Where the Heart Chooses (19 page)

“Thank you.”

“I told Freeman if there was ever anything
we could do…He turned me down, of course.”

“Of course. Folana wouldn’t be pleased if
others knew of their involvement.”

“Is there anything we can give her by way of
our thanks?”

“I understand that lately she’s taken to
collecting antique sword canes.”

“I’ll pay a visit to Mr. Primm’s Antique
Shop.”

“He always does his best, but mention my
name and he’ll do even better.”

“What about Freeman?”

I thought back over the years, and couldn’t
help laughing. “Cooking lessons?”

Bryan looked puzzled, but then shook his
head. “I’ll talk to Jeff about it.”

“Good idea. How did Ludovic react when he
learned Bart was the one who saved Jefferson?”

“He seemed more concerned with getting Jeff
into bed. I mean off his feet!”

“I know what you meant.”

He cleared his throat. “I saw Quinton on his
way out. Is he doing as well as he seems?”

“You know he’s always been very
contained.”

“To tell you the truth, I was surprised at
how cheerful he was when he came to stay with us. I know how much
he was looking forward to going to Moscow.”

“He was. Well, we all were. Gregor and
Alyona were coming with me.”

“We were coming too. I had some time off,
and I know Jeff and Ludo had booked a flight. Tony…” A blush rose
in his cheeks, and he looked away. “Johanna refused to leave her
children.”

Alyona came back just then with our tea,
including a little pot of honey for Bryan. “Thank you, Alyona.”

She took what was left of Bryan’s sandwich.
“You not eat enough, Mr. Bryan.”

“If you’d run away with me, you could feed
me all the time.” He grinned at her and reached for her hand. “But
every time I ask you, you turn me down.”

She blushed and swatted his hand. “You stay
for dinner. I feed you then.”

“Yes, Alyona.”

She bustled out, murmuring about being too
old for pretty men.

He turned startled eyes on me. “She thinks
I’m pretty?”

“Quite a few women find blue-eyed blonds
very much to their taste, Bryan.” I handed him a cup and saucer,
and thought of Allison. “Well, I’m very pleased Quinton was in a
good mood when he went to you.”

“Other than missing the Olympics, why
wouldn’t he be in a good mood?”

“He was attracted to someone he met in
Avignon. However, right now he’s out with the daughter of one of
our neighbors, so I’m assuming it was puppy love. I’m hoping it
will be some time before he meets his one.”

“If he ever does. You know as well as I how
chance-y that can be. And Sebrings haven’t been very lucky these
past two generations.” He was staring into his cup as he stirred in
the honey.

Father, Tony, Bryan, all unlucky in who they
selected as a partner. But Jefferson and I had both been
fortunate.

Two generations, and possibly more, since
the affected parties would hardly be likely to share their
unhappiness.

“Would he have run into Sidorov, do you
think?”

“Excuse me?” His sudden change of topic
distracted me.

“If Quinn had gone to Moscow.”

“Oh.” I gave it some thought. “Perhaps, if
the KGB had Sidorov handling security there.”

“Did you ever meet him, Portia?”

“I know he was at Nigel’s funeral, but no,
not officially, and not face to face.”

“Oh? Now that’s a story I’d like to
hear.”

“You only think you do.”

He sat back and crossed his legs, obviously
prepared to wait.

“Oh, very well. It was when Nigel and I were
in Berlin, just before the Wall went up. Nigel received a message
that he was to meet Milos Diomedes.”

“The Greek? He wasn’t active in Germany at
that time.”

“No, he wasn’t. I learned after Nigel left
that it was a ruse—that the KGB intended to…invite him to visit
Moscow.”

“Why? No, don’t answer that! I never should
have asked!” He knew as well as I did that my husband had an
eidetic memory, and I hadn’t been surprised to learn the KGB wanted
what was behind his hazel eyes. “Don’t tell me you followed him!”
Bryan turned pale, as if he was picturing me making my way through
the streets of Berlin in the dark of that night.

