Chapter Two
A Man of His Word – Another Six Pounds – Sea Air – Nobody Listens – An Unexpected Meeting – The Watchers – A Plan, Of Course – Persuading Tomas – A Special Contract – Rasselas.
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Cate opened an eye in the unfamiliar room and saw pale early sunlight through the drawn curtains. Everything was quiet and still: no sound of young voices, no clinking of china from the kitchen, nothing. The bed was soft and warm and she felt incredibly lazy, curling into the linen with a soft mumble of pleasure. She was officially on holiday.
"Good morning."
Turning her head, she saw Mycroft sitting on the edge of the bed on his side, leaning back to look at her. "You slept well."
"Wonderfully well, thank you," she murmured drowsily, still in the stratosphere of sleep. "What are you doing up so early?"
"Habit," he smiled "Can't sleep beyond dawn."
This was a serious issue and had to be addressed.
"You're on holiday for an entire month, so you'd better get used to it," Cate pushed up onto her elbows, regarding him through half-closed eyes. "Come back to bed and let me cuddle you to sleep."
"Darling, I'm wide awake," he smiled and shook his head, eyebrows lifting. "I may as well get up and do some …"
"If you say 'work', Mycroft Holmes," she rubbed her face. "I am going to introduce certain bondage techniques into this relationship until you start to relax," she looked enigmatic and lay back in the downy bedding.
"Bondage?" Mycroft's lips twitched, but he stayed where he was.
"Come over here and I'll show you," she smiled decadently. "Besides," she teased. "You have to make good on a particular promise."
Sighing, he rolled himself back beneath the duvet, lying on his side, meeting her gaze. "What promise?" he asked, examining the veil of dark hair across her face, the way her mouth seemed to be laughing even when she was silent. Her eyes were darker than usual in the dim bedroom, although the paleness of the bedding threw the fine curves of her face into delicate emphasis. He thought her beautiful. And desirable.
As if she was reading his mind, Cate laughed softly.
And provocative.
Mycroft leaned over, brushing strands of dark brown silk from her creamy skin, allowing the palm of his right hand to cradle the side of her face as he observed the darkness of her clustered eyelashes and the flecks of green in the brown of her irises. Her lips were pale rose and smiling for him. He felt his abdominal muscles contract and his breath shorten as an infinite craving swept across him.
"What promise?" he asked her again, his voice playful as his thumb moved lightly across her mouth. He watched her eyes widen and her lips part, felt the surge of heat in her skin as her breathing slowed. He closed his eyes as the blood roiled through him, his resistance razed. Every time. She had this effect on him every time.
"What promise?" he repeated, quietly now, leaning forward to rest his mouth on hers, breathing the air she breathed, moving with her.
"Cornwall," she husked, eyes wide, a centimetre from his own; he could see only velvet brown shadows.
"Ah … that promise," his mouth curved against her lips. "And we are, actually, in Cornwall," he leaned away to see her light-hearted expression, a hunger burning him down to the soles of his feet.
"We are indeed," her smile was almost audible.
"And I am a man of my word," Mycroft rolled back, pulling her inescapably against his chest, their positions abruptly reversed as his eyes darkened with want. "Kiss me," his rough demand was in a gravel-dry voice, unable to wait another second for her passion to match his. "Kiss me for the rest of my life, Catie."
"Darling," Cate reached for him as his fingers curled around the nape of her neck, bringing her to him, holding her tight in the shelter of his need and his love.
The second time she awoke, Cate smiled at the sound of gentle snoring.
###
Tomas was really, really hungry. He'd packed sandwiches in his rucksack the previous night, but after hours walking in the dark, he'd been starving; thirsty too. He had a bit of money, but needed to find someplace with proper hot food and maybe a cup of tea, even a can of coke would do. Taking a deep breath, he carried on walking through the early morning light.
He made for Penzance, his plan to get a north-bound train to London. Once he was there, he was sure he could find some casual work that would pay for a bed in an hostel – he just had to get away from home and the West country; there was nothing for him here, not even his family was willing to encourage the future he saw for himself: not an easy one, perhaps, but it was what he wanted, a life he felt impelled to pursue. He felt sorry for the shock he was going to give his mother, but there was no other way. And so, north to London.
But first things first. Penzance.
