Acknowledgements:
This is a non-profit homage based upon characterisations developed by Messrs. Moffat, Gatiss and Thompson for the BBC series Sherlock. The character of Mycroft has been brought to life through the acting skills of Mr Gatiss. No transgression of copyright or licence is intended.
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Note:
This narrative is ninth in a series. Your enjoyment of this story will likely be enhanced if you read the sequence in chronological order:
The Education of Mycroft Holmes
Cate and Mycroft: The Wedding
Mycroft Holmes: A Terminal Degree
Mycroft Holmes and the Trivium Protocol
Mycroft Holmes in Excelsis
The Double-First of Mycroft Holmes
Mycroft Holmes: Master of Secrets
The Sabbatical of Mycroft Holmes
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Mycroft Holmes: Tabula Rasa
Chapter One
How the Mighty Fall – A New Leaf – Sibling Differences – Exceptional Wickedness – A Quiet Dinner – A Perfect Moment – Don't Change a Thing – An Old Friend.
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Eight years ago.
"I'll see you in hell, Holmes, you arrogant fucking bastard!"
Mycroft Holmes stood silent and unmoved at the sight of Jonathan Shaw being dragged unsympathetically from his own court-martial, the man's handsome face twisted with fury. It had been a sordid affair: senior army officer, a Major and Company Commander in the RAMC, caught in a black market antibiotics sting operation. Not only had this individual put the lives of British service personnel at risk by significantly reducing the level of dependable pharmaceuticals in the field, but he had even defrauded his desperate customers by padding out unfillable orders with placebos of little more than chalk and salt.
Had the operation remained small-scale, it might never have been noticed, never become a blip in the smooth line of events that crossed a certain desk in a certain shrouded government department.
But Shaw was an innately greedy man: what was once enough quickly became insufficient as his appetites grew ever more excessive. Even this state of affairs might not have proven impossible to manage, had his ability to procure increasing supplies and control the technical concealment of such expanded operations been as effective as he imagined it to be. The entire scheme ultimately collapsed beneath the weight of its own iniquity.
Normally avoiding personal contact, the revelation of the lengths to which Shaw had gone in order to hide his corrupt activities gave Mycroft an unusually strong desire to see the man receive justice. It was unfortunate that Shaw's Silk had dealt with Mycroft's department before and thus recognised him on sight in the courtroom. The name Holmes and the implication of his presence at the trial did not remain a secret from Shaw for long.
The man's natural charm and affability was already swaying several of the seven-member Board but such attributes were lost on the cool and dispassionate philosophy of an adversary such as the elder Holmes. When the presiding Judge Advocate slid his eyes in Mycroft's direction, the most fractional shake of his head was all it took to assure the required verdict.
Major Jonathan Shaw had been caught, court-martialled, convicted and condemned. He was going to be in gaol for a long time.
And Mycroft Holmes had put him there.
###
Present day.
Cate found herself perched on a plain wooden chair in the centre of a large room waiting for someone to punch her.
She knew she was being watched, that there were many eyes on her, but pushed the knowledge to one side as she made herself focus. Whatever else happened in the next few minutes, she had to stay where she was regardless of events and she had a pretty good idea that what was about to happen wasn't going to be good.
The main problem with being forced to sit still as you waited to be attacked was that, no matter how hard one tried, it was not possible to see behind one's own head. And if sight could not be relied upon for safety, then its presence was nothing more than an illusion of safety. Either she was able to trust her other senses or she wasn't. Taking a deep breath, she sat straighter in the chair and closed her eyes.
The silence around her was complete. Not a waft of air to reveal movement; no heat or cold to suggest sunlight or shade, even the floor was padded so that no footstep might be revealed before it was impossible to avoid.
Cate waited; her heartbeat on the slow side of regular, a kind of meditative flow in her mind as she felt the ambient temperature of the air with her skin, the scent and restlessness of the slight drafts that brushed at her.
The first faint hint of disturbance came from her right. Of course. They knew she was left-handed, so assumed the right would be a weakness. Foolish. As if she hadn't already absorbed the knowledge and taken steps months and months ago to rectify any potential vulnerability. Tempted though she was to smile, Cate maintained a smooth and even expression on her face though her heart started to race.
It was beginning.
Within the space of three seconds, Cate felt a separate, stronger, pulse of air, as if a hand or foot had just been moved from one place to another.
Her eyes flicked open and forward as she watched for any hint of movement, even for the faintest of shadows upon the ground.
Instantly, the first attacker was at her right quarter, just as she had anticipated. Allowing him to get within a hand's-breadth of her head, her right forearm lashed out to block from below, while her left hand grabbed from above in a simultaneous and vicious wristlock, forcing her opponent to groan and falter in his attack. Following a swift elbow jab to his throat, the man staggered away, falling to the floor.
