Love, Lies, and British Spies
Selena Laurence
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Selena Laurence ISBN 10: 1-4405-6701-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6701-8
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6702-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-44056702-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
For Bob. You make it all possible, in every way.
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Also Available
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is a funny thing — it’s the world’s most solitary occupation, yet requires a ton of other people to make it happen. First and foremost I have to thank my critique partners, Maya and Jamie, who read every word of this over and over for many months. They have made me a better writer and probably a better person as well. Thanks, ladies.
Secondly, to my friends, both online and in person: I am so fortunate to have people from all over the world who are actually willing to listen to me sometimes, and even share their lives with me in return. My Facebook 100, the Dunn moms, and Arsenal moms, I love you all more than you could know.
Finally, to my family: I’m not always easy to deal with, and this whole “writing thing” was unexpected. I thank you for letting me be me, and for believing that I have what it takes to make it in a very difficult profession. Most of all, to my four children, you all help me be my best each and every day; my admiration for you is limitless.
The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice
Eurydice and Orpheus were two young lovers in Ancient Greece who were so madly in love that they didn’t think they could live without one another, so they vowed to be together always.
Orpheus was a gifted musician. All who heard his music were entranced. It was said that his voice could charm even the stones in the earth. Orpheus and Eurydice were very happy together and they spent their days loving one another, singing, and dancing. But, one day as Eurydice was running through a meadow with Orpheus, she was bitten on the ankle by a snake. The poison of the bite killed her and she descended to Hades, in the Underworld, instantly.
Orpheus was so distraught and desperate about the loss of his love that he decided to go to Hades and ask for the return of Eurydice. Hades was known for his uncompromising ways. The only thing that ever touched his hard heart was his wife, Persephone. When Orpheus went to ask for Eurydice, he played for Hades and Persephone and his music was so exquisite that Persephone was swayed and she asked Hades to grant Orpheus’ request.
Hades relented and allowed Orpheus to bring Eurydice back to the surface of the earth. But, there was one condition: Orpheus could not look back while he left the Underworld. He had to trust that Eurydice loved him enough to follow him. Orpheus did as he was told, but as he neared the doorway into the upper world he grew fearful and looked behind him to make sure Eurydice followed. At that very moment, she was taken away and thrown back into the Underworld. Because Orpheus didn’t trust Eurydice’s love, he lost her forever.
Prologue
London — six months ago
It must have hurt. She’d slammed her toe into the metal shelves so hard that they vibrated. He watched her pretty face crumple briefly; then her chest expanded as she inhaled and carefully schooled her features. Undoubtedly she didn’t want anyone to notice her clumsy path through the Tesco Market. He kept watching her as she limped very slightly for several more steps, tossing things into her trolley seemingly at random. She kept looking over her left shoulder as if expecting someone to come up behind her. That concerned him oddly enough.
He didn’t generally notice particular women out in public unless he was supposed to be looking for a contact. He’d trained himself years ago not to be distracted by long legs, shiny hair, or a great arse. He just couldn’t afford to spend his time idly checking out the world’s beautiful women. He got plenty of chances to check out the ones he needed to get close to for work. But he was on holiday for the next month. The first one he’d had in nearly a year, and so he’d let his guard down just enough to become fascinated by this slightly awkward blonde making her way through the store trying not to maim herself or damage merchandise.
He continued watching her as she travelled up the canned goods aisle, while he simultaneously skirted the end shelves, casually but efficiently taking items like cereal and tea and placing them in his trolley. He turned into the beverage aisle and headed north, just as she came down the same aisle going south. Three, two, one: he flicked his wrist slightly to the right, nicking the edge of her trolley just as they began to pass each other.
“Oh! Shit!” she squeaked just before she slapped her hand over her mouth, her blue eyes growing wide and her round cheeks turning a lovely shade of crimson.
He smoothed on his best “trustworthy guy” smile, the one he often used on female domestic staff when he was trying to gain entry somewhere he wasn’t welcome. “Completely my fault, love. Are you all right?”
She kept her hand over her mouth for a moment staring at him and nodding. Then, as if realizing how silly she must look, she pulled her hand down, stood up a little straighter, gave him a tightlipped smile in return and said in the flattest Yank accent he’d heard in ages, “Yes, of course, no worries, really.”
“You’re sure?” he said, his white teeth flashing in a smile of earnest concern.
“Um, yes … ” she replied, slightly star struck.
“I know this might seem rather forward of me,” he began, “but may I introduce myself?”
Her brows came together and she licked her lips nervously indicating she was unsure about this one, but he quickly moved to reassure her.
