Chapter 12

He'd been waiting for Nick in the shadows of the oak trees just inside the Quad. He had lingered there until Saffron had crossed the drive, huddled slightly without a coat on, and slipped inside the North Wing. Then he hurried to the street.

Nick was there, lighting a cigarette. The match flared in the gathering gloom, momentarily lighting up his face. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, Alexander began, "Nick." Nick looked up, shaking out his match before flicking it to the ground. "Look, I'm not sure what job you're here on—"

"Job?" Nick released a train of smoke as he spoke. "I'm here visiting my sister. And popping by to visit an old family friend. As I said."

Alexander took a step forward. "I don't know why you're onto Saffron, and I don't care. Leave her alone."

Nick raised an eyebrow, puffing on his cigarette. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His smile was gone. The amiable older brother act that had grated on Alexander had finally given way to the man with whom he'd been acquainted.

The change in demeanor only strengthened Alexander's resolve. "I don't know why you're here, but I know that Saffron shouldn't be a part of it."

"And I don't know what you're talking about," Nick repeated. "I'm just here spending time with my sister. If Saffron happens to be around, and she finds my company appealing, what can I do? She's a pleasant, attractive woman."

Alexander glared at him, unwilling to rise to the bait Nick offered. "Fine. But I've warned you."

"A warning is hardly friendly." Nick's eyes bore into Alexander's. "That sort of talk will get you into trouble."

Alexander refused to look away first; it meant the same thing to humans as it did in the animal kingdom.

Nick cocked his head slightly to the side, blowing out more smoke. "Have a good night, Alexander."

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadowy bustle of the street.

Alexander waited only a moment before retreating to his office. His hand shook as he paced the room.

He'd known right away who Nicholas Hale was; he'd recognized him nearly a year ago when he first saw the photograph of Elizabeth's family in Saffron's flat. An odd coincidence, he'd thought at the time.

He hadn't been concerned about Nick's presence in London until tonight. Nick had shown a marked interest in Saffron and her work, which made perfect sense if one believed he was working for the Agricultural Ministry. But Alexander knew better.

There was nothing he could do. Nick was right; trouble would come for him if he said the wrong thing. He'd have to find another way to keep Saffron out of whatever Nick was doing.

"The answer is obvious," Elizabeth told Saffron that evening at the kitchen table. "They know each other from the military."

Saffron paused in picking at the food Elizabeth had had waiting when she'd arrived home. She'd barely eaten any of the roasted chicken and vegetables, a rare treat for them, as she poured out the strange interaction she'd seen between Alexander and Nick. "But why wouldn't they have mentioned it?"

"I'd wager they didn't recognize each other at first," Elizabeth said. "If the reports are to be believed, those poor men were covered head to toe in mud for the entirety of their service. I barely recognize you after you work in the garden on a spring day. Imagine how disconcerting it must have been for them to realize who the other was."

"Be serious," Saffron said, glaring at her.

"I am, darling. What I find far stranger is that Nick showed up at the U. Do you think he's developed fond feelings for you?"

"After a reacquaintance of a few days?" Saffron shook her head. "No. He is remarkably friendly, though. I don't recall him being so …"

"Goofy?"

Saffron smiled at the strange word. "Yes, exactly. I always thought he was very serious."

"War changes people," Elizabeth said. "Colin served under some major who worked in government, and his idol-worship of the man led him to become a private secretary. And you mentioned, during your long-ago fawning over Alexander, that he decided to study biology after the war. It isn't unreasonable to assume that Nick changed because of his service."

"I suppose …" Saffron attempted a few more bites of food in the ensuing silence. "You seemed to have changed your tune about Nick."

Elizabeth sighed. "It is very easy to forgive a man who takes you out to the Savoy and then dancing." She frowned at Saffron as if realizing something unpleasant. "How the devil did Nick know about Lou's? He'd only been in town a few days. Lou's certainly isn't in any London guidebooks."

"I don't know. I'd never heard of the place myself," Saffron admitted.

When they retired to the parlor, Saffron wandered to the mantle to examine the photograph of the Hale family.

Their black-and-white faces looked back at her steadily. Her eye went first to Wesley, as it always did. Face bright with anticipation, his lips were almost tipped into a smile. Five years on, it still made her heart ache. He'd been so full of life and energy, and it had been snuffed out so easily.

Tears blurred his image, and she blinked them forcefully away. Her tears had wet the very ground where he'd fallen, and she'd resolved to put it all behind her. Not her love for Wesley—she'd never wish that away—but the guilt she carried that she was alive and he was not. The feeling of unworthiness because she had allowed her heart to be touched again, when she'd promised to love him forever in their last words to each other. She knew that was a childish promise—she'd been only fifteen at the time, after all—but it had been sincere, and knowing it was a young girl's promise didn't make her feel less guilty for feeling how she had about other men.

She turned her eyes from Wesley to the rest of the family. Nick and Wesley both wore army uniforms as they stood behind young Elizabeth and their mother, an older, less cheerful-looking copy of Elizabeth. Mr. Hale, a crag of a man, stood in the center, a hand on his wife's shoulder. She examined Nick's cool and collected expression. He'd have been something like twenty-three years old when this photograph was taken, still with some of the softness of youth in his face. His angles were sharper now, as if life at war had chiseled away every last trace of boyhood.

