Anew: Book Three: Entwined (20 page)

James opens the doors for us and we
step into the gracious, mahogany paneled entry. It takes me a moment to realize
that the footman I’m accustomed to seeing there is absent. Moreover, the house
feels unusually quiet.

“Are we on our own?” I ask.

“Except for security,” Edward says.
“And only until tomorrow.” He smiles. “Do you think we can manage?”

“I think,” Adele says briskly,
“that we should let Amelia get settled in. When you’ve done that, dear, come
find me. We’ll see what we can do about dinner.”

At Edward’s look of alarm, I say,
“As it happens, I’ve been taking cooking lessons.” I don’t see any reason to
mention that my repertoire is limited to Japanese dishes and very few of those.

“You see,” Adele says with
satisfaction. “We shall manage beautifully. But we’ll leave the wine to you,
dear boy. Just make sure you choose something fortifying.”

He nods and, having murmured
something about needing to make a few calls, disappears into his study. I
follow my grand-mother into the elegant living room, dominated by a large
marble fireplace and an art collection that could only have been accumulated
over generations. The furnishing are a blend of centuries-old antiques of
varying styles that together create an effect at once distinctive and gracious.
Overall, the impression is of old wealth carefully nurtured.

Absently, Adele reaches for a
button to summon a servant. She catches herself and sighs. “I suppose I can
start by making a pot of tea.”

“I’ll help if you like,” I offer.

“Nonsense, you go and freshen up.”
A little abashed, she adds, “But try not to take too long, if you will. I’m
afraid my culinary experience doesn’t extend much beyond boiled water. Edward’s
not likely to appreciate that for dinner.”

I laugh and assure her that I’ll be
back down quickly. Once in my bedroom, surrounded by the white-and-gold Louis
Quinze furniture that includes a magnificent canopied bed, I strip off my
clothes and pluck a robe from the walk-in closet. I’ve spent only a little time
in this room so I’m startled to discover that a most inappropriate gift that
Ian sent me is still very much in evidence.

The corners of my mouth quirk as I
touch a finger to the petals of the clitoria--the same blue as my eyes--nestled
in an antique porcelain bowl. The flowering plant, named for exactly what it
looks like, arrived the morning after a rather memorable night at the opera. I
know I should have disapproved but I can’t help appreciating his audacity.

Anymore than I can help wondering
what he is doing right now. I have some idea of what a debrief consists of but
I have to hope that Davos’ grisly fate doesn’t feature too prominently in it.
The less Ian dwells on that, the better.

The same is true for me. Standing
in the shower, I turn the tap to cold in the hope that it will clear my head.
Whether it does or not, the shock propels me into action. I jump out, dry off,
and dress quickly in a simple sleeveless cotton blouse and short frilled skirt.

I’m anxious to see Adele and to
find out whatever it is that she has to tell me.

Ian

“T
he city’s quiet,” Hollis says. “Too quiet, if you
ask me. This business with the workers--”

“You don’t think they should have
the right to strike?” Gab interjects.

He shoots her a give-me-a-break look.
“I was going to say that it’s the tip of the iceberg. Davos’ cohorts have gone
to ground, the Council is lying low, it’s like the whole freaking place is
holding its breath, waiting for what comes next.”

“And what do you think that will
be?” I ask.

We’ve finished the debrief on the
Svalbard mission. Everyone agrees that it went well. We had only minor
casualties--damn impressive given that the resistance we faced, while
uncoordinated, was still strong. It just goes to show how much training pays
off.

And we got Davos. What’s left of
him is lying in a refrigerator in Medical. I tell myself that I should be glad
but I’m not there yet. Something’s nagging at me, I just haven’t figured out what
it is.

“If I had to bet,” Hollis says,
“I’d go with the scavs.” He glances at Gab again. She’s frowning. “Sorry,” he
says, “the scavengers. God knows, they’ve put up with a shitload. Why shouldn’t
they try to take advantage of a power vacuum to see what they can grab for
themselves?”

“I can think of a couple of
reasons,” I say, “starting with the fact that the MPS is alive and well. The
moment scavengers start sticking their heads above ground, they’ll get them
shot off.”

“Only if we let that happen,” Gab
says. Her tone suggests that she, for one, isn’t about to do so.

“Davos’ death is enough,” I say.
“There’s no reason for anyone else to be killed. But if we’re going to avoid
that, we all have to exercise a little restraint.”

