Nikolas gave him a patronising eye roll. Ben nodded. “Yep, there’s the real Nikolas.”
§ § §
When they got back to the table, there were three bottles of wine and the food had arrived. Gregory was looking very content and pleased with himself, tucking into some soup. He waved his spoon at them cheerily. “Lobster. Very good.” He nodded at Nikolas’s selection that appeared to be nothing more than green leaves in a pretty arrangement. “You no eat enough still, Lyosha. Mr Rider, your boss need eat more. Eh, Lyosha? Remember those tasty meals I found you eating? Ah, such simple solution to overcrowding of the prisons! I suggest it to your soft, little government, hey? No feed your prisoners; let them…what shall we call it…feed themselves? Yes, you fed yourself, Aleksey. Ah, sorry, you no like be reminded of hungry days when you no so particular what you eat. So, Mr Rider, please, I call you Ben, no? You call me Gregory, we all friends now, yes?”
Nikolas took a long drink of wine. “We could be if you accept my offer.”
“If I accept your offer, maybe my English be good as yours! Maybe I have lovely suit like you. Maybe I eat lobster every day like you! Soft country with soft people, no, Aleksey?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t hold you to staying in England, Gregory. Please. Feel free to go wherever you wish. Thailand, possibly. I always thought your tastes would run to Thailand.”
Gregory smiled, but it appeared slightly forced. “No, I want stay here and enjoy all this. Like you.” He amended with a smirk, “Like you do.”
“So, do we have a deal? I provide you with a new identity and life, and in return?”
“In return I no kill you?”
Ben looked up from studying the food he had no intention of eating. “You were spectacularly unsuccessful last time. Take a hint, maybe?”
Gregory’s eyes widened, and he turned to Nikolas, palms held out imploringly. “You see how he treats me? Me! Your idol. Your mentor. Your…What was I to you, Aleksey? How I best describe it…?” He took a long, noisy suck of his soup. “Your saviour? Mmm, I like that. Yes. Saviour. So, where that waiter boy? You no eat your starter?” He pulled Ben’s chicken livers over to his side of the table and ate them with a flourish, washing them down with more wine. “I want be Charles.”
Ben glanced at Nikolas with a puzzled frown. Nikolas seemed just as mystified. The waiter arrived at that moment, so they stayed silent until he’d cleared the plates. He topped up their wine glasses, and Gregory took the opportunity to order a couple more bottles. When the waiter moved away, Gregory expanded on his theme. “I want be Charles Buckinghamshire. I think good English name. My English very perfect, and Charles Buckinghamshire perfect English gentleman. He have big house in country.”
“And your men?”
Gregory waved his hand, and Ben almost snorted—it was exactly the same annoying gesture of dismissal he’d had from Nikolas for the last four years. “They no matter. I no want them. Very common, Chechen. Phah. I want like Mr Rider here—best of British bodyguard. I want British butler. Very proper with little silver tray and accentis that all m’lord?”
The waiter arrived with the next course, steaks for Gregory and Ben, and braised celery for Nikolas. Gregory eyed the food and raised an eyebrow. “Where your meat? You like the meat. I remember you love the meat, Aleksey.” He laughed at his own joke, and began to demolish his ribeye. He held up a piece, chewing, contemplating his own genius. “Course, you had lovely vodka-pickled Chechen boy liver to eat…” He winked at Ben. “You no eat your steak? Tsk, tsk.” He looked between his dining companions and pouted. “You no much fun to go on date with.”
“Do we have an agreement?”
Gregory shrugged. “Maybe, maybe no. I have nice name. I have nice house. I have nice little butler with his shiny shoe. I want other things nice.” He smiled a little, contemplating a piece of steak. “Maybe I want you, Lyosha. You very nice, I remember.”
Nikolas leant back in his chair, dabbing at his lips with his napkin, although he’d not eaten a single thing. “You’re being rude, Gregory. This isn’t like you.”
“Like me. Ah. Yes. Because, of course, you know much about me. Last ten years not so much, I think. Ten years, Aleksey. Ten years a long time. I think you have it good here. You like this newNikolaslife, no? There, you have my answer. I have wants. I want name, house, and you. I say no more. We eat.” He waved toward the waiter and asked for the dessert menu. “What Tafferty? Aleksey, I like this Tafferty? Ack, I order and see. I very—what is that word?—eclectic, yes, I very eclectic in my taste. Ack, I tired of this English now. We speak in Russian.” And with that he fired off a long string of words at Nikolas, not addressing him directly but apparently absorbed by the ruby contents of his wine glass.
Nikolas on the other hand didn’t take his eyes off Gregory as he spoke. At the end, he just nodded then turned to Ben. “We’re going, come.”
Ben’s eyes flicked from the Russian to Nikolas, but he didn’t speak. As he stood, Nikolas reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of notes. Holding Gregory’s eye, he peeled off ten £50 notes and dropped them slowly on the table next to him, then with a frown and casual shrug, as if tipping an inconsequential porter and with no more concern for the amount, he dropped the rest of the roll. “I hope you enjoyed your meal. It’s on me, of course.”
Gregory flicked his eyes to the notes then back up to Nikolas. “You big man now, Aleksey. I see that. You no little Lyosha for me no more. But we know where we stand now, yes? All agreed.”
Nikolas nodded and walked away. Ben kept his eyes fixed on the Russian’s lowered head. The gun tucked into his waistband called to him. It would be so easy. Gregory smirked up at him as if reading his mind. “You should learn Russian, my friend. It is good language for matters of heart. They say Aleksey Primakov have no heart, but I always say you need to know where look, where he put it for safe keeping, then you find it easy. I see where he put it. You no use that gun here, eh? But maybe later. Maybe not.” He raised his glass to Ben and took a long, satisfied drink.
CHAPTER TWO
The ride back to the hotel was done in virtual silence. Nikolas looked very tired. Ben was just hungry, but that made him feel incredibly guilty, as he knew he ought to be thinking about something far more important than his stomach.
“We may have been followed from the restaurant.”
Ben glanced across at him and shook his head. “No, we weren’t. I’d have seen a tail.” Nikolas nodded, seemingly too tired to argue. To be sure, Ben got the driver to drop them a few streets away from their hotel at the entrance to Grosvenor Square gardens, and they waited, partially concealed, to see if anyone else stopped. When he was sure they were clear, Ben began to walk toward one the benches, far enough away from a streetlight so they could sit in darkness. He eased himself down and waited for Nikolas to join him. Eventually, he did, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, although it wasn’t cold. Ben said nothing. He just waited. Eventually, Nikolas sighed. “For God’s sake, say something, Benjamin.”
“How old is he?”
Nikolas turned his head sharply. “That’s it? That’s what you say, after all that?”
“Well?”