At almost the same moment, Cate felt a second slice of fast air coming from her left, this time from someone standing somewhat to her side and behind. Swivelling in the seat and arching violently backwards, Cate thrust out both legs in an advanced double-kick defence, a thrill of triumph spiking in her chest as she saw the man stagger away, soundless, but not uninjured.
Resuming her forward-facing stance, Cate regulated her breathing as best she could, waiting for the next attack: it was bound to be soon.
Almost as the thought formed, she heard the dull grunt of the second assailant directly behind her. Leaning swiftly forward into a lung-crushing crouch, Cate felt the air rush over her skull close enough to make her hair crackle with static. In the next instant, she flung herself backwards, tipping the wooden chair over at such speed that she remained connected to it, but with her legs free and already twisting backwards in order to kick and maim. By bending herself virtually in half, Cate managed to twist her feet around the ankle of the man behind her and yank massively, flipping him over onto his back.
He raised himself immediately back to the vertical but moved away from her apparently impenetrable defence.
Cate made a face, as much as she could, given that she was currently flat on her back in a wooden chair. Taking a huge breath and holding the sides of the wooden seat, she flung her body upright, bringing the chair with her so that she returned to her initial position, facing forwards.
It would be only seconds before the final attacker closed for an emphatic and no doubt deadly assault, but all she could do now was wait and react; this was the endgame and there would be no quarter or respite. Cate swallowed in a parched throat and waited with every molecule of her body.
The onslaught, when it came, was once more from her right. The man behind her had opted for a side-kick, but again, she managed to throw herself and the chair fractionally to one side, flinching as the air whistled past her ear.
Had the blow connected, she would have been unconscious, probably for some time and possibly even seriously hurt. This guy wasn't playing any more, a fact which hiked Cate's awareness up a couple of notches as the adrenaline response flowed into her blood.
The very next second she felt the thud as the man landed directly in front of her, his action morphing from an eye-blurring spin into a flying kick aimed directly at her from the front. Such a powerful and virtually indefensible move was only made when the target was judged unable to avoid the strike. If there had been time, she would have smiled.
Throwing herself onto her back once again, Cate allowed her legs and feet to strike upwards as the man simply misjudged her location and was about to fly directly over her supine body.
One swift upward thrust with her right foot and it was all over. The man fell to the mat, gasping and holding his side. Cate's lungs sucked down frantic breaths as the sweat on her brow ran stinging into her eyes. It was over. She had done it. She had completed the final test. Feeling weak and limp, she tried to calm the air struggling into her lungs knowing she couldn't simply lie there no matter how temporarily attractive the idea.
Flinging herself and her chair into an upright position one final time, she dragged down a massive breath. With legs that were suddenly more wobble than walk, she stood and looked at the short Korean man strolling towards her.
Master Kwan was less than eight feet away, on the edge of the matted area. He must have been close by the entire time. Just in case.
And behind him, in the first row of spectator's seating, almost directly behind the table of judges, she found a pair of brilliant blue eyes, eyes that fixed on hers and held her motionless in the room as nothing else could.
"You were very skilful, my dear Cate," Kwan smiled openly. "You have worked hard for your black belt and made an old man proud."
Bowing low, Cate's face was one huge grin as she stood straight. Unable to stop herself, she threw her arms around the ancient Korean, kissing him on the cheek.
"Did I do it, Sabom-nim? Will I pass?"
"Against three opponents from a seated position?" Kwan grinned. "I would have passed you months ago, but we must be seen by everyone to be following the rules," he took her hand and turned to stare at the judges who were still debating over pieces of paper. Until they announced their final decision, everything was up in the air. He felt Cate take a deep breath.
They would not dare deny her, Kwan was positive. If they decided not to give this woman the award to which she had been progressing for the last two years, he would return to Korea where some logic still prevailed.
But he much preferred the British climate and so he held his breath too.
The three judges had their heads together for what seemed an inordinate amount of time, but which, in reality, was no more than a minute.
The senior adjudicator in the centre stood, his face neutral and unsmiling. Cate felt her stomach sink. She'd botched it. All that work. All those bruises.
Kwan's fingers squeezed hers just as the judge started to smile.
"According to the rules and statutes of the British Hapkido Association," the man began. "We are pleased to announce that you have successfully attained the level of…" the remaining words were drowned by the applause that erupted in the small dojang, with some onlookers eventually standing as they clapped. Kwan walked to the adjudicators' table
Cate wondered if her heart was going to explode as she bowed to the audience, even more when she caught Mycroft's somewhat intense expression. Though he was the last person to celebrate openly in public, she thought he looked pleased.
