Remember (32 page)

A second or two later, Jose got into the driver’s seat, released the brake and turned on the ignition.

As they slid smoothly away from the hotel and into the street, Nicky said, “Did Javier explain where we are going?”

“Yes, senorita. We are going out to the area near the ring.”

“The ring?”

“Si, si. Yes, the bullring of Madrid, the famous Plaza de Toros de las Ventas. It is not too far, twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, depending on the traffic.”

“Oh yes, that’s right.”

“Do you know the ring, senorita? Have you been to a corrida ?”

“Yes, I have, some years ago,” she said, remembering the time she had met Charles in Madrid, just a few weeks before they had become engaged.

Don Pedro had taken them to a bullfight on the Sunday afternoon.

“Did you enjoy it?” Jose asked, half glancing over his shoulder, smiling at her.

“Yes, I did, thank you.”

Leaning back against the car seat, Nicky cast her mind back to that long weekend. She and Charles had stayed in Madrid for four days, and now she suddenly recalled how taken with it Charles had seemed to be.

Well, it was affluent, fashionable and vibrant.

Life was lived to the hilt here, and he had appeared to enjoy that, and the night life, as well as everything else. She wondered if he lived here permanently. Perhaps he did, maybe he had only been visiting Rome. Drugs, she thought, seizing on the South American connection, the common bond of language and heritage. And for all its glossy facade, she knew that Madrid had its problems like anywhere else.

Recently she had read that heroin was responsible for a death every two days in Madrid.

Was Charles somehow involved in drug smuggling? Was that what it was all about? Was that the reason he had faked his death and fled abroad to start a new life? Soon she would know the answers to everything, she presumed.

Half an hour later, Jose was pulling up behind Javier on a side street, and parking in front of a brownish-colored brick apartment building.

He helped her to alight, and she said, “Please wait for me here, Jose, however long I am.”

L’S’, St’, yes, I understand. I will not go away. I will stay here all day if necessary.”

Nicky nodded. “But I probably won’t be much longer than a couple of hours,” she added, and walked over to join Javier, who was already standing near the front door.

“This is the place, is it?” she asked, staring into his face.

“He waits here,” Javier said as he pushed open the door and stood back to let her enter the building first.

As she strode across the small foyer, following Javier to the lift, Nicky steeled herself. She had no idea what to expect, and her mouth had gone dry again.

Javier opened the door of the apartment with his own key and ushered her inside.

Nicky found herself standing in a small, dark foyer that was rather nondescript. It had an Oriental rug on the floor, a console table holding a vase of bedraggled artificial flowers, and framed posters of bullfighters on the walls. She glanced from side to side, intensely curious, and saw several closed doors, as well as a long corridor leading off the foyer. The living room was straight ahead, through an arched entrance way.

Everything was quiet. There was no sign of life, and Nicky could not help wondering where Charles was. She glanced about again, straining to catch the slightest noise.

“Please, go in there,” Javier said, indicating the living room, and as she walked forward he hurried down the corridor.

Her eyes swiftly scanned the room she had just entered. It was as ordinary and unprepossessing as the foyer, with more Oriental rugs on the wood floor, another and larger collection of bullfight posters on the white walls and several dark wood pieces. A sofa and two chairs were covered in drab olive velvet, and arranged around a cheap metal coffee table with a top made of decorative tiles.

Half expecting to find Charles waiting for her, Nicky was disappointed when she realized the room was empty. Stepping over to the window and looking out, she saw that the bullring, the famous Plaza de Toros de las Ventas, was only a stone’s throw away. Whoever it was that lived here, and she knew it was not Charles, was undoubtedly an aficionado.

Charles must have borrowed this apartment for our meeting, she thought, he wouldn’t live in a place like this.

It would offend not only his sensibilities but his sense of taste.

“Hello, Nicky.”