Only about eight miles distant from St. Ives in the daylight across the fields and rough woodland, but he had left in the dark and nobody around here crossed unknown country at night – there were too many deep holes in the ground. He took the long way around and stuck to the roads. Thus it was dawn as he strolled into the outskirts of town. There were plenty of pubs in Market Jew Street yet though his voice was already showing signs of the deeper baritone it would become, he knew people still saw him as a boy. Nor did he have the money or inclination to eat in anything approaching a restaurant, so opted for the anonymity of the railway station café, and stepped through the smudged glass doors hoping there would be something hot and cheap inside.
The next thing, of course, was to buy a train ticket.
Tomas had long ago researched the price of one-way tickets to London and besides the few hundred pounds he had in a savings account, his available liquid cash was exactly that of a cheap meal and a one-way to Paddington. It was only after he'd partly filled the gnawing hole in his belly and gone to purchase his ticket that the bad news hit.
Ticket prices had gone up the two days previously, by nearly ten per cent. The cheapest off-peak ticket was almost sixty pounds. That meant he needed another six pounds.
He did not have another six pounds.
###
Nora was already entrenched in the old stone kitchen when Cate wandered down in her robe. The children – miracle of miracles – were still asleep and she intended to have a nice leisurely cup of coffee before the day's madness began. She began hunting for the wherewithal to make the black wake-up juice.
"Second cupboard over, middle shelf," Nora offered, knowing exactly what Cate was after. "There's also some bits and pieces in the 'fridge for breakfast," she added, "though we need to do a bit of a shop today or we'll be out of everything."
Finding a cafetière and an unopened packet of ground espresso, Cate spooned a generous portion of the aromatic substance into the large glass jug and set the kettle to boil.
"Can't believe the twins are still asleep," she smiled gleefully, enjoying the momentary peace.
"Mr Mycroft too," Nora's tone was amused. "Must be the sea-air," she lifted her eyebrows but kept her attention on the batch of scones she was about to stack in the oven.
"Must be," Cate smiled privately, pouring boiling water onto the coffee and inhaling the wonderful perfume as it floated upwards. She felt light and happy.
"I've made extra, Nora," she said. "Want some?"
"Not for me, thank you," Mrs Compton shook her head as she turned her attention to the croissants she had rising. They were about ready to pop in with the scones and would be lovely and hot for breakfast. "Had me tea before."
"Then I'll have a double-share," Mycroft announced, walking over to Cate and wrapping her in an extravagant hug. "I'm also quite interested in breakfast, Nanny Nora," he admitted brightly. "Are you as organised as always, or do I have to go out and shoot something?"
"Someone got out of the right side of the bed this morning," the older woman managed to restrain her smile, but barely.
"Must be the sea air," his cheerful expression turning to one of inquiry when both women snorted with laughter.
"Clearly I have missed something," he nodded sagely before brightening again. "However I refuse to allow anything to inhibit the extraordinarily good mood in which I find myself," he smiled airily. "What plans do you have for us this fine day, my love?" Taking the mug of hot, scented coffee, he nibbled Cate's neck.
"If I'd known the affect a holiday had on you, I'd have insisted on three of them each year," she grinned, wriggling as he tickled. She turned in his embrace and smiled up at the man she was still getting to know, even now.
"I think we need a shopping trip for fresh things," she said. "Penzance is about twenty minutes away, although Saint Just is only down the road," she nibbled her bottom lip. "I think I'll do a biggish grocery shop in Penzance this morning and then if we need anything, we can pop into one of the local places in the interim," she paused, looking at the both of them. "How does that sound?"
"If Nora cares to accompany you to the shops, I will take the children down to the quay," Mycroft nodded, pleased. "It promises to be a superb day."
If he was going to be this easy to keep happy, Cate envisaged a very pleasant holiday indeed, and even if he wasn't able to maintain such joi de vivre every minute. It was a lovely beginning and boded well for the next few weeks.
"Breakfast will be ready in about twenty minutes if you want to go and dress beforehand," Nora announced. "Though it makes no matter what time anything happens on holiday, really."
"If you can keep your ears open for the children, I think I'll go and grab a fast shower," Cate's smile was for Mycroft.
He smiled back, placing his mug down on the bench top. "I think I shall do the same," he looked distinctly untroubled, allowing his fingers to stroke Cate's hair.
