The Sugared Game

by KJ Charles

  “Private.”

  “Really? If I were to classify you, I think I should take a leaf out of the insurance people’s book and list you as an Act of God.”

  “Yes, all right,” Kim said. “None of this is his fault.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” DS removed his spectacles, closed the arms, and set them down. “But in fact, I agree it isn’t his fault. It’s yours.”

  Kim’s face didn’t move exactly, but it set. Will said, “That’s not fair.”

  “When I want you to speak, I’ll let you know. You’ve made a damned mess of this, Secretan, and the only reason I’m not hanging you out to dry at this very moment is it would have been a damned mess anyway. I do wish rich men could content themselves with buying yachts or rolling around in heaps of gold, rather than this endless insatiable greed. Avarice, envy, pride: three fatal sparks have set the hearts of all on fire.”

  Will blinked. Kim said, “Dante,” through rather white lips.

  DS leaned forward, eyes hard. “You should have told me, Secretan. You should have told me as soon as you realised. That was your job. We could have taken Capricorn alive, and his lieutenant with him, got information and leverage instead of this charnel house.”

  “Leverage? What could you have threatened Waring with? To put him on trial in front of a jury and fill the newspapers with his crimes, and damn his daughter’s name? I wasn’t going to do that, sir. You may have my resignation when you please.”

  “You don’t resign till I tell you to resign,” DS said, and something in his voice went right down Will’s spinal cord, making it straighten without his conscious intent. “How precisely did you intend to avoid blemishing his daughter’s name?”

  “I don’t know!” Kim snarled. “I was hoping to squeeze him into it somehow.”

  “Happy with how that turned out?”

  “I was overtaken by events. I didn’t realise Cheveley was acting alone within Zodiac.”

  “That’s quite understandable: it’s hard to spot. After all, I didn’t realise you were acting alone within the Bureau.”

  Kim winced at that, as well he might. DS let the silence spool out for a nasty minute.

  “Well,” he said finally. “Merton is rolling around in Waring’s papers like a pig in—with great enthusiasm. We’ll need to go in sideways to clean up the rest of Zodiac, but clean up we will, and if it has to be done under the table, that may yet pay off. Meanwhile, as a matter of future public record, I think we can agree that Cheveley was embezzling from Lord Waring, having recruited Anton and Telford to assist him, that Waring confided in you, and that you brought your friend here to assist, while not expecting matters to turn as violent as they did. That should explain everything to the coroner’s jury, which will be tomorrow.”

  “That’s quick.”

  “I want it quick,” DS said. “Go to the inquest, stick to the story. If the jury sees Cheveley as a thief trying to get away with his crimes, I dare say you’ll leave without a stain on your character, or at least none that weren’t already there. Then both of you go home and stay out of trouble, if that’s possible.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Will said.

  “Go away. Oh, and Secretan?”

  “Sir?”

  DS glanced over his spectacles. “I’ll have that resignation now. You can tidy up your own mess in future. Clear?”

  Kim looked as if he’d been struck. Will said, “Crystal,” and dragged him out of there.

  AND AFTER THAT, THEY had to speak to Phoebe.

  They went outside in silence, into the gardens where they could be sure of avoiding eavesdroppers. Phoebe’s face was calm and remote but her eyes were red and she wore no powder or paint. Her face looked raw, almost ghostly, without the usual colour. Maisie stood protectively by her. Will hurt that Maisie felt protective; he didn’t want to know how Kim felt about that.

  He was white-faced, tense with misery. Neither he nor Phoebe looked inclined to start talking, which was some sort of record, but someone had to, so Will did.

  “Phoebe,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I truly am.”

  “You aren’t, though,” she said. “How could you be? Daddy tried to—to hurt you, all of you. My father.”

  “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

  “I should have.”

  Maisie slipped an arm round her waist. Phoebe clutched her hand. Will wished he had a response to offer, but he didn’t.

