CHAPTER 4
London—Spice Quay,
Residence of Poole, Nicholas
12 February, 1748 Hours GMT
“Thought you were bringing Tamsin,” Nicky Poole said after he’d let Chace inside and taken her coat. “Didn’t leave her on the train, did you?”
Chace smacked her forehead with her palm, just hard enough to make an audible impact.
“Oh, damn,” she said. “I wondered what that bloody racket was.”
She shrugged and grinned, and Poole laughed and asked her if she’d like a glass of wine before dinner, saying that he’d opened a passable French Syrah that he thought she might enjoy. Chace followed him through the flat, past the windows overlooking the Thames, at the rain that was falling hard enough to hide the view of Tower Bridge. She took the glass he offered, raised it to his, and each took a sip to the other’s health, before Poole set his back down and returned his attention to the salad he was preparing as a starter.
“You’re looking good,” Poole remarked. “Thought you’d have gone all dumpy with motherhood by now.”
“Nursing is a wonderful thing,” Chace said. “I think I’m back to my fighting weight, so to speak. You look like hell, incidentally.”
“Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Job?”
He shook his head slightly, not so much as an answer, but rather to warn her off as he added a handful of goat cheese to the salad. “You know I can’t talk about it.”
Chace nodded, took another sip of her wine, hoping it would soothe her curiosity. It surprised her how much she wanted to know the details, where he’d been, what he’d done, why he’d done it.
“So,” Poole said, changing the subject, “where is the little precious?”
“I told you, I left her on the train. Should be in Dover by now, I’d think.”
Poole arched an eyebrow at her, then scattered chopped figs on the salad before sprinkling the mixture with a vinaigrette he’d apparently prepared himself. He picked up the salad bowl, snapping his wrist forward, then back, catching the greens as they flipped into the air.
“Very fancy,” Chace said. “Tam’s fine, she’s in Barlick, Val’s watching her. We’re weaning, and it’s easier if I’m not there for it.”
“I was worried.” Poole set the bowl down, began dishing the salad onto plates. “For a moment I was beginning to wonder if you
“Nice to know you think so very highly of me, Nicky.”
“I do think very highly of you, Tara.” He handed her a plate, then picked up his own, taking his wineglass in his free hand. “To the table, please. We need to eat it before it wilts.”
“Words to live by if ever I’ve heard them,” she said, and followed him to her seat.
They ate well, Gressingham duck served with rosemary potatoes and freshly minted peas. The conversation was easy at first, and each laughed more often than not. Twice Chace tried to steer the conversation around to SIS and happenings at Vauxhall Cross, and the first time, Poole let it continue, going so far as to share the few pieces of information that were harmless, or at least considered open secrets. He liked their new Deputy Chief; Kate still guarded the door to Crocker’s office; Lankford had gotten himself a girl; Barclay continued to make life miserable. After he’d served the apple crumble and coffee, Chace tried a second time, asking pointedly how her replacement was working out, and Poole set down his utensils and stopped just short of glaring at her.
“I can’t talk about it, and I can’t talk about him, and you know that, Tara. So leave it be, right? Enjoy the meal, tell me about your little girl, talk about religion, sex, and politics, if you like. But please, don’t ask me questions you know I’m not allowed to answer.”
Chastened, Chace nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“You miss it so much, reapply. Crocker would take you back in an instant.”
“Crocker can burn in hell.”
“Fine, then. Shall we talk about the weather?”
Chace shook her head, and let it go, lapsing into silence as she started on her dessert. The dinner marked the third time she and Poole had gotten together since she’d quit SIS eighteen months prior. The first time, he’d come to visit shortly after Tamsin’s birth, while Chace was still in the hospital, with flowers and good wishes from both him and Lankford, saying only that he’d heard there were now two of her, and he had to see it himself before he could believe it. Chace suspected that Crocker had let him know about the birth, though how he’d found out, she couldn’t guess. It wouldn’t have been that hard.
The second visit had been just before Christmas. Poole had come to Barnoldswick bearing gifts for Tamsin and Valerie, and had stayed with them overnight, even going so far as to cook dinner for the three of them. When he’d left in the midafternoon the next day, Valerie had told Chace that, if she was smart, she’d get her grip on that Mr. Poole right quick, before some other lady beat her to the punch, as he’d be a wonderful father to her baby. Chace had smiled and explained that such an arrangement was unlikely to happen, as Mr. Poole preferred the romantic company of other men to that of women. Valerie had digested that, frowning.
“Homosexual?” she’d asked, for clarification.
“Devout.”
“No wonder he’s so good in the kitchen, then,” Valerie had mused, and then gone off to continue wrapping Christmas presents.
They finished the meal just after eight in the evening, and Chace stayed to help with the dishes, clearing the table. By the time all was dry and back in its proper place, Chace could tell Poole was halfway to sleep. Whatever he’d done, wherever it had been, it had taken a physical toll, she could read it in his movements, in his expression when he thought she was looking away. He was angry, too, and she was certain it was related.
He gave her a kiss on the cheek before she went out the door, saying that he hoped they’d get together again soon, and she echoed the sentiment, slipping into her coat and wrapping her scarf around her neck as she went down the hall, catching the lift back to the street. Once outside, though, walking through the rain, she admitted that she probably wouldn’t see him again at all, in fact, that this had most likely been the last time they would ever come together for a social visit.
The gulf was too wide, she realized as she walked toward the tube stop to catch the train back to Camden, and each time they got together, it only made the distance between them that much wider. It had nothing to do
