Where the Heart Chooses (17 page)

I was in the midst of
packing when there was a tap on my door. “
Oui
?”

“
Madame
, you’re wanted on the
telephone.” It was Armand.

“
Merci
.” I went down to the library,
where
M
. Bauchet
had the telephone, and picked up the receiver. “
Mme
. Mann
ici
.”

“Portia, it’s Bryan.”

“What’s wrong? Quinton?” My son was staying
with Bryan and his wife and stepchildren until I returned.

“No, he’s fine. It’s your idiot of an older
brother. Jefferson didn’t make his rendezvous point. He’s been out
of contact for the past week. I’m at Langley coordinating his
retrieval, but I thought you’d better know.”

“I appreciate that.”

He went on to tell me what details he
had.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. It’s too dangerous. And besides,
you’re there in Avignon.”

“Thanks for taking the time to let me know.
How are Mother and Father dealing with this?”

“Mother is holding together. Father is
furious. He blames Hazelton. I’m not sure that I don’t blame
Hazelton as well. He should have retired five years ago.” Hazelton
had been the director for the past fifteen years. “I’ve got to go,
Portia. Tony just walked in.”

“God bless, Bryan.” This did not look good
at all if my oldest brother felt the need to be available.

“
Madame
, is everything all right?”
Armand stood there. He had dark gypsy looks, but I didn’t have time
to appreciate what my son saw in him.

“I need to make a long-distance phone call.
I’ll reimburse you, of course.”

“Not at all,
Madame
.”

I put through a call to MI5. Sir Joseph
Bowne had retired, but Folana had given me another contact.

“Mr.
Trevalyan’s
office. Travers speaking.”

“This is Portia Mann, Miss Travers. I’d like
to speak to Mr. Trevalyan if he’s available.” I murmured a few
words that should get my call patched straight through to him.
Which it did.

“Portia. How nice to hear from you!” a
smooth baritone greeted me.

“Thank you, James. I’m sorry to call. I need
to—”
Armand was lingering by the window, and I
switched to Russian, knowing that Trevalyan was as fluent as I was.
“Jefferson’s gone missing in Eastern Europe. I need to contact
Folana Fournaise.”

“What information do you have?”

I gave him what I knew. I’d met him during
my season in London, but beyond that, my brother Jefferson vouched
for him.

“I’ll see she gets the message.”

“Thank you.”

I disconnected the call,
then dialed the
Marseille-Marignane Airport
and made arrangements to fly out of France as soon as
possible.

* * * *

As I reached for the last of my suitcases, a
masculine hand seized the grip and pulled it off the belt.

“Good evening, Portia.”

“Gregor. I didn’t expect to see you
here.”

“I’ve got the weekend off.”

“And you just happened to be passing through
Baltimore?”

He grinned at me. “Alyona called and let me
know you were coming home. I had nothing special to do, so I
thought I’d drive down.” He stacked my suitcases on a trolley and
nodded toward the exit. “How was your flight?”

“Rocky.” Quite a few passengers resorted to
the airsick bags as the Air France jet rose and fell like a
rollercoaster. For the first time in the years since I’d given them
up, I’d craved a Pall Mall.

“I’m parked over here.” He opened the rear
passenger door and then went to the trunk, and while he loaded my
suitcases, I shut the passenger door and got into the front seat.
He paused for a moment before sliding into the seat beside me.
“Alyona’s not gonna be happy.”

“Just tell her I couldn’t wait for the
heater to warm the backseat.”

“Portia, she does know it’s the beginning of
September. And if you tell her you caught a chill, she’ll have you
tucked in bed with a heating pad and a hot water bottle.”

“I’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t see
me. Gregor, you heard about Jeff?”

“Yes. I’ve actually been vetted to your
family if you have need of me. I know Quinn’s at Bryan’s. We can
stop there on the way home.”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Why hadn’t I
thought of it?

It didn’t take long before Gregor was
pulling up at the curb before the house my brother shared with his
wife.

“Wait here, all right, Gregor?”

