All is Fair (6 page)

Leanne’s parents were doing what they always did: her mother was fussing over the food – even though it was all being handled by caterers – and her father was getting pissed in the corner furthest away from his wife. The room, as well as the caterers, was being paid for by Lord Iron. Sam hadn’t minded; it was better than having the wake at the house.

Iron was standing next to a large bay window and Neugent was in close conference with him, appearing very earnest as Iron listened carefully. At a distance it was Neugent who looked older with his white hair and pale skin. Iron’s black hair and deep brown skin made him look youthful and healthy in comparison.

Sam stared at the back of Neugent’s head. How had he killed Leanne, and all the other people who worked for him? Was there any way to prove it?

He wanted to kill him.

“Sam?” A man he’d never met before held out a hand. “I’m Geoff, I worked with Leanne before she went up to the London office.”

Sam dumped the plate of food on the nearest table and they shook hands. “Hello.”

“I just wanted to say how sorry I am for your loss. Leanne was an amazing person.”

“Yeah.”

“She’ll be missed.”

“Yeah.”

Geoff necked the rest of the wine in his glass when the conversation ran dry. Sam didn’t want to talk to him – he didn’t want to talk to any of them – and Geoff had nothing else to say. Geoff wiggled the glass and said, “It was nice to meet you,” before hurrying away to get a refill.

Sam abandoned the wine next to his plate of unwanted food and left the room. His shoes clipped on the polished marble floor. He wished he smoked so he could legitimately stand outside and take deep breaths without anyone bothering him. He didn’t want anyone to give him sympathetic or pitying looks for a moment longer. He didn’t want anyone to see him at all.

“Sam.” Iron called his name from a doorway off the corridor just behind him.

Sam turned slowly. Was he supposed to thank him for the ostentatious arrangements?

“You can hide in here if you want.”

Sam didn’t need any further encouragement. The room was mostly filled by a large table, probably used for meetings. “Did you hire several rooms?” Sam asked.

“I own the hotel.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise that.”

“It’s part of a chain the company owns. You looked like you needed a break.”

Sam nodded and closed the door behind him as one of Iron’s security guys walked past to take a position nearby. “I’m not handling this very well.”

“Nonsense. There’s no need to perform for their benefit. You’re free to feel what you like and do what you like.”

“If only that were true.” Sam flopped into one of the leather chairs and let it tip back as he stretched his legs out.

“What would you really like to do?”

“Oh, I dunno. Killing Marcus Neugent with my bare hands would be top of my list.”

Iron stood near the door and said nothing for a few moments. “I think you need some time alone.”

When he left, Sam let his arms drop until his fingertips brushed the floor. He shouldn’t have said that about Neugent, one of Iron’s employees. He imagined standing in court on trial for Neugent’s murder and Iron reporting what he’d said. Sam tutted at himself. “Pillock,” he whispered.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was a member of staff, or Iron, Sam called out, “Come in.”

Marcus Neugent entered and closed the door behind him. Sam sat up. Every muscle he’d just relaxed snapped taut again.

“I wanted to speak to you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Sam watched him sit at one of the chairs on the other side of the table. “Look, I know you wanted to speak at the funeral but it just didn’t feel right.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about. And I understand. It was a family thing. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Sam rested his elbows on the table. “So what do you want?”

“I know you resented how much of Leanne’s time was taken up with her work.”

Sam kept silent. He didn’t know where Neugent was going with this and he needed to stay calm.

“I wanted to explain that it wasn’t anyone’s fault. She was very dedicated… I didn’t deliberately pull her away from home to work long hours.”

“Oh, so you’re saying her home life was so shit she didn’t need any encouragement.”

“No, not at all. I’m trying to help you realise that she loved her job and there’s no reason to be angry about that.”

“I’m not angry about that. I’m angry with you!”

Neugent’s white eyebrows arched in surprise. “Why?”

Sam wanted to say, “Because you killed her, you fuck,” but he couldn’t quite get the words out. He needed proof. Even just some evidence rather than just a pattern. “Because you were always phoning up and making her work late.”

“That’s the nature of our line of work. I know you resented it, and now she’s gone it’ll be even harder.”

