by Cathryn Hein
He raised his head and met her gaze. ‘Are you positive you need this woman’s help?’
She moved to stand beside him and placed her palm on his back. ‘I’m not perfect, Raimund. I don’t know everything. Yes, I need her help. I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.’
His fingers began a rapid drum. ‘You have her number?’
‘No. But I could get it.’
The drumming ceased. ‘Then I suppose you must call her.’
Dame Elizabeth proved to be in fine form.
‘How long did you say you’ve been in France?’ she snapped down the line in an accent that could cut crystal.
Olivia cringed. ‘A few months.’
‘A few months? And now you deign to call me?’
Olivia could almost hear Dame Elizabeth’s temper brewing.
‘And during all this time, did you not think once of me?’ Dame Elizabeth didn’t give Olivia time to answer. She just ploughed on, as was her way. ‘No, you did not. Too busy bonking some Frenchie, I presume. Thought you had more taste than that. They smell, you know. Caught a whiff of one on the stairs the other day. Stank like a round of Époisses de Bourgogne. Fine for a cheese, not so pleasant on a man. Who is he?’
‘I’m not bonking anyone, Dame Elizabeth.’
From across the Rosecs’ kitchen table, Raimund threw her a strange look.
‘Really? Why not? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to become one of those lesbian sorts? Bloody awful clothes they wear. Look like plumbers, the lot of them. When are you coming to see me?’
Olivia took a breath. ‘I’m afraid I can’t.’
The revelation was greeted with silence.
‘I’m working on a project at the moment, but as soon as it’s finished I promise I’ll come and see you,’ she gabbled, desperately trying to keep Dame Elizabeth onside. ‘But I’ve hit a bit of an impasse and need your help. You see, I need to know if the Knights Hospitallers had any secret strongholds within a day’s ride of Aigues-Mortes.’
More silence.
‘Dame Elizabeth?’
‘You were many things, Olivia, but ill-mannered was never one of them. Goodbye.’
The phone clunked loudly in her ear.
‘Oh, hell.’
Raimund stared at her. ‘What happened?’
The phone dropped to the table. Olivia’s hands went to her burning cheeks. ‘She hung up.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I said I couldn’t see her.’
As soon as she uttered the words, Raimund’s expression shut down. She knew what he was thinking and she knew what his answer would be, but she had no choice. This was her mystery as well as his. And she was bloody well going to solve it.
‘I’ll have to go to see her.’
‘No.’
‘Raimund —’
‘No.’ His tone was fiercer this time.
Her chair scraped back. She leaned over the table at him. All the frustration that had grown over the last few days burbled like a hot mud pool in her head. Dame Elizabeth would know the answer to her question. All she had to do was visit her. It was a simple solution, yet Raimund wanted to stop her. As if she were a subordinate he could order around at will.
‘Go to hell, Raimund. I’m not one of your bloody soldiers.’
Then she snatched up the phone and strode towards the terrace, hitting the redial button on her way. It took an interminable time for Dame Elizabeth to answer. Any moment, Olivia expected the phone to be ripped from her hand, but as she stood outside on the broiling terrace looking back towards the kitchen, she saw Raimund had barely moved.
He had risen from his chair and was leaning slightly forward with his hands on the table, his weight balanced on the tips of his splayed fingers. His head was bowed.
‘What?’ snapped Dame Elizabeth in her ear.
‘It’s Olivia.’
‘Well of course it is. What do you want now? I’m frightfully busy, you know.’
‘Are you free this afternoon?’
‘No.’
Olivia closed her eyes. Dame Elizabeth wasn’t going to make this easy.
‘I’d like to drop by, if that’s all right. Sometime soon.’
‘I shall have to check my diary.’
Over the line came the sound of flipping pages. As she waited, Olivia eyed Raimund. He stood as stiffly immobile as a statue, his head still bowed. Her heart squeezed, but she wasn’t sorry for her defiance. They were partners in this quest. He couldn’t have everything his own way.