"Away with you both then," Mrs Compton kept her eyes down and her face straight, but inwardly she was glad. How she wished Miss Elinor could have seen her eldest son now; all the promise of his younger years coming to fruition, but balanced by love for a woman his mother would have adored, and by two children who looked at him in wonder.
He was a lucky man.
Nora Compton nodded to herself and turned the croissants in the oven.
###
He had planned to get the earliest train possible, but now he was a few quid short, he'd have to wait until the bank opened at nine before he could liberate additional cash for the ticket. Tomas kicked a stone on the footpath. He wanted to be gone from this place as soon as possible, and every little delay, no matter how trivial, was jarring.
His mother would be up by now, he realised. She might even have gone to wake him and found his bed empty. He felt bad about leaving the way he had, but she wouldn't have let him go otherwise, even though she'd brought all of them up to be independent. Though he felt older, he was still just fifteen.
And that was part of the problem. Nobody took his ideas seriously; nobody listened. The others laughed at him when he told them, in a moment of madness, what he wanted to do. They had laughed and teased and somehow, it was just all too much to keep on having to face. Best to go by himself, in that case, which brought him back to the decision to go to London.
Checking his watch, he saw it was after nine; the bank would be open. He stood slowly, stretching his tightened leg muscles. He headed up the hill towards the bank. It wasn't far.
Just down the road from Tesco's.
###
Mycroft was driving the Bentley, neatly manoeuvring into a tight parking space about fifty-meters from the supermarket. Cate and Nora hopped out, agreeing to meet back at this parking area in one hour. With a brief smile, Mycroft pulled away, pointing the car down towards the docks.
"Got your half of the list?" Cate asked. "Let's each grab a trolley and I'll meet you at the checkout when you're done. Shouldn't take long with the both of us at it."
"Don't forget the sherry," Nora reminded her. "Can't make a proper trifle without it."
Rolling her eyes, Cate reminded herself not to forget the sherry lest the empire crumble.
They had everything on the list plus a few extra treats boxed up and ready to go well before the hour was up, and they sat on a bench in the sun watching people go by. Locals and tourists: it was a busy time of year for such a holiday haven.
A lanky, dark-haired young man stopped, checking his wallet. He was only meters away and Cate knew she knew him … but from where? Keeping her eyes on him, it wasn't until he lifted his head and she saw him in profile that she realised.
"Tomas?" she said, loud enough for him to hear.
Swivelling in shock, the boy stared at her as she walked in his direction. "Aunt Cate?"
Smiling, pleased to see him, Cate rested a hand on his arm. "Is your mother around?" she asked, looking.
"Nah … mum's not … I'm not with anyone … she's not …" his voice tailed off.
If she had heard a guiltier confession, Cate didn't know when. Something was wrong.
"Tomas?" she asked, searching his expression. "What's going on? Are you in trouble?"
Her nephew shook his head. "There's no trouble," he said, though the tone of his voice was far from convincing. Cate hadn't been a teacher of young adults all these years not to recognise a half-truth when it dangled in front of her.
"Have you had a fight with Neve?" Cate wanted to get to the bottom of this. "Have you done something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Tomas started to look rebellious. "Just don't ask me about it, alright?"
She also knew when to back off if she wanted co-operation.
"It's alright, Tomas," she soothed. "I'm only concerned, but you're clearly old enough to know what you're doing and if you don't want to discuss it, I'll respect your decision," she smiled. "Are you going to be in town long or are you passing through?"
Looking at his shoes, the boy made a face, unwilling to tell her anything else, but equally unwilling to lie. "Heading up to London," he muttered. "Going to get a job there."
Now Cate was absolutely sure something bad had happened and was still in the process of happening. Tomas couldn't be sixteen yet, and for him to be thinking of going up to London…
"Just one thing I have to ask," Cate's voice was quiet. "Does your mother know about this?"
His hesitation told her everything even before he shook his head in silent denial. "Nobody knows," he muttered.
"Do you have a place to stay in London?" Cate wanted details. She realised she'd have to make at least one phone-call after this meeting. "Do you have money?"
"Got money, don't know where to stay, but I'll find somewhere," he met her eyes, a fierce heat suddenly in his face. "And nobody's going to stop me from going."
"I certainly wouldn't dream of stopping you," Cate met his angry gaze calmly. "I simply want you to have a safe place to sleep and the money to survive until you find a job," she nodded. "You can stay at our house if you like – we've got plenty of room. I have a spare key I can give you if you come back to the place we're staying. I'll even drive you back to the train, if you want me to."