“What do you want me to say? Thanks for ruining our marriage?”

Neugent’s frown had an edge of pity to it. “No. I wanted to give you my condolences in person, without everyone watching, and I wanted to see if you’re all right. I think that might have been a mistake. I’ll leave you in peace.”

When he stood Sam jumped to his feet. “Wait,” he said without even knowing why. He reached across the table, offering his hand.

After a pause Neugent shook hands with him. Sam had an impulse to pull him off his feet and smash his head into the table but then he noticed how grey Neugent’s skin was and another thought rose to the surface as he gripped his hand tighter: he’s dying
.
 

Sam had no idea how he knew this – or what he was dying of – but there was an unshakeable certainty. Neugent felt wrong in some way. He studied Neugent’s skin, his eyes and the clammy palm and then another thought surfaced: he has leukaemia. But how could he know that?

Neugent was trying to break the handshake; it had lasted far longer than implicit social rules allowed. Sam released his hand, embarrassed and unsettled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re really ill, aren’t you?”

It was the first time Sam saw Neugent look anything other than composed. His mouth hung open for a second or two and he took a step back. “You should be careful around Mr Ferran.”

“Mr Ferran? Oh, you mean Lord Iron.”

Neugent eyes became saucer-like. “I’m serious. Don’t–”

The door opened and Iron walked in. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were in here, Marcus. Is everything all right?”

Neugent’s face became a mask of polite confidence. “Yes, I was just giving Mr Westonville my condolences. If you’ll excuse me.” He gave Sam one last look and left.

“Are you all right?” Iron asked once the door had shut. Sam nodded but he didn’t feel it. “Still want to kill him?”

“No,” Sam replied. The acidic desire to murder him had been diminished by the knowledge that Neugent wouldn’t see the year’s end. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask Iron but he needed to feel steadier before he did so. “I’m going home. I’ve had enough. I need to get in touch with people and… tie up loose ends.”

Iron nodded. “When you’re done, call me and I’ll send a car. There are things we need to talk about, but now isn’t the time.”

Sam searched Iron’s face. “Why are you doing this? Why are you so interested in me and my life? Leanne was your employee, not me.”

Iron came over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “When we’re back at my place we’ll talk. I promise.”

Will adjusted his cravat and checked his hair in the mirror. When he was satisfied he was presentable he took a few moments to steady himself. He’d done everything his patron had asked of him so there was no reason to be afraid. It didn’t alleviate the nerves. He took a step back, spoke Lord Iris’ name three times and watched the glass ripple until Exilium came into focus.

He stepped through and walked between the trees along a familiar path lined with blue irises. The clearing came into sight with Lord Iris sitting in his usual place surrounded by the woven half-sphere of saplings. Lord Poppy stood to the right, the epitome of elegance as he held his cane slightly away from his body, its tip planted to the right of his feet. They were both dressed in the Edwardian style, Poppy with a deep red waistcoat, Iris wearing one embroidered with blue and gold irises, as he had the last time Will visited.

Both were watching his approach but he felt the pressure of Iris’ stare more. Will walked through the clearing to kneel at his patron’s feet, keeping his head bowed.

“William, Duke of Londinium,” Lord Iris said, resting a hand on the top of his head.

“My Lord Iris,” he said, then when the hand moved and a long finger lifted his chin, he looked up at his patron. “I’m here to serve.”

“Good day to you, little Duke,” Lord Poppy said and Will gave him a curt nod. “Tell me, how is my–” He cut himself off, glancing at Lord Iris and giving him a mischievous smile. “How is your wife?”

“Much better, Lord Poppy, thank you for your concern.”

“I would dearly like to see her.”

“But I won’t permit it,” Lord Iris cut in. “Be satisfied she is recovering, Poppy.”

“Be satisfied I forgave yours for failing to protect her,” Poppy fired back. Will felt an urge to duck and find cover.

“We don’t need to go over this again, we’ve reached an accord,” Iris said and looked back down at Will. “You have pleased me. You destroyed the Roses–”

“My favourite did more,” Poppy interjected but Iris ignored him.