She almost jumped out of her skin on hearing his voice and swung around. She stared at Charles, who had entered the room through another door at the far end. And it was indeed Charles Devereaux she saw before her, although he looked very different. His hair and the mustache he had grown had been dyed black, and his deep tan served to underscore an unexpected look of swarthiness about him, one that was quite alien to her. He was naturally fair like his mother, and had always been extremely Anglo-Saxon in appearance. He was wearing a pair of navy blue cotton pants and white shirt, open at the neck, she had never seen him dressed quite as casually as this.

Nicky discovered she could not speak. She had not anticipated the shock of coming face-to-face with him, the impact was enormous, and she felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. Actually seeing him alive and well and obviously in good

health, after believing him for a long time to be dead, was overwhelming. She was shaking inside, and her heart was pounding at an alarming rate.

“You look very well, Nicky,” Charles said at last, breaking the silence between them, walking toward her. “And thank you for coming.” He stopped about a foot away from her and offered her a faint smile.

She did not return it. Her face was cold, her eyes blue ice.

Finally, she said in a voice that was glacial, “Let’s cut the small talk, shall we? That’s not why I came here.”

“I was merely attempting to put you at ease, my dear,” he answered, and once more the faint smile flickered.

On hearing those words and observing that superior little smile again, something in Nicky snapped. Grief, anguish and pain had long ago coalesced and become a simmering anger. And now that anger became an unmitigated rage and she exploded. “You rotten son-of-a-bitch! Why did you do it? Why did you do such a terrible thing? To me, to Anne.

How could you hurt your mother, and me, be so horribly cruel? You caused us both so much heartache and suffering. Wegrieved for you, you callous bastard! I’ll never understand how I could ever have loved you! I hate you for what you did!”

Charles visibly flinched at this torrent of angry words and her venomous tone, and a small muscle twitched in his clenched jaw.

But he said nothing to defend himself, he merely stood watching her, his gaze perfectly steady.

Tears of outrage ran down Nicky’s face, and unexpectedly she leaped forward, her anger propelling her toward him. She began to pummel his chest and face fiercely with her fists, showing surprising strength.

Her sudden and violent behavior took Charles by surprise, and he staggered under her incessant blows, but he swiftly regained his balance. He began to struggle with her and at last managed to grab her wrists.

“Stop it, Nicky! Do you hear me, stop this at once! This ridiculous display will not get us anywhere. I had you fetched here to tell you something, to explain—” “You had me followed!” she shouted.

“I certainly did not!” he shot back.

“You had my suite searched, you bastard!”

He hesitated only fractionally, then obviously decided to admit to this. “Yes, that is perfectly true, I did. But followed?” He shook his head. “No, no. Most decidedly not. I did not have you followed.”

She ignored this denial. “You faked your death and ran away to start a new life, ” she cried. “That was despicable and cowardly.

Unconscionable. I don’t know what your reason was, but nothing you could tell me now will ever justify—” “I had no choice,” he cut in peremptorily, in a voice that was icily calm and controlled. “I did what I did because I had no choice .”

“Everybody has a choice!”

“In this instance, I did not. It was a question of duty.”

“Duy!” she exclaimed shrilly. “That’s hard for me to believe!

Duty to what?”

“I want to explain why I did what I did, and then perhaps you’ll understand and go away and leave me alone.”

When she did not respond, Charles added, “You’re putting me in jeopardy, Nicky.”

“What do you mean, jeopardy?”

“You’re putting me at risk, putting my life at risk, running around the world asking questions about me, showing my photo

graph to people,” he said, his voice suddenly low, almost conspiratorial, and he pinned her with his eyes. “No one must know I’m alive. Not even my mother.”

Although she was thrown off-balance by this statement, Nicky made no comment, she simply gave him a curious look. Her eyes were full of skepticism as she weighed his words.

Charles said, “Come and sit down, and try not to be so angry.”

“It’ll take me a long time to get over my anger!”

“Just so,” he murmured, nodding. “But won’t you endeavor to calm yourself sufficiently in order to listen to me quietly, and in a reasonable fashion? Your anger is only getting in the way.”

“Good God, Charles, you expect too much!”

Unexpectedly, he let go of her wrists, and her arms fell to her sides.

