Pawn, page 9
“I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Russ.” Changing his name had always been necessary, but he’d compromised by picking another name similar to his own. That way he’d hoped, he’d still respond normally if someone called him by it. He’d read too many books where the hero was caught out by not recognising his assumed name. Still he’d never liked Rufus as a name anyway. It sounded like a dog’s name.
“Kirby’s just letting me stay here while I work on my car and he’s overseas. He has a large garage.” As cover stories went it wasn’t brilliant, but it was all he had come up with over the previous few days of trembling and panic for if and when someone came calling. That, and wearing a lot of grease all over his face and a cap pulled down low, so that no one would recognise him. The high collar on the button up T-shirt he’d stolen from his workmate’s dresser at least covered up the bruising and deep cuts all around his neck. That was important when his face was plastered all over the nightly news along with a description of his injuries.
A person of interest so they said. But Rufus knew enough by then to know that they meant suspect, at least in the annoying inspector’s eyes. Everyone else did too in all likelihood.
He rather imagined that Inspector Barns was spending most of his time hunting him, still believing him somehow involved in whatever nightmare it was that was playing out all around him. And he also knew that given that he seemed to have acquired so many utterly determined enemies all of a sudden, the police couldn’t keep him safe. No one could. Especially when it seemed that it might be linked to his family. If they were involved and they considered him an enemy, there would be no limit to the lengths they would go to to hunt him down and kill him. And his mother was damnably good at finding people. That was just one of the many reasons he was glad to be away from them.
“That was nice of him.” Yet her smile seemed to slip a little as she spoke, as if she didn’t really believe what she was saying. Maybe she knew Kirby. Maybe she knew he wasn’t that generous with his things. Or maybe she just didn’t like him. It was always possible, and she was out of his league. Actually she was out of both of their leagues, but for the first time in his life that wasn’t going to stop him trying. Actually he’d never tried before, he’d never been interested.
“Yes it was, but we work together and he owes me for a couple of clients.” Kirby actually did and letting him stay in his house while he was away would barely have begun to repay him for his favours, but he was never the sort to pay up. Boast and brag incessantly, take credit wherever he could, and sometimes even say thank you in private, but never actually pay back a debt unless there was a contract involved. It was one of the reasons Rufus didn’t feel guilty about moving in to his home, especially when he’d given him the key so that he could water the plants and check the mail. The other was that the man was a pig. Sexist, racist, and always ready to put someone down. He did it to him too, when he thought he wasn’t around. It was only that Rufus didn’t care about such things, that stopped there being friction.
It was time to change subjects, maybe. “What’s in the tin?”
“Chocolate mud cake. It goes well with coffee.” For a moment Rufus was simply pleased by the idea of having something tasty to eat. The fridge was empty and the cupboards almost bare, and he didn’t dare go out to shop. Then in a classic double take, he picked up the other part of what she’d said, and was shocked almost speechless. He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. That she was actually inviting herself inside to have coffee with him. Maybe he was misunderstanding her. Beautiful women just didn’t do that. Not to him. Hell no one invited themselves over to his place. He didn’t have to discourage it, they simply didn’t come.
Mostly he was happy about that though. It suited him. His nice quiet home, everything perfectly in its place, everything just how he liked it. Visitors would only have made a mess. But not this time. Absolutely not this time.
“Yes of course. Please come in.” He spluttered it out like a teenage boy talking to a pretty girl for the first time, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just smiled and when he stepped aside, brushed past him in a cloud of gauzy material, long blond hair and the scent of flowers. She headed straight for the kitchen he noticed, seeming to know exactly where it was, and that was disturbing. But there was nothing he could say as he closed the door behind her and gave chase. Nothing at all.
In the kitchen she’d already flicked the kettle on and was setting out the cake on a plate by the time he’d got there, and he had to admit it looked good. After two days of sandwiches and black coffee it looked very good.
“So have you known Kirby long?” Rufus kicked himself mentally again as the question slipped out. He desperately wanted to know what her relationship was with his colleague, but he also didn’t when it made him look like a jealous kid with a crush, and he certainly didn’t want to interrogate her. It was rude and might upset her. Besides, he was terrified that he might hear something that he didn’t want to, and the thought of her with Kirby was intolerable. Kirby was a sexist pig, and the very thought of him being with such a lovely woman was intolerable.
“Not long, and not well.” She turned back to him and smiled, and he was left weak at the knees all over again. “He’s a very self absorbed young man.”
Rufus tried not to laugh with relief and poorly concealed jealousy and ended up spluttering and coughing like an idiot. She was so very right even if she worded it so much more politely than he would, and more importantly it didn’t sound like the two of them were close.
“Are you alright?” She seemed worried for a moment as she watched him make an ass of himself, and her eyes, so very big and blue, were suddenly filled with concern.
“Yes I’m fine thanks.”