That made him think. In the course of his investigations, Tomas knew exactly how long his money was likely to last if he had to pay for even the cheapest of beds in a youth hostel. If he could sleep somewhere for free until he worked out what he was doing, it'd mean a whole different set of possibilities.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked, uncertainly.
"Sweetheart, of course," Cate smiled, rubbing his shoulder. "If you're determined on coming to London then of course you have to stay at my house, although you'll be sharing it with two very curious children who may well talk you to death."
A cautious smile on his lips, Tomas's shoulders relaxed fractionally. "What about your husband?" he asked. "Won't he mind?"
"Mycroft will be delighted to have a member of my family at home," she smiled again. "Though he's probably going to be even more curious than the twins."
"Are you really sure?"
Cate's heart went out to him. She had no idea what was going on, though something clearly was not right, especially as he refused to talk about it. If she could get the boy to come home with her and maybe eat something, perhaps stay the night until she'd spoken with Neve, then the picture would be clearer.
"I want you to come home with me now," she said, practically. "You can either have my spare key and I'll drive you back here, or you can stay with us for a while, have a good meal and see how you feel later, how would that be?"
"You swear you'll let me have your key and you'll let me go if I come now?" he demanded.
"I promise, Tomas," Cate slipped her fingers into his hand and squeezed. "Whatever you want to do, just let me help."
The Bentley coasted into view at that moment, which was perfect as far as Cate was concerned.
"Come on," she said. "Come and say hello to Mycroft."
Waiting until her husband parked the car in a vacant space, Cate walked over, pulling the boy with her. Mycroft was stepping down from the driver's seat, his eyes already taking in the young man standing beside her.
"Hello, darling," his smile at Cate was brief. "This is your sister's youngest, I believe? We met last at the wedding."
"Hello, Mr Holmes," Tomas looked awkward. "It's been a while since then."
"It has indeed," a slight frown crossed Mycroft's face, clearing almost instantly. "I see you're coming home with us for lunch?"
With a bewildered expression, Tomas looked between them. There was no way Aunt Cate's husband could know of their discussion.
"If you don't mind?" he said, cautiously.
"Not in the least," Mycroft laid a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "Though we're going to have to bundle you in the back with the groceries for the trip home, I'm afraid."
Smiling hesitantly, Tomas shrugged. "I'm used to small spaces," he said offhandedly. "Being the youngest means I always get the last place."
Mycroft's fleeting frown returned. "It won't be for long," he smiled briefly. "Bear with us, young man; all will be well."
Helping them load up the large boot area, they managed to find just space enough to hold his long legs.
"Off we go then," Cate took a deep breath, smiling at the twins who were craning their heads around the child seats trying to see the stranger.
By the time they returned to the old house, the car was filled with chatter from the twins, and especially Blythe who was determined, it seemed, to make absolutely sure they were actually on holly daze, especially since no ice-cream had been forthcoming at breakfast.
As soon as she saw Tomas helping Mycroft carry the shopping into the kitchen, Cate grabbed her Galaxy and walked outside as she dialled Neve. What was going on?
###
Several of them had been watching the house for days – all the comings-and-goings were interesting, especially as this place usually seemed deserted most of the time, apart from the holiday-makers. A lot of the time it was empty, which suited them just fine. Nobody around to ask unwanted questions; nobody to be where they ought not to be.
The majority of the watchers were young, but lack of age meant nothing. They were just as sharp as their elders: sharper even. They knew a few things, things the owners of the house might be very interested to know about too. It had been a big adventure staying as close as they could without being spotted by all the men with the cables and the big shiny metal boxes of equipment. The watchers weren't entirely sure what was in the boxes, or what the men were doing with them, but it was very interesting all the same.
And they knew about the lorry that drove down the lane on some of the dark nights, and they knew about the goings-on at the local coves. The watchers knew a lot, but they always liked to know more.
Settling back down in the rough woodland just beyond the boundaries of the garden, the watchers did what they did best.
They found watching the dark-haired woman talk on the phone to be most educational.
###
By the time Cate walked into the kitchen, the shopping had been stacked away, the twins were having an early lunch, their wide, curious eyes never leaving the stranger at the table; her nephew was halfway through one of Nora's massive doorstep sandwiches, and Mycroft was pouring tea.