Nicky lifted them immediately, looked at her wrists, and began to rub first one, then the other. They were red and sore. “Look what you’ve done.”

He said apologetically, “I’m so sorry, Nicky. I never did know my own strength, did I? Would you excuse me for a moment, I’ll be right back.” He went out through the side door.

Nicky leaned against the wall, feeling weak in the legs. She was still shaking, and the anger seethed inside her. But that was the only emotion she experienced, there was nothing left but anger, and perhaps hatred for Charles Devereaux. Otherwise she felt absolutely nothing for him. She was numb.

When Charles returned a few seconds later, he was followed by another young man, not Javier. The man carried a tray with a bottle of water and two glasses on it, and as he walked past Nicky and placed it on the coffee table, she caught a whiffof a pungent cologne. It was one she recognized instantly, and she stiffened.

Immediately Charles noticed this, and when they were alone again he said, “Why did you react to Pierre like that?”

“Because he’s the one who searched my suite,” she replied in a hard voice.

“How do you know that? Did you see him leave?”

“No, but I smelled him.” She glared at Charles.

Charles frowned. “What do you mean?”

“His cologne. My suite smelled of his cologne!”

Charles frowned once more. “He’s too young,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Too inexperienced. He was very careless.” Charles did not say anything else for a second, looked thoughtful, then murmured quietly, “Pierre didn’t find anything.”

“That’s because there wasn’t anything to find,” Nicky said.

“Except the photographs, and I had them with me.”

Charles made no comment about the pictures, but said, “Now come, sit down, Nicky. Your temper hasn’t helped us thus far. Please, do try to be calmer so that we can talk in a sensible, civilized manner.”

Nicky remained standing where she was, her eyes focused on Charles intently. She knew her anger was justified, it was an anger that had bubbled in her for three years now. And she did not regret her outburst or anything she had said. But he did have a point. She would not find out anything if she did not control herself and let him speak, tell his tale.

“Come, Nicky,” he said again, waving his hand at the chair nearest to her. “Please, do sit down, won’t you?” As he spoke he lowered himself into the other chair, reached for the bottle and poured himself a glass of water. He glanced up at her. “Would you care for a glass of this?”

She nodded. “Thanks, it’s very hot in here.”

He jumped up at once, went to turn on a fan standing on a table in a corner and returned to the chair. After pouring water for her, he picked up his own glass and drank.

Nicky continued to watch him. This was a man she had loved

and adored, whom she had been intending to marry, and to whom she had been wholly committed. She had slept with him, been intimate with him on every level, shared so much with him, but at this precise moment he seemed like a total stranger to her.

She sat down, took a drink of water and said, “I’m calmer now, Charles.

Talk.”

“What I’m about to tell you is extremely confidential. You cannot tell anyone. Not ever. And not even my mother.”

When Nicky remained completely silent, he said, “Promise me that you won’t reveal that I am alive, or repeat what I’m about to tell you to anyone, least of all my mother.”

“I don’t know that I can do that.”

“Then I’m afraid I cannot tell you anything.”

“Why mustn’t Anne know anything?”

“Because she would want to see me if she knew I was alive, and that’s impossible. It could be dangerous—for her,” he said.

” W?”

He did not answer this question, instead, he said to her, “Ifyou give me your promise, swear on your honor that what I say will remain absolutely confidential, then I will tell you everything.

Well, at least I will tell you why I faked my own death and disappeared

.”

“Okay, I promise. I won’t tell Anne or anyone else that you’re alive.

Nor will I disclose what you now say to me in confidence.

” “No other living soul, Nicky. Say it.”

“I won’t tell another living soul. I promise.”

“I sincerely hope you mean that. I think you do. It’s not in your nature to break your word. But let me just add this—what I’m involved in has to do with national security. British national security. ” Nicky leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “I told you I wouldn’t say a word, and I won’t.”

“All right.” He sank back in the chair, and after a moment said in a low voice, “I am a British agent.”

This was the last thing she had expected to hear, but thunderstruck though she was she kept her expression neutral.