by Sam Nash
“Good. Any chance of a shower and a change of clothes?”
“Yeah, sure. You must be exhausted. I’ll get Viktor to set you up.”
Mary thanked Luca and followed him back inside the house. She waited for polite introductions to Luca’s personal assistant and all round go-to person. Expecting to be directed up the main staircase, Mary was surprised to be taken to a ground floor guest apartment instead. Luca’s tastes were evident here too, but with the odd addition of a central fish tank, supporting a variety of exotic species. Viktor said barely a word as he guided her through the sitting room, past a small kitchen area to the bedroom and en suite at the farthest end. It was practically an entire wing of the ranch. He backed away from Mary and headed towards the door.
“If there is anything you require, please dial zero on the land line and it will divert to me.”
“Thank you. Luca had an item of jewellery that belongs to me in his luggage. Please could you bring it here the moment it is unpacked?”
“Certainly. I will direct the doctor through to you when he arrives.” He closed the door, and as Mary listened for his footsteps on the corridor tiles, she wondered where Viktor was born. His accent was faint, but distinct. She just couldn’t place its origins.
The cool shower was perfect. A ceiling rose sprayed rain-like drops down over her head and face, soothing the pent-up anguish she had held in for days. Alexi was Luca’s problem now, that’s if Karan had not already acted. I just need to catch up with Dan and the news. What time would it be in England? It’s plus eight hours from Pacific Standard Time to Greenwich Mean Time, plus another hour for British Summer Time, that makes it, oh, the middle of the night. Dan will be asleep. I could ask Viktor if I could borrow a laptop to search for news on the Prime Minister. If she has recovered, my arrest warrant may have been dropped. She might have even kept her word over repealing the Mental Health bill proposals. Mary yawned. Maybe I should have a bit of a nap first. Getting shot is tiring. She dried off with the most enormous bath sheet and wrapped it around her torso while she cleaned her teeth. One eye lid fell as she brushed. Just forty winks, as Grampy would say, and then I will get dressed for dinner.
Mary lowered herself onto the bed, still shrouded in the towel, and sighed. Just forty-winks…
***
The doctor jogged Mary’s shoulder until she was fully awake. He wore an open necked, short sleeve, lilac shirt and chinos. It did not inspire confidence. “Hi. Senator Bonovich has requested an examination. Can you show me the wound site?”
“Are you a proper doctor?” Mary struggled to sit upright, clutching the towel tight to her chest. “Where is your stethoscope and white coat? You don’t look very professional.”
“Apologies, Ms Arora. I can assure you that I am fully qualified, with a great many years of experience. Are you in any pain?”
The use of her marital name, threw her. Why on earth had Luca given him her real details? It provoked her more belligerent side. “Some. I’ve had worse. Where did you train… what’s your specialism?”
“Cardio-thoracic. UCSF.” He put his bag down on the nightstand, opened it and took out a pair of latex gloves the colour of his shirt.
“I don’t know what that stands for, but it had better be good. Hang on.” She wriggled and re-positioned the towel until she could reveal the bullet wound without exposing the rest of her private areas. The doctor nodded and murmured at the stitch work securing the edges of the small hole together, and then applied a fresh dressing.
“That is some fancy work there. I have seen some pretty messy lesions in my time. Bullets tend to rip the flesh up bad, especially if the surgeon has trouble removing it. Yours is one of the neatest I’ve ever seen. You’ll hardly have a scar when it’s healed.” He taped the gauze and cotton pad against her skin, and whipped off his gloves. Mary did not comment. The less he knew about Luca’s magic bullet trick, the better. He took out a small pad and Biro from his top pocket and scribbled at speed. “Get this filled as soon as you can. Take two, every four hours for the tenderness. I’ll leave you some spare dressings. Change it once a day, and if you can, bathe it with a saline solution to keep it from infection.”
Mary took the prescription slip from him. “Thanks. And sorry about earlier. I’m not the trusting soul I once was.”
“Perfectly understandable, given your malady, Ms Arora. Take good care of yourself, try to move about as much as you can; it helps to break up potential blood clots. I’ll come and remove those stitches in a week or two, if you are still here. I’m surprised that they didn’t use soluble ones.” He picked up his bag and walked out of the open French doors in the sitting room onto the paved area beyond. It was clearly not his first visit to the ranch.