  “I should have known, and I could have,” Phoebe went on after a moment. “I could have expected this, if someone—if you, Kim, had told me the truth. I could have prepared, not lived in a fool’s paradise where I thought he cared a little for me. I brought Maisie into danger because I didn’t know. Because you didn’t tell me.”

  “No,” Kim said. “I didn’t know how.”

  That was all he said, and perhaps it was all there was to say. Maisie met Will’s eyes in a silent, urgent appeal: What do we do? He wished he had an answer.

  They stood another moment in the bleak February afternoon, then Phoebe took the ring off her finger and held it out.

  Kim took it back without comment. “What will you do?”

  “It depends on Daddy’s will. I dare say there will be things to sort out, lawyers to talk to. Mr. Merton said I should get a lawyer to help with all that. He advised me not to use Daddy’s in case he was involved with—with Zodiac.”

  “I could find you—”

  “I called Harry Mitra,” Phoebe said over him. “He’s on his way down now.”

  “Harry’s a good man,” Kim said. “He’ll look out for your interests. Good. Good.”

  “We’ll get it all sorted out, the inquest and the—the funeral and so on.” She glanced down at Maisie. “And then, as soon as we can, we’re going to Paris.”

  “Good,” Kim said again. “If you need anything, any help—”

  “I’ll do it myself,” Phoebe said.

  And that was it. She and Maisie walked away. Kim stood unmoving, lips pressed together. Will extended a hand to his arm, and felt the fierce tension of the muscles under it. He put his hand on Kim’s back, a careful touch as to a hurt dog that might bite, and Kim folded forward on to him and wept.

  Chapter Twenty

  The three-part coroner’s inquest the next day was about as much fun as Will expected. The Cheveley family attended, dressed in black that they presumably had lying around from the previous brother’s death. Lady Waring, who Kim and Will had made strong efforts to avoid, was also in black; Phoebe wore a dove-grey dress and a black shawl. Kim had only the suit he’d driven down in, but he presented himself without any touches of colour and a suitably serious demeanour.

  He unblushingly asserted that Lord Waring had told him Cheveley was stealing, leading to the late-night confrontation. Bubby Fanshawe and friends testified with great enthusiasm that Cheveley had been the aggressor, and that Kim had only attacked him in defence of another guest who he’d shot, and done his best to save him afterwards. Adela Moran recounted the events in the hall with suitable dramatic flourishes. Will watched Phoebe’s face and thought that probably that friendship was over, but the jury seemed impressed.

  Will kept his own testimony brief. It helped that Kim had sent urgently to London for his medals, which he wore pinned to his suit, and that the coroner, presumably primed, asked about his war record; it didn’t hurt that he had his arm in a sling and his broken hand well wrapped up. A policeman from London gave details of Telford’s character and career; several Bright Young People had seen Will fighting him for the shotgun; and while the medical expert was clear one of Will’s blows had detached Telford’s brainstem, he seemed to believe it might have happened by accident.

  After a very long day, the coroner’s jury found Lord Waring’s death criminally attributable to Telford, and Telford’s to Will in self defence. John Cheveley’s demise was recorded as death by misadventure, and the jury asked to place on record their admiration for Lord Arthur’s efforts to prevent furthe
r tragedy.

  They filed out of the building into watery late afternoon sunshine. Phoebe and Maisie left with Lady Waring, without waiting for anyone. Johnnie Cheveley’s mother walked up to Kim, looked him up and down, and slapped him full in the face. Kim rocked back on his heels, but didn’t otherwise react.

  Her surviving son hurried her away, making soothing noises. Will came up to Kim’s shoulder, in case anyone who wasn’t a bereaved old lady tried to have a go.

  “All right?”

  “Not really.”

  “Shall we get out of here?”

  “Let’s.”

  Kim had brought the Daimler to the inquest, with their luggage in the boot. That was possibly a hubristic way of going on since either or both of them could have been committed for trial, but it looked like they’d got away with it.