Kwan returned, carrying a folded belt of heavy black material.
###
He held her hand tight all the way home in the Jaguar. Other than a very quiet "Congratulations, Darling," no words had been spoken between them. Cate didn't mind; she was too full of the afternoon's events to say anything and stared out of the window in a slight daze. It wasn't until Mycroft had opened her door with a strange smile on his face that she even realised they'd arrive back at the townhouse.
"Sorry ... miles away," she lifted her eyebrows and shook her head, rolling her eyes at her own inattention.
Opening the heavy front-door, Cate was about to head up to their bedroom for a much-needed shower when she felt herself pulled resolutely into the front lounge and into a pair of extremely close-fitting arms. There wasn't even time for a surprised gasp, as her mouth was suddenly very involved with Mycroft's as he kissed her with an ardency that bordered on the turbulent.
Nor, apparently, was he in any mood to rush, as the kiss extended and softened and the embrace grew gentle and easy.
"You are incredible," he murmured when they eventually parted, his eyes dazzling with indulgence and triumph. "You can have no idea how immeasurably smug I feel because of you. You were amazing this afternoon, simply outstanding."
"You weren't worried I might get hurt?" Cate grinned up at him, still wrapped in his arms. "Normally you're flapping the second I land a bruise."
"I am learning to moderate my concern a little better these days," he smiled, resting his forehead against hers. "Besides, now you're a bone fide expert," he hugged her a little tighter. "Excessive concern seems a trifle uninformed."
"It is," Cate stretched up for another kiss. "But that's never stopped you before."
"I have turned over an entirely new leaf," he said, smiling down at her with unashamed satisfaction. "And to celebrate your success and my new enlightenment, tomorrow night I am going to take you out to dinner and the opera; a little treat."
"How lovely," Cate smiled again, then frowned. "But what's on that I haven't heard about?" she said, mentally cataloguing what was showing in the West End. There were no new performances or concerts: she would have known.
"I think a little Bizet and a quiet dinner and perhaps a night in a cosy hotel away from the children?" Mycroft brought her close in the shelter of his arms again. Cate might be an acknowledged martial-arts authority now, but she was still his wife and he'd be damned if he'd give up the notion he could keep her safe and protected and a little pampered.
"There's a new Bizet playing ?" she was puzzled. "Where? I thought I knew all the current London opera."
"Who said it was in London?" Mycroft smiled again, gratified by her sudden look of delight.
###
"My sister is coming down to London in any case and has been dying to meet the children since they were born," Nora Compton was sitting in the townhouse kitchen, drinking tea. "It's not as if they're tiny babies anymore and can't be parted from their mother for a few days," she added, considering the slice of chocolate cake on her plate. "I'd be thrilled to have them to myself for the weekend, and Sally will too," she said, nodding. "I'll just have to make sure Jules doesn't have his own way all the time and that Blythe doesn't get into the DVDs again."
Cate looked at the older woman and raised a single eyebrow.
The twins were heading towards four years old although a stranger might be forgiven for considering them significantly older. Both were reading now; their conversation modifying almost daily as new vocabulary danced through their minds and into their questions.
Julius was becoming a handsome-looking child, with dark wavy hair and wide hazel eyes. He had Nanny Nora entranced from the first time he said her name, and had progressively won over every inhabitant of the university crèche, even the mothers. His voice was usually soft with laughter and though the boy was mildness itself, there had been a few occasions where an impulsive, though brief-lived temper drew his features into a pronounced scowl.
Cate made quite sure that neither her son's wide-eyed-gaze, nor his frowning sulks won him unfair advantage over his sister, although her daughter was already far too canny to allow her brother any escape from fraternal retribution if she felt he had done her wrong.
Blythe was increasingly her father's daughter. Had there ever been any doubt as to her sire, one only needed to meet her cobalt-blue gaze and wait as she absorbed everything she saw. Like her twin, Blythe's hair was a dark wavy mass that bounced around her head in tangled ringlets and refused to observe any form of compliance. Her face was shaped like Cate's, as were the fine dark eyebrows which curved endlessly in question. Julius had worn the same dark quiff as his father since birth and beneath the curves of infancy, his face already hinted at the refined bone-structure of his uncle.
Blythe was, on the whole, the more introspective sibling and though her laughter was the same as her brother's and filled whatever room she inhabited, she tended to be the more thoughtful of the pair. Where Jules was reactive and spontaneous, Blythe was reflective and deliberate. Where her brother occasionally threw a black tantrum, when Blythe was upset, she went very quiet. And she plotted.