‘It appears I have an hour free this afternoon. Four o’clock.’ She rattled off the address. An apartment in a hôtel on the western side of the Mazarin Quarter. ‘Do not be late.’
‘I’ll have someone with me,’ said Olivia before Dame Elizabeth could hang up.
Raimund lifted his head and stared at her.
‘And whom might that be?’
She locked eyes with him. ‘A friend.’
‘Male? French?’
‘Yes.’
‘Out of the question. I’m not entertaining your lover as well as you. Leave him in the car.’
‘It’s important he’s with me, Dame Elizabeth.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Four o’clock. Goodbye.’
Dame Elizabeth hung up again.
Olivia looked at Raimund, and squaring her shoulders, stepped back into the house, closing the sliding glass door behind her.
She placed the phone on the table. ‘I’m meeting Dame Elizabeth at four. At her apartment in Aix.’
His eyes darted to the watch he had given her and then back to her face.
‘Get ready,’ he said, pushing off the table and heading for the stairs, his back ramrod straight. ‘We have a lot to do.’
CHAPTER
14
Although every cell in her body screamed at her to do the opposite, Olivia ordered herself not to apologise. She was not one of Raimund’s troops. Her life was her own. She would not blindly obey him.
Outside the Mercedes, heat shimmered the desiccated landscape. The road was windy and narrow with deep table drains. Vineyards burst green and lush through the trees then disappeared as they sped by. Raimund’s hands were tight on the wheel, controlling the car with perfect ease.
Other than a few muttered instructions, they had spoken little since the phone call. He had watched her, though. She had felt the burn of his eyes on her scalp as he’d followed her down the stairs and outside, felt the intensity of his gaze as he’d held the Mercedes’ door open for her. Even now, when he appeared fixated on the road, she sensed his veiled scrutiny.
At the highway, he turned left towards Aix-en-Provence and when the Mercedes was back up to speed, he spoke.
‘Do you still wish to know why I joined the army, Olivia?’
She eyed him, wondering what he was about to reveal. His face gave away nothing.
‘Because Blancard soldiers do good in the world. Since ancient times we have fought against evil in all its forms. There’s a plaque on a wall in Aix marking the spot where my great-grandfather was shot for being a member of the Résistance. My grandfather fought in Korea. My uncle was killed during the Battle of Kolwezi in the Congo. They were all good men. Men to be proud of.’
‘Men who are all dead.’
The comment left him unmoved. ‘A fate that we all must face eventually. But I decided very early that if I were destined to die prematurely like my ancestors then, like them, I would make sure it was while doing something worthy. Protecting my country and its citizens is that. Later, I transferred to the Legion so I could help protect the citizens of other nations.’ His eyes flicked over her face before returning to the road. ‘Now, among other things, it has become my duty to protect you.’
Her skin prickled with guilt. She opened her mouth to finally give voice to the apology that had been brewing in her mind, but he carried on speaking in that same dispassionate tone.
‘You are not my prisoner, Olivia. You never have been and I would like to think I have never treated you
as one.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It was the only thing she could think of to say.
He nodded but said nothing further.
The journey continued in awkward silence. They were an hour early, but when Olivia had asked back at the house why it was imperative to leave straight away, Raimund simply repeated that they had a lot to do before meeting Dame Elizabeth. What that was, Olivia didn’t know, but she assumed it would entail some sort of surveillance or an inspection of the hôtel.
He had, at least, allowed her time to change, although from the look he had cast when she’d returned to the kitchen, he didn’t think much of her attire. One thing was for certain, she didn’t look remotely like one of Dame Elizabeth’s lesbians.
She’d chosen a floral halter-neck dress with a cinched-in waist and a floaty skirt that skimmed her knees. A loose chignon left enough hair free to frame her hastily made-up face. From her shoulder fell a small, long-strapped handbag containing two fifty-euro notes, three pens and a pocket-sized spiral-bound notebook. Only her shoes let her down. The dress demanded heels. She had donned flat sandals. Just in case.