"Here you are, darling," he handed her a cup and saucer. "How is Neve?"
"You rang mum?" Tomas stopped chewing and looked horrified. "You promised …"
"I promised you could stay at our house in London and I promised I'd drive you to the station if that's what you wanted me to do," Cate corrected him. "And I will do that," she paused. "If that's still what you want."
"It is," nodding, Tomas returned awkwardly to his food. "What did mum say?"
"She wanted to be sure you were alright, mainly," Cate sipped her tea. "I'd also like to hear your side of the story," she added. "Neve's explained the situation from her perspective, and yes; she's worried to death about you, by the way, but I think we'd both like to hear how you see things. Do you mind?
"Have some tea, Tomas," Mycroft place a cup beside the boy's hand. "Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise," his voice was curiously gentle; Cate looked sideways at him.
The boy stopped chewing again, staring down at the table. "You'll laugh at me," he sounded unhappy. "Everyone laughs at me."
Sitting beside him, Cate put her hand on his wrist. "Nobody here will laugh at you," she said.
Tomas was tempted, but he'd been mocked and scorned to the point where he was sick of it all. He shook his head. "Rather not," he muttered, shovelling down the last of the roast beef and bread. "Sorry."
Frustrated, Cate looked at Mycroft who blinked slowly, the faintest of smiles on his face.
"Finished eating?" he asked mildly. "Then perhaps you'd accompany me into the garden, there's a headland across the bay you might be able to identify."
"Sure," Tomas avoided Cate's eyes and walked through the kitchen door to the garden. Turning back to her, Mycroft flicked his eyebrows. "Won't be long."
The youngest Adin was standing with his hands in his pockets, staring out over the surrounding cliff tops. "Great view," he said.
"I've not yet had an opportunity to sightsee," Mycroft stood beside him.
"You didn't really want to ask me about the coastline, did you?" Tomas turned to the older man. "I'm not stupid."
Looking out to sea, Mycroft smiled. "I hadn't imagined you were," he said. "You come from intelligent stock," he added, lapsing into silence. The silence stretched.
Feeling a need to fill the space between them, Tomas began speaking. "I'm not being silly about this, you know," he said. "I've got everything planned."
"A plan," Mycroft nodded. "Of course."
"I know what I'm doing," the boy was defensive. "What I want to do with my life."
"And what is that?" Mycroft kept his eyes on the line where sea met sky.
"Everyone in the family is clever with music and arty things. Leo's got his band, and Lily and Rose are doing their university on scholarships and Girard's got his apprenticeship at the pottery, and even Quinn is having her photographs exhibited, but I can't do any of that stuff; it doesn't interest me, not any of it. I …" he paused, looking for the words. "I have to do what I want to do without my family always having a go at me," he mumbled, utterly miserable. "I can't handle it any more, Uncle Mycroft."
Uncle Mycroft. The weight of responsibility made him smile.
"My younger brother was rather keen on becoming a pirate, in his youth," Mycroft looked out to sea and across the horizon of years. "And I harboured a brief regard for the Diplomatic Service," he smiled. "In some ways we have both succeeded in our ambitions," he paused, turning back to his visitor. "What do you want, Tomas? Why do they badger you, my boy?" he asked quietly, wondering what might be so dreadful that Neve's unruly, yet magnificently liberal brood would torment one of their own to the point of flight. What role did Tomas seek for his future that might be so considered so contemptible? Stripper? Taxidermist? Priest? He turned, staring down at the very young man beside him.
Mycroft's soft voice was amazingly persuasive, almost hypnotic, and his dark blue eyes seemed to see everything. Despite his determination to remain silent on the matter, the boy found himself relaxing.
"I want to be an Accountant," he whispered. "I really want it, but everyone thinks I'm going through a phase."
Of all things, Mycroft closed his eyes momentarily. Of all things.
"And what draws you to that most orderly of professions?" he asked thoughtfully, observing Cate's nephew was nervous for the merest hint of mockery. "It's highly competitive and a somewhat ruthless occupation, especially in London."
Tomas turned to face him, his young face bright. "But I'm really very good with numbers and stuff," he smiled for the first time with genuine animation, Mycroft noted. "I know it sounds mad, but I close my eyes and I can see lines of numbers and I can add them up and move them around and do all sorts of weird things with them in my head," he paused, a shy grin creeping over his features. "I'm really clever with numbers, Uncle Mycroft," he shrugged and looked down at his shoe. "But the others just laugh at me and call me a geek."