Mary tried to read his scrawled moniker from the slip but it was unintelligible, as was the name of the drug he had prescribed.
A light-weight cotton dress with a small floral design, hung from the wardrobe door, and a pair of single post sandals sat beneath. Mary surmised that Viktor must have left them for her while she slept. The thought of him wandering in while she was so vulnerable gave her the creeps, but as far as she could tell, there were no locks with which to keep him out. There was a pair of folded cotton knickers on the dressing table. The labels were still attached. She chewed through the plastic tags with her incisors and put them on. They were a little on the tight side, but better than nothing. The dress swamped her. What would have been knee length on the average Californian beauty, now skimmed the base of her calves.
For once, her air-dried curls had tamed themselves during her nap, falling to her shoulders without frizz. Feeling a little self-conscious, she ventured from the apartment and into the main part of the house. From the setting sun she estimated the time to be around eight o’clock. Where was everyone? Had they eaten without her? The thought of food made her stomach growl. She wandered through the main living area towards the terrace and found Luca, leaning on the guard rail overlooking the valley. Behind him a table was set for two; crisp white linens, wine flutes and a flickering lantern at its centre.
Luca heard her movements and turned to greet her. “Sleeping beauty awakes. Would you like a drink… it’s our best vintage?”
Mary thought for a moment. Artificial pain killing drugs, or a natural anaesthetic? “Yes please. That would be lovely.”
He poured her a glass and topped up his own. They leaned against the iron railings and stood in silence, listening to the rustling leaves and the insects waking for the night shift. The burnt umber glow of the sky threw regimented shadows across the landscape. They reminded Mary of barbed wire fencing on old war films.
“Did you send the troops to New Jersey?” Her stare insistent, unyielding.
“Give me a chance, Mary. I have…” He took a sip of wine to consider his answer. “Made a couple of calls.” His response did not seem to appease her. She continued to stare in silence, goading him into further action. He broke the stalemate by inviting her to sit at the laid table. “I didn’t know what to ask cook to make for you. And since you may have slept until quite late, we decided a variety of salads might best suit.” Luca gestured towards a loitering Viktor, who wheeled a steel trolley out onto the terrace. It supported a range of dishes, all covered with silver or glass domes to deter insect invasion.
Mary sat at one end of the table and watched as Viktor set about delivering each of the platters in turn. Her gaze fell back on the trolley. It reminded her, all too painfully, of the hospital gurney which carried her into surgery. With stoic aplomb, Viktor served filo parcels of goat’s cheese and spinach, two kinds of rice salad, a tasty Waldorf and slices of marinated tomatoes the size of cricket balls. There were other untouched dishes, yet to be unveiled, but Mary’s plate already overflowed.
Luca poured more wine as Mary sated her grumbling tummy. He nibbled on a few chunks of celery, as though he had already eaten and was forcing more down through polite manners. She looked out across the darkening vista.
&nbs
p; “Where is the wine made? I can’t see any other buildings.” She took a sip of the rich Burgundy and then continued to shovel more of the food down.
“The winery itself is just over that peak over there.” Luca pointed to a crest in the hillside, its top-most ridge still bathed in the last rays of the sun. “The grapes are all picked by hand to preserve the quality and reduce damage. Then they are dropped into a layered hopper, that reaches deep underground into the natural cave system, where the ageing process is more easily controlled.”
“Caves? There are caves here?”
“Sure. These mountains are riddled with them. It’s one of the reasons why the vintage is such a success. I’ll show you around when you feel well enough.”
Mary gave him a polite smile and a forced nod. The thought of an underground cavern system chilled her spine. She imagined the low ceilings and dripping stalactites of fantasy fiction, and shivered. “How long have you been making wine? Is it just a side line to your politics?”
“No, it has been in the family for some time. We have a few other sites as well as this one. I say we, but I mean other relatives. I like to think of this one as mine, although I have a general manager to keep everything ticking over.”
