjoy the kids,” Grace said. “But sometimes I think about doing something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, something a little more exciting.”

  “Excitement is highly overrated,” Uncle Gerry said.

  They were seated at the formal dining table: Aunt Rosie, Uncle Gerry and Bobby were seated across from her, and Cousin Anne and her brother Jimmy were beside her.

  Bobby caught her eye every now and then, shooting her a smile of encouragement.

  He seemed to be happy for her, happy that she’d reconnected with her family. She didn’t read melancholy or sadness in his eyes for his own loss. She suddenly realized how painful this must be for him.

  “I was wondering why the family moved here,” Grace said.

  The room grew silent.

  Aunt Rosie forced a smile. “Your mum had some bad friends in Ireland. Our parents thought it best to move the family to another part of the U.K. They learned about this bed-and-breakfast, that it was up for sale and we moved. It’s simple, really.”

  “Tell us about America, Grace,” Jimmy said, forking up a boiled potato. “Is it exciting?”

  “I guess that depends what you consider exciting,” she said.

  Jimmy seemed close to Grace’s age, but looked younger with his youthful face and exuberant smile. He had narrow green eyes and full lips and didn’t look like anyone in the family.

  “Jimmy’s into motorbikes and parasailing,” his mother scoffed.

  “Boy, you really are into excitement,” Grace said.

  The family chuckled. Laughter, teasing, conversation. All the things she’d never shared with a family, with blood relations. Sure her half-sisters were sweet, but they were ten years younger; Grace hardly shared a sense of humor with them.

  They chatted all the way through the entrée and dessert. Uncle Gerry fired off questions about Grace’s upbringing and her childhood. It was as if he was trying to piece together the years lost in not knowing his niece.

  Did she remember her mother?

  Did her father say where they met?

  Did her father know why Mary had come back to the U.K.?

  “Enough, Gerry,” Aunt Rosie said.

  Tea was being served when Grace felt the need to ask the question she’d been avoiding all night.

  “Aunt Rosie, you said Mom was involved with a bad crowd. Is it true she was involved with the Provisional Irish Republican Army?”

  “We’re not sure.” Aunt Rosie stood and started clearing dishes. “Help me, Gerry. I’ll put the tea on.”

  Cousin Anne started to get up.

  “No, you sit and talk to your cousin,” Aunt Rosie said.

  Grace glanced at Bobby, who watched her aunt and uncle clear dishes in silence. They went into the kitchen, the door swinging closed behind them.

  Cousin Anne faced her. “She doesn’t like talking about her sister’s activities in the PIRA. It was very hard on the family, not knowing if she was alive or dead, worrying about her day and night. They didn’t know where she went when she lived in the States.”

  “I have a hard time with all this,” Grace said. “I always thought of Mom as being such a loving fam ily woman. That is until I learned she abandoned Dad and me long before she died.”

  “You don’t remember her, do you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “She had a bright smile, like yours. I’ve seen pictures. Did she leave you any pictures to remember her by? Any keepsakes?”

  “A locket. Her journal.”

  “How lovely. What did she write about?”

  “M
e, as a baby. This place. I mean, Scotland: the hills, the castles, the lochs.”

  “But nothing about her family? Or friends?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “I’m going to help with the tea,” Jimmy said.

  Bobby narrowed his eyes and watched her cousin leave. Grace watched Bobby. She knew that look, that suspicious look. What was the deal?

  “Grace, it would make my mother feel so much better if she knew she’d been remembered in her sister’s diary. Was there nothing about her? Or her parents?”

  “No, I’m sorry. She wrote exclusively about me, a little about my dad and a lot about Scotland. She loved this country.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Anne’s voice drifted off.

  Aunt Rosie floated in with the tea, followed by Uncle Gerry with mini-cakes. They continued their conversation about Grace’s life and potential future.

  “What about a serious boyfriend?” Aunt Rosie said, winking at Bobby.