Saffron wrinkled her nose as the thought emerged. That sounded like something out of Elizabeth's lurid poems.

Nevertheless, he looked older now, more mature despite his silly gentility. She wondered if Alexander's childhood photographs showed the same. Had he once looked as hopeful as Wesley, or had he always had the same sort of cool confidence as Nick?

The army did seem to be their only connection, but Alexander had served briefly in France, his deployment cut short by his injury, and Nick said he'd been in the east.

"Where exactly did Nick serve?" Saffron asked Elizabeth.

She was curled on the couch, paging through a magazine. "Don't know."

"He received a medal, something about delivering a message under fire?"

"Don't know," Elizabeth repeated, turning another page.

"Do you think your mother knows?"

"Don't know, don't care."

Saffron sighed. Her friend's family matters were just as touchy as her own. She couldn't ask Elizabeth to telephone her mother to find out.

"You should ask him," Elizabeth added, not looking up from her magazine. "I'm sure he'd love the chance to impress you with his exploits."

Saffron sighed at the sourness in Elizabeth's tone. "I don't think he would. He seemed more interested in talking about plants."

She snorted. "Darling, if I were a man trying to win your affections, that is precisely where I would begin."

Hadn't Saffron just been thinking that about Alexander? "He knows about the Petrov case, Eliza."

That got her attention. She straightened up, tossing the magazine aside. "Does he? Well, well …" She exhaled, shaking her head. "I suppose he does have to be interesting somehow." She tapped a finger to her chin, a wide smile stretching across her face, the sort that promised mischief. "Petrov was an émigré, you said. Lord Tremaine might have been the one to look over his case. He's in charge of immigration matters, you know. I could find his file—"

"And be found poking around in a possible murder victim's file? Absolutely not, Eliza."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "So, it's all good and well for you to do the same a dozen times over, but not me? It's fine for you to quite literally risk your life to solve your mysteries, but I can't pick up one little file?"

Saffron blinked. Elizabeth's temper could be volatile, but it usually took a few minutes to be riled. "Elizabeth—"

"No," Elizabeth snapped, getting to her feet. "Why can you investigate murders and I can't even look at a piece of paper?"

She marched out of the room, punctuating her anger with her bedroom door slamming.

Nick coming into town had bothered her much more than Saffron had imagined. Even if her friend said she was feeling warmly toward her brother now, she knew that this explosion of frustration was linked to his presence. Having Nick around brought back to the surface unresolved family problems: Wesley's death, Elizabeth's attempted betrothal to restore the Hale's fortunes, her subsequent estrangement from her parents. She wondered if either Elizabeth or Nick was aware of all the things left unsaid between them.

Elizabeth's position as the receptionist for Lord Tremaine was a very good one, despite her constant complaints. Saffron could never ask her to risk that, even though she now burned with curiosity as to what Petrov's file would say. Perhaps it would reveal that he'd been a high-level government scientist for the late tsar, and there was a possibility that there was some sort of political motivation for Petrov's death. That would put Adrian in the clear for sure.

Alexander arrived at the Coleridge Gardens Hotel, a nondescript hotel a ten-minute walk from Saffron and Elizabeth's flat, just after three in the afternoon. He strode into the lobby and up to the spotty man at the counter.

"How may I help you, sir?"

"I needed to pick up a package from Mr. Nicholas Hale. He should have left something for a Mr. Johnson."

The clerk went to through a door behind the counter, presumably to check for a package. Alexander nudged the guestbook further into view and scanned the page for the right name until the clerk returned and replied nothing had been left for him. Alexander frowned and spoke forcefully. "He must have forgotten it in his room. Is it possible to check? I'm afraid I must have it as soon as possible."

The clerk regarded him nervously. "No, sir, I'm afraid that's against our policies."

Alexander affected a frustrated sigh. "Check again, then, the safe, perhaps. It's valuable, he might have had it locked away until I arrived."

"Yes, sir," the clerk said, already scurrying away.

Alexander had just slipped the right key off the wall behind the desk and into his pocket when the clerk returned, shaking his head apologetically.

"What time is Mr. Hale returning?" Alexander asked. When the clerk had no answer, he said, "I'll have to telephone his office then. Where is the telephone?"

After receiving directions to a room down the hall, Alexander instead found the staircase. Ignoring the creaking floors and garish wallpaper, he found the correct number. It was midafternoon and the hall was empty. He softly knocked, and when no answer came, he slipped the key into the lock. He opened the door and stepped inside.

There was nothing unusual about the room. It had a bed, neatly made, the usual arrangement of toiletries, and a range of normal clothing in the wardrobe. Alexander checked the usual places, not expecting to find anything. A man in Nick's line of business wouldn't hide anything meaningful under the bed.

Ten minutes later, he was glaring down at the dust smudging his fingertips. The gravity of what he was doing hit him. What was he doing? Breaking into a hotel room and searching it?

Nick was dangerous, plain and simple. But even if Alexander had found something to reveal what Nick was up to, he didn't know what he could do about it.