It is no shock to him. He’d had visions of the affair long before she tilted her head at the young man and he’s sure she realizes that. ‘Have you no warm embrace to raise the cold spirit of your old confidant?’
She smiles and goes to him.
Myrddin folds her into his musty robes. For a moment, they hold each other tightly, then she takes his icy fingers in her warm palms and opens up to him. ‘I am frightened. Afraid of the changes that I know you and Owain sense are coming.’
‘My child, you and your family have been through such things so many times before. The seasons change. Winter kills and spring gives life.’ He drops his gaze pointedly to her stomach. ‘Have you told him yet?’
‘You know I haven’t.’
‘Then you must.’
‘And how will he react? With joy or sorrow?’
‘With understanding. I have told him I have seen the child. He knows the vision points to his own mortality. Remember, in the birth of the new, the spirit of the dead is born again and grows stronger.’
‘I wish this wasn’t our way.’
‘But it is and always will be.’
She steels herself to ask the most awful of questions. ‘How will it come?’
‘I have not yet seen.’ He looks kindly on her. ‘It will be honourable and brave; of that alone you can be certain.’
Jennifer closes her eyes to stop the flow of tears. It is too soon to feel sad.
He sees her fighting her emotions and bends to comfort her. ‘There, there, my child. A love like yours and Owain’s never dies. That is the point of the Arthurian Cycle. Your children perpetually recreate the spirit and goodness that is needed to project the old Order into the new world.’
‘I know. But it does not stop my heart and soul from hurting.’
‘Then let us hope that the other man you share your bed with is as good at drying tears as he is at coaxing sighs.’
She blushes. ‘I trust tonight you will not be as shocking with him as you are with me.’
‘Only if you promise to come and see me every day that you are here.’
‘Then I promise.’ She leans forward and kisses him. ‘Now be sure to keep your side of the bargain.’
He smiles as she starts to leave. ‘Soon, Jennifer. Tell Owain sooner rather than later. Time is not feeling kindly towards us.’
69
At the end of the top floor, Melissa Sachs stops in front of a set of double oak doors, pushes one open and steps aside to let the visitors through.
The room they enter is breathtaking. It is a giant dome of glass that overhangs the edge of the building. Reinforced panes and floor panels give the impression of walking on air.
Mitzi and Bronty move apprehensively towards the centre.
‘Please come all the way in — it’s perfectly safe.’ The amused reassurance is from an exceptionally tall and broad man in a bottle-green suit and waistcoat. ‘I’m Owain Gwyn and this is my colleague, George Dalton.’
‘Mitzi Fallon.’ She stares nervously through the floor onto the sidewalk hundreds of feet below. ‘This is my colleague, Jon Bronty.’
Owain shakes hands then leads Mitzi to two leather settees where there is a stretch of solid floor around her. ‘Please, sit here. I know some people find the room a little daunting.’
She lowers herself onto a seat. ‘Thanks. I get a little vertigo. Especially when there’s nothing between me and a splat, save an inch or two of glass.’
He smiles. ‘It looks like you’ve already had some kind of splat.’
‘I have. A car accident back in the States.’
Bronty and Dalton join them on the sofas.
‘Help yourselves to drinks.’ Owain gestures to bottles of juice, soda and water laid out on a small table between them.
‘Thanks.’ Mitzi pops the cap on a squat bottle of water and takes a swig.
He waits for her to put it down before he continues. ‘Lieutenant, both George and I wish to be as helpful as possible. I stress the word possible because there may be matters of national security that prevent us giving you complete disclosure and I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand the reasons for that.’ He angles his body towards Bronty, who’s just produced a notebook and is digging around for a pen. ‘I must also stress that this conversation is purely “off the record”. We are seeing you without the presence of embassy lawyers and without reminding you of the rigorous defence that can be presented by diplomatic immunity.’
‘Except of course you just did.’ Mitzi smiles politely. ‘I get the picture. You’re both going to clam up; it’s just a question of when.’ Without hurrying, she takes out a deck of photographs from a file she’s brought. Like a Vegas croupier, she places them face down on the table, alongside the bottles.
As she looks up, she notices a stark contrast in the two men opposite her.
Owain Gwyn is relaxed and attentive. George Dalton, who is still to utter a word, looks as nervous as a kitten on a lake of ice.
Bronty is studying them as well. As a priest, he developed a strong intuition about character, almost as though he could tell who was struggling with the weight of sin and who wasn’t. Neither of them seems to be carrying heavy loads, but there is something unusual about Gwyn.
More than charisma.
He seems to radiate peace and gentleness. It’s the kind of intensity Bronty felt around missionaries in Africa, only more so. Considerably more so.
‘This is Amir Goldman.’ Mitzi plays her first card. Face up. A post-mortem shot of the old man. Naked. White. A clear view of the wounded stomach. ‘Knifed to death in his antiques store in Maryland last Friday night.’
She turns over the second. Another PM shot. Taken in the woods just as the body had been pulled from worm-infested earth. ‘This gentleman is James Tiago Sacconni, an ex-con with previous for knife attacks. He was seen coming out of Goldman’s on the night the store owner was murdered. He got into a brown SUV, an Escalade hybrid and was killed minutes later. His body was buried in nearby woods.’
Mitzi notes that neither diplomat flinches when shown the pictures. She dips into her folder and pulls out a printed Google map. ‘Please look at this for me, Mr Dalton. On there, you’ll see the antiques store. It’s marked “A”. The woods where Sacconni was found are marked “B”. You’ll notice there’s a “C”. This is Massachusetts Avenue in Washington, where the British Embassy is.’
She watches the younger man fixate on the map. Spots how he crosses his ankles to stop his foot tapping. Doesn’t miss the way he pushes his lips together to wet them as discreetly as possible. She slides her gaze over to Gwyn and finds he’s not at all interested in the map, only in his colleague and how he’s holding up.
Mitzi sits back and relaxes.
There are still cards to play but now it’s time to bluff a little and raise the stakes.
She waits until the consul lifts his head and catches her penetrating stare. ‘My question, Mr Dalton, is this — where were you between nine-thirty p.m. Friday last and daybreak Saturday?’
The lips are licked again. ‘I’m not sure. So much happened just before I left Washington to return to the UK.’ He looks towards the ambassador. ‘I think I was collecting something for Sir Owain. Something confidential.’
The knight gives a confirmatory nod.
The collective evasiveness encourages Mitzi not to rush things. ‘What vehicle were you in?’
‘The embassy Lincoln.’
‘That’s a silver MKZ with a panoramic roof?’
‘Yes.’
‘What would you say if I told you that an eyewitness saw that Lincoln follow a brown Escalade, driven by Mr Sacconni, away from Goldman’s store just after he was murdered?’