“I’ll tell you my name, but you don’t have to tell me your real name. Make something up! Just don’t forget what it is so that if I get so lucky as to see you here again and I call out to you, you’ll actually answer.”
She giggled at that and her whole body finally relaxed, as if she’d been holding it tensed in preparation for an impact or a shock.
Holding out a smooth white hand with long shapely fingers she smiled genuinely this time and said, “I’m Eva, and I haven’t ever shopped here before actually, so I’m not sure if you’ll run into me again, but it’s nice to meet you.”
He took the proffered hand and thought briefly that it might be the softest, sweetest thing he’d touched in a very long time. “Owen Martin, and I have to say with all sincerity, that I hope you’ll consider making Tesco a regular part of your life, as it’s the only place I ever shop when I’m in London and I
would very much like to see you again, Eva.”
She blushed more, slowly removing her hand from his. “Well, I’ll certainly take it under consideration … Owen.” she said sweetly.
“Lovely.” He winked, and carefully maneuvered his trolley out of her way, whistling softly to himself.
He went to Tesco every day at the same time for the next week.
So did she.
Chapter One
Paris — 10:00, 8 September
Eva Martin raised her arms up over her head and stretched like a cat. She felt the slide of her silk nightgown against her legs as she took a deep breath of lavender-scented air.
“Honey!” she called across the room. “Can we stay here always? Just have room service send us food once a day and maybe order the occasional movie?”
“Well love, as much as I’d welcome the opportunity to ravish you continuously for years on end in the lap of French luxury, eventually someone’s going to want payment for this little place as, unlike us, they cannot live on love alone.”
Owen Martin walked out of the en suite bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel slung low over his hips, his dark blond hair still wet and a toothbrush dangling from the side of his smiling mouth.
Eva looked at his broad tan chest, and well-muscled abs and once again gave thanks to the gods of Tesco for her tremendous good fortune. Six months ago she’d been a new transplant in London, not really knowing anyone but the people she worked with, and now here she was on her honeymoon with her gorgeous, adoring, musically gifted husband. And, even if Owen had a concert to perform one of the nights they were in Paris, who could complain when he paid her such magnificent attentions the rest of the time?
“Well then,” Eva continued, “if we must leave the room, I suppose you really ought to take me for pastries at that little café I saw when we were walking home last night.”
“Anything you say, milady. Just don’t forget that I’ve got that rehearsal at two.”
• • •
The newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Martin left their hotel on foot at 10:58 A.M. Owen noted it as he thought about the most direct route from the pastry shop to Rue de Bercy where the Theatre Renaissance was located. Owen also took note of a delivery van with three large men inside who seemed to be taking note of him. He texted his colleague and good friend Derrick MacFarlane while he simultaneously walked alongside Eva holding her hand, guitar case slung across his back, laughing at her imitation of the well-endowed desk clerk who’d been chatting him up the night before.
When Owen and Eva reached the pastry shop, Owen’s friend Derrick was sitting with studied nonchalance, espresso in hand, reading the paper, dark Ray Bans perched on his face.
“Owen, look! Isn’t that Derrick over there?” Eva said brightly as she led him towards Derrick’s table. Owen had only introduced Derrick to Eva a few days ago, but Derrick and his girlfriend Alicia had done a bang-up job of welcoming Eva to Paris for the first time.
“So it is!” replied Owen. “Derrick! What are you doing here, mate?”
“Well, fancy meeting you two here!” the big, barrel-chested Scotsman said as he stood to shake both their hands. “Did you see this place while we were walking last night as well?”
“Eva did,” Owen replied. “You know me, not terribly observant.”
Derrick choked briefly on his espresso and reached for a glass of water while Owen continued smiling at him.
Owen enjoyed Derrick’s company; he was a jovial chap, always up for a party, always the one to bring a bottle of wine and a few mates. Alicia, his girlfriend for this assignment, was the serious one of the pair. A scholar with a focus on the history of war, Alicia wasn’t the kind of woman Owen would ever take too lightly.
“Did Alicia get tired of you and send you out alone?” Eva asked.
“No, she’s running some errands nearby, so I decided I’d take the bum’s way out and sit here ‘till she’s done. And what a grand idea it was! I can now enjoy your company while I wait. Of course, I guess that means I’ve got to put up with him as well.” Derrick jerked his thumb at Owen.
Owen replied by stepping around the other man’s chair, giving him a fist tap on the shoulder and taking a seat with his back to the street. As long as his wingman was present to watch his back, Owen thought, it was safer not to expose his face to so many passersby when it appeared that his mission here in Paris might already be compromised.
Eva sat carefully on the chair in between the two men.
“You ought to put your hat on, love,” Owen told her. “You don’t want to damage that beautiful skin I just agreed to live with for the rest of my life.”