“You won’t get an argument from me.” He’d
met Johanna when Nigel and I had hosted a dinner party to celebrate
one of Bryan’s promotions, and she’d treated him like a servant.
When Bryan had mildly corrected her, she’d spent the remainder of
the evening pouting and ignoring Gregor.

I let myself out of the car, went up the
walk to the front door, and pressed the doorbell. The chimes rang
out—such a lovely sound—but no one answered. The house was lit up,
so I knew someone was at home, and I pressed the bell again.

“
What
?” The door was yanked open.
Johanna’s youngest, Billy, stood there. “Oh. Aunt Portia. What do
you want?”

“I want to be invited in.”

He flushed. “Sorry.” He stood aside and let
me in. “Um…why are you here?” He frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to
be in France?”

“I was. Now I’m home. I came to pick up
Quinton.”

“Oh, shit!” he said sotto voce. “Let me get
Mom.” He ran up the stairs to the second floor. In a matter of
minutes he returned. “Uh…Mom can’t come down just now.”

“That’s all right. I don’t need to see her.
Please tell Quinton I’m here to take him home, so he’ll have to
pack.”

“Uh…that’s the thing. He’s not here.”

“Where is he?” I was starting to get a
headache.

“He’s gone home. Something’s up with Libby,
and Mom put Quinn in a cab to the bus depot.”

“She sent my son away without even bothering
to make sure he arrived at the bus depot safely?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, Mom was busy with
my sister, and she didn’t have time for a visitor.”

“Who happens to be her husband’s nephew.
When?”

“Uh…” He shrugged again. “This morning, I
guess.”

There was a telephone in the parlor, and I
stalked away from Billy and into that room. After a few rings,
Alyona picked up. “Mann residence.”

“It’s Portia. Has Quinton arrived?”

“Yes, missus, about hour ago.”

“Thank you. I’m here in Baltimore with
Gregor. We’ll be home in about an hour.”

“Okay. We see you then.”

I hung up and turned to my brother’s
stepson. “Give your mother a message for me, Billy. She’s damned
lucky Quinton made it home safely. If anything had happened to him,
the fact that she’s married to Bryan wouldn’t have kept me from
taking her apart one piece at a time.”

“A-aunt Portia?” The color leached out of
his cheeks and his eyes almost bulged out of his head.

I turned and walked out. Gregor was lounging
against his Crown Victoria, and he straightened when he saw me.

“Portia?” He was obviously confused, since
Quinton wasn’t with me.

“That…that…” I swallowed the epithet,
although it nearly killed me. “Quinton’s in Great Falls. She sent
him home by himself. On the bus.”

“Bitch.” He blushed and cleared his throat.
“Sorry. I meant to say witch.”

“You had it right the first time, although
frankly that’s an insult to female dogs. Let’s go home.”

* * * *

I yanked open the front door of our home in
Great Falls and rushed inside. “Quinton!”

“Mother!” He threw himself into my arms.

“You’re all right?” I brushed that lock of
hair out of his eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine. Uncle Jeff?”

“I still haven’t heard anything.”

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is. You can assure me no one tried
to…lure you into the restroom of the bus depot.” Yes, he knew how
to defend himself, but I was more worried someone would try to
persuade him that something was wrong and they were there to take
him home.

“No, Mother. The bus ride was uneventful.”
He grinned but then became serious. “I took a cab home from the bus
depot. I…I hope you don’t mind. Alyona had to pay the driver.”

“We’ll make sure you have spare cash on you
from now on.”

“Portia, I’ll take your suitcases up to your
suite.”

“Thank you, Gregor.”

He paused long enough to ruffle Quinton’s
hair. “Anybody try to give you a hard time on the bus?”

“No, Gregor. My virtue is intact.” At those
words he blushed bright scarlet, but I pretended I didn’t see. I
wasn’t about to tease him over what he might have done with
Armand.

“Glad I don’t have to beat up anyone.”
Gregor took two suitcases under his arms, caught the handles of the
other two, and went up the stairs.

“I’ll give you a hand, Gregor,” Quinton
called after him.

“Just a second, Quinton. What happened at
Uncle Bryan’s?”

He sighed. “Libby got expelled from
Tidewater and Aunt Johanna is having the vapors over it.”