“Of course I followed. I knew where he was
going and got there ahead of him. I was in the shadows, behind
Sidorov. I had my little Smith & Wesson Centennial with me, and
I pressed it against his spine. ‘This is a small gun,’ I whispered
in his ear, ‘but it can put a very large hole in your spine.’”
Actually, what I’d said was, “One move, and you’re a dead man,
Sid,” but I had little doubt Bryan would think that was
melodramatic.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Of course not. He was too much a gentleman
for that.”

“So he just stood there and let Nigel get
away.”

“He didn’t have much choice.” And
fortunately, Nigel didn’t linger. He gave the Greek ten minutes,
and then slipped away into the darkness while Sidorov muttered
Russian curses. “Afterward, we’d trade coded barbs.”

“No, afterward, you lost a baby.”

“Ah. You put together the timeline, did you?
It’s over and done with. As for Sidorov, he was a clever man. I
liked him.”

“Did Nigel know?”

“That I liked him? I never kept secrets from
my husband, Bryan.”

“That you’d been there that night.”

“It wasn’t necessary for him to know,
although I think he would have taken in stride being rescued
by—”

“A woman?”

“No, by me. He was one of the few men I’ve
known who could.” Frankly, I didn’t see any of my brothers
accepting it.

“You never saw Sidorov’s face?”

“No. I’ve seen photos, though.”

“I met him once.”

“When was that?” Now I was curious. Bryan
was an analyst. He never went into the field.

“Some years ago,” he said dismissively.
“When we were all a good deal younger. At any rate, the photos
didn’t do him justice. He was a handsome man. He looked a little
like Tony.”

“Oh?” I was startled to hear my brother
refer to another man’s looks.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just…
oh
. Did you enjoy
meeting him?”

“We played chess.”

“And who won?”

“It was a draw.”

“Was he the one, Bryan?” As I’d said, I’d
liked Sidorov, and if he
were
the one, I was certain Bryan
would have talked him into defecting. It would have been
interesting to have a KGB agent in the family. We already had a
representative of British intelligence.

“‘One’ what?” It seemed to take a minute for
him to realize what I was asking. He blew out a breath, shook his
head, and smiled. “Oh,
that
one.” His smile didn’t reach his
eyes. “No, little sister. Sidorov wasn’t the one.”

* * * *

Later that week I had reason to be relieved
that Armand Bauchet wasn’t my son’s “one.”

I stared down at the letter in my hand, and
swore in a steady monotone, the ice queen completely overtaken by
the mother. That stupid son of a bitch, to send something like this
in a letter anyone could read.

Madame,

Armand has confessed all! Your unnatural boy
seduced him, leading him to indulge in perverted acts! His mother
is prostrate and has taken to her bed. Of course Armand begged my
forgiveness and went to confession. Let me tell you, madame, that
Father Guillaume meted out a very harsh penance.

You Americans are all the same, thinking
you can buy an honest man’s son!
Non, je dis! Non, et non, et
non
!

I have canceled your wine order and I
request that you no longer attempt to purchase wine from my
vineyards. And as for your son, I curse the day he ever set foot on
my property!

Tartarin Bauchet

My first impulse was to burn it, but then I
decided to talk to Delano Lawson, the family lawyer. If I learned
Quinton’s reputation became sullied because of that
cochon
,
I’d sue Bauchet for every last grape on his lands.

I called the office of Lawson, Lawson,
Bauer, Wells, and Hennessey and made an appointment for the
following day.

I’d let my friends know how…dissatisfied I
was with Tartarin Bauchet and that I would no longer do business
with him. I had enough influence that they’d stop buying from him
as well. It wouldn’t bankrupt him, but it would put a sizable dent
in his income.

In the meanwhile, I pressed the key on the
intercom. “Gregor, where are you?”

“I’m in the kitchen. Did you need me? I’ll
be right—”

“No, I’ll join you there. I have something I
want you to see.”

* * * *

From Exeter, my son went on to Harvard. I
hoped he would become a doctor or a professor. Or even a lawyer.
But his interests didn’t lie in that direction. He majored in
political science, with a minor in Russian, and I couldn’t truly be
surprised by that—he was his father’s son.

Quinton graduated with honors, and with the
exception of Bryan’s wife, the entire family was there.

“I’m sorry, Portia. Johanna was unable to
get away.”