“You mean like the Council’s
doing?” Gab asks. “Rumor has it they’re gearing up to offer work permits to
scavengers, at least the ones with education and some experience. They’ll
replace workers who dared to strike even for just a day.”

“It’s a classic divide-and-conquer
strategy,” Hollis says. “You don’t have to approve of it to see that.”

The two go on, not exactly arguing
but clearing the air like they always do. I’m only half-listening. My gaze
moves around the Operations Center that takes up a full floor of Pinnacle
House. Everywhere I look, highly trained and disciplined people are doing their
jobs. It occurs to me that with the debrief completed, I’m not actually needed
here.

Which means that I no longer have
an excuse not to be taking care of other business.

“Where are you going?” Hollis asks
when I turn to leave.

“Stuff to do,” I say over my
shoulder. “When you and Gab finish sorting out the fate of the world, how about
we get some extra provisions to the scavengers? Food, medicine, that kind of
thing. It’s not a solution but short-term it will help them refuse whatever the
Council tries to offer them.”

With that in hand, I head upstairs
to my private office, drop down in the big chair behind the desk, and get on
the vid with my new best friends.

Washington, D.C. started out as a
malarial swamp. From what I’ve seen, it hasn’t gotten much better. Not that the
sight of the Lincoln Memorial or the Washington Monument doesn’t still give me
a thrill. Even the Capitol and the White House can do that. I know our bedrock
principles are still intact. It’s just damn hard to get certain people to focus
on them.

Which is why I don’t even try. For
the next hour, I get right down in the slime with the best lobbyists money can
buy. They’re smart, smooth, totally professional, and as fine a bunch of skid
greasers as you could hope to find anywhere. Overall, I’m very pleased with
them.

 “Recent developments are working strongly
in our favor,” the head honcho of my little team says. His cultivated air of
gravitas is nicely balanced by stylishly coiffed hair and a mega-watt smile.
“Initially, we were encountering significant resistance to the very idea of
human rights for clones. Frankly, it just wasn’t polling well among our target
audience of key legislators and their major donors. We anticipated that a
lengthy and difficult campaign would be needed to bring them around. But in the
last twenty-four hours, we’ve seen a real breakthrough. Those same people are
contacting us to say that they embrace the idea. They want on board.”

I’ll bet they do. Letting it be
known that I’m backing the rights initiative, and that I hunted down and killed
Davos because he had something in the works that had something to do with
clones that for some reason I didn’t like, is proving to be every bit as
effective a strategy as I thought it would be.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say.
“What’s the mood at 1600?” The current occupant of the White House is a cut
above some we’ve had recently. As adept as she is at dodging thorny political
problems, she also knows when to step in and solve one before it blows up in
her face.

“The mood is good,” Mister Gravitas
says quickly. “Very good. Our people there tell me that we can look forward to
a resolution in the next day or two.”

We chat a little longer about the technical
aspects of what I want done. By the time we finish, I’m satisfied that I’m
getting my money’s worth. I also need a shower.

Hodge--Hodgkin as it says on his
military service record--is waiting for me when I emerge refreshed and in a
somewhat better frame of mind. For all his British-butler reserve and hangdog
expression, my steward, friend, and mentor is one of the few people on earth I trust
completely. He showed me what was possible apart from the life my father had
planned out for me. I owe him more than I’ll ever be able to repay.

“Mister de Veers is here, sir.”
Hodge says. He’s actually smiling, almost as rare as a sighting of Nessie. “I’ve
put him in your study along with his wares. His security people remain
downstairs.”

“Thank you, Hodge.” On impulse, I
add, “Why don’t you sit in with us? I’d like your opinion.”

It’s not like me to need a wing man
but Hodge possesses both elegance and taste in abundance. I could use his
advice.

After all, I’ve never bought an
engagement ring before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amelia

My grandmother has finished her
adventures in tea making by the time I enter the spacious, well-equipped kitchen
at the back of the ground floor. She’s frowning at the results.

“I really don’t see what is so
difficult about this,” she says. “But it just doesn’t taste like what I’m used
to.”

I take a sip of the cup she offers
me and assures her that it really isn’t bad. Leaving the rest on the counter, I
open the double-door refrigerator and peer in. Any hope I had that thinly
sliced beef or fish, Japanese vegetables, and rice would miraculously be there
is quickly dashed. However, the refrigerator is amply stocked as is the adjacent
pantry. There has to be something I can make that won’t poison us.

