Then, all of a sudden, he seemed to have had enough of the awkward silences for he stopped to lean against a wall.
‘Thank you for last night, Celeste.’
Of all the things she had expected him to say, that was the last of them.
‘It has been a long time since I bedded a woman, you understand,’ he finished, truth in his eyes.
‘Your wife...?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have not been so discreet,’ she offered this and watched him swallow quickly and look down. ‘My husband, others who I might seek information from, those in my way who needed distraction from my true purpose...’ She could have carried on, but she did not. The tawdry reality of her years in Paris spoken out loud was shameful and yet it was a necessary truth.
‘You use it as a weapon, then? Your body?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Last night?’
‘No. Last night I just needed to forget.’
‘Forget me?’
At that she smiled. ‘Perhaps not you.’
‘Then I am glad for it.’
And just like that, the shyness between them dispersed and a new strength lay in its place, for he had allowed their midnight tryst some fineness. She could work with that and manage. No mandate had been set to do it again, but neither had it been negated to the lost realms of a mistake.
Gathering their things, they moved on and Celeste pulled her hat down further across her eyes for anonymity and for protection. There was no one watching them, she was certain of it. No one lingered or tarried, no one walked towards them or away with any sense of a purpose other than their own. She would recognise a careful observation for it had, after all, been a part of her everyday habit for so very long, the feeling of scrutiny was etched into her bones.
‘It’s clear.’ Shayborne’s words. He’d been scanning the street as well then and had reached the same conclusion. It felt good to walk with someone else like this, a double protection, another set of eyes.
* * *
She saw them half an hour later, two lesser agents of Les Chevaliers, standing outside a tavern on the corner of Avenue Bois de Boulogne and the Place de la Pompe. She was walking behind Shayborne and was glad of it for otherwise he might have noticed the shock that consumed her. Had she been far enough back so that an enemy would fail to place the two of them together? Could he still stay safe even if she was not?
Stepping away into one of the dark alleys to her left, she saw them both change direction and come her way, the washing lines and melee of people separating her for this moment. She welcomed the wet slap of cloth and the pushing humanity of those in the street. If she could get to the river bank, then she would be safe, the water at her feet and the wide countryside before her.
But there were more of them at the next junction. Four others at her count and she knew then that she was in deep trouble. Part of her wondered whether she should even bother fighting, or should she simply give herself up to the inevitable. Without a gun in her pocket she had little chance of escape and she did not wish for the innocents about her to be caught in the violence of a capture. Like the Dubois children had been.
Was this her punishment for the years she had lied and cheated and deceived? A small family moved past her and the fight in her was snuffed out. She waited for the knife or the bullet almost with calmness as she shut her eyes. A quick end and Summer would stay safe. She hoped he would take the rosary to her grandmother as she had asked him.
Then the major was standing there, tight fury beneath his smile and blood on his knuckles.
‘Let’s go.’
‘Where are they?’ She glanced around and saw not one of her stalkers.
‘Gone.’
She felt him pull her along, his fingers bruising her skin, the cries of people behind them fading as they turned a corner. He looked furious.
‘If you are not going to put up a fight, at least do me the courtesy of staying somewhere close so that I can do it for you.’
The dizzy fear that had consumed her made her nauseous and near tears. She had let in hope and the dry taste of it felt bitter on her tongue. Better not to care. Better to be isolated and alone as she always had been for so very long.
‘Thank you.’ She hated the breathlessness in her voice as she leaned against a door, knotting her shaking hands behind her and frustrated with the way she had handled herself. She was ashamed at her incompetence. Her mind flew now across an escape route and Paris was a city she knew well. ‘It is a half mile to the river. They will expect us to make for the bridge. If we turn towards the city wall, they may not follow.’ Celeste was pleased after such appalling ineptitude to offer at least a solution for escape.