  “No, we’re not,” Grace paused, “serious.” Her gaze caught Bobby’s. His brows furled together in question.

  “I’m not ready,” Grace admitted.

  Not ready to marry Steven, the wrong man. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Admitting the truth to herself was a huge relief.

  “Well, don’t wait too long,” Rosie said. “Let’s sit in the front room, shall we?” She stood and they all followed her into the delightful room with a fireplace centered on the far wall.

  They chatted and told stories, mostly about Grace’s mother as a child, but nothing about Mom after the age of seventeen, Grace noted. Were they all ashamed of her? Maybe, but they seemed to accept Grace unconditionally.

  While Anne had said she was readying the rooms for guests earlier, Grace hadn’t heard anyone enter or leave tonight. Maybe they had romantic couples checking in, wanting their privacy.

  She glanced at Bobby, whose intense stare made her want to shift position in the highback chair. He was studying her, almost as if he was trying to read her mind. He jumped to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  She looked at him in question, but he didn’t make eye contact. Odd.

  She and the ladies continued their storytelling, while Uncle Gerry smoked his pipe. Jimmy had been absent since dessert, probably fearing he’d be bored to tears by the conversation. He seemed the wild sort, but playful. A bit like Bobby Finn.

  As she leaned back and enjoyed the camaraderie, she realized this was what she’d been looking for: this connection to relatives, the unconditional acceptance, maybe even love.

  “You’ll be staying with us for how long, then?” Aunt Rosie asked.

  “I guess that depends on how long you’ll have me.”

  Aunt Rosie gave her a strange look.

  “Just kidding,” Grace said. “I plan to stay a week in Scotland, maybe a few days in London before I return home.”

  “You’re welcome to stay longer,” Aunt Rosie offered.

  Uncle Gerry shot her a look, probably dreading more nights of sitting around listening to women’s chatter.

  “Thanks, that’s a nice thought,” Grace said. “But I do have things to get back to.” Like breaking up with my boyfriend. Yikes. How was she going to explain that? You’re a nice guy, Steven, but now that I’ve found some peace in my life, I no longer need to depend on men like you to make me feel whole?

  “It’s been lovely to meet you,” Aunt Rosie said.

  “Same here.” Grace smiled, feeling a new connection to her mother.

  The door burst open. Grace turned to see Bobby marching into the room, his hands raised.

  “Sit down,” Cousin Jimmy said, shoving at Bobby from behind.

  That’s when Grace saw the gun. Her blood ran cold.

  “Sorry, Gerry,” Jimmy said to his father. “The bloke found me making a copy of her diary.”

  “Wait, what?” Grace demanded.

  “This isn’t real, Grace, it’s a set-up,” Bobby said. “My guess is they’re British Intelligence. They’re not your blood relations any more than I am.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grace’s heart split in two as she struggled to process Bobby’s words.

  “British Intelligence?” she repeated.

  “Your mother was on our watch list,” said Anne, the person who she’d formerly thought was her cousin. “She was a high-ranking member of the PIRA and a new, radical group has been formed in her honor. Your mother had stolen a list of MI5 agents. She died before we could get it back.”

  “You killed her?”

  Anne glanced at Uncle Gerry. Or rather, not Uncle Gerry. He shook his head.

  “You did, didn’t you?” Grace pushed.

  “We didn’t have her killed,” Gerry said. “That was her own doing.”

  “You bloody twit,” Jimmy said to Bobby. “You’ve complicated everything because you’re trying to be clever. I’ll wipe that clever grin off your face.” He raised his hand to hit Bobby.

  Grace jumped to her feet. “Stop!”

  “Enough!” Gerry commanded.

  Jimmy’s face turned red as he stared down at Bobby, who returned the man’s gaze with cold, hard eyes.

  “All lies,” Grace said.

  Bobby got up to go to her, but that bastard Jimmy pushed him back to his chair. Bobby couldn’t stand the look of confusion in her eyes.

