by Claire Vale
I’d been in the den before, or what Daniel called his Fun Room. One wall was floor to ceiling shelving jam-packed with books and board games and all kinds of interesting things. There was a half-sized snooker table. A dartboard nailed to another wall. Bean bags littering the plush carpet.
One step into the room, I whirled about. “Actually…is Julian around?”
McKinnon seemed to grow another inch as he stiffened. “The councilman doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“I’m not going to disturb him, McKinnon. He’d think me rude if I didn’t say a quick hello.” I looked at him expectantly, my breath stuck in my throat. The stiff and proper butler would never take me to his councilman’s private quarters, let alone the master bedroom. If Julian was too sick to get out of bed, this would all be over.
McKinnon’s mouth pinched. “Follow me.”
I followed, feeling somewhat ambiguous about this outcome. The cowardly part of me didn’t want to do today what could be put off another week, another month. That same cowardly part just needed to get it done, before I withered away from lily-livered nerves.
We crossed the hallway to the east wing, through a set of mahogany doors that stood wide open, passed another two closed doors before McKinnon stopped to rap lightly.
“Enter,” a gruff voice called from behind.
McKinnon entered ahead of me.
Before he could announce me, I squeezed around him to see Julian seated behind a stately desk. He looked pale, sunken, sweat-slick hair and bloodshot eyes.
McKinnon persevered regardless. “Mrs. West to see you, sir.”
Julian waved him off with a limp wrist. “Thank you, McKinnon.” To me, once we were alone, “Georga? What’s wrong?” He coughed hoarsely, pushed to his feet but kept both hands on the desk, as if he needed the support. “Has something happened?”
“Not at all.” I moved closer, my smile weak and unsure. By the look of Julian, he was halfway to death’s door. Was I really going to torture the man further? “Roman said you had the flu. I just wanted to see how you’re feeling.”
“Not up to company, I’m afraid.” He grimaced kindly to soften the words. “I’ve self-quarantined myself. Don’t come too close, my dear, Lord knows I don’t want to spread these germs.”
“Have you seen the doctor?”
“Dr. Granner came around this morning,” Julian said, sinking down into his chair. “He gave me something for the symptoms, but the virus just has to work its way out.”
“I know a great herbal recipe that’ll help boot it out,” I said. “It won’t take long to brew you a cup.”
“Herbal tea?” He shook his head doubtfully.
“Ginger, eucalyptus and honey.” I smiled hard. “It’s really effective, my mother swears by it.”
“That’s sweet of you, dear, but really not—”
“Oh, and I forgot the brandy,” I cut in smoothly. “Just a splash of warm brandy for the aches and pains. It can’t hurt, can it? I mean, it’s not like you could feel any worse.”
“Okay, okay,” he relented.
I didn’t know if the brandy did it, or if he just wanted to get rid of me, but I retreated before he could change his mind and went in search of McKinnon to steer me toward the kitchen. He left me in the hands of the cook (or chef, as McKinnon corrected me), who tutted and grunted a lot but nevertheless brought me everything I asked for and barked at one of his helpers to boil the kettle and warm a ladle of brandy over the blue gas flames.
I didn’t dare do anything suspicious under those watchful eyes, so the vial stayed in my pocket until I was in the short passage between the two sets of swing doors that isolated the noise and smells of the kitchen from the rest of the house. Cup and saucer in one hand, I dug the vial out of my jean pocket, my palms suddenly clammy. I hadn’t done anything wrong, until now. Once I tipped out the contents of this vial, my intentions were bared—to myself if not immediately apparent to anyone else.
The cup rattled in the saucer as a shake caught my fingers.
Just do it!
I fumbled with the cap, finally got it unscrewed using my thumb and forefinger, and emptied it into cup. The vial went back into my pocket. I held the cup to my nose for a whiff. Nothing that the strong smell of ginger didn’t override.
Okay.
I felt queasy to my stomach. My knees hollowed out. I was pathetic. Everything had gone just right, but I’d still fail…if I didn’t get a grip.