Eva stuck her tongue out at him but complied, and he relaxed a little more knowing that only her profile could be seen from the street and now even that, along with her bright blonde hair, was mostly hidden by the large sunhat.
They got coffee and croissants as Derrick regaled them with tales of his exploits doing publicity for the Rolling Stones.
“How did you go from doing publicity for big rock bands to singer/songwriters like Owen?” Eva asked.
“It was pretty simple. I wanted to be my own boss, and I wanted to do something a little more useful than making sure Mick and Keith had the right shape of ice cubes in the mini-fridges of their dressing rooms.”
Owen laughed at that, automatically lifting Eva’s hand in his and kissing her fingertips at the same time.
“Yeah, you see, now he gets to worry about making sure I have paper for the loo in the custodian’s closet they give me for a dressing room.”
Eva rolled her eyes and threw him a pouty face. “Oh, you poor baby, it’s so hard being such a small-time … what was it the Village Voice called you? Oh, yes! ‘A musical magician worthy of mythological status.’”
Owen gave her an amused smile and a shrug of his shoulders indicating that his previous modesty was mostly false. His phone buzzed, and while Derrick began asking Eva questions about her work in London, he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the message:
Derrick: Van watching u is 1 block down 2 the east. Alicia has them distracted. Take Eva and go north to rehearsal ASAP.
Owen casually lifted his coffee cup, giving a brief nod to Derrick when he looked over, then checked his watch and stood up suddenly saying, “Oh, love, we’ve got to get going here.” Turning to Derrick he said, “Sorry mate, but I just remembered that there are a couple of sound issues I want to check out before the rehearsal starts. Ready, darling?”
Eva snatched up her bag while Owen tossed a few Euros on the table and Derrick gave her a peck goodbye.
“Tell Alicia I’m sorry I missed her! I’m holding her to that promise of a girls’ shopping day this weekend too.”
“Good God, help us both, mate,” Derrick responded with mock horror looking at Owen. “Now go on and get out of here while you have the chance.”
Owen winked and grabbed Eva’s hand as they headed out of the café and then up an alleyway that ran to the north alongside the patio.
• • •
There were many, many reasons Eva loved Owen, but one of them was how concerned he always was for her safety and comfort. There were times when she thought he overdid it — like the time he’d made them leave a football match in London because he hadn’t liked it when the stadium cam had zeroed in on the two of them. “Our privacy’s been completely violated, love,” he’d said as he hurried her out of the stadium. “I don’t want you to have all sorts of strange people trying to talk to you after the match just because they saw us on the big screen. You don’t realize how obnoxious the English can be about celebrities.”
Since Owen wasn’t the type of celebrity who was recognized out in public, Eva found his worry excessive. But, most of the time his “safety” precautions were very considerate, like the way he always walked on the street side when they were in a big city. “I live in England, darling, it’s always wet, and if you’re on the street side you’re bound to get soaked sooner or later. I�
��d rather it be my ugly, hairy legs that get it than your pretty ones with those expensive shoes you always wear.”
Still, sometimes Eva felt like Owen didn’t think she was a capable adult. Like she was too precious to take care of herself. Like he didn’t completely trust her. However, she figured of all the faults her new husband could have, this wasn’t much of one.
They arrived at the small concert venue about fifteen minutes after leaving the cafe — Owen walking on the street side of course. The theater was a former concert hall, built in the 1800s, and had once hosted such events as musical theater performances and operettas. It was a relatively small facility, but one with a fascinating history and a devoted staff who preserved it nearly two hundred years later.
“I still don’t understand why we had to walk through alleys the whole way here,” Eva muttered. “You’d think you were embarrassed to be seen with … Oh, Owen!” Eva gushed as they entered the lobby, “It’s just beautiful! Look at that ’20s Deco chaise. I’ll bet that’s an original. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d like to find for my client in Sussex. Do you think there’s someone here who’d know where they got it?”
“Always with the work,” Owen chided her.
Eva just rolled her eyes at the man who had suggested they go to Paris for their honeymoon because, “I’ve got a gig there anyway, might as well kill two birds with one stone.”
“I’ll introduce you to Charlene,” he said. “She’s the Front House Manager, so she might know. Come upstairs with me to her office.”
They climbed the back staircase and entered a small hallway that housed the theatre’s offices. The third door on the left was the Front House Manager’s suite with a small area for her secretary and an office for her. Charlene was a short French woman with dark hair, a conservative navy dress and very red lipstick. She was polite, but all business. Once she found out that Eva was an interior designer, she gave her the card of the firm that had handled the theatre’s historic renovations and furnishings.
Love, Lies, and British Spies Page 1