  She glanced at each person in the room, one by one. “None of you are related to me, are you?”

  “No,” Anne said. “I’m sorry, but the truth is your boyfriend is with MI5, as well.”

  Grace leaned against the sofa. “Steven?”

  “An agent assigned to befriend you,” Rosie explained.

  “No wonder I’ve been keeping an emotional distance,” she whispered. “I felt something wasn’t right.”

  Silence filled the room. Bobby wanted to comfort her but he sensed she needed space, time to process.

  She looked at Gerry. “I haven’t been imagining things. Steven’s here, in Scotland.”

  “He’s been keeping watch over you, yes.”

  Her gaze drifted to the floor. She seemed devastated. Bobby wanted to slug someone.

  She pinned Gerry with a cold stare. “What happened to Mom’s family?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Ah, no one knows,” Grace said, defeat coloring her eyes. “This, this was all a big game to you, manipulating my feelings and acting as though you cared about me.”

  “We needed information,” Anne said. “We think the radicals are after it, as well. Your life may be in danger.”

  An odd chuckle escaped Grace’s lips.

  Bobby gripped the arms of his chair. Was she going to have a breakdown?

  “Are you done? With me?” Grace looked Gerry directly in the eye.

  “After we get a copy of the diary, yes.”

  “Fine.” She walked toward the door, hesitated and turned. “So, you’re with British Intelligence and you have no idea where my mother’s family is?”

  “I’m sorry,” Rosie said.

  “British Intelligence,” Grace repeated. “Now there’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.” She left the room, seemingly in control, yet Bobby sensed the storm brewing. She’d been lied to, manipulated and played like a harp.

  Bobby stood to follow her. Jimmy shoved the barrel of his gun in Bobby’s face. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Listen, you wanker, you four just built her up and tore her down to pieces. I’m not going to sit here and watch her fall apart because of an old score you have with her mum. You’re paid to be heartless, I’m paid to protect. Now get the hell out of my way before I rip your arm out of its socket.”

  “You really think you can do that, mate?” Jimmy taunted.

  “Enough!” Gerry ordered. Jimmy lowered his gun. “There’s more to this than her mother’s involvement with PIRA,” Gerry explained.

  “Gerry, don’t,” Rosie warned.

  “He needs to know if he’s go
ing to protect her.” He looked at Bobby. “Grace Fairmont’s mother was recruited by British Intelligence in the seventies for the purpose of infiltrating the PIRA.”

  “She was an MI5 agent?” Bobby couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes. As an undercover agent she’d told the PIRA about a list she had of MI5 agents. She was using this to work her way up the ranks. She died before they could get it from her, and now there’s a new radical branch that’s out to find the list and use it against England.”

  “But it was a fake list, yeah?” Bobby said.

  “We gave her a list to use, but unbeknownst to us, a traitor in MI5 printed out the real names of agents. Once she discovered what she had, Mary couldn’t pass the names. If she passed false names to PIRA, they could check with their insider and she’d be dead. She was compromised. She,” he hesitated, “died in the bombing. PIRA never fully believed she died.”

  And Bobby wondered himself.

  “Would you tell me if she were still alive?”

  Gerry sighed. “She’s not. But know this, everything Mary Logan did, she did because she loved her daughter and wanted to protect her.”

  “But why is PIRA interested in Grace?” Bobby said.

  “They weren’t. Until she came looking for her mother’s past. The truth is, Mary Logan was a spy before she came to America. We sent her there on another mission. She fell in love, had a child and panicked that she’d be putting the girl in danger by being a part of her life. Mary left America and her daughter to break all ties, to keep the girl safe. She was an honorable woman.”

  “And a good agent,” Rosie added.

  “You were the ones on the path this afternoon,” Bobby said.

  “Yes,” Gerry said. “We were hoping our threats to kill her would encourage you to take her back to the States.”

  “I would like nothing better. But you’ve seen how determined she is.”

  “You can’t tell her about her mother being MI5,” Anne said.