“No you’re not.” In a heartbeat she’d crossed the kitchen floor and her hands were pulling down the neck of his T-shirt. He guessed she’d seen the wound and suddenly it didn’t matter how beautiful she was any longer. The throat wounds were also all over the news, and if she watched the telly at all, his secret was out. Suddenly he needed to run. “You’re really not well at all.”
“Please no, it’s just a scratch.” But it wasn’t and the look of shock on her face as she stared at his neck told him she thought the same. That bastard had very nearly cut his head off, and it would take time to heal.
“A scratch?” She seemed upset by the word. “Whoever did this to you very nearly killed you. The wound is deep, barely healing and it’s bleeding.” She pulled her hand away from his throat and he could see her fingertips covered in red. Not something he liked seeing. Yet all he could think was that this beautiful creature actually cared that he was hurt. That simply didn’t happen. Not to him.
“You need some medical care.” And just like that the panic intensified. Medical care was the one thing he absolutely couldn’t afford. No doctor seeing him would ever consider his throat wound an accident, and nearly everybody would have seen his face on the news. He’d be picked up by the police in minutes.
“No please, it’s fine.” And he quickly pulled the neck of his T-shirt back up so it covered the wound. But of course it was too late. She’d seen it. And judging from the way her eyes were exploring him, studying him, she’d guessed that the throat wound wasn’t his only injury.
“There’s more isn’t there?” She reached out and touched his shoulder, and even though he knew it would hurt and braced himself, he still couldn’t completely stop himself from wincing. Somewhere during the fall he’d damaged it, maybe broken something in the joint. It was just another one of his many injuries from the crash and the hotel. In less than a week he’d gone from healthy to a walking invalid. But at least he was still alive.
“It doesn’t matter, please.”
Di stared at him, obviously worried, but not knowing what to say for a bit. Then she did and her perfect blue eyes became a determined steel grey.
“I don’t know who did this to you. But the one thing I do know is that it matters very much. No one should hurt another like this. And whoever it is, they have made a dangerous enemy this day.” She was serious. He could see it in the whiteness of her face and the resolutely clenched jaw. Like a lioness angry that someone should dare to threaten her cub. She actually thought it was wrong that someone should have hurt him, and that felt unexpectedly pleasant. It was nice that someone should care, though after so many years without anyone to fill that role, confusing. He didn’t quite know how to react. But the last thing he could afford was for her to get involved. The thought of her being killed by that butcher with the knife or any of the other thugs was too much to bear.
“No! Please don’t say that. Don’t get involved. These people are very dangerous and they’d kill you in a heartbeat.”
“You overestimate them.” She laughed lightly, strangely confident of her likely triumph over the monsters coming for him. But then she had no idea who they were or how dangerous. “It would not be me who would be in danger.”
“Still, you should not get involved. Please.” It worked, finally, and the hard steel glint in her eyes finally vanished to be replaced by concern. But he knew she wasn’t happy. What he didn’t know was why. He wasn’t the sort of person that people cared about. Ever.
“For the moment I will respect your wishes. You are afraid, you needn’t be, but I will allow your fear.” She meant it in a kindly way he knew. Even if it sounded somewhat authoritarian, almost like a stern mother with a naughty child. She wasn’t the sort to ever say anything unkind. How he knew that he couldn’t say, but he knew it for a fact. Her heart was as pure as her face was lovely. Maybe it was something to do with her translating her native tongue into English. Which reminded him of another question circling around in his thoughts. And he had to change the subject.
“Your accent. I don’t recognise it. You’re not English?”
“No, of course not. I’m Greek, a Cypriot in fact. But I travel.”
“Greece. That’s supposed to be a very beautiful country.” For once he apparently knew the right thing to say as another happy smile graced her face, and he wanted to celebrate the return of his tongue.
“It is, and so much warmer than here. Maybe one day you’ll visit my home and I’ll show you the island.” Her words, the very thought left him speechless, again, and it was all he could do to remember to keep standing up. Rufus suddenly wanted nothing more than to do just as she said, and it wasn’t just because men were chasing him. The image of her on an island, maybe even in a bathing suit, simply drove everything else from his mind. Luckily he was saved from having to say anything, it would have been something completely stupid, by the sound of the kettle clicking off. But as she turned away and found some cups, he did manage to wonder how she could have such complete control over him. For a second. Then she turned back, and he stopped wondering about anything at all.
“Maybe later, after coffee, you could show me your car.”
Rufus couldn’t answer her. His mouth had gone completely dry. Beautiful, caring and she liked cars? The gods themselves couldn’t be that generous. But still he managed a sort of nod and guttural grunt, and for some reason she seemed to be happy with that. Happy enough to hand him a cup of the hot coffee and a piece of cake, and sit him down at the table.
“Eat up, drink. Good food and good company will help you heal.” He wasn’t completely sure of that, but she was too lovely to argue with. Besides, she might be right.