"And you believe accountancy will offer you an appropriate outlet for such a singular characteristic?" It was clear by his tone that Mycroft did not entirely share such a belief.
"Are you going to tell me I'm not good enough to be an Accountant, now?" Tomas' voice was resigned and sad.
"Not at all, my young nephew-in-law," Mycroft laid a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "Quite possibly the exact opposite." Pulling out his Blackberry. He opened an application and pressed a few keys.
"What are these and what are the next two numbers in the sequence?" he asked, curious to see how well young Tomas was acquainted with such things.
Cate's nephew snorted derisively. "That's easy," he scoffed. "7877… 7879 ... 7883, all primes, and the next two in the sequence are 7901 and 7907."
"And what of these?" Mycroft handed him a second sequence.
"Square roots," Tomas didn't even blink.
"And this?"
Peering at the small screen, Tomas frowned. "Looks like a partial differential equation," he frowned even more. "But Accountants don't use those," he said, looking up at his aunt's husband.
Mycroft restored his phone to an inner pocket of his jacket.
"No more they do," he said, pursing his lips. "Tell me, young Tomas," he said casually. "What do you know of the place of cryptanalysis in counter-espionage?"
"Counter-espionage?" the boy was confused. "Why would I know anything about that stuff?"
Mycroft smiled the kind of smile that would have Anthea contacting either the SAS, a purveyor of fine liquors, or a surgeon. He slid a long arm around the boy's shoulders, ushering him to the pathway.
"Have you heard, Tomas, of a small, London-based organisation that goes by the sobriquet of MI5..?"
###
Watching through the nearest window, Cate smiled as she saw Mycroft work his magic. While she couldn't hear what was said, she could see the two of them talking freely, which meant Tomas was spilling the beans in a big way. It was a relief. When Cate had called, Neve had been terribly upset on the phone and though she calmed after hearing from her sister, the idea that her youngest had run away from home had Neve on the edge of panic.
"Trust me," Cate said. "I'll look after him."
"I know you will," Neve sounded terrible. "Heads will roll," she had muttered.
Making a face, Cate didn't fancy being one of the Adin gang this night.
Pulling out her Galaxy, she rang Neve back, explaining that Tomas was at least talking to someone.
"Let him stay with us for a few days," she said. "Perhaps he simply needs a little time to get a different perspective on things, and by the looks of it, I think Mycroft is keen to help."
"I blame myself," her sister sounded wretched. "I chose not to have a father around for any of them, and now look what's happened."
"Idiot," Cate smiled. "You've raised a marvellous bunch of offspring, and it's a credit to you that only one of them has had a little meltdown," she added. "Believe me, I see bad things all the time at the university, and Tomas' situation is comparatively nothing to worry about. I suspect Mycroft will come up with a plan as well – my husband has a way of convincing people," she said. "Don't worry, Neve, everything will be fine."
"You promise to tell me what happens?" her sister sounded a little less frantic.
"Promise," Cate smiled. "I'll see if I can get Tomas to ring you himself," she said. "It'll start getting things back to normal, perhaps."
"That would be wonderful," Neve took a deep breath. "And now I'm going to get medieval on my childrens' fundaments," she said tersely.
Cate laughed. "Stuff happens," she said. "Try your meditation."
"Meditation be damned," Neve sounded on the edge of cross, which meant she was working herself up into a proper temper. "But if he can stay with you for a little while until he can think a little straighter ..?"
"It'll be a pleasure," Cate smiled. "Leave him to me."
Mycroft and Tomas were still outside, and Cate stood watching them through the windows.
"Who is that, mummy?" Julius licked the palm of a hand clean of butter. Her son had a deeply haptic relationship with food, Cate realised. He might end up being a food critic.
"That person is called Tomas," she reached for a paper towel and wiped Jules free of mess. "He is your cousin."
"What's cousin, mummy?" Blythe was immediately curious.
Cate sat and looked at her daughter. "You are Jules' sister," she said. "And mummy has a sister, too."
"Mummy have a sister?" Blythe's eyes went wide, as she looked around as if she expected someone to pop out of the nearest cupboard.
