Page 176 of Gates of Tartarus

“I’d love that, Kailani,” she replies, smiling, then snaps over her shoulder, “Fallon!” Fallon straightens up instantly and turns to follow Elizabeth towards a second car that has just pulled up. “My driver is at your service! Have fun! I’m excited to see your choices!” she trills as she walks away.

Maela and I wear happy matching smiles, waving at her as she drives off. The smiles harden to rictus grins as she pulls away, and I mutter under my breath through clenched teeth, “Well, fuck.”

And Maela, bared teeth mirroring my own, grinds out, “Precisely. Fucks all ‘round.”

Say “Cheese”

Wednesday, 12 December – Maela

“She showed up unannounced this morning,” I hiss to Kailani, smile still plastered on for the benefit of the waiting driver. “Isn’t that marvelous? I thought Emlyn was going to have an apoplexy.”

I’d been cutting it close, as usual, having dithered over my appearance before finally settling on a soft, lavender top to go with my dark-blue jeans and putting on a slick of lipstick only. No mascara. I couldn’t face it two days in a row. I was just grabbing my bag when the doorbell rang. We’d been practically hermits since moving into the house in Chelsea, without so much as a delivery, so the sound made me jump. I could only think it had to be one of the US team, probably Maddox Smith wanting to fine-tune the plans for Saturday with his bestie. Emlyn was nearest the door – he was going to be escorting me to Covent Garden – and moved to answer it, frowning. “Right,” I muttered, “Keys, wallet, phone, tissues…” then looked up to see Elizabeth framed in the doorway.

“Elizabeth!” I blurted out, “What a surprise!” And it was. No one was supposed to find out about the safe house. No one. We’d all been so careful. Had I been followed again? At the memory of Ratko, my stomach clenched, and I glanced worriedly at Emlyn, whose face could have been carved from stone. “Ms. Cole,” he said politely. “I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid we’re just on our way out.”

“I know,” Elizabeth smiled like the cat that got the cream. “I called Maela earlier to ask if she could come by Gaia for a briefing, but she explained she already had plans. So I thought I’d give her a lift and touch base with Kailani at the same time.” I glanced over her shoulder to see a sleek Rolls Royce parked on the street, just beyond the railing, and pulled myself together.

“Wow. You travel in style.”

“The Underground is packed at this time of year, although it’s bad enough in an ordinary week.” She made a delicate little moue. “Which is why you’ll have the use of a company car, Maela, both here and in Seattle,” she added, in a little dig at Emlyn.

His expression even more severe, Emlyn raised an eyebrow: “Maela told us about your starting offer. It seems your generosity knows no bounds.”

“I value my employees,” Elizabeth countered lightly. “So, Maela, are you ready? We don’t want to keep Kailani waiting.” She turned on her heels toward the car and I followed, with a shrug and a grimace at Emlyn.

And now I’m practically sweating in the mist-laden air, nerves stretched to breaking point from the effort of appearing bubbly and blithe on the drive over to Covent Garden. Kailani is a stone statue beside me.

“If I know Emlyn and Seef,” I tell her, “they’re having kittens right about now, trying to work out how Elizabeth discovered the safe house. Although,” I sigh, “it’s not like it would have been difficult for her to have someone trail us. After all, we’d been sharing almost everything with her. Before last week.” Quickly, I slap a smile on my face again, waving my arm around enthusiastically, as if I’m taking in the sights. “Shall we go? Mustn’t keep the driver waiting.”

I keep up my earlier act in the Rolls, giggling, prattling, and making small talk for the benefit of the driver. I exclaim about the Christmas decorations in the windows and chatter about the ice-skating and the light festivals, the markets and the gingerbread displays, the carols, the Pudding Race, and the Dickens Museum, and anything else my mind can dredge up from the guidebooks. I’m babbling about carriage rides in Richmond Park and how she and her oh-so-handsome boyfriend should take one, when the car thankfully pulls up outside the shop and we can escape inside.

“Dear God,” I pant, leaning against the wall. “That was hard work. I was running out of activities. Did you see the driver’s face? He clearly thinks I’m featherbrained.”

“The gingerbread city sounds cool, though,” Kailani remarks, looking round the shop, which is just as enthralling as I remember.

“It does, doesn’t it? Well, now that we’re here, we may as well try to enjoy ourselves. Any particular era?”

We start to browse through the racks, Kailani pulling out a green dress here, a blue gown there, before putting them back; touching fabrics; running her fingertips over beading; looking hesitantly at cuts and styles. I glance up from my riffling, smiling. “You reallywouldrather wear your motorcycle leathers, wouldn’t you? Or maybe jeans and a hoodie?”

She makes a face. “They’re comfortable.” She pauses, a little defensive. “And practical. And combat boots are hard-wearing and protect your feet.”

“Difficult to dance in, though. Here. Try this.” I shove a dress at her. “My mother runs a boutique, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help picking things up. The stuff just floated into my brain by a kind of relentless osmosis.”

Kailani looks at the dress dubiously. “I don’t know. Isn’t it all a little…” she waves her hand, “over the top?”

I burst out laughing. “Over the top?Thatis over the top,” gesturing at an eighteenth-century confection of ruffles and lace, in rose pink no less. “It’s either tasteful, understated, modern elegance with a hint of detailing, for interest, or a medieval wimple and gown. And I’m not letting you go as Maid Marion.”

Kailani gives in with only a mildly exasperated look. “Fine,” she grumbles. “God, you’re as bad as Gemma.” She heads to the dressing room, and I follow, picking up a few more dresses along the way. “We’ll try these too.” I purse my lips, considering. “Just for comparison. It’s a shame she’s still feeling jet-lagged. I’d like to meet her. She sounds fun.”

Kailani shakes her head. “I told her she shouldn’t stay up watching that police procedural, but she decided that the main character was, I quote ‘hot’ and had a cute accent.”

“Well, I hope she likes what we pick. And Jonah, of course,” I say archly. “Wouldn’t want to disappointhim. Your adorable, considerateboyfriend. After all, he did tell me to take good care of you.”

Kailani disappears into the dressing room. “What? Sorry, can’t hear you.”

I raise my voice. “You’re a quick worker, Kailani Reed. I mean, yesterday, you were all like ‘Oh, our team has an excellent rapport’, and today he’s snogging you senseless.”

“La, la, la,” she sings.