Lazlo’s Last Stand

might have enjoyed more if it hadn’t been for the strain it was putting on his already aching ribs. He also felt a need to take a deep breath, something he couldn’t have managed even if he’d had the courage to try, thanks to the layers of bandage still wrapped around his torso. Thinking of that brought back a memory of her warm and shower-fresh closeness that made him feel slightly light-headed, and he found that he was gripping her hand tightly inside his coat pocket. And that she was squeezing back.

He drew his hand and hers from his pocket with great reluctance, and for the sake of his sanity, let hers go. “I’ll tell you what,” he said in a garbled voice, “why don’t you get the ball rolling? Ask me a question. Ask me anything.” Except about Cassandra DuMont, he silently prayed. He’d need to work his way up to that one.

She hesitated, her blue eyes bright as she studied him. Then she turned and began walking again, more slowly this time, her hands tucked deep in the pockets of her-his-ski jacket. “All right, then, what about all this? The cottage, the cave, the castle, Kati and Josef-how did you come to have this place?”

“Ah-good one. Covers some family history, as well as a few of my own eccentricities. Well done.”

“Stop stalling,” she said darkly.

“I’m not, I swear.” He placed a gloved hand flat over his heart. “It’s just that I’m not used to this sort of thing. You can’t expect me to simply open up the spigot and have all my secrets come pouring out.”

“Oh, I can, and I do.”

“Beastly woman,” he muttered under his breath.

But there was a quirky tilt to the corner of his mouth and a glint in his eyes that made Lucia’s heart lift and quiver with a lovely new excitement.

“All right, then. You say you already know my parents were spies for the Western Allies during the Cold War.”

She nodded. He was holding one arm across his torso, and she slowed her step to a stroll to make it easier for him.

“They were living in Budapest at the time, newly married, both of them working for the government-good registered members of the Communist Party-but they knew people in the business of spying couldn’t count on any sort of future, and so when the opportunity came during the November uprising in 1956, they decided the time had come to leave. Kati’s family had worked for my father’s family for years. After the Russians ‘liberated’ Hungary in 1945, they fled north into these mountains and became craftsmen, as well as experts at lying low and staying off the government radar.

“I don’t suppose I need to tell you how my parents fared in their new home. They were considered heroes of a sort in Great Britain, enjoying a certain degree of celebrity, which my father parlayed into a job with the foreign ministry, and eventually a seat in the House of Commons. My mother-well, you’ve seen how she’s adapted. Anyway, they did keep their Magyar surname, but when my brother and I made our appearance they were bent on giving us good English names. Edward didn’t fare badly-at least he shares his name with a whole lot of kings, and there is a Hungarian version. In my case, I can only wonder what they were thinking.”

“What’s wrong with Corbett? I like it-it means raven, doesn’t it? So it suits you.”

“Yes, and I suppose I did have this great wild shock of black hair when I was born. But there’s simply no name equivalent in Hungarian-”

“What about the translation of raven?”

“Hollo?” His grin was wry. “I don’t know that it’s much of an improvement. I’ve never heard of anyone named that, anyway. You may have noticed Kati and Josef call me Lacsi, which is the familiar form of Lazlo.”

“Lot-zee,” Lucia said, trying it out and nodding her approval. “Okay, getting back to how you came to own a hideout in a cave and a castle ruin…”

“Yes, yes, I’m getting to that, believe it or not, in my fashion.”

And she could only catch her breath and hold it, wishing never to end this walk, loving the sound of his voice, the lightness of it…the easy way he smiled.

He cleared his throat portentously. “Meanwhile, back in the old country, communism fell and capitalism-which had never really gone away, you understand, merely underground-burst into full bloom. Tourism had been a thriving enterprise since the 1970s, when the Hungarian government declared amnesty for all those who’d fled in 1956. But now all those expatriots’ children were returning to seek their roots, bringing along their children. A good many of them have bought property here, or inherited it.

“I found out about this particular piece through Kati and Josef. That village you see down there, looking so quaint and old-timey, is a very popular tourist spot in the summertime. The locals dress in traditional costume and entertain the tourists by plying the traditional trades and putting on folkdance festivals and whatnot. You have a similar place in the States, in Virginia, I believe-”

“Colonial Williamsburg,” Lucia supplied.

“Yes, I believe that’s right. Anyway, the rest of the time the people who live here are as much a part of the global village as anyone. And as much in danger of losing their way of life to runaway development. So when the villagers found out some firm was looking to build a big modern hotel and spa right above their little piece of paradise, they were understandably upset. That’s when Kati and Josef contacted me about buying the place. Having just avoided prison by the skin of my teeth, a place to escape to seemed like rather a good idea to me.” He shrugged. “And here we are.”

“Yes,” Lucia said absently. For her, his mention of the prison sentence he’d narrowly escaped had taken all the joy out of the day, as if a cloud had come up from nowhere to blot out the sun. “The charges of treason-you said you think this woman, Cassandra, is the one who framed you?”

“I don’t think-I know,” Corbett said grimly. “Though, I’m sure she had help. Particularly, since recent developments have uncovered all sorts of moles and leaks in the SIS.”

She shivered suddenly, and, of course, he misunderstood.

“You’re cold. We should head back.”

“I’m fine.” She pulled away from the hand he placed on her elbow. “You promised you’d tell me about Cassandra, and the minute her name comes up-”

“I did and I will,” he said, and there was a certain tightness now around his mouth and a narrowing of his eyes. “But it’s a long story, and it’s colder than I expected. I’d rather neither of us froze to death while I’m telling it. Come on, let’s go back. I could use something hot to drink about now, myself.”

“What I’d love is a nice fire to warm my feet in front of,” Lucia muttered, grudgingly accepting the helping hand he offered. She gave him a look along her shoulder. “Was there some reason why you didn’t include one-and maybe a sitting room-in your hideaway?”

“I have a place to eat, a place to sleep, a place to work,” he said with a shrug. “What else does anyone need?”

“What about a place to play? To relax? You know, put your feet up, read a book, have a glass of wine, listen to music, talk with a friend…” Make out with someone you love…

He frowned as he watched his boots crush the snow underfoot. “I have a comfortable chair in my study- sometimes I even put my feet up. If I want to listen to music, I can tune in to just about any satellite station. Sometimes I read there, or in bed. If I want a glass of wine or a chat with a friend, I generally do it in the kitchen. And as for play-” a smile came and went briefly “-I guess that’s what I come outdoors for.”

Clueless, Lucia thought, shaking her head. If she’d had any wild thoughts about seducing Corbett Lazlo in his cosy hideaway, her chances were looking rather bleak.

“I was never in love with her,” Corbett said. “I say that not with pride, but with sadness. If I could have loved her, I believe some people-good people-would still be alive.”

They were sitting at the kitchen table, kitty-corner from one another, hands curled around identical mugs of steaming hot coffee, carefully avoiding each other’s eyes. When Corbett paused and raised his, Lucia lowered her lashes and lifted her mug to her lips. She would make no comment, ask no question that might interrupt the story he had to tell.

“I tell myself we were young-and we were, both of us. And typically heedless. Rash. We lied to each other, each for different reasons, and believed it wouldn’t matter. But the fact is, it all began with that affair, and as a result of that affair, many people have been hurt. Not the least of whom is that poor boy. My son.” He drank from his mug as though to wash a bitter taste from his mouth.