Guy’s cottage looked even larger in daylight. It was a beautiful, whitewashed building with a thatched roof and latticed windows. Ivy, climbing roses, and wisteria grew all over its frontage. The white gravel outside made the satisfying crunch of money spent on good renovations and upkeep. The lawn around it was a sumptuous shade of green, with nary a weed, and the large shrubs and treesthat separated it from Honningtons’ grounds were all healthy and well maintained. The great house was visible through a gap in the trees, shimmering in the heat haze.
Simon was nervous. He was sweaty and fidgeting. “He’s home?” I asked, not bothering with pleasantries as I walked up to where he stood.
“I’ve texted him. He’s in.”
I knocked on his door. A few seconds later, Guy answered it. “Arden, Simon, what a … pleasant surprise.”
He was in his riding gear. Clearly, he had been out on one of his horses, as his hair was slicked back by sweat and his shirt clung to his muscular frame.
“Can we come in, Guy?” I asked.
Guy gave Simon a worried glance. “I’ve spoken to Jed,” Simon said. “He said it’s okay. It’s time we told Arden the truth.”
Guy looked at me. “Please don’t hate us,” he said eventually.
He led Simon and me into the house, and this time we went fully through to its heart. A beautiful, informal living room, at the back, which looked like something from a gentleman’s club.
There was a grand fireplace, a liquor cabinet, an antique globe, and even a chessboard set out on a side table.
“Take a seat. Do you want a drink? I know I bloody well do,” he said. “It’s supposed to thunder in a while.” He peered out the window. “Should be soonish.”
“Maybe the heatwave is finally breaking,” Simon said.
“Can you both stop procrastinating and get on with it?”
Guy ignored me and poured himself a drink. Simon took a seat on one of the sofas and looked as if he was trying his hardest not to squirm. “Guy, could you pour me one too?” he asked.
I tried to control my breathing, but it was increasingly difficult with these two acting like they had all the time in the world. I was basically sitting on my hands to stopmyself from ripping the drinks out of their hands and yelling for them to get on with it.
Finally, they both had drinks, and Guy took a seat. Somewhere, far away, thunder clapped.
“And it begins,” Guy said.
Simon gulped down half his drink. “I should start.”
“Yes, please, do.”
He took a steadying breath. “I suppose one thing to tell you is that what we said the other night was untrue, but also not completely untrue.” He looked at Guy. “We do have some history.”
I exhaled and stared at the carpet. I was going to hear a lot of this sentiment in the story, whatever it contained.
“I moved to Lilbury about four years ago,” Simon said. “I took a job, well, I was posted to a research unit nearby in Wiltshire. About forty-five minutes from here. There’s a special operations centre there. I can’t tell you more about what I do. It’s at RAF Kesset; I’m not RAF, I’m Royal Naval Intelligence. Well, I was – anyway, it’s a long story. Arden, I can’t tell you what I do. I can’t.”
My eyebrows must have gone sky high and betrayed me because Simon stopped talking and nodded solemnly. “I’m not trying to be obtuse. It is illegal for you to know this stuff. We could all go to prison if some aspects of my job become revealed.”
“But Guy knows?” I asked.
“I know what I’m allowed to know,” he said calmly. Guy seemed so much older in these situations. He was looking at me in the most queer manner. He seemed out of sorts, but nowhere as nervous as Simon. Maybe boarding school taught you to hide it better.
“There are people I work with, Arden. Men in grey suits who look like mild-mannered commuters on the train who … I can’t stress to you enough to stay as far from them as you can. If you ever get approached by someone who acts like they want information from you. If they mention my name or anything about you, about me, or about any connection we might have. Please, run in the opposite direction. These men I work with, they aren’t going to be coming to find you because of something good.”
“Who do you work for?” I asked after a long silence.
“I can’t tell you that,” Simon said. “I’m sorry.” He gave me a look that I think was trying to show me he was being sincere. I know this is hard, and I know I’m asking a lot,it said,but believe me.
“No one knows where I work or what I do, except a handful of people. Not my parents, not my sister, not anyone I’ve ever dated. Guy is one of very few.”
I nodded.