Deep breaths.
Slow, shallow breaths.
That didn’t help steady my nerves much, but it did get me moving again. I didn’t stop when I reached Julian’s office, didn’t trust myself to not panic and run, just knocked and opened the door. Julian was in the middle of a fitting cough, a hand clamped to his mouth. He waved me in and then I was at the point of no return and with it came an odd calm.
I thought of Beth.
I thought of Miriam.
I looked at Julian sitting behind that stately desk. Even sunken and weak in illness, even hacking up a lung, he held more power in his little finger than both of them combined.
There was a sofa arranged between end tables. I set the cup down there and plumped the throw pillows against one fattened, cradling arm.
“This is far more comfortable and it’s away from the window,” I said when his fit eased. Nodding off on the sofa would seem more natural than face-planting the desk. “The cold air always seeps in, no matter how well insulated.”
.”Maybe, yes.” His voice sounded raw, shivery and feeble, as if that cough had drained him.
My timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
“Just for a minute.” He used the desk again to push to his feet and came around the desk.
“While you drink your tea,” I agreed wholeheartedly.
He lifted the cup for a tentative sip and my pulse started a slow tick at the base of my throat.
“Ah, that’s…” He sent me an appreciative look as he lowered himself onto the sofa and brought the cup to his lips. “Thank you, Georga, this is good.”
“The ginger helps with the congestion,” I said, rambling to distract myself from anxiously watching every sip. “It’s the honey that’s soothes your throat.”
Julian feinted a little to the left, snapped himself straight with a jerk, immediately tilted to the left again. “I don’t know what’s…” His gaze drifted off me, refocused with a frown. “I can’t seem to keep my eyes…”
“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed. “You said Dr. Granner gave you something? The drug must be mixing with the brandy. I’m such an idiot, I didn’t think. No wonder you’re feeling drowsy.”
“He did say… He said…” Julian’s head bobbed, his eyes drifting out of focus “…extra strong dose of Paracetamol…”
He slumped left again, and this time he kept going, toppling like a ragdoll.
I rushed forward to catch him, easing him down so his cheek rested on the pillows I’d pumped against the sofa arm. He was lying down, but twisted at the waist with his feet still on the floor.
It didn’t look very comfortable.
After a moment of indecision, I picked his legs up and rearranged him onto his side in a fetal curl. It would be better all around if he didn’t wake up with a crick in his neck and grumpy.
I sprang into action and flicked the latch on the door. If anyone interrupted, I’d rather explain a locked door than the handprint kit. Kneeling before Julian, I retrieved the kit from my bag and went to work. His arm flopped awkwardly and it took a good while to find an angle to place his hand firmly on the gel cushion, then I closed the cover firmly and tugged the bookmark strip. Nothing happened. I applied more force and there was a ripping sound. The strip peeled out to release the silicone gel that would mold his hand and set—if I’d done everything correctly. I didn’t dare check in case I spoiled the process. My fingers clamped around his wrist and held tight so his hand wouldn’t shift and smudge the print.
I made a note of the time and added f
ive minutes.
Julian wheezed noisy, nasal breaths but he didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch. I relaxed my grip on his wrist so I wouldn’t leave a bruise and tried not to think too hard about what I was doing, robbing this man of the one thing that belonged to him and him alone.
There was no space for guilt left inside me.
The respectful, nearly reverent view I’d built of Julian over these past months was shattered. He was not one of the most powerful men in Capra with incredible heart and soul. He was not the husband and father his family had needed him to be.
Did he know about women like Beth and their atrocious circumstances? Did he not know or did he not want to know?
Would it even matter?
He hadn’t helped his wife.
He could not—or would not—fix anything.
But with or without the guilt, there was a hell of a lot wrong with this scene, too much for my conscience to handle comfortably. I was a character in a fairytale, a wolf disguised as a family friend.
I would live with what I was doing here. I didn’t like it, didn’t like myself for doing it, but I would live with it.