It had been quite an experience several weeks ago when they had watched Blythe's reaction to the semi-accidental destruction of her favourite Lego castle; one that had taken her an entire week to build. The child had not screamed at her brother or even made a fuss, but had looked unhappy and walked away.
Realising he had done something very bad and that his sister was really upset, Jules was at a loss what to do about it. So he did nothing and like most little boys, soon forgot the transgression.
It was only when Blythe returned and gave him a small box that Cate and Mycroft gained an insight into their daughter's thinking.
The box contained the wheels of every single one of Jules' model car collection. Dozens of them, all mixed up together. Not broken beyond repair, but the replacement of which would take Jules at least several days.
About the same time it would take her to rebuild the castle.
Thus when Nora assured her that a weekend alone with the twins was something to be happily anticipated, Cate was momentarily pensive. Yet if there were anyone who understood the children as well as she and Mycroft, it would be Nora Compton. So it was agreed: Mycroft and Cate would spend the weekend away, the first time since the twins' birth that both parents would be simultaneously absent.
"So you must be very good for Nanny Nora," Cate told them that night as she combed out their hair, bath-damp and curling. "Daddy and I do not want to hear about any upsets when we come back."
"Will there be presents when you come back?" Jules turned beneath her hands and smiled agreeably. Sometimes there were presents; it was worth a try.
"Daddy is keeping everything secret," Cate smiled and dropped her voice to a secretive whisper. "So I don't know if there will be presents or not," she added. "In any case, you shouldn't expect presents just for being good, that's not how presents work."
"Presents is for when you're happy, isn't it, Mummy?" Blythe picked up the comb her mother had just put down and began tugging it through her messy curls. "Ow."
"Presents are for special times such as Christmas and for your birthdays," Cate nodded, reclaiming the comb and holding Blythe's head still with one hand while the other untangled the knots. She smiled. "But there might be presents."
"I shall be very good, Mummy," Jules grinned, his little face knowingly angelic.
Cate sighed internally. Nora had better stay on her toes.
###
"But how do I know what to pack if you aren't going to tell me where we're going?" Cate put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows, exasperated. "Are we going to be anywhere else apart from some unknown city? Do I need to pack walking shoes and a jacket or not? I need to know, Mycroft, or I'll not have the right things to wear."
Emerging from the dressing-room tying his tie and with a faint curve to his mouth, the elder Holmes walked to his wife and encased her in his arms.
"Take your evening clothes and nothing else," he smiled, pressing his face against the warm skin of her neck.
"If I do that, I'll be stuck in the hotel all weekend," Cate frowned, unappeased. Mycroft smiled even more as he observed once again the shared mannerisms of his wife and their son.
"And what's wrong with staying in the hotel room for the weekend?" his voice was velvet sin in her ear as his arms tightened around her waist.
"Is that your fiendish scheme?" Cate relaxed against him and grinned. "To take me somewhere foreign and exotic and seduce me in a strange hotel?"
"Yes," Mycroft turned her in his arms, smiling down into laughing brown eyes. "It is," he agreed, nibbling along her jaw. "How does that sound to you?"
"Sounds wonderful," Cate closed her eyes and melted into his chest as his mouth caressed her with intimate promises of exceptional wickedness.
###
The Jaguar arrived at three in the afternoon to take them and their bags to the airport. Cate had decided to take a few additional pieces of clothing on the off-chance that they did, in fact, decide to leave the hotel, wherever it was, to go for a walk. It might even happen.
Taking them to the City Airport, the first of Mycroft's surprises waited in the form of a shiny white private Cessna.
"You realise I might get used to this First-class treatment?" Cate smiled at the nice uniformed man who took their bags and loaded them onto the sleek craft. "I may never want to fly commercial again."
"Would you like me to buy you a jet?" Mycroft slid a long arm around her shoulders.
Cate stopped in her tracks. "You're joking," she said, wanting to be certain he was joking. He had a habit of doing the unexpected when the fancy took him.
"Am I?" Mycroft tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and walked towards the small aeroplane.
"I have no need of a jet, my love," Cate allowed herself to be escorted to the Cessna.
"Are you sure?" Mycroft sounded perfectly reasonable. "Not even a small one?"
"Not even the smallest," Cate shook her head, smiling.
"You never let me buy you anything," he grumbled mildly as he handed her up the steps into the main cabin.
And indeed, Cate knew she would miss this the next time she flew, even if she went First class, as the opulent ivory-pale leather and glossy interior beckoned them inside.
