Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) (14 page)

              “That’s what worries me,” Stephen muttered darkly as he stood and collected the plates.

Nick let it go and looked at his watch.

              “Listen, I’m going to keep my rendezvous with Carruthers at the Fitzroy.” He held up a hand to stop Stephen’s protest. “Just to see what the situation is and hand over what we have.”

              “Are you sure that’s wise?”

              “It’s wiser than not turning up. He’s lifted the warrant, so I don’t think I need to worry about that. If I don’t show he’ll be suspicious, and no doubt back bothering me again. It’s better I see him, hand this stuff over and move on.”

Stephen nodded but said nothing as he turned on the taps and started filing the sink with dishes.

              “I do need a favour, though.”

Stephen stopped mopping the plate he held and looked at Nick with raised eyebrows.

“Clara. I’m going to be tied up, can you just tell her to be careful. Jurgen knows about her, but tell her not to worry.”

              “Why should she worry? Your knocking around with a beautiful girl in the club she works in and disappearing for hours at a time.” Stephen had turned back to the sink.

              “Is that meant to be helpful? Look, as soon as I’m finished with Carruthers, tell her I’ll be round to her place. With champagne. I’m going to take her away. To the coast maybe.” Nick fell into a comfortable silence, lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the old man’s splashing and rattling as he finished the washing up.

              “Of course, Nick. I needed to go out anyway, and any chance to see Clara.” He winked at Nick, who laughed.

              “You old dog.” Nick rose and clapped him on the back. “Well, thanks for letting me stay over. When we get back from the coast you’ll have to come round for dinner.”

              “I’d like that, Nick. I would like some company.”

              “Good, I’ve got a great bottle of malt I’ve been saving. Now we’d both better get going.”

It was a fine evening; a light breeze rustled the trees along Stephen’s street as the two men stood outside his house. Nick gave the old man a hug.

              “Thanks. For everything.” He held the man at arm’s length and looked into his eyes. “Not just last night, but for all the times you’ve helped me.”

              Stephen blinked behind his glasses and shrugged Nick’s hands off, moving in for a gruff bear hug. “Yes, yes. I know. Gawd, lay off it will you. I think I prefer you drunk. I can’t be doing with all this emotional stuff.”

They pulled apart and both men smiled.

              “Of course.” He sensed something in Stephen’s demeanour. “Look, I’ve told you, it will be fine. Don’t worry.”

              Stephen gave a weak smile and nodded. “Aye.”

              “As soon as Clara and I get back I’ll be in touch and we’ll get that dinner set up.” He clapped the old man on the back. “Now get going, and give her my love.”

              Stephen gave Nick a last look of fatherly concern. “Aye, I will. Be careful.”

              Nick laughed. “You, too. Now go.” He turned and walked away, hands in pockets, whistling to himself as he ambled down the sun-dappled streets. Stephen stood on the spot for a while watching until Nick was almost out of sight. Nick turned, saw him and gave a wave. The old man gave a desultory wave back and slowly turned and shambled off. Nick shook his head and continued with a spring in his step. This was it, he was free again. He couldn’t wait to see Clara.

CHAPTER 15

Nick made the Fitzroy early, slipping in through the side door and straight to the bar. It was a nice enough day to hold a small crowd outside, cradling their pints in the shade of the low trees along the side of the building on Charlotte Street. Inside it was dark and cool, the deep rich wood darkening what little natural light there was still further, the finery of the gilt-edged lamps not really adding much in the way of illumination. A few drinkers sat inside, grouped around tables, ruminating over their day’s events. Nick took his pint and walked round the back of the bar, nodded at a few people he knew and took a seat in a booth near the back of the pub to wait. For the first time in he didn’t know how long, he felt relaxed and reasonably at ease. Not just in light of the last few days, but better than he had felt for months. Maybe Stephen had a point. Or maybe he didn’t. The old man talked a lot and thought even more; too much sometimes. If there was one thing Nick had learned during the war it was that too much reflection is a bad thing. Give yourself time to think and you’d drive yourself mad, depressed, psychotic, or all three.

