Ambassador Taylor was less thrilled at the prospect of entertaining his compatriot for forty-eight hours but impressed by Hugo’s solution.
“And it leaves me,” Hugo told the ambassador, “with a few days to enjoy the fresh air and find a book or two to read.”
“The place probably has a library, right?”
“I’m in it right now. Quite small but comfortable and well-stocked enough for me to have spent the morning in here. I read about hunting dogs favored by the rich and famous and a little bit about the demise of King Louis XVI and his lovely wife. Anyway, it looks like the sun’s coming out, so I’ll probably go for a walk in a little bit.”
“Don’t rub it in, Marston,” Taylor grumped. “And wrap things up as soon as you can, we do have an international crisis to resolve remember.”
“We? Oh no, not me Mr. Ambassador, I’m just the—”
“Yes, yes, I know what you are. But you might want to remember that I can easily promote you. Note taker, perhaps. Or sandwich bearer.”
Hugo rang off with a laugh, then looked at the phone in his hand. He pulled himself out of his armchair and wandered out of the library into the main hall, headed for the main doors. Outside, he followed the gravel pathway around to the back of the house and found a quiet spot at the rear of the garden, a wooden bench protected from the sun, and to some degree the rain, by a trellis laced with brown vines of some creeping plant he couldn’t recognize.
He sat quietly for a moment, his mind turning to Claudia, and he wondered if a phone call would bug her, interrupt her at work — he’d no idea what she might be doing — but he dialed anyway.
“What a nice surprise!” Her voice sounded bright, and he knew she was smiling.
“How’s my favorite newspaper reporter?”
“You charmer.” Claudia laughed, the gentlest of sounds. “But how many reporters do you know?”
“Millions,” he lied.
“I’m glad to hear it. And glad to hear from you. I’m fine, keeping busy. They have me covering that Archambault case.”
“I saw the headline, and your name, but didn’t read it.”
“Horrible business. A suicide and then some. Monsieur Archambault was a fairly prominent banker, he had a nice house and a pretty wife. But he was working long hours, was stressed, and for some reason he thought his wife was cheating on him. He checked her internet history, her emails, and found some from a man he didn’t know that seemed to be in a code of sorts. He was convinced she was going to leave him so instead of talking to her, getting an explanation, he strangled her and hung himself. She lived, thank God, but he died.”
“She wasn’t having an affair?”
“No, quite the opposite. She was arranging a trip for just the two of them and the cryptic emails were from a travel agent trying to keep the secret. The poor husband got an idea in his head and for whatever reason he couldn’t shake it. Especially sad because they had two kids.”
“Like you say, a horrible tragedy,” said Hugo. “Sometimes the reality in our heads is more powerful than actual reality.”
“For sure.” Her voice brightened. “Other than that, I’m doing well. You?”
“Yep, fine. Out in the countryside for a few days. It’s a work thing, but I have a day or so of down time.”
“Lucky you.” There was a slight catch in her voice and Hugo knew she was wondering whether he was about to invite her to join him. He wondered the same thing.
“Yep. I was actually hoping to see you again at some point.”
“Oh Hugo, I can’t get away for a few days.” She laughed again. “Or maybe you didn’t mean out there.”
“Whatever works, my schedule’s pretty flexible. I’ll take a hurried lunch at this point.”
“Yeah, me too.” She paused. “It’s been a while since we really talked.”
“Well, here I am, something wrong?”
She sighed. “No, not really. I meant about us. Not that there is an us to speak of, it just seems like we sizzled for a while and then exploded into nothing.”
“You make me sound like a fried egg.”
She laughed again. “Alors, then we’re both fried eggs. But you know what I mean, Hugo, and I don’t like to play dating games or lead anyone the wrong way.”
“That makes two of us. So what way are we going?”
“I don’t know, everything is so … I’m just not sure I have time to devote to that side of my life right now.”
“That’s OK Claudia, I understand.” He kept his voice light but a small hollow opened in his chest. Suddenly the bench felt too hard at his back and the brightness of the garden dimmed a fraction.
“Do you? You are OK with us being on hold for a while?” Her voice seemed small. “You’re a great catch, Hugo, I will understand if some other lucky lady pounces on you.”
He smiled. “If they’ve tried they must have missed, because I’ve not noticed any pouncing from anyone.”
It was true, he’d not dated anyone since Claudia and not had any interest in doing so. He was wrapped up in work, yes, but she’d found and filled a little hole inside him. Not permanently, of course, but in a way that made him want to reserve his time for her and her alone. Being put on hold, despite being able to laugh about it, felt like a weight in his chest.
“It’ll happen, trust me. Hey, before I forget, how is Tom these days?”
“He’s fine. Still living with me off and on, though he’s traveling a lot. I guess the CIA consulting picked back up once he stopped drinking; he’s a pretty good employee when he’s sober.”
“And he’s managed to stay off the booze?”
“As far as I know. We don’t keep any in the apartment, and if we go out together I don’t drink either. I’m sure it’s difficult and I have no idea what he’s like when I’m not around, but I think he’s on top of it, I really do.”
“You’re a good friend, Hugo, you know that?”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt for me to cut back myself. I’ve lost a few pounds in the bargain.”
“Well,” Claudia said, her voice quiet again, “maybe one of these days I’ll get to see the sleeker Hugo.” They both knew what she meant, and that one of these days probably didn’t mean soon.
“I’d like that, I really would.”
He sat back and looked up, the vines overhead rustling and shifting in the wind, showing glimpses of white clouds scudding across the sky. Downtime suddenly seemed like wasted time, the small pleasures of reading and walking in the fresh air tainted by Claudia’s gentle, honest, yet surprisingly hurtful rejection. He’d been lucky in life, personally and professionally — he knew and appreciated that. He couldn’t help but wonder about his love life, the emptiness that he ignored so much of the time and filled just occasionally with painful memories. Memories of his first wife, Ellie, who he’d loved so desperately and who’d died in a car accident, sucked from his life in an instant. Memories, too, of Christine, his second wife who he’d thought he’d loved and who’d left him … why, exactly?
He shook his head and stood up. Maybe that’s part of what I need to figure out.
He looked up at the sound of feet on gravel and his mood shifted immediately. A dapper man was walking gingerly across the lawn toward him, a little plumper than he’d been the last time they met but still impeccably dressed and sporting one of his many bow ties. Hugo started toward him and they shook hands warmly.
“Raul, you made it early. I’m so glad to see you.”