Everything was lush and over-the-top luxury, from the fabulously polished hardwoods that bedecked every solid surface, to the excessively generous seating that wrapped around her body as she sat. The carpeting, a rich dark green, was probably thick enough to sleep on. It even smelled expensive. Cate sat and enjoyed the decadence.
"Good afternoon, Professor and Mr Holmes," the amiable man who'd managed their bags was back in the cabin. "My name is Rajesh Marin and I'll be your steward on this trip. We won't be airborne for very long, but if there's anything I might get you before we take-off?"
"Thank you, Rajesh," Cate looked slyly across at her husband. "Where exactly are we landing?"
Mycroft's discreet cough attracted the man's attention, and the expression on his face did the rest.
"Unfortunately, Madam," Rajesh developed a profoundly sorrowful look as he offered her a flute of bubbling wine. "Despite the fact that I am the co-pilot, I appear to have entirely forgotten our destination. I do apologise. Champagne?"
"Champagne would be lovely, thank you," accepting the glass, Cate sank back into her enveloping seat, her eyes on Mycroft's face. He returned her gaze innocently but with an air of amusement.
"You know how much not knowing things drives me bonkers, don't you?" her features were controlled, but her soft words hinted otherwise.
"I am well aware of your hyper-active curiosity," Mycroft crossed his legs and toasted her with his own glass, a small but satisfied smile sculpting his mouth. It wasn't often that he had her at such a disadvantage and he fully intended to make the most of it.
"And you know how I react when you behave in such an abominable fashion, don't you?" Cate started to smile as well. A wide smile with slightly telling undertones.
"My love, I know everything about you," Mycroft sipped his wine, a quiet elation flowing through his veins at her unaffected merriment.
"Then you also know that I will exact a full and merciless retribution for such appalling treatment, don't you?"
"I'm rather counting on it," Mycroft indulged his own anticipation as he smiled into his champagne. This promised to be a memorable weekend.
"The crew are sworn to secrecy on pain of death?" Cate murmured, accepting a refill of her flute of chilly fizz and sipping thoughtfully. It was very good champagne. She might allow herself to become a little giddy.
"You've been writing too many spy-novels," straight-faced, Mycroft made himself comfortable in the chair opposite and looked at her over the rim of his glass, his smile invisible now, but his amusement very much present.
They lifted-off with very little motion or noise and were quickly above the clouds and in the brilliant late-afternoon sunshine.
"If I guess correctly where we're going, will you tell me?" Cate's curiosity was becoming a thing of tangible discomfort.
"Not a chance," Mycroft said. "Give me your foot," he added, holding out his right hand and beckoning with his fingers.
Without a word, Cate lifted up her nearest leg and slid her ankle into his warm grasp. Pulling her shoe off and resting her heel on his knee, Mycroft began to massage the sole and arch of her foot, a smile crinkling his mouth as she groaned decadently, sliding lower in the chair and closing her eyes in bliss. With luck, he could keep her occupied until they landed.
It wouldn't be long.
###
"I adore Paris," Cate's smile was luminous as she stepped out onto the tarmac of Orly Airport, a brief cab-ride from the heart of the city. "Next to London, it's one of my favourite places."
"Told you I knew everything about you," Mycroft hugged Cate to his side, pleased to have this time alone with her; delighted to be able to amuse the woman who was the anchor of his life.
"And this cosy hotel you've booked?" she leaned against him, unwilling to lose the marvellous light-hearted sense of camaraderie. It had been a while since they had been able to behave so freely with one another.
"Just a simple Parisian bed-and-breakfast," Mycroft laced his fingers through hers as the cab drove around la Place de la Porte Mallot and turning into l'Avenue de la Grande Armée, the Arc de Triomphe clearly visible.
"Simple bed-and-breakfast?"
Mycroft squeezed her fingers a little harder and smiled, looking out at the deepening sunset in the French capital.
It was only when the car turned smoothly into the Champs-Elysées, that Cate experienced a sneaking suspicion. "Bed-and-breakfast?"
"Quality is, at its heart, a simple thing, don't you think?" Mycroft's smile was lofty as they pulled into the manicured forecourt of the George Cinq.
"This is the most expensive hotel in the entire city," Cate laughed. "I've never dared to imagine staying here; it's far too rich for my purse."
"Then it's about time you allow me to treat you as I wish," Mycroft stopped, gazing down into her entranced face. "You never do, you know."
Cate was hardly paying attention as she took in the sights and sounds and atmosphere of one of the most famous hotels in the entire Western world.
"Holmes; the English Suite," he answered the Réceptionniste's polite query.
"Mais, bien sûr, Monsieur et Madame," the man behind the enormous marble desk smiled a charming, elegant smile, handed over a slim plastic card and rang for a porter to take their bags.