"Mummy has a sister called Neve," she said, knowing the information was going in one ear and out the other, but still. "Mummy's sister has lots of boys and girls like Jules and Blythe," she added, " and that person," she pointed out through the window to where Mycroft and Tomas still conversed, "is mummy's sister's little boy," she finished. "His name is Tomas," she said. "Can you say 'Tomas'?"
"Tomass," Blythe hissed the sibilants. "Tomasssss …"
"That's my clever girl," Cate dropped a kiss on Blythe's head. "You have to be nice to Tomas because he's very sad and mummy and daddy are going to try and make him feel better."
"Are you going to give Tomass pink medicine?" Jules was curious now. "Pink medicine made my tummy feel better."
"We'll see, my darling boy," Cate smiled. "Now who wants a nap before we explore the garden later?"
"Don't want a nap," Blythe said, a long yawn stretching her little face. "Not sleepy."
"Then you can just lie down for a little while and not sleep," Nora picked up Julius and rested him on her hip, as they both looked at Cate.
She nodded. Actually, she wouldn't mind a little snooze herself.
"Mummy's going to have a sleep," she announced. "Who wants to have a nap with me in the big bed?"
Torn between the idea of not napping and the special chance to sleep in the Big Bed, the twins eventually gave in, allowing themselves to be carried into the master bedroom.
"Tell Mycroft we should keep Tomas with us for a while," she said to Nora as the twins snuggled down under the duvet, giggling. "Which means we may have to go and do another shop before the end of the day," she smiled.
"I know how young men like their food," Nora nodded, remembering. "Leave it to me, Miss Cate," she said. "I'll not let the boy go hungry."
Rolling herself along one side of the bed and curling around the twins, Cate laid an arm over them both. "Mummy wants to have a snooze now," she said. "Be good children and go to sleep."
When Mycroft walked in just over ten minutes later, all three of them were asleep with Cate's arm curved gently around both twins. He smiled. Tomas was back in the kitchen with Nora who seemed determined to fill the visitor's stomach if it took her the rest of the day to do so. Tomas did not appear at all adverse to the idea. All that was needed now was convince the boy to give up the idea of London for a little while and if Nora forced him to eat his own bodyweight in carbohydrates, that might just do the job. If not, there would have to be a little more persuasion.
As he smoothed the duvet over his sleeping family. Mycroft smiled faintly. He was rather adept at persuasion.
###
There had been an unexpected offer of a contract. Normally, Bisset would not consider making a run until the night sky was absent of moonlight, but this new deal had been made on the proviso that delivery was within the next week: not yet the dark of the moon.
Normally, he'd have said no and gone on his way.
Normally, the money a contract brought in was good enough.
Normally.
But this offer wasn't normal by any definition: it wasn't going to be ordinary refugees he was to bring across the Channel.
Bisset paused, deep in consideration. The contract was for a very large sum of money, more than he might make in any half-dozen of his usual trips. It might be foolish to do it, but it would be mad to refuse.
Luc Bisset was many things, but he wasn't insane.
###
The sun was casting shadows in an afternoon direction when Cate came back downstairs. She'd awoken before the children, and decided to have a quick look around the rest of the house.
It was very old; at least two-hundred years and possibly more. The height of the ceilings was idiosyncratic and there was an unevenness in the floor along the main hallway. Most of the stones at the threshold of each door were worn with the passage of many feet. The exposed beams in the ceilings were darkly massive oak, with deep, deep windowsills downstairs and smaller, diamond-paned windows in the upper rooms. There was a small, modern ensuite in each of the two larger bedrooms, and an enormous family bathroom holding court towards the back of the house, between three medium-sized bedrooms. The two staircases were relatively tiny affairs, twisting around the shape of the house as if they had grown there instead of being made to fit. There was something organic about the whole place. It was very pleasing and old-world, with eccentric-shaped rooms at different levels. There was even the smell of warm old cottage about the place, with the perfume of summer flowers everywhere and the gentle creaking of the solid oak doors hanging in their ancient frames. Cate was delighted and had already made up her mind to come back next summer if at all possible.
Walking into one of the rooms downstairs, a pair of long arms slipped around her shoulders from behind, as Mycroft's voice murmured in her ear. "Finally awake?" he was smiling.
"I'm in holiday mode," she leaned back against him. "How's Tomas?"
"He's going to be fine," Mycroft pressed his lips to her neck. "He thinks he wants to be an Accountant."