“That’s all right, Bryan.” I didn’t like the
way she treated my brother—she never should have married into an
intelligence family—and I’d been relieved when I realized she
wouldn’t attend the commencement ceremony.

“It’s not,” Jefferson muttered, although he
made sure Bryan was occupied with trading stories of Quinton
growing up with Gregor and couldn’t hear him. He knew as well as I
that no matter what the state of his marriage, Bryan would never
permit anyone to criticize his wife. “Ludo had no problem getting
the time off, and neither did Gregor.”

Before he could say anything further,
Ludovic touched his arm. “Quinton’s name has been called.”

We all watched with pride as my son strode
to the podium to accept his sheepskin, moved the tassel on his cap
from right to left, and returned to his seat.

I turned to my brothers. “Quinton has told
me that he’s decided to take a year or so to see the world.”

“Yes, he mentioned something along those
lines to us.”

“Bryan, Jefferson, if you’re going to have
him do some odd jobs for you, would you please see to it that he
doesn’t get killed?”

Tony looked on smugly. “Not to say ‘I told
you so,’ but I believe I did say something to the effect that you
wouldn’t be able to pull the wool over her eyes.”

“Shut up,” Jefferson growled. “Portia knows
very well that we love our nephew and would never do anything to
put him in harm’s way. You’re just upset because Quinn agreed to—”
Bryan poked him in the ribs, and he cleared his throat. “—to visit
Europe rather than remain in D.C.”

“Ha! I’m not in the least upset.”

“Of course you’re not, big brother.”

“I’m glad you understand that!” Tony huffed.
He turned his back on them, thereby missing Bryan’s soft smile.

It was gone instantly, and I was sure I was
the only one who had seen it. Well, Tony had always been Bryan’s
favorite brother.

Not that I was surprised. He was mine as
well.

* * * *

With Quinton somewhere in Europe, Gregor no
longer felt the need to visit every other weekend, and so it was
just me and Alyona in the house in Great Falls.

I settled on the loveseat in the small
parlor and was about to start
The Hermit of Eyton Forest
,
Ellis Peter’s latest book in her
Brother Cadfael
series,
when the doorbell rang.

Assuming it was someone peddling religion at
this time of night, I left it to Alyona to deal with whoever it
might be.

“Portia.”

“Tony? What…” My brother had a tight look
about his mouth, and the book fell from suddenly boneless fingers.
“Quinton?”

“No, he’s fine.”

“My God, you frightened me! What’s got you
looking so grim?”

“I’ve…I’ve got some bad news for you.”

“All right. Come right out and tell me.”

“Folana Fournaise is dead.”

“That’s impossible!”

“Hardly. One of Bryan’s people intercepted a
message to Sidorov. She was in Albania, God alone knows why, and
she was shot in the chest. Since you always considered her a
friend, I felt you should hear it from me.”

I drew in a deep breath. “Thank you,
Tony.”

Alyona came bustling in. “I make you tea,
Missus.” She set the tray on the side table. “And a sweet. Is good
for shock.”

Tony must have told her before he came to
me. “Thank you.” I rose and hugged her.

“So sorry,” she murmured in my ear, and then
left the room.

“Tony, I…” I firmed my upper lip. “I know
you never liked Folana. I appreciate you taking the time to inform
me of her death. If…if you don’t mind, I’d like some time to come
to grips with this.”

“Of course, little sister.” He came to me
and kissed my forehead. “If you need to talk, just call me.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“I’ll see myself out.”

I held myself stiffly until he was gone, and
then closed the door and poured myself a cup of tea.

Folana had contacted me two weeks before.
“Too many people want me dead,” she’d said, “so I’m going to
accommodate them.”

“They’ll want to see your body.”

“They’ll be disappointed. Bart will take it
to Crete. He’ll be so infuriated by this act that no one will dare
challenge him.”

“Perhaps have him put out the word you were
cremated?”

“Excellent idea.”

“You’ll take care of yourself?”

“I will. And remember, you will always be my
very dear friend. If you ever have need of me, you know how to
reach me.
I
stenhozzád
, Portia.”

“Farewell, Folana.”

So she’d put her plan into effect. No doubt
word of her “death” was even now flashing through the intelligence
community like the proverbial wildfire.