The suite was a fantasy, seven-roomed indulgence. Pink marble featured heavily, especially in the bathroom. The bathroom with the sunken bath, large enough to swim in, next to the bedroom with the four-poster bed that could sleep four. Six, if they were good friends.
"My God, Mycroft," Cate wandered from room to room. "This is incredible."
"We have an early dinner booked, so best think about changing, darling," he said, unzipping a case and lifting out a stylish dinner suit.
"That's new," Cate cast her eyes over the refined creation. "It looks beautiful."
"An adjective reserved for the beautiful among us, my love," Mycroft dropped the suit on the bed crossing the room until he stood beside her, his arms suddenly close. "You are beautiful," he murmured, an abrupt intensity in his face. "You are beautiful and I adore you."
She made herself breathe slowly as the sincerity of his emotion made her heart surge and brought unusual warmth to her face. "Darling Mycroft," Cate felt herself drowning in two vividly blue pools.
Reaching for her hand, he lifted her fingers to his lips and smiled against them, his gaze darkening as his eyelids slid lower. It was clear his thoughts had turned to matters other than the sartorial.
Cate knew that look. "You said a quiet dinner," she reminded him. "That would be somewhere quiet, yes?"
"Maxime's," Mycroft smiled as his lips found hers. "At six."
"Then I had better get changed," Cate clung to him, not making a move.
"Yes," Mycroft seemed lost in her kiss. "Go and change."
"I'll go and change, then," Cate floated in his embrace and his regard.
"Soon," he sounded breathless.
"Any second now," Cate hung in his arms, unwilling to leave this feeling, even for a moment.
"Go," Mycroft tightened his hold about her.
"Going," Cate curved against him, her hands threading up through his hair, pulling his mouth harder against hers and into a kiss that left them both giddy.
"Either you change now or we aren't going anywhere tonight," he hovered above her, tense with self-control.
"Spoilsport," Cate's soft laugh broke the spell.
Maxime's was as ostentatious as it ever was, the restaurant shining with the gloriously voluptuous grandeur of Pierre Cardin's Art Nouveau. It had been too long since they had dined there and over a fabulous meal Mycroft entertained them both with descriptions of their fellow diners.
"Bankrupt, lavishing his final cash on his favourite mistress," he blinked slowly at a nearby table. "Poor man doesn't realise she's already found someone to replace him."
"You can't possibly know that," Cate scoffed quietly. "You're making it up."
Saying nothing, he smiled enigmatically, before reaching into his jacket pocket and placing a tiny red box on the white linen of the table.
"I never make anything up," his mouth curved a little more at the corners as he pushed the box towards her with a finger. "Nothing important, that is," he added. "I love you."
As her heart started to thump again, Cate opened the box and felt her skin prickle.
A magnificent ring featuring an extraordinary square sapphire surrounded by brilliant white diamonds glinted up at her in the restaurant lights.
"You never let me buy you anything," he smiled reflectively. "So I decided to change that." Taking her right hand, Mycroft slid the ring onto the fourth finger. Naturally, it was an exact fit.
Lifting her hand until the diamonds reflected the multitude of lights around them; Cate stared in astonishment at the flawless central jewel. It was staggering.
"Oh," there were no words for this. Raising her eyes to his, Cate felt her smile go a little wobbly. "It's perfect."
For a moment, Mycroft experienced the urge to sweep Cate up in his arms and drag her back to the hotel. Her expression of speechless amazement was doing unimagined things to his libido. He cleared his throat.
"The first bell is at seven-thirty," he muttered, clearing his throat again. "We should make a move," he beckoned for the bill, signing with a slight flourish.
"Somewhere small and low-key, no doubt?" Cate smiled again as a waiter pulled out her chair.
"The Palais Garnier," Mycroft had the decency to look sheepish. "They're playing La jolie fille de Perth."
"One of my favourites," she said. "You really are spoiling me."
Ensuring the warmth of her hand was firmly within his as they walked towards the taxi, Mycroft was silent but his expression said everything.
###
It was quite late when they finally returned to their suite, after a post-opera sojourn to a little café where they dawdled over espresso and cognac. Hand-in-hand, they strolled through the dimly-lit apartment, silence between them. Mycroft was about to turn on the light when Cate stopped him.
"Don't," she said, her touch gentle on his arm. "Don't change anything; it's too wonderful tonight."
"Darling Cate," Mycroft turned back, looking down into her eyes glittering in the faint glow of the Parisian night.
"Take me to bed, Mycroft," she sighed as his arms reached out to her.