I echoed his sigh. When Libby had learned
I’d graduated from the prestigious girl’s preparatory school, she’d
pleaded with me to pull whatever strings I could to get her in. I’d
done it for my brother. Johanna hadn’t been pleased, but Libby had
talked her around.

“With Uncle Bry at Langley because Uncle
Jeff is missing, I was the last person Aunt Johanna wanted around.
She told me to get packed and called me a cab.” He touched my arm
and offered me a smile. “Please don’t tell Uncle Bryan. He’s got
enough on his plate right now.”

He went out to get the rest of my bags, and
I stared down at my hands, which were clenched into fists.

“Missus?”

“Yes, Alyona?”

“I make tea. You come and have some. Many
good people looking for Mr. Jefferson. They find him and bring him
home.”

“Yes, of course.” I followed her into the
kitchen. Right now all we could do was wait.

* * * *

Mother and Father were staying at the house
in Chevy Chase, and Quinton and I spent Friday with them. Father
would have preferred trying to find someone who could help, but he
knew better than to interfere. Quinton challenged him to a game of
chess, and I took Mother shopping.

“Do I really strike you as the sort of woman
who can be distracted by clothes when my son could well be
dead?”

“Not in the least, Mother, but I thought it
would help pass the time.”

“Would you…would you mind stopping by St.
Joshua’s?”

“Of course not.” The little chapel was
dedicated to the patron saint of spies and intelligence agents. I
found parking a block or so away, and we walked to the stonework
building.

It would be empty at this time of day, but
the doors were unlocked, so we entered, and she went to the alcove
where the statue of St. Joshua held pride of place. Candles formed
a semi-circle around the base, most of them unlit. She took a ten
dollar bill from her purse, slipped it into the box fastened to the
railing, and picked up a taper.

“Are you going to pray for your
brother?”

“Yes, Mother.” I took a bill from my wallet
and followed her actions. Once the candles were lit, we knelt and
folded our hands.

After some time, she began to speak. “He was
my favorite.”

“Jefferson?” I was startled. I’d never
doubted she loved us, but she’d never been one to show any emotion.
“And don’t speak of him as if he’s dead.”

“You don’t think he is?” She turned her head
to look at me, and I wasn’t surprised to see her eyes were dry.

“Until I see his body in a coffin, I’ll
believe he’s alive.”

She regarded me somberly. “Is that what you
felt when you went to claim Nigel’s body?”

“Yes. I was certain it was an insane joke. I
was certain that once we arrived in Bombay, it would be to learn
he’d missed the flight, or that he’d somehow managed to survive. I
often dream of that day. I walk into the morgue, and the tech rolls
out the body. It’s charred beyond recognition, and I say, ‘This
isn’t my husband. The body is too short, too thin.’ The tech tells
me it’s because of the fire. ‘No, it can’t be my husband.’ And then
I hear Nigel say, ‘It’s not.’ I turn around, and he’s standing
there with that lock of hair spilling into his eyes, his smile
crooked. I throw myself into his arms, wanting to kill him for
giving me such a fright, wanting to kiss him because he’s
alive.”

“But of course he isn’t.”

“No. He isn’t. And in the morning, I mourn
him all over again.” I took a small handkerchief from my purse and
carefully blotted my eyes and dried my cheeks.

“You’re fortunate you had him for as long as
you did.”

“I know. This is a very dangerous business.
But Nigel was out in the field only a handful of times after we
married.”

“I imagine I should be
grateful this is the first time Jefferson has ever been in this
situation.” Her lips tightened. “This
is
the first time, isn’t it? You
didn’t keep something from me because you thought it wouldn’t
matter?”

“Of course not, Mother. Jefferson was very
lucky.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. We hadn’t told her because Father
had said she didn’t need to be disturbed with business.

The stiffness left her shoulders. “It broke
my heart when Jefferson brought Ludovic to the funeral, and I
realized what those rings meant.”

“But you like Ludovic.”

“Yes, I do. Very much. He’s like a fourth
son. But that was when I accepted that Jefferson would never give
me any grandchildren.”