Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) (8 page)

CHAPTER 8

“Just what are you mixed up in, darling? Nothing good if you can suddenly afford to put us in here.” Clara swept a hand around the sumptuous suite. She plunged on before Nick could answer. “How many times? I’m not with you for your money.” She smiled and stepped over to him, draping a hand over his shoulder, close enough that he could inhale the sweet floral scent of her perfume. “I’m with you because you’re you, and I love you.”

              “I know. Still, I like to look after you. Consider this a treat. I can afford it, for once. With what happened to Ramona, I’d feel happier knowing your were safe here.” He pulled her close, his hand in the small of her back. “Besides, what woman wouldn’t like a night at the best hotel on earth?”

              “Or a night with you at the best hotel on earth.”

They kissed. A long, lingering kiss, that went on and on before Clara gently pulled away. She crossed to the walnut desk where a champagne bucket stood perspiring. The wireless set beside the bed crackled out slow swing in gentle tones, some orchestra session on the BBC. Clara poured two crystal flutes and passed one to Nick, perching herself elegantly on the end of the bed.

              “We should do this more often,” Nick said.

              “Spend a fortune?”

              “No. Treat ourselves. When was the last time we went down to the sea? We used to love that.”

              Clara’s brow furrowed. “I can’t remember. Too long.” A troubled look passed over her face. “It’s this damn city. I feel like we’re stuck here, Nick. We’ve talked and talked about getting away, our little home by the sea. What would we do?” She looked at him imploringly. “A singer, and a, well, I don’t know what you are, Nick. Do you?” There was an edge to her tone that chilled him despite the warmth of the room.

              He smiled weakly. “I don’t know what I am, but I do know that I can find something. Maybe it’s time, Clara. I don’t want you dancing and singing in clubs anymore, pawed at by strangers, any more than I want to be here, sliding from pub to pub along filthy streets. It feels like every day I hate myself a little more.” He stopped abruptly and turned away.

              “The nightmares again?” she asked softly.

Nick nodded.

“Nick, you have to let it go. I know bad things, terrible things, happened in the war. Dwelling on them won’t help.”

              “You think I want to? The trouble is: how can I forget?” The words tumbled out fast and instantly he regretted them. Clara looked taken aback and he could see that yet again he’d hurt her with his words, with something he could never fully share with her, that she would and could never understand. He sat beside her and laid a hand on her knee. “That silk gown suits you.”

              “It should,” she smiled. “I’m sure you paid as much for it as for this room.”

              “Almost, but it’s worth it.”

And it was. Clara looked stunning in the emerald green gown. He stared at her, trying to burn this moment in his mind. Why were his dreams never of moments like this? As quick as it had begun, it was over, the frown on her face signalling the change.

              “So what are you mixed up in? And what does Lucia have to do with it?”

              “Do we have to talk about it?” His tone was unconvincing.

              “You’ve dragged me out of my home, even if it is to The Savoy. I need to know.”

              Nick nodded, stood and began to pace the room. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure myself. Poor Ramona’s death seems to have set in train a set of circumstances that I’m now slave to, and that grow ever more complicated.” He stopped and poured himself another glass of champagne, topping up Clara’s. “It looks like Ramona was mixed up in a lot of things. In debt, having affairs with high-ranking military officials, and who knows what else. At the moment I’m being paid to try to sort out some of the mess and find some answers. Trouble is, the more answers I find, the more questions there are.”

              Clara shook her head. “Nick,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper, “I thought this was behind you – behind us.”

              “Sometimes you don’t always get a choice.”

              “There’s always a choice, Nick.”

              “Is that why we’re still here regretting the life we have?”

              Clara’s eyes showed immediate hurt and she leapt up, putting the champagne flute down so firmly, half its contents were lost, fizzing over the pale walnut veneer of the desk. “You’re right, and that’s why I hate what you’re saying. I am tired of this, of staying up all night, of sleeping all day in this Godforsaken city. For what? For the next gin fizz, the next pay check, the next hangover. God!”

              Nick moved over to her and went to place an arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged it off angrily.

“Darling, please. We can–”

              “We can what? Hold on to our dream of our quiet life by the sea while our time ticks away? As if things aren’t bad enough, you now tell me I can’t even go home because you’re mixed up in something you don’t even understand yourself.”

              “Look, I didn’t ask for this. It came to me. Let me do what they want me to do, find the answers they’re looking for, then we’ll go away. Far away, like we always said we would.” He was alarmed to see a tear roll down her porcelain cheek as she turned away and gazed out the window over the Thames.

              “I wonder, Nick. I wonder.”

              He moved behind her, encircled her waist, but she didn’t yield. Her body stayed stiff, like a statue, as she gazed out into the darkness and the twinkling lights along the river.

“How about dinner?”

              She gave a sniff, wiped at her eye and gave a little laugh. “We’re here; we might as well enjoy it.”

Among the gentle hum of diners in the lavish surroundings of the River Restaurant, they could almost pretend they had normal lives, as their silver cutlery tinged on finest porcelain and the rich food was washed down with fine wine. Nick smiled, Clara glowed and that made him happy. He hadn’t seen her look like this in months, maybe years. She was right; they had to get away. London was poisoning them, slowly eating away at what was left of their souls in their soulless existence.

Clara paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What is it?”

              “What?” replied Nick, confused.

              “You’re positively beaming, darling. Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

              “I was just remembering last summer, when we got away to Cornwall for that week. How nice it was to relax and take long walks, breathe fresh air and spend all that time together.”