The highway was busy, but Raimund made weaving in and out of traffic into an art form. His attention darting between the road in front, the cars at his side and rear, and, Olivia suspected, to herself whenever he thought she wouldn’t notice.
The first turnoff to Aix came and went.
Then he missed the second.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked, frowning.
‘Shopping.’
Her eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t probe any further. Not until they turned off onto the D9, and she saw a sign for Marignane airport. A flare of panic erupted in her stomach. She sat upright, her hands clutching the dashboard as if that could stop the Mercedes moving forward.
He glanced at her, and then flipped the indicator.
The Mercedes shot into the right-hand lane and then off the highway and into the carpark entrance of the Les Milles shopping centre. Olivia let out her breath. Never had she found the sight of a Carrefour hypermarché so reassuring. Raimund really was going shopping.
He slid the car into a space towards the rear of the carpark, where there were few other vehicles. He turned off the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt but made no move to open the door.
‘I will not order you, Olivia, but I will ask. Please, from the moment you step out of this car, you must not leave my side. Will you do that?’
She bowed her head and nodded, feeling like a prize idiot. His concern was only for her safety. She had to remember that.
To her astonishment, he stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek in that deliciously gentle way he had. As if he wanted her to know he understood her lack of trust and forgave her for it.
‘Thank you,’ he said, and as she waited for him to come round to her side of the car, she realised that, once again, his sheer class had left her blundering in her own foolishness.
The hypermarché was swarming with people. Dodging trolleys and pushers, Raimund headed straight for the electronics section, his hand firmly gripping Olivia’s. From the moment he helped her exit the Mercedes, he hadn’t let her go. She couldn’t have left his side even if she wanted to.
It took him less than five minutes to decide on the mobile phones he wanted, but much longer to complete the transaction. The person ahead of them in the cashier’s queue had two products that wouldn’t scan, and manual price checking proved slow. The delay left Raimund on edge, his grip on her hand tightening with each passing minute, while Olivia kept glancing at the watch he had given her. Dame Elizabeth was liable not to let her in the door if she was late.
As soon as he had the phones sorted, he hurried her back to the Mercedes, remaining by the open door until she settled.
They sat in the locked car with the engine running, the air conditioner blowing cool air over Olivia’s face as she watched Raimund fiddle with the new phones.
‘I have programmed in three numbers,’ he said, handing one to her and then shifting sideways in the seat to face her, his right arm stretching across the seat behind her shoulders. ‘Only numbers, not names. You will have to memorise which is which.’
She scrolled through them. All three were mobile numbers.
He tapped the screen. ‘The first is the number of my new portable. The second belongs to Edouard. The third—and this is very important, Olivia—is only to be called in an emergency. If you are in danger and cannot locate me, or you know I’m dead.’
Her head jerked up. ‘You’re not going to die.’
‘We all die.’
‘You can’t. I need you.’ Realising how that must have sounded, she stumbled to correct herself. ‘For our research.’
He stared at her. She could feel her cheeks turning pink under his scrutiny. The phone screen dimmed as it went into power-saving mode. She brought it back to life and faked reading the numbers, unable to look at him.
Only the soft whirr of the air conditioner sounded in the car. She risked a glance out of the corner of her eye. His mouth had softened, but in his eyes she thought she caught a glimpse of something that looked like pity. Hastily, she returned her eyes to the screen.
His right hand stroked the back of her neck, and although his fingers were warm, they sent a rash of goosebumps over her shoulders and down her arms. Still he said nothing, yet she had the strange feeling he wanted to. As if the words were in his head but trapped.
‘Whose number is it?’ she asked when she could stand his silence no longer.
His hand disappeared from her neck.
‘You do not need to worry about that. But if you call the number, the first word you must say is “Birao”.’
‘Birao?’