  The motor purred along the country lanes, heading for London. It felt like a bloody long time since they’d come this way.

  At last Will said, “Want to talk?”

  “There’s not a great deal to say.”

  “There’s a fair bit. You’ve lost your job over this.”

  “My job, my fiancée, another chunk of my reputation. What a lovely week-end in the country.”

  “The jury commended you.”

  “The jury had the wool comprehensively pulled over its eyes, and I assure you that what my peers will recall of this is me murdering Johnnie Cheveley. Not some supposed act of heroism.”

  “Sod your peers. You saved my life. Saved me, cracked Zodiac wide open, stopped Maisie getting hurt—”

  “But not Phoebe.”

  “That wasn’t down to you,” Will said. “Never was. What her old man did is his fault.”

  “But failing to speak to her was mine. You were right all along and the damned thing is, I knew it. Stupid, stupid. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her to her face, so I didn’t, and thus hurt her far more.”

  “It wasn’t the worst decision I’ve ever seen.”

  “Really?” Kim sounded sceptical.

  “Well, I saw some incredibly bad ones in Flanders. Mostly decisions made when people had spent a lot too long with far more on their plates than anyone could handle, and they were terrified but afraid to tell anyone they were terrified, and the consequences were too big and awful to think about. You don’t get good decisions that way.”

  “Very true. My only way out of that situation was to tell DS what was going on, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Which is a magnificent irony, because none of the consequences I feared would have arisen, thanks to the aneurysm. If we’d known the bastard had six months to live, a trial wouldn’t have been considered. If Waring had been open about his condition, Cheveley wouldn’t have played his damn fool game. If, if, if.”

  “DS wasn’t fair, if you ask me.”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark, which I knew. And I’ve drawn rather too much attention to myself what with chopping Cheveley’s arm off. You’ve probably seen the papers.”

  The front pages had gone to town. “Afraid so.”

  “What a pig’s ear I have made of this,” Kim said. “Thank God you had the sense to speak to Maisie, and she to Phoebe, or Christ knows where we’d be. But to put Phoebe through that, to have her learn about her father and lose him in the space of twenty minutes. My poor girl. She won’t forgive me.”

  He sounded despairing. Will said, “Of course she will. Don’t talk such rot.”

  “I assure you, easy forgiveness—from anyone—has not been my experience to date.”

  “Well, I’ve forgiven you, which is something considering what an arse you can be. Phoebe knows damn well you didn’t tell her because you were afraid, and I doubt she ever thought you were perfect. She’s got her own feelings to deal with. Give her time.”

  Kim was silent for a few moments as the hedges and trees whipped by. “I hope you’re right. Christ, this is a business. If I feel this devastated by the end of an entirely meaningless faux engagement, I hope—”

  “You hope what?” Will asked, when it became apparent that wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Nothing. I hope I never have worse.”

  “You could probably avoid worse by doing better.”

  Kim gave him a look of disgust. “You sound like my old nanny.”

  “She’s got sense. You should listen to her more often.”

  Kim took the turn onto the main road to London at unnecessary speed. “And you? Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Arm isn’t infected, the quack said, and the hand will heal up soon enough. It’s mostly a nuisance.” It was rather more than a nuisance—the whole limb hurt—but he wasn’t proposing to grumble about it now.

  “And what about Maisie? She had a nasty experience at the start of all that and very little space to breathe after.”

  “She seems all right,” Will said. “I think it helped that Phoebe needed her—you know, having something to do, keeping busy. And she’s pleased with herself for crocking that chauffeur fellow.”

  “As she should be. An excellent shot.”

  “I told her, by the way.”

  “Told her?”

  “About us. We had a proper talk, her and me, before it all kicked off.”

  “Did you. How was that?”

  “It was fine,” Will said. “Better than fine. Being able to talk properly about this stuff, about myself, with her—I needed that. I didn’t know how much.”