              “Yes, yes it was.” Clara’s clear, blue eyes took on a faraway look. “Can we go away again, Nick? Just for a break?”

              “I don’t see why not…” Nick began.

              “Next week? Please, darling. Let’s take the train away from here, back down to Cornwall, even if it’s only for a couple of days.”

Nick wanted nothing more, but there was Carruthers. Then again, what would a couple of days hurt?

“Yes, let’s do it.”

              Clara’s eyes shone with excitement. “I’ll go and buy tickets tomorrow. Could you find us somewhere to stay?”

              “Of course.” Nick reached over the table and squeezed Clara’s hand.

              “I’m so happy. This was a good idea, Nick.” She looked around happily. “Stepping into a different world, even for a night, I feel like we’ve escaped, and now we’re making plans.” She popped the last of her food daintily into her mouth and settled her knife and fork neatly on the plate.

              “Dessert?”

              “You know, I fancy a bath, before I slip into something more suitable.” She gave Nick a meaningful look. “Why don’t you have a nightcap and follow me up in half an hour or so? I promise not to be asleep.” She stood and cast him a coquettish look.

              “Of course. I’m not sure I can wait half an hour, though.”

              “Do your best, darling…” She let the words hang as she stepped elegantly away through the tables and towards the lifts.

              Nick nodded to the waiter, settled the bill then stalked towards the Beaufort Bar where the Savoy Orpheans were already playing to probably the most rarefied nightclub crowd in England, if not the world.               It wasn’t too late and Nick managed to bag a table tucked away to the side of the stunning black walled and gold-leaf embossed room. Everyone raved about the American Bar, but the action was in here, the elegantly louche atmosphere perfectly matching the gilded noir of the decoration.

              The band played away on the stage and couples swayed energetically on the small dance floor, barely visible through the palls of cigarette smoke that hung lazily in the gloom. Nick’s Corpse Reviver Number Two arrived and, relaxed, he let his foot start to tap to the rhythm of the music as he sipped.

              “Mind if I join you?”

              Nick looked up sharply and what he saw made him inhale sharply. Lucia leant casually with one hand atop the back of the spare chair, her shimmering gold gown matching the leaf of the room and clinging to the contours of her body like a sin. Her teeth sparkled against her olive skin as she smiled, the gloss of her lips glinting in the candle light. Before Nick could answer, she slid seamlessly into the seat and he felt the mood of his night implode.

              She leaned forward and lit a cigarette from the candle, pushing her hair back as she sat upright, squinting through the smoke. “My, you’re quiet.”

              “What are you doing here?”

              “Same as you. Enjoying myself. Didn’t figure you for a Savoy man, though, I have to admit.”

              “And I didn’t figure you for a Savoy girl. What are you really doing here?”

              “A girl can’t enjoy herself? Nick, you’re too old fashioned, but I can see what Clara sees in you.” She tilted her head slightly as she looked at him, the traces of a smile playing around those full lips.

              Nick could feel the tension pouring back into his body. He eyed her across the table. She was a stunner, he had to admit, but why was he even allowing himself to think that. He took a slug of his drink. “You want to tell me why you’re really here?” he tried again.

              “I like the music. Do you want to dance?”

              “We danced already.”

              “Hmm, and I enjoyed it. Still I guess you’re right. Imagine if Clara popped down and found you flinging me around the dance floor again.”

              “Just imagine,” Nick said flatly.

              “Well” – Lucia leant forward and clasped Nick’s drink, taking a sip to his surprise – “that’s nice. To business. I’ve been checking you out, Mr Valentine. I must say, I’m impressed. You were quite active during the war.”

              “Maybe. Lots of men were active in the war. What of it?”

              “Oh, of course, Nick, but most of them were in the trenches, just like you started out the war, but most of them didn’t end up as the anonymous whisper of death in dark city streets miles from any fronts.”

              Nick felt his jaw clench. Underneath the table he flexed his hand. “You’re well informed.”

              “Not really. I found out quite a bit, but a lot of nothing really. For instance, what was the incident that saw you sent back from the front to be redeployed as an assassin? I couldn’t find anything about that.”

              Nick felt the knot in his stomach – part panic, part loathing. He shrugged.

              “I wonder, something so terrible, no one would even write it up, yet such a deed as to signpost to someone that you had skills that could be better used elsewhere.” She took another sip of Nick’s drink. “This is lovely. What is it?”

              “A Corpse Reviver.” Nick said from between clenched teeth.

              Lucia looked at him for a moment then threw back her head and laughed. “How apt. How you.”

              “It seems you have me at a disadvantage. Perhaps I should be doing some homework of my own?”

              “You’re doing enough.” Her tone changed and she leaned forward. “Leave it, Nick.”

              “Leave what?” he asked innocently.

              Lucia gave a snort. “Sure. Okay. I’m trying to help. I know more about this than you do and you’re being played.”

              “Am I?”

              “Yes.”

              “And why should I believe you?”

              “Why should you not? Who else do you believe, Nick? No one’s being honest with you.”

              “Goes with the territory I suppose.”

              “Yes it does, but Nick, this won’t end well for you, please, find a way out of this and walk away.”

              “Why are you so keen for me to do that?”

              Lucia stubbed out her cigarette and regarded him for a few moments. “Two reasons, Nick: one, you’re spoiling my patch and complicating things for me; two, you and I aren’t so different. I don’t want to see you hurt more than you need to be.”