“It is a beautiful part of the world, Luca, and this wine is quite moreish.” She gulped at another mouthful. Her cheeks glowed.
“Is that Brit-speak for tasty?”
Mary giggled and snorted, spluttering on the tangy liquid as it trickled down her throat. He was amused by her childlike approach to intoxication, resting his tongue against expensive dental work in a genuine grin. The lingering stare was different this time. Not invasive or strained, but mellow and thoughtful. He had such impish eyes. They could literally penetrate her soul. How different he was to Karan. The pale locks and salt and pepper stubble glinting in the candlelight from his angular jaw. There was a maturity and presence that was both comforting and exhilarating. He had an air of danger about him that Mary could not place. He was far from the privilege that Karan’s regal background afforded him, yet he had a similar degree of self-possession. It was a heady mix.
Two powerful men from the east and the west. What could they possibly want with me? I can almost understand Karan’s interest, since he has no other access to people with electromagnetic sensitivity, but Luca has gifts of his own. Why on earth would he take all this trouble over me? Her internal musings allowed for a noticeable hiatus in their conversation. She stared for a moment too long, and blushed.
Luca’s smile widened. “Dessert? Cook makes an incredible Death by Chocolate?”
“I shouldn’t really, but it has been a long time since I had a treat.” She nodded at Viktor, who stood with a cake knife poised in his grasp. “Thank you.”
Viktor delivered the sweet, rested a small fork against her plate, and re-covered the cake platter.
“Are you not having pudding?” She said, suddenly self-conscious.
“No, I don’t tend to do sweets.” He noted her disappointment, and added. “Really, it’s fine. You go ahead.”
“Well if you are sure.” Mary did not wait for further entreaties. She plunged the side of the fork into the soft ganache and savoured its smooth sweetness. When her mouth was clear of sticky chocolate she remarked, “wow… you were not kidding. This is divine.” Another forkful disappeared as quickly as the first. Mary scooped up another portion and paused to waft it near to her host. “Are you sure I cannot tempt you?”
There was that beatific smile once again. The hazy eyed look of desire. “Yes, Mary. I think you can tempt me.” He leaned forwards and gently held her wrist, guiding her utensil into his mouth. He wrapped his lips about the morsel and slid the fork slowly out. Mary was transfixed.
Chapter Eighteen
Luca did not let go of her wrist. He chewed the chocolate torte, swallowed, and then pulled her arm close until her face was inches from his. All she could focus on was a tiny fleck of escaped pudding on his top lip. With her free hand, she reached around and wiped her thumb across his mouth. Before she could transfer it elsewhere, he leaned in and kissed her. At first, it was a delicate brush of the lips, eliciting a tingling sensation that made her draw breath. He slid his hand along her shoulder and up her neck, cradling the back of her head. He kissed her again. This time, the sensory rush awoke every erogenous zone in her body. Eyes closed, she waited for more, expecting the firm pressure of his face against hers, but he had pulled away. Perturbed, her eyes flickered open. He was reaching for his glass. Is that it? He sets me on fire and then stops? What kind of monster is he? Am I that awful to kiss or does he prefer the chase to the capture?
Luca cocked his head and looked at her. “I’m not going to seduce you, Mary, as much as I would love to. You’re fresh out of surgery. I’m not a monster.”
Had he read her mind without her knowing? An embarrassed flush heated her skin. It bloomed from her forehead, right down to her cleavage. She folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair. That was when she noticed the flash of light, reflected from an angled lens.
Luca spotted it too. “This late in the day, that couldn’t possibly be the solar arrays. Gotta be a tenacious reporter.”
“We should go indoors then.” Mary ventured with reluctance. “If they recognise me, your career will be over.”
He shrugged.
“Seriously, Luca. Why are you helping me?” They stood up from the table and wandered through the French doors into the spacious lounge. “If the authorities discover that you are harbouring a fugitive and illegal immigrant, they would throw the book at you.” She sat on the edge of a leather settee and rearranged the excess fabric of the dress around her legs. Luca launched himself down next to her, stretching out an arm across the back of the sofa.
