CHAPTER FOUR
JUST FOR INFO: KR stands for Kontra-Razvyedka (counter-intelligence) in Russian.
"Hey, sleepyhead!" Ros murmured a drowsy protest as she felt Lucas's fingers brush her hair off her face, and tried to burrow deeper into the pillow. "Come on." His voice was cajoling. "I can't wait on you all morning."
"Go away," Ros mumbled grumpily.
"OK." The scent of freshly brewed coffee reached her nostrils. "I'll take this with me, then."
"Urgh … no." Ros eased the duvet down a fraction, slid her hand out and groped with her eyes still shut in the direction of the smell. She heard Lucas chuckle.
"Catnap or caffeine, Ros. Either. Or."
"You rotten bully." Reluctantly, Ros opened her eyes and hauled herself into a semi-reclining position. "Just because you're section chief."
He grinned. "Did you sleep all right?"
"Mm-hmm." Ros rubbed her eyes and finally managed to focus on him. "What time is it?"
"Eight-thirty." Lucas carefully lowered the tray he was carrying onto her lap. It bore not only the coffee but a glass of orange juice and a heap of buttered toast as well. Ros blinked.
"I never eat at breakfast."
"You do now," Lucas said firmly. "According to the doctors you're about seven pounds underweight. And Harry says he wants to see you with a double chin when you come back."
"In his dreams." As Ros reached for the coffee pot, Lucas grasped her wrist. His fingers reached and wrapped over his thumb as he held it up.
"All right. I'll settle for not being able to do this when you're reinstated, then."
"Lucas," she said warningly, "you're - "
"Fussing, I know. I get to do that once a day too; it's only fair."
"And I'm - "
"Fine," they both said in chorus. Lucas stood up and stretched enormously; Ros watched the gallery of tattoos on his upper body squirm and writhe with the movement. "I need to get ready." He smiled, and left the room. Ros poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped it almost reverentially, letting the steam rise into her face and savouring the taste on her tongue. Sleep deprivation she could handle; deny her morning caffeine fix and she'd probably agree to sell enriched uranium to the North Koreans by lunchtime.
She was just draining her second cup when she heard a phone ringing. Seconds later, Lucas, pulling on his coat as he did so, skidded into the room.
"Red-flash, Ros. I have to run. There's some soup in the fridge – shop-bought, not mine, so you're safe to eat it. There's butter there somewhere, and the bread's still fresh. And some of the salad left from last night. I'll cook something when I get in. Help yourself to a book or the stereo." He hesitated. "I'll try and drop in later … or I'll ring. You will be okay, won't you? Don't try and do anything daft; Harry'll kill me. No getting down on your hands and knees or – or using the bath … climbing on chairs or - " He floundered to a halt as Ros fixed him with a wordless but eloquent stare. "No. No, of course you – er – of course – um – right. Right," when Ros merely raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger wordlessly in the direction of the front door. "See you later, then."
She heard the front door slam and then his feet clattering quickly down the steps as she reached for a slice of toast. The distant hum of traffic on the main road only nibbled at the edges of the silence. Ros stared unseeingly across the room, wondering what prospective disaster lay behind the red-flash call and wishing she could have gone with Lucas to respond to it. She stretched out a hand for the TV remote on the bedside table, deliberately ignored an unwelcome twinge of pain in her back, and switched on the morning news broadcast. Most of the domestic news was heavy on economic gloom, but there was nothing that shed any light. She switched the channel impatiently to BBC World just in time to catch an item reporting the bombing of a hotel in the Middle East. Ros felt herself break out in a cold sweat at the sound of the wails from emergency sirens and hysterical passers-by. The camera helpfully zoomed in on the shattered shell of the building and the smouldering heaps of rubble. Her hands were shaking, and it was a few seconds before she could force them to fumble for the off button on the remote.
"That's enough." The whisper was harsh, and Ros thumped her thigh angrily with a clenched fist to reinforce the message. "Enough." She made herself focus on her watch and forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply for sixty full seconds until her rapidly quickening heartbeat had returned to something like normal. Damn the bloody tricks that the mind can play when it has nothing more challenging to do with itself.
