He found Mary s Bower, two narrow windows, each featuring a painting, flanking a Georgian door with a brass knocker, a lovely hand-painted sign above with the name above a drooping mulberry over an empty sofa. He felt sad about that, realizing what the imagery meant, and stepped back into a doorway as it started to rain.
The truth was that he hadn t phoned Legrande, perhaps because of a fear of rejection, and yet he had come, which had to mean something. At that moment, the red velvet curtain behind the painting in the window to the left was pulled back and the Frenchman appeared.
Despite the years, it was undeniably the Henri Legrande who had meant so much in the life of Jack Kelly all those years ago. A little heavier, gray-haired, wearing steel-rimmed spectacles and a green apron. He made an adjustment to the painting on its easel, glanced up, and saw Kelly. He stood there, very still, then disappeared behind the curtain. A moment later, the door opened.
Kelly crossed over, and Legrande said, Jack, is it really you?
As ever was, Henri.
Legrande removed his spectacles, stuffed them into his apron pocket, hugged him, and kissed him on both cheeks. After all these years. Come in at once.
In the Victorian sitting room in the apartment above the shop, Kelly was amazed at the number of photos, not only of Mary but of Mary and Henri. Legrande found him examining them when he came in with champagne.
So she s still with you, Kelly said.
Always has been.
No room for another woman in your life.
Henri thumbed off the champagne cork and paused. Now and then. After all, a man needs a woman, but nothing serious. He raised his glass. To me and to you and all those other young bastards at Camp Fuad, most of whom are probably dead by now.
I can certainly think of a few Provos who are, Kelly told him.
Henri poured him another and they sat down. You were in the news when this peace process went through, Henri said.
There were lists of the prisoners pardoned. So you were serving five life sentences in the Maze Prison? A formidable record.
I never shot anyone who wasn t shooting at me first, Kelly said. We were fighting a war.
So what do you do now, how do you make a living? Henri reached for a second bottle and opened it. Get on with it I want to know it all.
So Kelly did, talking through the drink and while Henri Legrande sat there impassively, smoking one Gauloise after another, taking in everything, including the Talbot saga, which somehow merged seamlessly into the Al Qaeda connection.
There was a long silence when Kelly finished talking, and then Henri Legrande sighed and shook his head. You would appear to be in deep shite here, my friend isn t that what you say in Ulster? The situation seems plain. Either you sort out this General Ferguson and his people or Al Qaeda s merry men will hold you to account, and whatever they decide is bound to be unpleasant.
So what the hell do I do? Kelly asked.
You go and have a long hot shower and sober up. Henri checked his watch. I ve got to close the shop and make some calls, so you sort yourself out and we ll go and have a great dinner somewhere and decide on our next move later tonight. I m going to help you to get you out of this stupid mess you ve gotten yourself into. Who better than your old teacher?
For God s sake, Henri, I turn up out of the blue after all these years. Kelly shook his head. It s not right.
As it happens, it s exactly what I need.
Kelly frowned. What do you mean?
I ve got cancer, my friend, a bad one. I ve got six months at the most. He smiled. So you see, this will be as much for me as it is for you.
He turned and walked through the shop. Kelly stood there for a moment, then picked up his overnight bag and went in search of the spare bedroom.
The Gulfstream had landed, and its passengers were going their separate ways. Ferguson in his Daimler was dropping Harry Miller at his house in Dover Street. Dillon had his Mini Cooper, and Holley an Alfa Romeo Spider.
I m staying at the Dorchester, he said to Sara. Highfield Court is only just up the road, isn t it? I ll drop you off if you d like.
Why not? she said, and got in the Alfa.
Ferguson called: Take a break. We ll meet at noon on Thursday to take one last look at the security plans. That includes the RAF, he added as Parry and Lacey emerged from the Gulfstream.
No peace for the wicked, Squadron Leader Lacey said.
Stop moaning. You could be in Afghanistan, Holley told him.
All right for some people, getting to chauffeur good-looking women, Parry called.
Holley slid behind the wheel. Bloody flyboys.
He drove away, and Sara said, What have you got against pilots?
Not a thing. As it happens, I m one myself.
Is there no end to your talents?
Well, that remains to be seen, doesn t it?
Which for the moment shut her up, and he turned out onto the main road and headed for London.
She fiddled with his CD player and immediately found Sinatra belting out Night and Day. She joined in for a while, word perfect.
As it finished, Holley said, You like Cole Porter, then?
Love him. It s not just the music the lyrics stand up as poetry in their own right.
She tilted her seat a little and lay back, listening.
Holley said, Are you feeling reasonably happy about things now? I mean, Ferguson forcing you to join the team?
She glanced at him sharply. Are you worried about me?
Of course not.
She smiled. Oh yes, you are.
Worried about the hero of Abusan? Why would I be?
Instead of annoying her, the remark made her smile, but with a certain complacency. Poor Daniel, she said, turned up the volume, and started to hum along with Sinatra.
He left Park Lane at the Dorchester Hotel and drove along South Audley Street, turning right before Grosvenor Square into Highfield Court. It was a fine mid-Victorian property of four stories, standing back from the road so that there was no parking problem. He drove into the drive, got out of the Alfa, and retrieved her luggage.
Why don t you come in. I d like you to meet my grandfather.
She turned, walked to the door, and he followed, suddenly awkward. As she got her key out, he said, Look, you ve been away for some time. He ll be thrilled to see you. I ll just be intruding.
She turned to look at him, quite calm. Daniel, do you have a problem with me?
For a moment he was speechless, then he said, Look, Sara, what is this?
She prodded a finger into his chest. I d like you to meet my grandfather because I think you should.
And what s that supposed to mean?
You ll have to work that out for yourself.
As she turned, the door was opened by a comfortable-looking dark-haired woman who wore horn-rimmed spectacles and a green smock.
So you re back? she said. We wondered when to expect you. You ve never heard of the telephone? A great invention.
Sadie, I love you desperately. She gave the woman a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. I was in Arizona, the other end of the world. Is Granddad at home?
In the study. But he s going out this evening.
She was examining Holley as she spoke, and Sara said, Mrs. Cohen is our housekeeper, Daniel.
That the woman was running an eye over him made Holley feel foolish, standing there with a bag in each hand. He put them down.
A pleasure, Mrs. Cohen. He held out his hand.
She took it briefly, then turned to Sara. I ll bring you tea.
She moved down a wide corridor, obviously making for the kitchen area. They followed her for a moment, then Sara opened a large mahogany door to the left and led the way in.
The room was a relic from the past, a wonderful Victorian library, walls lined with mahogany paneling or bookshelves, a period fireplace, Turkish carpeting on the floor. Rabbi Nathan Gideon was seated at his desk in a swivel chair and turned around as they entered. He had the look of a scholar and wise man, but with the kind of face that seemed ready to break into a smile at any time. The fringe of gray beard suited him, and his unruly hair topped by a black velvet yarmulke somehow made him look quite dashing. So did the old black velvet smoking jacket he wore.