They ate the cake and drank the coffee and little by little Rufus learned a tiny bit more about his neighbour. Mostly the unimportant things like what she liked and what made her happy. Things that he discovered he was lousy at asking about. He either sounded like an awkward schoolboy or an interrogator. But then he’d never been good at small talk, never felt the need for it in truth, and Di didn’t seem to mind. She actually enjoyed answering his questions, at least that was how he interpreted her smiles and occasional laughter. And when he told her about himself, about his pathetic life, she even seemed interested. Funnily enough, his life had never seemed that pathetic before he’d met her.
It had to be a trap of course. His every instinct was telling him that. People didn’t just stop by and visit him. Beautiful woman never did. And no one gave a damn about the pain of his childhood, or his few passions. Yet every time he looked at her, stared into her deep blue eyes, he knew she was genuine. She actually did care. How could that be?
Still she did, and for some reason that was enough as the cake and coffee disappeared. And when it was gone, and just when he was beginning to fear that the visit was over, she surprised him anew. She asked to see the car. Naturally he had to show her.
“It’s a very beautiful car.” It was too, the E type roadster in his humble opinion, the most beautiful car ever designed. Grace and beauty found nowhere else on the road, or in his garage. That was why he’d bought it. Family was a nightmare for him. He barely understood the concepts of friendship and love in more than the most cursory way. But beauty he knew. Beautiful art, beautiful music, beautiful food and beautiful cars. The Jaguar had been a wreck when he’d bought it, he couldn’t have afforded it otherwise. But over the years he had restored it bit by bit, to the immaculate road going big cat it had always been meant to be.
“Yes it is.” He so wanted to add something else, something such as how she was even more beautiful, but he held back. Someone far more clever than him might be able to say it and pull it off, but long experience had taught him that he’d just make an ass of himself and probably offend her. He didn’t want that.
“But it’s broken?”
“No, not really. She’s a little bit under the weather at the moment, but she goes. Just needs a little bit of tinkering with the timing.” And a new ignition coil. The poor spark was why the plugs kept fouling. But no woman wanted to know about those sorts of things. Least of all her.
“And a little bit of love? She?” She looked at him with the oddest expression on her face as she finally asked about his use of the pronoun. Surprise and appreciation maybe. Maybe something more. Something that set his pulse racing just a little.
“I know. It’s a bad habit of mine.”
“Not that bad. Not at all. You are a man who appreciates beauty over function?” He was when it came to her, though what exactly her function was he didn’t know. And he was when it came to the Jaguar too. Just not in all things and even as he felt the happiness growing in him, he felt the need to tell her.
“Sometimes. But when I need a reliable car I have a Toyota.” Until a week ago when the most reliable car in the world had shat itself spectacularly on a country road, damned near killing him in the process. But again that wasn’t something she needed to know about. Not when that too was all over the nightly news.
“Function when you need it, beauty when you must have it. You are a surprising man Russ.”
Was that a good thing? It sounded good. But then who was he to know what a beautiful woman would find good?
What he did know though, was that he wanted to learn. He would have given everything he owned just to find out what she might like. And he’d known her for less than an hour.
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Chapter Nine.
Moirae, the spinner sat at one of her desks, in theory reading, but in actuality her thoughts were far away from the book in her lap. They were distant too, far from the study in which she sat, which was a pity.
It was a nice study, though that was probably the wrong word for it. She wasn’t quite sure what the right word would be. Research facility, art gallery, library? Any of them would do a better job of describing it, except that all of them fell short and none of them were found in private houses. Studies were.
Extremely large and spacious, it rivalled in size most modern city libraries, and with books and scrolls and even tablets stacked on shelves to the very top of the twelve foot high walls, she knew it could more than match them in knowledge as well. There were plenty of ornate desks and chairs for someone to sit at as they read them. There were also plenty of small marble plinths dotted around the room, and placed on top of each one, a piece of history or art or science.
Ancient scrolls, some rescued from the Great Library before the fire, the first working telescope, the writings of the bard, a few sculptures and so forth. All stuff that had been lost to the world, that she had gathered over a lifetime. A very long lifetime. Of course it was also stuff that had been lost and thought gone, never to be recovered over the millennia in the mortal world. She took it as one of her duties to rescue lost treasures. One of her many duties.
So when the Great Library had been about to burn, she had walked through it’s many chambers, gathering everything she could. When the bard had got drunk and tossed his writings on the floor, she had been there to pick them up. Her calling gave her the chance to be wherever she needed to be when the time arose.
Not everything she had collected was precious though. Over the previous couple of decades she’d found herself fascinated by kinetic sculptures, and many of the desks and plinths had quite common office knick knacks on them. She loved to play with them, to set the balls of the Newton’s cradle swinging or to watch the whirligig spinning gently in the breeze from the open windows. She had even commissioned a full sized sculpture of David Ascalon’s Wings To The Heavens, which hung just outside in the courtyard. Modern art maybe, but for some reason it inspired her as she worked, and she loved to just sit there in her study and watch it sway gently under the trees through the huge glass doors.