"He always was good at Math," she remembered Neve saying, she paused, turning in his arms. "Does he really want to go into accounting?"
"No," Mycroft smiled again, "he does not, although he believes so at the moment since he lacks a more appropriate alternative."
"And you're going to give him that alternative, aren't you?" Cate lifted her eyebrows. She knew that tone of his voice. He was up to something. "He's only a boy," she leaned against the warmth of his chest. "Be kind."
"It's not kindness Tomas needs, but clarity," Mycroft rested his chin on the top of her head. "He needs to know what he has and what he can do with it," he said. "And in that, I can help."
"You're quite a nice man sometimes, you know," Cate smiled against the weave of his linen shirt.
"Then the nice man has a little surprise for you," Mycroft's voice had an edge of intrigue. "Come with me," he said taking her hand and drawing her into a room at the back of the house.
It looked like a small parlour that had been turned into something of a library, although the changes had been made a very long time ago; possibly not long after the house had been built. There was a single large window at the far end of the room, looking out into a back-garden filled with exuberantly perfumed and rather blousy roses. Their sweetness invaded every space in the house.
The room itself was as odd in shape as most of its brethren, with a couple of large sofas taking up much of the central floor-space, either side of a low table. There were elegant table-lamps at both ends of each sofa. But that wasn't what was interesting, Cate realised.
The entire room had been entirely covered in bookshelves from floor to ceiling, even above the door and window. There were books everywhere, most of which were ancient texts; their musty fragrance testament to their longevity.
It was a fabulous room.
"I can write in here," she nodded. "This is where I'll work."
"Thought you were in holiday mode," Mycroft teased.
"Writing doesn't feel like working," Cate poked her tongue at him. "It's fun."
"I'll bring a table in for you," Mycroft looked around. "But first," he raised his brows. "The surprise. Wait here a moment, my love."
Thinking that the book room had been the surprise in itself, Cate looked at him, mystified as he stepped out of the room, only to return a few moments later with a more relaxed-looking Tomas.
"Tell me, nephew-by-marriage," Mycroft folded his arms and leaned back against the doorframe. "What is wrong with this room?"
Wrong? Cate found herself looking around. The window, the shelves, the ceiling. Something was wrong?
Tomas looked as puzzled as she felt. He screwed up his face. "Give me a hint?"
With a lofty smile, Mycroft nodded at the wall at the back on the left, standing at right-angles to the window. All eyes swung to the small section of wall, about eight feet long which stood proud into the room by eighteen-inches.
Cate was still baffled: The wall was clad in heavy shelving and old books; the end of the bookshelf was the reason for the odd abutment. She looked first at Mycroft whose expression was carefully nondescript, then to Tomas who was looking at the angles of the room. She shook her head at the cliché. Any minute now and there would be a secret passage.
Frowning, he stepped out through the door, then back in, then out again. He returned immediately, walking up to the shelves and scowling at them.
"This is wrong," he said, his face clearing. "The dimensions are wrong."
"Indeed," Mycroft joined the boy in staring at the section of shelving as Cate wriggled in between them, holding Mycroft's arm with one hand, resting the other hand on her nephew's back.
"I have no idea what you two are talking about," she said. "But what am I looking for?"
"Anything that looks odd, my love," Mycroft slid his arm around her waist as his eyes scanned the shelves, the frame, the books … anything that stood out.
Cate scrutinised the books on the shelves. Mostly dusty old relics of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century political expositions; a number of historical essays and tracts and a few gloomy-looking monologues on strip-farming. Judging by the levels of dust, not one of the books had been taken from the shelves in the last fifty years.
Then she noticed.
"You mean like this?" she asked pointing at a slender volume towards one end of a high shelf. Rasselas by Samuel Johnson: a freethinking stranger among the fusty volumes.
"Exactly like that, darling." Mycroft's voice was warm as he lifted his fingers to the text, attempting to draw it from its peers.
It seemed stuck.
Mycroft smiled. Placing a little extra pressure on the top of the spine, he pulled the book sharply towards him.
It tipped, clicked and stopped. There was a muffled crack and the floor shuddered as the section of shelves moved and dust billowed everywhere.
Waving through the air in front of her face, Cate stared at the wall of shelves.
At the place where the shelves had been.
They had swung partly away from the stone behind, revealing a dark and cobwebby opening.
The Cornish House had a secret passage.