###
Deciding on a late breakfast in the hotel's La Galerie rather than their own suite, Cate stared around at the opulent décor and the massive tapestries. It was hard to believe this was a hotel and not some famous French chateau. Even the people here looked important and she half-expected to see film-stars and notorious celebrities in dark glasses.
"Interesting," Mycroft's quiet observation made her turn towards him as he sat, sipping from his demi-tasse.
"What?" she was only mildly curious, her sense of well-being too profound to concern itself with energetic thinking this morning.
"French Foreign Minister over in the corner being unusually intimate with a lady," there was genuine amusement in his voice.
"And why is that so interesting?" Cate turned languidly in her chair, her eyes dreamy, her movement unhurried.
"Interesting because of her husband," he continued, savouring the coffee.
"Who is ..?"
"The Italian Foreign Minister," Mycroft allowed one side of his mouth to lift. "I foresee all manner of impassioned debate at the next Europarl summit."
"Who else can you see?" Cate cast her own eyes around the assembled duos and small family groups. One or two solitary souls; several couples like themselves, she smiled at that thought … a conversation between two men and a woman that was clearly a business chat, especially since the woman was demonstrating something to them on an iPad …
"My God," Cate sat bolt upright, staring. "Tallis Varon."
"Who?" Mycroft followed her gaze to the three people now gazing down at the piece of technology.
"Tallis …" Cate stood, uncertain for a moment, then made up her mind. She walked across the luxuriantly carpeted room to the woman's side.
"Excuse me," she began. "I'm dreadfully sorry to interrupt your discussion, but I simply had to say …" she got no further.
"Cate!" the woman shrieked, leaping to her feet and throwing both arms around her neck, pulling the British woman into an extended hug. "Cate Adin … after all this time; I can't believe it!"
Laughing as she pulled back to examine her old friend, Cate took in the tanned skin, the bright eyes and paint-stained fingernails of her university room-mate. It had been more than two decades since they had shared several of the most exciting years of their lives, running around Europe as undergrad Art and Lit students.
"Not Adin anymore," Cate lifted up her hand, wiggling the diamond ring. "Adin-Holmes, if you want to be formal about it, though my students call me Professor Holmes most of the time. They are terribly conservative young things, these days."
"Married? Professor? My God, Cate, when did you become so establishment?"
Turning to her colleagues, Varon offered her apologies, but asked if they might break for the day and resume in the morning. Nodding and smiling, the men quickly left the two women alone.
"Come, meet my husband," Cate pulled Tallis by the hand across to their table, smiling at Mycroft as he stood, absorbing the stranger being ushered towards him.
The two women could easily be mistaken for sisters; approximately the same height and shape, both with dark hair, although Cate's was a little shorter; both athletically-built and of course, virtually identical in age.
"Tallis Varon, artist extraordinaire and ex-Cambridge flatmate, my darling husband, Mycroft Holmes," Cate paused, turning a grinning face towards him. "Mycroft, one of my oldest and dearest friends whom I met at Cambridge and who got me into more trouble than I can remember, Tallis Varon."
"Miss Varon," Mycroft took her hand, shaking it carefully. "I hope your upcoming exhibit is successful."
"You know my work?" Tallis looked uncertain.
"Mycroft knows all sorts of things, Tally," Cate laughed, pulling her friend down onto a sofa. "He's a very special man."
"And what do you do, special husband of my old friend?" Tallis lifted her dark eyebrows and looked at him teasingly. "Since Cate swore she would never, ever marry, I can only think you must be very special indeed to have tempted her away from the single life."
"I work for the British Government," he said, smiling. "Administration mostly," he added. "It can be somewhat pedestrian at times."
Varon looked assessingly at him, then back at Cate. "I don't believe a word of it," she laughed. "My Catherine would never fall in love with someone who moved only paper," she laughed again. "There is more here that you are telling me."
"That is a conversation for later," Cate held her friend's hand. "Tell me everything that's happened to you in the last twenty years," she demanded.
Mycroft's Blackberry rang. Checking the caller ID, he frowned, then stood. "Apologies, my love," he smiled at Cate. "This is a call I have to take. Shouldn't be long." Nodding affably at the newcomer, he walked away towards one of the room's large pillars, speaking quietly as he did.
"That doesn't sound like an administrator to me," Tallis grinned. "Who is he, really?"
"Tell me your story first," Cate repeated. "Then I'll tell you mine."
"University," Tallis began, ticking the events on her fingers. "Then a great deal of travel, then back to the Paris College of Art for postgrad work, then New York, then years and years of not selling any paintings and now, finally, doing quite well," she smiled. "Only took me twenty years to become an overnight success," she shook her head. "I have a new exhibit opening in a couple of weeks."
