Alexander watched her with a grim look. “He told you that the investigation was a matter of securing the lab?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? If someone is killing off members of the lab, it might be because of something they’re researching. Perhaps the Russians are after it.”
He sighed and got to his feet. “It’s late, Saffron.”
“Come to my flat.” She didn’t want to lose the ground they’d gained. He was not arguing with her, or threatening to prevent her involvement, but giving information in his subtle way. She wrapped her arms about his waist, and he eyed her with a sort of wary curiosity that she found delightful. “Forsupper. Elizabeth no doubt is cursing my name for being so late, and she does love to show off her culinary efforts.”
He agreed, and Saffron found herself unable to stop smiling the whole way home.
CHAPTER22
Elizabeth declared that a special dinner party was in order. To Alexander, she said it was because her birthday was Sunday, and she wanted to celebrate him and Saffron making up.
“I am truly so glad, darling,” she told him during their shared late supper, “that you and Saffron have made up. She was in tatters over it, you know.” She’d shot Saffron a wink well within his view, somewhat ruining the impression of sincerity.
To Saffron later that evening, however, Elizabeth revealed that she wanted to needle Nick about his true occupation. Saffron reflected that she really ought not to have told Elizabeth about Alexander’s diplomatic mission or Jeffery Wells’s body if she didn’t want her friend to obsess over her belief in Nick being a spy. Elizabeth was now certain, and Saffron couldn’t entirely dismiss the idea.
With characteristic determination, Elizabeth pulled together a plan that ought to have taken a week of preparation within two days. She’d invited her brother, Colin, and Alexander for dinner, and Saffron had undertaken a long list of tasks to prepare for their arrival that evening. She’d cleaned, under Elizabeth’s careful supervision, and then she’d been sent to the market with an extremely detailed list of ingredients. Then she was shooed from the kitchen and left to her own devices for two hours before their guests arrived.
Saffron used the time to scrub up and dress, then found herself alone in the parlor with nothing to do but fiddle with the perfectly set table they’d moved into the center of the room. It glistened with theirnicest secondhand glassware and the excellent set of elegant dishes Elizabeth had gotten on offer. Saffron prodded a stalk of vibrant blue beardtongue she’d spotted at the market, aligning it more perfectly next to the equally bright asters. She hadn’t been able to resist including the flower in the arrangement, perhaps in tribute to Dr. Aster for not sacking her, or to thumb her nose at him for being so vexatious.
The bell rang. Elizabeth howled her dismay at the very early arrival of their guests.
Saffron poked her head into the kitchen. Elizabeth’s face was flushed and her apron was marked with a colorful collection of stains. She looked ready to boil over. “I’ll shoo them away for half an hour,” Saffron soothed her. “Not a worry.”
She went to the end of the hall and pulled the door open.
And froze.
It was none of the gentlemen they’d expected, and the last person Saffron expected to see.
Lord Easting stood in the hall of her building.
“Grandpapa,” Saffron said, coming up short.
Her eyes traced the familiar lines of his face, noting the appearance of new wrinkles and the dry, papery quality of his skin. Lord Easting had always been the robust, active lord-of-the-manor type. More comfortable in tweeds than a suit, more likely to be found examining a newborn calf than the stock reports in the newspaper. He’d taken the loss of both his sons hard, noticeably slowing. But the past few years had brought about even greater change; he looked like a man of eighty rather than sixty-some years. White hair had overtaken the gray, and his usually ruddy complexion was sallow. Her mother had obviously understated the poor quality of his health in recent letters.
“I—do come in,” she said, scuttling back to give her grandfather admittance. “Would you like me to take your coat and hat?”
“No,” he said stiffly, eying the narrow hall.
“Please, this way.”
She felt his eyes on her back as she led him to the parlor. She watched for his reaction to her home but was distracted by the man himself. He walked so painfully, and he was so pale—
“Do sit down,” she said, pulling out a chair for him at the table. “May I offer you tea, or water, or—”
“Sit,” he said, voice thin.
Saffron swallowed and obeyed. She perched on the edge of the chair across from his.
His pale eyes, Everleigh blue but with the slight haze of old age, swept over the table, then her.
“Feyzi tells me you’ve been to see him,” he said.
Her heart stuttered. Mr. Feyzi had told her grandfather about her visit with Alexander?
“You’ve been poking about in your father’s things.”
