She laughed. “I remember my great-aunt Agatha showing me her hand-painted eighteenth-century chamber pot collection. They were works of art. I used to set my dolls in them. I think Mother has them stashed in one of the upstairs bedrooms. We’re all modern now. Come, have a look at the bathroom.”
The large, pale-blue-tiled en suite bathroom was thoroughly modernized, with a lovely large shower and a mile of marble counter. Impressive, but he preferred his own. There wasn’t a towel warmer.
She leaned up, gave him a quick kiss on the mouth, and stepped back before he could grab her. “I’m so glad Mr. Maitland and Mr. Eiserly agreed to your coming with me, Rome. All the discussions at dinner, they’re swirling around in my head like a black cloud. I’m nearly dead on my feet.”
“Going over the same ground with different people can be useful, new ideas can surface, but now, like you, I don’t have a working brain. When my head hits the pillow, I think I’ll be out in no time too.” He kissed her again, wished she could stay with him, but it wasn’t possible here under her parents’ gigantic roof. “What happens tomorrow morning? Will a maid wake me up with a lovely hand-painted bed tray? Or Benbett to guide me to breakfast? Or Cranford? Who is Cranford, by the way?”
“No maids, no trays, sorry. Cranford is my father’s valet. He will see to you while you’re here, but tomorrow morning we’re both going to be allowed to sleep as long as we like. I’ll help youfind breakfast. You can buzz for Cranford to button your shirt for you, maybe lace your sneakers or iron your boxers if you wish. But be warned, Cranford, like Benbett, is quite the snob, so he might turn up his nose at looking after an American.” She paused, looked him up and down. “On the other hand, he might enjoy dressing your buff young self with your six-pack abs, as you Yanks call them. I imagine Cranford would faint if he saw Hurley’s chest without a shirt on. He’d believe him a different species. I do think my parents like you, by the way. Well, you’re still an oddity to them, but an accepted one since they know now you saved their precious daughter’s life more than once. We’ll have to see if they still approve of you in the light of day.” She laughed, touched his arm. “Good dreams, Rome.”
Rome stood in the doorway and watched her walk away down the wide corridor with an ancient Persian carpet running down its length and niches set into its walls holding busts—were they long-ago earls or Greek philosophers? He’d been told he was in the family wing. That sounded to Rome like the White House.
Rome stripped to his boxers, looked at his buff self in the long bathroom mirror, and laughed. He brushed his teeth and fell into a featherbed that enveloped him like a cloud.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Savich house
Georgetown
Sunday evening
Savich looked up from his tablet to see Sherlock coming out of the bathroom wearing a blue T-shirt and sleep boxers, the shirt tighter this week over her growing stomach. He said, “Come here, sweetheart, let Dr. Savich take care of your shoulders.”
She walked over to him to get her back massaged. “Keep that up and you’ll have a slave.”
“I like the sound of that. I was reading a long email from Rome. He said he’s eating off eighteenth-century plates at the Palmer country estate, Darlington Hall, and sleeping on a mattress so soft maybe it was once a cloud, which made sense to him because the bed was set so high he nearly had to jump to get into it. He said His Lordship, the tenth earl of Camden, seems to have accepted him, if only because he’s there to keep his daughter safe. The countess, Lady Millicent, looks like an older Elizabeth and is ‘jolly’ charming. It’s clear to Rome whoever followed Lady Millicent home was out to kidnap her, not to kill her, or they could have simply shot her on the spot.”
Sherlock sighed. “And we have to ask yet again—what’s the point? What do these people want? How does Aboud fit in?”
“I emailed Rome to keep his ears open and meet all theplayers. He’s smart, intuitive, I’m thinking he might see something we can’t from three thousand miles away.” He continued to knead while he kissed her ear. “And I’ve been working with MAX trying to find Archer Navarro in Barcelona. He’s being real careful, his phone turned off, no car rentals, his passport and credit cards unused since Paris. I called Alejandro Perez at Interpol, and he’s agreed to monitor the traffic cams and the CCTVs near the Sagrada Família, but there’s been nothing yet. I’ve asked if they do locate him, they do not act, but notify me.
“What really worries me is Tash thinks time is running out to find him, that there’s real danger coming his dad’s way. From what Autumn told me about Tash’s gifts, I believe it. Without involving Agent Gregson or Mr. Maitland, there’s little else I can do.”
“I could go to Barcelona myself. I could take Ruth with me.”
Savich shook his head, laid his palm on her belly. “And what about Felicity?”
“You meant to say Beau, didn’t you? Beau would be fine. I’m as good to go as ever, only a little thick around the middle. I could practice my Spanish while I’m there.”
Savich considered this as he worked a knot out of her shoulder. “If Archer Navarro is spotted and if they can discover where he’s hiding, then I’ll consider it.”
Chapter Fifty
Dever’s Café
London
Monday
Khaled raised his face to a bright sun and a warm June breeze on his way to Dever’s Café. It was a day to celebrate in London—not even a hint of rain, blue sky, even a couple of clouds lazing about overhead. He’d received a text from Imam Ali Ahmad Said asking to meet him there for lunch, not a hint what he wanted. He’d prayed hard Ali hadn’t somehow found out he’d slept with his sister.
Dever’s was as busy as usual, mostly with politicians in their lightweight summer suits, huddled together over their steaks and pommes frites, plotting how to raise more taxes from the population.
Khaled wasn’t surprised to see Ali seated at the same corner booth on a small dais near the back of the café, where the more elite members of Parliament often jockeyed to hold court, looking out over the lesser members. Ali was perfectly tailored again in a Savile Row suit, light gray today with discreet darker gray pinstripes, a white shirt, and a dark blue tie. He looked like one of the richer members of Parliament, not a holy man. Ali looked up at him, with his fluid, dark eyes that gave theimpression they saw everything, and nodded. Khaled gave him a small bow. “Imam.”
“No, Khaled, we are not in the mosque. You may call me Ali. Sit down.” He motioned to a waiter.
Khaled ordered Fortnum & Mason black tea and Dever’s specialty, baked sole and haricot verts. He said, “I thought you would be at dinner Friday night, but neither you nor your parents were there, only Adara and three of her friends.”