Then you'd better find something, Myers. Her stretching exercises would do, for a start. She carefully set the tray aside and eased herself out of bed. God, now my body's joining in the conspiracy as well. Her limbs ached as if she had spent the night on the rack rather than in a comfortable bed, and it took her an effort to shuffle, bent like an old woman, to the wall so that she could brace herself against it and gradually, jerkily straighten up. I must look like that bloody robot out of Star Wars. She walked stiffly into the living room and looked out into the garden. The sun was streaming in through the patio doors, and she paused for a moment, enjoying the brightness and the warmth of it on her face. Natural light had been on the top of her wish list along with fresh air during her weeks in the hospital. She felt a sudden surge of gratitude to Lucas North for enabling her to leave the bloody place – even if he had told Harry a little porky about what her sleeping arrangements would be.
Right, come on, Myers. She was just raising her arms to begin the first exercise when she stopped. Porky pie … lie. He's lying, Ros. She slowly lowered them again. Why had that thought been tapping so insistently in her brain as she fell asleep last night? She had forgotten it until just now. What detail had made her so certain that Lucas wasn't telling her the truth?
She screwed her eyes up with the effort to concentrate and bring the errant memory back, but her only reward was a stab of pain caused by the involuntary contraction of her shoulder muscles. Damn you, think, Ros! Her brain had been so sodding sluggish ever since the bombing. Trying to retain information in her memory was a bit like King Canute trying to keep the water at bay by sticking his finger in the dyke; it just leaked in – or in her case, out – somewhere else. She growled in frustration and forced herself to repeat Claire Linehan's mantra: 'you'll not be hurrying nature, Rachel, one step at a time'. She loathed it, all the more so for knowing it was true.
All bloody right. One step at a time. Get the blood circulating and the oxygen into her brain. Maybe then it would stop playing tricks on her. She took in as full a lungful of air and patience as she could manage, and started her exercise routine.
Ros spent the next three days exercising, reading, doing a lot more sleeping than she felt she should need, and fretting over how quickly she became tired when doing what she would previously have described as mundane tasks – the few that Lucas would actually allow her to do. He refused point-blank to let her go outside on her own – Harry's instructions, he said - so she pestered him until he finally agreed to accompany her on a walk around the block. He insisted that she take her crutch, and they had a brief but fiery spat on the doorstep about it until he pointed out that they weren't exactly adhering to MI-5's 'low-profile' code stipulating that all officers should refrain, at all times, from drawing attention to themselves in public. Ros blew a raspberry at that, but she was grateful to him when she returned with her chest burning, her leg aching, and shivering with cold despite the warmth of the sun. Lucas pretended not to notice the tears of frustration in her eyes and poured them both a glass of wine.
"Come on, Ros," he said gently. "Don't be so hard on yourself. That's the first time you've walked that far outside since the bombing. Don't forget what you went through. Not even you can shrug off an experience like that and go back to business as usual. You'll get there."
"Don't you start patronising me!" she snarled. "Isn't it enough that I'm going to have that bloody shrink tomorrow rooting through my brain like a fox through a rubbish bin?" The thought had been preying on her mind all day.
"I do understand," he said patiently. "I hate the probing just as much as you do." He gave a quick smile. "You should know; you debriefed me when I came back."
"That's different," Ros said defensively.
Lucas gazed thoughtfully at his wine. "Not really. I was like you, desperate to get back to work, scared they wouldn't take me back, wouldn't accept that Harry was right and that I was damaged and needed to talk things out first."
"I didn't say I was scared!" Ros flared furiously.
"Some things don't need to be put into words," he said, quietly.
Ros subsided, hating him for having hit the bullseye with such casual accuracy. She shrank back when he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"It's just time, Ros. You'll be all right." He gave a teasing wink. "I bet Dr Murray's more worried about your appointment tomorrow than you are. Rumour has it he takes sick leave every time your annual psych assessment comes round."