  “I realise my limitations, Will, but I’ve been negotiating these waters for a while now. If you’re struggling with your nature—”

  “I can look after myself, thanks. The part I’m struggling with is a bit under six foot, and driving too fast.”

  A rueful grin twitched at Kim’s lips, and he eased off the accelerator a touch. “Sorry.”

  “But,” Will went on. “But then the thing was that she knew, and Waring and Cheveley knew, and DS knew, and it felt like everyone but Bubby Fanshawe knew. Like suddenly the whole world knows I’m—” He wasn’t sure what to say. Your boy friend. Fucking you. Neither one sounded right.

  “Ambisexual,” Kim said, which didn’t sound right either, or real.

  “You what?”

  “Ambisexual. Inclined to men and ladies alike.”

  “Oh, is that what Maisie meant? She said ambidextrous.”

  “That’s a different state, probably one with more practical use.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Will said, and won another smile. “Is that a word?”

  “I fear so.”

  Will had never thought of himself as a person they had a word for. Then again, a word meant a thing was usual enough to need a word. He’d definitely want to think more about that. “Hmph. If you ask me, it sounds like a patent tandem.”

  “Oh, a hideous term. Mind you, there’s people at this very moment trying to persuade homosexuals that we want to be called Uranians, as if I didn’t have enough bloody stupid names to be getting on with.”

  “Stick to your guns,” Will said. “Anyway, it was a bit odd to have half a dozen people talking about my personal business. But it did make me think about things.”

  “Such as?”

  Maisie had said to talk, and she was right. Will steeled himself. “About you and me. What we want. What we want out of this, out of each other. We don’t have to talk about it now, but soon.”

  Kim’s eyes were intent on the road. “You say you thought. Did you reach conclusions?”

  He really didn’t make this easy. “That depends on you as much as me. But I’d like there to be something between us. No: there is something, but the truth is I don’t know what it, you and me, could look like. We’re bloody good in bed, and not bad when we’re facing guns, but the parts in between are a mess.”

  “We’d probably be better at those if you were able to trust me.”

  “I could trust you,” Will said. “I truly could. Could you not let me down when I do?”

  Kim breathed out. “I could try.
”

  “That’s what I want, then. To find out what we’re doing, and to do it a bit better. What do you want?”

  “I don’t know,” Kim said. “I don’t say that lightly, Will: I have no idea. All my anchors have gone. Phoebe and the Private Bureau have given shape and meaning to my life for years, and I lost them both within an hour. I’ve got no idea what I’m going to do. And I shan’t ask you to fill their place: that would be grossly unfair. I need to reshape my life myself.” He swept round a slow-moving car with what seemed to Will insufficient caution. There was a blare of horns behind them. “But I would very much like the new shape, whatever it might be, to have you in it in some way. If you’d care to be there.”

  Will set his shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Fair warning: I don’t know what that would look like any more than you do.”

  “You must have some idea. Like you said, you’ve had a lot more practice than me.”

  “Not at this, believe me. Not at having a lover.”

  The word gave Will an odd feeling, all at once overly intimate, and peculiarly transgressive, and right. Lover. Kim’s lover. If he could make love to Kim now, if they could hold each other and rely on physical pleasure to bridge the gaps—

  If he could, he’d be doing exactly that to avoid any more of this damn conversation, because it would be a lot easier and less frightening.

  “Kim. Listen. Do you—” he began, and stalled there.

  Kim’s tongue darted out, moistening his lips. “Something you want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “But aren’t asking. Should I take a guess?” He flicked over a glance. “I think—I flatter myself—that you want to know if I care for you. No: you must know that I do, so what you want is for me to say so, and I do, Will. I care for you far more than makes me feel safe. I want you, but you’re well aware of that. I feel at peace with you, and I don’t often feel at peace. And without excusing the trouble I have given you, it brings me to my knees that you’re strong enough to bear it. I wish I were worth you, Will.”