              Pushing that train of thoughts to one side, he concentrated instead on the drink in front of him. He revelled in the warm smoothness of the ale as it slipped down his parched throat and idly wondered about Clara. How much had she missed him? It would be great to get away with her to the sea. He knew a little cottage he hadn’t taken her to before, nestled in the cliffs above a small isolated bay of white sand, contrasting with the surrounding grey of the granite-swept coastline and tumbling green fields. They’d be alone, with the sound of the waves and the weather for company. Then they’d have time to think. Really think about what they could do to escape the clutches of the city and the life that held them so tight. Nick’s mind wondered – Clara, cooking by the stove, smiling, beckoning him to the bedroom. Perhaps he should propose? He allowed himself a smile as thoughts of the trip to come morphed into memories of their first weekend by the sea together. Lazy days relaxing on the sand, Clara in her bathing costume. He smiled as he remembered their first weekend by the sea. Had it really been a handful of years ago? It felt so recent. They’d just met. After a few weeks they’d jumped on a train to Devon on a whim and then… His mind wandered pleasantly until quite unbidden, the image of Clara morphed into Lucia and Nick guiltily realised he was suddenly thinking about what she might look like in a bathing costume – or out of one. He entertained it for a little too long then pushed it away. He was done with her and the rest of them. Just as soon as he cleared this up with Carruthers, his life could go back to what passed for normality in his world. Perhaps he should even try to get some sort of job, to keep him busy, to pull his life from the fringes he’d been inhabiting. He tried to imagine himself sitting in an office, filing papers, having to answer to someone on trivial things and a wry smile played across his lips. Who was he kidding? That wouldn’t work out. But then, neither had anything else. Maybe he could convince Clara that the move to the sea should be permanent? They could buy a boat, get tanned and elderly together, maybe have kids. He started; he’d never thought of that before, not seriously. He suddenly realised that he really did miss Clara, more than he realised. For all their odd hours together, their strange lifestyles and their snappy arguments caused by overtiredness and the pettiness that sometimes sprung from it, she brought him so much joy. She’d become more important to him than he’d thought, like a part of him, a part he now sorely missed. Stephen was right, he concluded. It was time to shoulder some responsibility and move on with what was left of his life at last. The past was never easy to put behind, but it was a damned sight harder if you let it live with you every day. He took another sip and let the smile play fully over his lips as he indulged the fantasy of his new reality. Then he caught the eye of an amused couple watching him and he realised he must look like some sort of simpleton sitting there grinning on his own. He quickly put on a stern face and settled down to wait.

              The shadows outside lengthened as the day lost its brilliance and in the gathering gloom inside, the gilt lamps began to throw weak yellow light over the jostling crowd at the bar. Nick was on the chaser for his second pint. He didn’t need to look at his watch to know that Carruthers was late. The two-deep throng around the taps, orders shouted above the general reverberating din of excessively loud chatter and the harassed looks of the bar staff told him that it was well past six. It was Friday night. Nick was having trouble keeping the booth and was even now attracting some hostile stares from standing drinkers jealously eyeing his unencumbered table. He studied the pattern on the wood to avoid making eye contact with them. Surely it would only be minutes before he was asked again if someone could join the table. Maybe they wouldn’t even ask. Where the hell was Carruthers? Nick looked up again and was rewarded with the sight of a lanky form irritably trying to push its way past the intransient melee. He should have been glad, but Nick’s heart sank. He could tell even from here, in the pallid lighting, that this meeting would not go well.

Carruthers wore his tension like a mask; his eyes were circled with dark rings, his face was drawn and tight with frustration and nerves. Nick judged that unlike himself, Carruthers hadn’t slept since their last meeting. He wasn’t bearing up well and he wouldn’t be doing too much better if he didn’t watch it. He was garnering snide remarks as he carelessly barged his way through the flotsam of drinkers, adding to the sea of spillage upon the sodden floor. As he reached Nick, he sat down heavily, throwing his hat off onto the table in the same move. The first thing he did was to put his head in his hands then run his hands slowly through his hair as if comforting himself. Nick watched him over the top of his own pint glass and waited for the man to speak. After what seemed an age, Carruthers looked up and fixed Nick with a gaze glassy from fatigue.

              “I didn’t think you’d show,” Carruthers said, struggling to keep the weariness out of his voice.

              “Because of the arrest warrant?”

Carruthers nodded.

“I heard you cancelled it.”

              “You still don’t think you’re taking a chance meeting me here?” The man’s eyes were calculating, putting Nick on his guard.

              “I didn’t think I was, but maybe you’ll prove me wrong.”

              Carruthers gave a dismissive snort, as if the statement amused him. “I’m afraid so, old chap.” He eyed Nick’s drinks. “For once, I might join you. It’s been a hell of a few days.” With that, he stood and pushed his way back to the bar, leaving Nick staring at Carruthers’ hat in troubled bemusement. It took the man an age to get served and he tottered back, balancing two pints and accompanying shots of whisky, having spilt about half a pint’s worth of the beer.

“Cheers!” Carruthers toasted.

              Nick raised his glass and took a gulp of the warm, golden ale. “Mind telling me what we’re toasting?”

              “Not a whole lot. I’ve had my team scouring London for Jurgen and Gunther, even had a man go to the Italian Consulate and speak to their spook Manzelli. That shook him up,” he laughed. “Didn’t give anything away of course. Damned shame we can’t pull him in.”

              “So this is officially above the parapet now?”