Despite herself, Ros smiled. She knew he was trying to raise her spirits, and she was touched that he cared enough to make the effort. "Don't believe everything you hear." She paused. "He does no such thing. Just takes his annual ski-ing holiday."
"You had your most recent assessment in May," Lucas pointed out.
"It was a very long winter in Austria last year," she said, deadpan. Lucas threw his head back and laughed.
"That's more like it, the Ros we all know and love." His face darkened in annoyance as his mobile rang. He snatched it from his belt.
"Lucas North. Yes – oh." For a fleeting second Ros saw his expression change, but it turned again, this time to concentration, so swiftly that she wasn't immediately sure of what she'd seen. He got up, and mouthed a 'sorry' at her and headed out of the room. His voice was barely above a murmur, but Ros, who had the ears of a lynx, bombing notwithstanding, caught the words 'yes, I'm alone, it's all right. Are you at work? as he crossed the hall to the kitchen.
Ros closed her eyes and sat very still, trying to identify what she had just seen. It had only been for an instant. He had smiled in pleasure, yes, but there had been something strangely wistful about it … She saw it again in her mind's eye. Something secretive … yearning, that was it. She opened her eyes again. She could still see the bulk of his silhouette in the darkened kitchen. I'm alone. It's all right.He wouldn't address anyone on the Grid like that. Or look like that if they called him. Suddenly her every sense was on full alert. Who are you talking to?
When she heard him returning, she quickly schooled her face to an expression of mild interest. "Trouble?"
"Not really, but I'm going to have to pop out for a couple of hours." He sighed. "No peace for the wicked."
"Should I worry?" Ros enquired.
"Only for the lasagne." Lucas reached for his coat. "You have yours. I can always shove mine in the microwave when I get back." He downed the rest of his wine in a gulp. "Bloody nuisance."
"Sticky asset?" Ros said casually.
"Nervous. Needs constant bloody reassurance," he said irritably. "Always at the most inconvenient damn time, as well. I thought we'd have a nice relaxing evening together tonight."
"No problem," Ros said. She got to her feet and accompanied him to the door. "Not the first time, won't be the last." As he squeezed her shoulder and turned for the steps she called, "Treat her gently!"
It had been a shot in the dark, but he turned sharply, and in the light from the lamp over the door his face looked tense and suddenly hard. "Her?"
Ros summoned up the flirtatious smile she had used on many a honey trap operation over the years. "Well, I'm assuming it's a beautiful blonde you're off to charm. If it's a Russian KR officer with acne and a beer gut, then I'll make sure you get a double portion of lasagne as a reward." She waved and closed the door before he could answer.
She served herself up some food and ate it in the kitchen, so deep in thought that the last few mouthfuls were cold before she got to them. Part of her wanted to call Harry Pearce and share her unease, but Ros knew that she had nothing specific to tell him except suspicions that she couldn't justify that Lucas was concealing something from her. She wasn't even sure what. For the rest … bumping into an old friend was unfortunate, but not a breach of the Official Secrets Act. She could be investing his fleeting smile tonight with non-existent significance. Her own longing to be back on the job could simply be conjuring suspicious incidents out of thin air. She was jumpy at the prospect of seeing the bloody shrink in the morning, and she'd admitted to herself that her memory was playing her false. Lucas had been kind, attentive, patient with her … his usual self, most of the time. And yet …. and yet.
She washed up the plate and glasses and made herself a glass of lemon tea. Her mobile had been destroyed in the bombing, and if she called Harry she would have to do it on Lucas's phone. There was, of course, no reason why she shouldn't ring him if she wanted to, but she didn't want Lucas to know that she had.
You're being ridiculous, Ros. She set the glass down with an impatient thump and a sharp crack told her she'd broken it. Angrily, she mopped up the tea, wrapped the shards in some kitchen paper and buried them deep in the bin as if she could bury her foolish imaginings in there with them. She was off-balance herself tonight. That idiotic walk – another stupid demonstration of pride you could have done without, Myers – had tired her, and she needed to be alert tomorrow. She switched the lights off and headed for the bedroom.