The seconds ticked into minutes and then the time was up. I half expected to find a gooey mess and telltale stains stuck to Julian’s hand. His hand came away clean and clear, though, leaving behind a finely detailed imprint. I closed the kit carefully and slid it into my bag, grinning, not quite believing I’d actually done it.
You haven’t got away with it yet.
My grin faded and I pressed up from my knees. I would’ve preferred to stay right here with Julian, keep watch while he slept and keep the door locked until the sedative wore off, but McKinnon might come looking for me.
Actually, what I really wanted to do was to run, put as much distance between me and the crime as possible, but there was my cover story with Brenda to consider and more. If there was any suspicion or fallout, I’d rather confront it here and now than be sitting at home, waiting and wondering if the Guard was coming to get me.
I left Julian reluctantly, made my way back to the den. There I paced a rut in the plush carpet, eyes glued to my watch. Rose had said half an hour before Julian’s sleep would appear totally natural.
Twenty minutes had already passed.
Ten minutes to go. Plus maybe another five just to be sure.
The riskiest part was over.
All I had to do now was remain calm and decide whether I should rouse Julian in a bit or let him stir awake on his own. I didn’t want to ruin everything with impatience, but the sooner I knew I wasn’t going to be accused of foul play, the better.
The door opened and I glanced that way, expecting McKinnon or Brenda or maybe even Miriam.
Not Daniel.
He was the very last person I’d expected.
My heart jumped and crashed into my ribs. Crap. Crap. Crap.
“Hey.” He didn’t enter, just leant in with one hand on the handle. “McKinnon said you were here.”
My hands fisted at my sides, fingernails biting into skin. “Yeah, I’m…” I swallowed nervously. “You’re home early.”
“Not to stay,” he said with his boyish grin. “I stopped in to see my father. He’s not well.”
“I know,” I squeaked. Too sharp. Too high. I brought the pitch down with a slow breath. “I mean, yeah, I just made him a cup of herbal tea, one of my mom’s recipes.”
“That’s kind of you,” Daniel said. “He needs to medicate and rest. Actually, that’s why I’m here, to tell him I’ve cancelled his afternoon meeting. At least he was going to phone in and not drag himself to the office, but still.”
He started to withdraw and I blurted out, “I’m waiting for Brenda.”
“McKinnon said.”
Keep him here. Keep him talking. “I don’t know if she told you, we, um, we had a falling out.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t say.”
Seriously? She hadn’t ratted me out? Okay, so Brenda wasn’t the worst friend in the world. “I’m hoping we can sort it out and make up.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He pushed the door all the way open and came inside, walked up to me. “Brenda puts on a brave face, but I think she’s lonely a lot of the time. It can be quite isolating, here in Parklands. Your friendship means a lot to her.”
I wasn’t so sure.
Daniel hadn’t come all the way inside to get personal with his blue, blue eyes just to make an observation, though, he was asking me to make more of an effort with his wife. I set that nugget aside for examination when I wasn’t in the middle of trying to save my ass. And Roman’s.
Daniel held my gaze for a moment, then smiled and turned to go.
I panicked.
“Oh…” I reached out, clutching feebly for fistfuls of his shirt as I let my legs collapse from under me.
He spun about on a curse, managed to hitch an arm beneath mine before I landed in a puddle on the floor. “Georga, hey.” His arm slid around my waist so he could drew me up against his side. “Are you okay?”
“Just feel lightheaded all of a sudden.” I leaned heavily into the support, taking only a fraction of my own weight. “Maybe I should sit down.”
I hung on like a crazy woman as he helped lower me awkwardly onto the nearest beanbag, used the confusion to sneak a look at my watch. Almost there.
Daniel was on his knees in front of me and that seemed as good a place as any to keep him. I slapped a hand on his shoulder and rocked forward with my head bowed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “Should I get you some water?”
“In a minute.” Or three. “Can we just stay here, like this? It seems to be helping the nausea, when I lean forward.”