“How about a roast chicken?” I
suggest. “That should be simple enough.”

Adele looks skeptical but she
surprises me by offering to peel the carrots and potatoes that I decide to toss
in with it.

“I can remember doing this when I
was a child,” she says as she gets to work. Her movements are awkward at first
but she improves quickly. A few stray peelings fall onto the white cotton apron
that she’s put on over her elegant dress.

With a smile, she says, “My own
grandmother was an excellent cook. She made everything from scratch. Even now,
every summer I think of her peach ice cream.”

“Perhaps we could find a recipe and
make it together,” I suggest.

The idea surprises her but she
nods. “That’s a wonderful thought.” She looks at me fondly for a moment before
her expression turns more serious.

“Amelia, I realize this may seem
like an odd time for me to ask, but have you given any consideration to your future?
What sort of life you would like to have after all of this calms down?”

I stop in the midst of sprinkling
thyme on the chicken. It reassures me to know that my grandmother believes
there will be calmer times ahead. But as to giving any thought to them--

“With everything that’s happened, I
can’t really say that I have.”

“I didn’t think so. That’s no
reflection on you, of course. We live in such a turbulent world. Every day
seems to bring something new. Some of it is good, of course. For instance, the
plan Ian has to win legal rights for clones--”

“You know about that?”

She laughs softly. “Oh, my dear,
anything Ian Slade does stirs interest, more these days than ever. It’s very
much to his credit that he should champion such a cause. Although the timing is
a bit of a surprise. What do you suppose prompted him to do it now?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “We’ve
only discussed it briefly. He does feel very strongly about the need to uphold
human rights in general and I think he sees the issue with clones as part of
that.”

“Yes, of course,” Adele says. “But
then he also has a more personal interest as well, doesn’t he?”

I feel foolish for blushing. My
grandmother is one of the very few people who knows the truth about me. She has
left no doubt of her acceptance and love. In addition, she is far too
sophisticated not to be aware of the intensity of my relationship with Ian.
She’s always given me the impression that she genuinely likes and approves of
him.

So why is she so focused on the
timing of his decision to secure my rights?

“You’ll be much better off when
that goes through,” she says. “There will be no need for you to hide behind a
manufactured identity. As necessary as that has been, it does have its
limitations.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

She waves a hand airily in a
gesture that manages to encompass the kitchen, the house, the city beyond it,
everything. “Strictly speaking, any arrangement you might have chosen to enter
into wouldn’t have been legal because you would have done so under a false
flag, as it were.”

Arrangement? What is she thinking
of? That I might want to start a business, sign contracts--

I can’t help noticing that her smile
is more than a little inscrutable.

“Ian is such an upstanding young
man in his own way,” she says. “I’m sure that he wants any truly important
aspect of his life--and yours--to be beyond reproach.”

I can’t honestly say that I’ve
noticed Ian worrying about how any aspect of his life is viewed by others apart
from those closest to him. As for mine--

“Are you going to put that chicken
in the oven, dear?” she asks pleasantly. “I don’t think we’ll want to eat it if
it’s raw.”

I wrench my attention back to the
challenge of preparing dinner but my thoughts keep returning to Ian. I’m
embarrassed to admit even to myself how much I miss him even after just a few
hours. He’s a fire in my blood but he’s also my rock and my unfailing comfort.

So where is he? What is he doing?
When is he going to decide that we’ve been apart long enough and that he needs
me as much as I need him?

I don’t have long to wonder. Adele
and I are sitting over a fresh pot of tea, chatting about some of the upcoming
social engagements that may or may not still take place in the city, when
Edward appears.

He stands at the open kitchen door,
his hands in his pants pockets, and takes a sniff of the aroma coming from the
oven. With a smile, he says, “Smells good. Is there enough for four? Ian
called. He’s coming over.”

“Is he?” Adele murmurs.

Edward nods. “He has something he
wants to talk to Amelia about.”

My grandmother leaps to her feet,
almost knocking over the tea pot. As I gape at her unexpected agility, she
says, “Come along, dear. That’s quite enough slaving away like a scullery maid.
It’s time for you to change into something…suitable.”

For dinner with Ian? I don’t
suppose this would be a good time to mention that the last time he and I ate
together, we were both naked. Instead, I let myself be caught up in her
enthusiasm. In the aftermath of all that has happened, I put aside every other
consideration and resolve to simply enjoy the evening.

Whatever it may bring.