She slept restlessly, woken periodically by a feeling of apprehension about the imminent therapy session and once by what she thought was the click of the front door closing and the dull clunk of the security bolts being slotted home. She drowsily glimpsed light seeping through a gap in the curtains as she drifted back to sleep. When she woke again, unsure of how much later it was, she realised that she needed to use the toilet. Sod it.
She could hear Lucas in the shower as she wandered into the living room to check the time afterwards. Just before seven-thirty. Not worth going back to bed; she could take over coffee duty this morning. She turned towards the door and saw Lucas's sleeping-bag and pillows heaped haphazardly on the armchair. Ros froze. She had left them there herself last night. Lucas always piled them, perfectly folded, on the very end of the sofa. When she had teased him for his fastidiousness, he had explained only half-jokingly that that was how prisoners in Russia were ordered to do it, and that after eight years he still lived in fear of a spell in the punishment cells if he didn't. He would never have left them like that. She remembered hearing the door close. It had already been light. Yet Lucas had expected to be away for 'a couple of hours'. Did you come home at all last night?
She silently closed her bedroom door and was waiting in the kitchen cradling a glass of water when he emerged from the bathroom, wearing a towel and still unshaven.
"Morning." She made it sound casual, and embroidered it with a yawn for good measure, but she registered the startled expression on his face. And this time, unmistakably, there had been a visible trace of fear in his eyes before he could control it.
"Hey, you're up early!" His eyes slid to her bedroom door and Ros read his unspoken thoughts. Did she hear me come in?
"I woke up with a headache." She held up the glass of water. "Took a couple of aspirin."
"You're getting worried about this morning." Now his expression was sympathetic, genuinely so, she thought. He kissed the top of her head as he moved to make the coffee. "The anticipation's always the worst, Ros. Like the dentist. I didn't wake you when I came in, did I? I tried to be quiet. I didn't get back till around midnight. Bloody woman."
Ros felt her stomach lurch. Liar. It's not light at midnight. She skirted around around the trap. "No, I never heard you."
"That's good." He handed her a cup of coffee and leaned casually against the edge of the sink, drinking his own. "Well, since we're both up, how about getting an earlier start? You could pop up to the Grid to see Harry before you go to your session. He'd love to check that I'm taking proper care of you. I don't think he trusts me."
He's not the only one, Ros thought. Suddenly a dreadful sadness filled her at that admission, but she smiled at the comment. She knew she had a better poker face than Lucas North.
"Yeah. Yeah, it – it would be good to see him." She looked up at him. "As long as you come with me. It – I feel a bit strange, going back. You know, after … everything. And I did leave with you the last time I was there."
"Course." He picked an apple from the bowl of fruit on the worktop and pulled a face. "Ugh. Gone bad."
Have you? The thought was painful. Don't jump to conclusions. She and Lucas had worked closely together for two years, and while she had sometimes questioned his judgement, Ros had never doubted his loyalty. She had almost considered him a friend. She finished her coffee. "I'm not hungry anyway. Not this morning. After I've been shrunk, maybe. You're right, let's get going. I think I'll feel better once I get moving. And I would like to chat to Harry."
She stumbled slightly as she got up. Instantly, Lucas was there with his arm round her waist, steadying her. "All right?"
"Yes." She saw the inked double row of chains around his wrist. He had once told her that it was the badge of a prisoner sentenced to life. He had never expected to leave that prison. What price might he have paid for his release?
She looked up into his face. He was a clear head taller than she was.
"Really?" There was both concern and real affection in his eyes. No guile, no pretence.
"Really." She produced a mocking smile. "I have to save the 'I'm fine' until after the session, Lucas."
He laughed, stooped and kissed her gently. Lucas … Judas. Involuntarily, Ros shivered.
"You will be." He released her and turned for the kitchen door. "Let's get this show on the road."
I fear the next chapter might be rather a long time coming since I am off now for a few weeks' holiday. But the plot is ready! Thanks for reading; please review!