“As far as I can tell, the only thing you are guilty of is trying to assist a stubborn parliamentarian in the UK. As for the authorities, Mary Sedgewell is my house guest. She is lawfully permitted to visit the United States under the visa completed at the airport.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why help me? You could have left me with Karan at the hospital.”
Another shrug. “I like you.”
Mary shook her head, exasperated. “That reminds me. I need to call him and explain where I went. That’s if he is still speaking to me after ditching him like that. He has shown me nothing but kindness.” She waited for a moment, hoping that Luca would offer to let her use his mobile phone. He didn’t. She frowned. “His telephone number is printed on a card in my satchel, which of course, is back in Manhattan.” She released a big sigh and buckled in the middle, blanching at the renewed discomfort in her abdomen. “What must he think of me?” She murmured it to herself, ashamed.
“I wouldn’t worry about Shrimant Shinde, Mary. I dare say he has a fair few Indian princesses at his beck and call to entertain him.”
Before Mary could leap to Karan’s defence, Viktor arrived through the doorway and whispered something inaudible to his boss. Luca dipped his head in response and then jumped up from his seat.
“Excuse me, Mary, I have to take an important call.” He hurried from the room without a backward glance.
I guess that means dinner is well and truly over. And yet again, I have managed to make a total fool of myself with a gorgeous and eligible man. Well done, Mary. I thought things were supposed to get easier when you got older. I don’t remember being this inept dating Parth, but then he was probably instructed to entice me. The reminder of her marital turmoil hit her hard. Had she ever had a genuine relationship? To what extent had the British Secret Services monitored her, and for how long? A sudden urge to speak to her brother came over her. I’ll just borrow one of Luca’s books to read and then go back to my rooms and see if Dan is available.
Wandering over to Luca’s reading nook, she traced a finger across the spines of the hardbacks, making a note of the titles. There were almost two shelves full of biographies. Mary recognised a few of the subject’s names, the rest sh
e supposed were political figures and rivals of Lucas. A couple of travel journals propped up a stack of glossy photographic books and a few chunky reference tomes. Hmm, Luca does not appear to be into fiction. I don’t really want to read about politicians. She chose a photographic book. It had a dramatic image of an icy lake printed on the cover sleeve. Where the ambient temperature had plummeted, streams of rising bubbles had frozen into chains of glassy air pockets. The effect was striking. Wow, where was this taken? She opened the fly leaf and read the description. Lake Baikal, Siberia. She flipped it over and read the blurb on the back cover. Oh, all the images are from Russia. It is stunning.
Mary glanced through the remaining photographic books. Four more focused on images from Russian and Baltic states, one showed scenes of the mountains in Colorado and another on the Scottish Highlands. Nothing eclectic about his tastes then. She was just contemplating returning to her room with the book, when Viktor rushed through the room and along the passageway leading to where she assumed Luca had an office. He looked distressed. There were no utterances or pleasantries. He dashed through as though she were a minor inconvenience. He wore a gun holster clipped to his waistband. Mary sat up and assumed a defensive posture. A few weeks ago, timid Mary would have minded her own business and made herself scarce. Those days were gone, and with them, her manners.
“Hey, Viktor…What is going on?” She called after him.
He halted his speed walk and shot her a glacial stare. “It’s confidential, miss. Nothing to concern yourself with.” He did not wait for any further discourse, but instead resumed his trajectory, bashing open a heavy door at the end of the passageway with his fist.
Mary wrinkled her nose up. Miserable git. Luca should employ a lovely personal assistant, like Gupta or Harvey. Poor Harvey. I never did get to say cheerio to him. Everyone seems to have some kind of man servant these days. Why people can’t do their own packing and answer their own phones, I’ll never know. She took the book and sat down on the reading chair, determined to keep a watchful eye on proceedings. Folding her legs up on the seat, she settled down with the publication open across her lap and thumbed through the pages; The Kremlin at sunset, Mongolian Monasteries, open cast diamond mines, remote island labyrinths, geyser fields, Siberian craters, the Russian president shaking hands with two westerners and spectacular photographs of the Lena Limestone Pillars. Each glossy picture slipped beneath her fingers, as she idly glanced at them while straining to hear the raised voices at the rear of the ranch house.