“And now we have Londinium. You’ve done all I have asked, and I look forward to the day you bring me news of your wife’s pregnancy.”

Will forced a smile. “I look forward to that day too, my Lord.”

“However, Lord Poppy has been greatly distressed by the injuries inflicted upon her and so we have agreed compensation. You are to appoint Thomas Rhoeas-Papaver as the Marquis of Westminster when you convene the Court.”

Will glanced at Poppy, who was smiling with satisfaction, then back at his patron. “Catherine’s brother? Forgive me, my Lord, but as a resident of Aquae Sulis, Thomas has no experience of the Londinium Court, no leverage there and certainly no friendships that I’m aware of. He would bring little to the position politically.”

“Are you saying the eldest son of my favourite family line has nothing to offer?” Poppy asked sharply.

“Not in entirety, Lord Poppy. I’m sure Thomas has a great deal to offer to the academic community in matters of twentieth-century warfare, but, as I far as I know, that knowledge may not be the most useful at Court.”

“He’s intelligent and very tall,” Poppy said, chin in the air. “Both qualities will serve him admirably.”

Will wanted to swear so much it would make flowers wilt but he kept his mouth shut and looked at Lord Iris, trying to convey how absurd the request was with his eyes alone. His patron looked into them with a hint of a smile that never materialised into anything substantial. “I’m sure my wife will be very pleased to have her family close again,” Will said, trying to voice his concern about a direct line of communication to Lord Poppy.

Iris didn’t acknowledge the subtext. “The decision is final,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Lord Poppy, I wish to speak to William alone.”

Poppy inclined his head at Iris and gave Will a glance before leaving. As they waited for him to go, Will struggled to maintain his calm expression whilst under his patron’s intense stare.

“The alliance between our families in Aquae Sulis has served us well,” Lord Iris said.

“Thomas isn’t a politician.”

“Are you?”

Will swallowed. His throat felt dry. “I aim to do my best.”

“I’m certain Thomas will, too. He will be more trustworthy than many in Londinium. No doubt his father will press him to support you totally so as not to risk the alliance with your father.”

So that was why Iris capitulated. It was small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. “Was there something else you wished to discuss with me, my Lord?”

Lord Iris’ smile made Will shiver. “Oh, yes.”

Cathy woke to find a blanket pulled up to her chin and the tea cups cleared away. The fire was dying in the grate and she felt hungry. The blanket fell away as she sat up, wincing as the movement tugged at the wounds. She was bored of feeling disoriented every time she woke, bored of the pain, bored of being immobile. It was time to make plans.

She struggled to her feet, appreciating again how much fitness she’d lost. It wasn’t as if she was the sportiest of people, but when she’d lived in Manchester she’d walked everywhere to learn the layout of the city. She wanted a piece of paper and a pen to start ordering her thoughts and she wanted to write to Lucy. There was too much to face alone and she was certain a conversation with her sister-in-law would help. She wanted to phone Sam and see if he was all right, then remembered her phone had been in her bag when they were attacked. Would the police have it?

When she opened the door she saw nothing but the back of the huge man who’d followed them down the stairs earlier.

He turned and looked down at her. He had to be almost seven feet tall and his shoulders were wide enough to span the doorway. Instinctively she took a step back as he nodded at her. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

“You’re the bodyguard…”

“Carter,” he said.

“Carter, yes, hello. Is my husband back?”

Carter shook his head. “No, your Grace.”

Cathy hoped Will was OK. Did Iris know she was better and think it was time to put pressure on him for siring a son? Whatever the reason, worrying wasn’t going to give her any answers. “Listen, you can take the rest of the day off. I’m not planning to do anything more dangerous than writing a letter and reading some books.”

He smiled. His teeth were even and white. “Only His Grace can relieve me of my duty, ma’am. I answer directly to him.”

“And what exactly are his orders?”

“To escort you from place to place, to stand guard outside the room you’re in and should anyone or anything pose a threat to your person, I’m to neutralise that threat immediately.”

“Oh.” Cathy pulled the blanket off the chair to wrap around her shoulders, suddenly cold. “Will is just overreacting. He’ll get over it and you can go and do something more worthwhile. You’re from the Agency?”