‘Do not worry. The person who answers will understand. But you must remember this word. It’s a key. The moment you say it, help will be dispatched.’
‘This is all very cloak and dagger.’
‘No, Olivia,’ he said grimly. ‘This is all very necessary.’ He slipped the other phone into his rear jeans pocket and then reached for his seatbelt. ‘It’s time to go. I’m looking forward to meeting your Dame Thatcher.’
Olivia swallowed, suddenly realising she had failed to tell him he wasn’t welcome. It was an admission he would not take well.
Although she knew it was cowardly, she left off telling him until the last minute.
Raimund had just finished reversing the Mercedes into a park fifty metres from Dame Elizabeth’s seventeenth-century hôtel, when she gave him the bad news.
‘Out of the question,’ he said, unwittingly parroting Dame Elizabeth.
‘If you come with me, I can guarantee she won’t let either of us in.’ She waved the phone at him. ‘I have this now. If there’s any trouble, I can call you.’
He twisted in the seat to face her, his eyes dark. ‘You are not making my job easy.’
‘Is that how you really think of me?’ she asked quietly. ‘As a job?’
He said nothing, showed nothing except a brief sharpening of his gaze as he weighed up the situation.
Not giving him a chance to formulate a response, she leaned forward, closing the gap between them, her gaze squarely on his. ‘I’m not some chore, Raimund. You asked for my help and I’m helping, the best way I can. Because I want to, because I believe in Durendal. And because, believe it or not, I have faith in your integrity.’
The words hung in the tense air between them. He seemed suspended, like her, in the cool confines of the car.
They were close. Intimate.
She couldn’t help it. With a tilt of her head her parted mouth pressed against his. His lips were soft, smooth and unresponsive, but she didn’t care. The touch of them was enough to turn her heart inside out. She held them against his for a few seconds and then drew away and checked her watch.
‘I’d better go.’ Then she tugged at the door handle. It didn’t open. The car was locked. With anxiety churning in her stomach, she turned her head to look at Raimund
.
‘Are you going to let me out?’
She waited. Nothing happened. She sat back, staring at him with incomprehension.
‘Raimund?’
His fingers went to his brow, working the skin. ‘I will not let you play me like some game, Olivia.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Then why kiss me?’ Anger had made his voice rough.
‘It was on impulse. We were centimetres apart.’
He ignored that. He seemed determined to have his say. ‘I cannot look after you properly if you keep doing this. I cannot be distracted.’
‘I kn—’
‘You must stop.’
She looked anxiously at her watch. Two minutes to four. She was going to be late. This was the worst possible moment to be having this conversation.
‘Open the door, Raimund. Please.’ She checked the time again. The minute hand had ticked over another notch. ‘Please.’
The locks disengaged. She yanked on the handle, almost tripping up in the gutter in her haste to get out. She turned to close the door and then stopped. There was no time, but she wanted to say it anyway. To hell with her pride.
‘Do you want to know the real reason I kissed you, Raimund? Because it felt good and right. It’s as simple as that.’ Her piece said, she pushed the door shut and ran up the street to the hôtel, stuffing the phone into her handbag as she went.
It was one minute past four the exact moment she pushed the buzzer to Dame Elizabeth’s apartment. There was no reply. Panic rising, she hit it again.
‘Second floor.’
Dame Elizabeth’s voice had lost none of its cut-glass accent over the speaker, but it was strangely subdued. Odd considering Olivia was late, but as a loud clack issued from the entrance’s massive carved door, she cast away the thought. She had been granted entry and that was all that mattered. She quickly pushed open the door before the lock could engage again.
A large black-and-white-tiled foyer opened up in front of her, its tiles lit by a small but tasteful chandelier. To the right, a fancy balustraded staircase wound upwards. Paintings hung from the walls lining it, each lit by a brass lamp curving from the wall. Olivia smiled. She had expected nothing less from Dame Elizabeth. Still smiling, she turned to close the door.