              “In a manner of speaking,” Carruthers said carefully. He looked at Nick seriously. “Listen, I know you’re not stupid or naïve. I was trying to run this operation on the hush from above–”

              “Because you were screwing your contact?” Nick interrupted. He was pleased to see Carruthers flush with anger and Nick realised just how much he disliked this thin rake of an arrogant man.

              “Yes!” Carruthers replied angrily. “Because of that. I’m making a name for myself and I thought I could clear this up quickly, recover any compromised information and find out who killed Ramona with a minimum of fuss. It would look jolly good you know.”

Nick said nothing. He was not about to congratulate the man, especially as he’d botched it so badly.

“I was sure whoever killed her probably had whatever information she had. Why kill her otherwise? I could use your contacts to find that out, get them and hey presto, everything wrapped up neatly. Instead I’ve a few spanners in the works.”

              “You could say that. You still don’t know who killed her, enemies of this country now have the information from the Brigadier and the photos of you getting cosy with Ramona are still out there. I’d say it’s gone from bad to worse, wouldn’t you?” Nick took a sip of his beer to hide his smile. He was enjoying this a little too much. Carruthers flushed again.

              “What matters now are those photos. I need to find Jurgen. Or I need to find those photos. Preferably both, but at this point I’m not fussed. I’d take the photos.”

              “The negatives of the plans or the ones of you and Ramona?”

              Carruthers started and looked around to see if anyone had heard. “Both, but I need the personal photos more.”

              “I see. In training we used to call that a clouding of judgment.”

              “I call it survival. My job, my family, my whole career, damn it. If I can get those then it’s only his word against mine, if we catch him that is.”

              “Could he have left the country?”

              “Impossible. We’ve got a watch on all routes out of London, all ports, all stations and the Italian Embassy. I think he’s waiting for his moment, for all this to die down, and then he’ll make a move. We need to flush him out sooner.” Carruthers took another long draught.

              “I see your problem,” Nick sympathised, “but I don’t see where I come in.”

              “Same place as before, Nick. Look, I know I’ve been an ass towards you, but listen, you’re off the hook now. The warrant’s lifted. I’ve smoothed things over. You’ve a month’s pay in your account courtesy of our arrangement and I’m willing to up my offer. Five hundred pounds if you can get those photos and negatives back, and I’m not talking about the plans, though that would be bonus.”

              “What makes you think I can get them?” Nick asked surprised.

              “Nothing, if I’m brutally honest, Nick, but I’m desperate and all out of options.”

              “Well, I admire your honesty.”

              “You know places and can get to places my men can’t and talk to people my men can’t. If you need to you can also use methods that I can’t. Now I can’t shield you completely, but I can do everything I can to help you.” Carruthers looked at him hopefully. “What do you say?”

              “I say that if Jurgen sees me again he’s liable to kill me. Five hundred pounds is an incentive, but it’s not that much of an incentive.” He looked at Carruthers’ face and the smile he was wearing slowly faded. “But I get the distinct feeling that you’re about to give me another compelling reason why I should do this.”

              Carruthers’ lips were set in a thin line. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’ve appealed to your better nature, but you see a man like me, doing this job, I have to be prepared to do certain things, if they are – how can I put it? – unappealing. I can coerce you to do this.”

              “How?” Nick demanded.

              Carruthers shook his head. “I so hoped we wouldn’t get into this. Nick, I want you to understand that this is not personal. I needed skills and your contact that is all and–”

              “How?” Nick’s voice was raised a little and a man at the next table looked over with a frown.

              “Well, for starters I can put the warrant back out. That would complicate your life. Then there’s the business of the money coming into your account from our friend in Germany, the fact you lured the Brigadier to–”

              “We’ve been through all this,” Nick interrupted, his tone dark.

              “And what a shame if your friend Stephen or your girlfriend, Clara, were to be somehow impl–” Carruthers didn’t get any further, his words strangled off in a yelp as Nick dived over the table and grabbed the man by his jacket lapels.

              “There’s dirty and there’s dirty. You leave them out of this,” Nick snarled.

Carruthers’ fear gave way to anger and he angrily pushed Nick away, standing with a start that sent their glasses flying.              “Or what? It’s too late for that, Nick. You’re up to your neck in it and so are your friends. Or they will be.”

              “And you’re supposed to be the good guys,” Nick spat. “No dice. I’m out and Clara and I are leaving town. We’ll take Stephen with us.”

              “Bit late for that. The old man never made it to Clara’s,” he sneered. “Seems somebody picked him up. Maybe I can help you get him back. Maybe you need to help us. It’s only a matter of time till we catch up with your cheap little whore and–”

However Carruthers had been intending to complete his gloating monologue, the drinkers of The Fitzroy that night would never know, because in a flash Carruthers was sprawled on his back by an almighty upper cut from the man now towering over his horizontal form. Drinkers screamed as glasses crashed onto the floor and Nick took a step forward, his arm raised to finish the job.

              “You tell me where Stephen is right now!” he bellowed.