He brushed my hair off my forehead, felt for a temperature with the back of his hand. “I hope you’re not coming down with the flu.”
“I don’t feel feverish,” I said quickly. The last thing I needed was a visit from Dr. Granner. “Just dizzy and nauseous. It’s already starting to pass. I don’t know what happened.”
My hair fell back and he brushed it away from my forehead again. “You know what that sounds like, right?”
A big, fat lie?
He gave a small laugh. “Sure you’re not pregnant?”
“That would be slightly impossible.” My other hand nestled in my nap, and I slowly stretched my wrist out so I could see the face of my watch. “I haven’t started any treatments yet.”
“Well, there’s always the ‘miracle.’”
That’s how he said, wrapped in phantom air quotes. He wasn’t really serious. Still, he had no idea what a divine miracle it would actually be if I were pregnant with Roman’s baby. Hah.
The minute hand ticked over and time was up.
I blew out a breath shaky from relief and raised my head. “Thanks, I’m feeling much better.”
“Good.” He smiled, his gaze sinking into me with warmth and tenderness, his fingers still in my hair, his thumb stroking the hairline. “Don’t move,” he said. “I’m going to fetch you a glass of water,” he said, but he didn’t go anywhere.
He stayed right here, smiling that warm, tender smile, looking deep into my eyes.
A pang of something pinched my heart, something lost before it had been found, something broken before I’d had a chance to gaze upon its beauty. This was an odd, rare moment, just the two of us like this. A dangerous quiet for what ifs and might-have-beens to stew. I wasn’t in love with Daniel, but it wasn’t impossible to imagine it could happen. He was adorably handsome, clean cut looks with boyish charm. There could easily have come a time when I melted with longings for his touch.
I wanted to ask about his mother. What had she done to get herself sent to rehab? What was she like before? Was she the reason he’d changed his mind about me? Had I reminded him of her? Trouble? Did he honestly believe Roman could somehow save me from that same fate…from myself? Or did it have nothing to do with saving me. Maybe he just didn’t want his wife, the mother o
f his children, to end up in rehab one day and return a ghost of her former self.
A second sense lifted my gaze past him, to the doorway, collided with Roman as he strode in and stopped short. His features went dark and rigid like a glacial storm front rolling in. He wasn’t looking at me exactly, he was looking at us.
Oh, crap.
I jettisoned back from Daniel in a blur of arms and legs, fighting the beanbag as I scrambled to my feet. Too late, I realized how my overreaction might be perceived. It had alerted Daniel to the problem, though.
He pushed off his knees and turned to Roman with the eloquence and ease of someone who’d done no wrong. “I’m glad you’re here, Georga wasn’t—”
“Not now,” Roman cut in, a cold and curt dismissal. To me, he said, “Get your things. We’re leaving.”
Daniel surged forward. “Hey, man, come on…”
Roman shoved a folder at him. “Give this to Julian.”
“Daniel isn’t your post boy,” I said, drawing a hard look from Roman. Too bad. I needed a status update on Julian. Later, I could talk Roman around, explain my dizzy spell and all that. “Deliver it yourself.”
Daniel shot me a puzzled look.
“I don’t mind,” he said, turning back to Roman. “But I’m sure my father would like to see you.”
“Of course Roman wants to check in, see how he’s feeling,” I dug myself deeper into his bad graces. Well, it couldn’t get much worse, could it? He wasn’t even trying to hide his temper behind a mask of cool indifference.
Roman’s jaw clenched. I could practically hear his back teeth grinding. He didn’t argue, though. He looked at me one, long minute more and then he did an about heel and marched out. Daniel followed, and I was right behind, although reason stalled me in the hall by the entrance. Roman and his folder were clearly on a work related visit and I’d probably pushed my luck as far as it could go.
I stood there a moment, fingers crossed, regulating my breathing to the rhythm of the plea I put out to the universe and any God that might be listening. Please, let it be okay. Dear God, please.