Mycroft returned to the table, a fateful glower on his face. Cate's heart sank; she recognised the expression.
"I'm so terribly sorry, darling," Mycroft reached for her hand and squeezed it apologetically. "There's an unexpected debacle in London at a level that apparently only I can accommodate," his mouth compressed. "I have to return very quickly; I'm so sorry."
"But you can't go now," staring at Cate, Tallis Varon's face was stricken. "We've only just met each other again after all these years, and we might not catch up again for ages, so you can't go just yet. Can you stay a little longer and return to London tonight, perhaps?" she looked desperate.
"Ms Varon is entirely correct, my sweet," Mycroft's expression lightened. "Stay here for as long as you wish and catch up; you can fly back when you feel like it: the suite is ours for another two days."
"That would be fantastic!" Tallis grinned wildly. "Stay here and come look at my paintings and we can catch up with everything; how would that be?" she asked, pleased.
"I could, I suppose …" Cate was thoughtful.
"Oh, please say yes," her friend begged. "It's been so long since we've had a chance to talk and maybe have dinner together?"
"I have to leave for the airport within the next fifteen minutes, darling," Mycroft was conciliatory. "Spend the day with Ms Varon and return tomorrow; I'll see you then."
"Say yes," Tallis made an agonised face.
"Tomorrow will be fine, my love," Mycroft smiled.
Cate shrugged and smiled too. "Looks like I'm staying for another day, in that case," she looked happy.
"Wonderful!" Tallis clapped her hands. "I have to show you my paintings before the exhibit opens."
"And I have to leave now, my love. Can you organise the luggage?"
"I think I can manage a couple of bags, Mycroft," Cate stood and hugged him tight, brushing his mouth with her own. "I'll see you tomorrow," she murmured. "And you can continue spoiling me," she added in a whisper.
"I shall make the appropriate arrangements," Mycroft let his fingers caress her face once before he straightened up and, with a final apologetic glance, walked swiftly towards the exit. In a few seconds, he had gone. Cate was momentarily despondent: the weekend had been going so marvellously well.
"Oh well," she sighed. "Where are the paintings you wanted me to see?"
"Just outside of Vichy," Tallis laughed loud. "We need to catch the train to get there."
"Vichy?" Cate was surprised. "It'll take us hours to get there and back."
"Not on the TGV," Tallis grinned. "About than an hour each way, come on," she stood, beckoning. "I've only just bought Narcisse, an old farmhouse near Saint-Yorre and had a new studio built. You must come and see. Please?"
In the face of her friend's impassioned insistence, Cate grinned and allowed herself to be dragged out of the hotel once she had collected her bag and a coat. A cab presented itself at the hotel entrance and within minutes, the women were heading for the Gare de Lyon and the high-speed train to points south.
The Train à Grande Vitesse is an entirely ballistic, missile-shaped piece of engineering, designed to hurl itself at great speed over long distances. The interior of the train more closely resembles that of a modern passenger jet than a conventional train; sleek lines and pale contrasts, especially in the first carriage La Prèmier Classe, directly behind the leading power car.
Settling themselves either side of a small table, Cate and Tallis ordered coffees and began the long catch-up process as the train emerged from the station and quickly achieved its cruising-speed of just over two-hundred-and-ninety kilometres per hour. The scenery beyond Paris began to fly past at an exhilarating pace.
Cate noticed they had just zoomed through Château-Landon when she felt a heavy tremor shiver through the train, but thought little more of it. They were travelling so swiftly, it vanished as soon as it occurred.
"But what beautiful rings you have," Tallis exclaimed as Cate put her empty cup back on the table. "Your husband is a most generous man to buy you such things … let me see, please," she held her hands out for Cate's fingers, exclaiming even more as she enjoyed a closer look. "They are stupendous, magnifique," she murmured, a pleading light entering her eyes. "May I try them on?" she asked. "Would you mind terribly?"
"Of course I don't mind," Cate laughed, sliding both her diamond wedding ring as well the brilliant sapphire from her fingers and watched with great pleasure as Tallis slid them onto her own slim digits.
"So beautiful," the Frenchwoman breathed, admiring the sparkling diamonds on her hands in the sunlight. "I think I would do almost anything for jewels such as these," she laughed. "I'd even be prepared to …"
What Tallis Varon might have been willing to do would never be known as at that precise moment the 10.30am TGV ultra-fast train from Paris to Vichy left the tracks, derailing into an explosive mass of twisted steel and burning power couplings, leading to catastrophic failure of the transmission assembly.
The First-class carriages, so close to the initial explosion, were almost entirely destroyed.