The Brigadier's Daughter (18 page)

They discussed the situation for a few moments and then Sir Stanley said, ‘We believe that the Sletovskaya woman has been entertaining them on behalf of one of her, er, um, a prince she consorts with.'

Reid sat up, his gaze hardening as he began to see in which direction this discussion was about to go.

‘We need to know what's going on, especially as our own negotiations with the Afghans have stalled.' He gave a regretful sigh, then, ‘I'm sorry, Reid, I do appreciate you are newly mar
ried and your wife is young, but her connection to Sletovskaya is too great an opportunity to be ignored. We want you to cultivate it, get yourselves invited to her house, keep your eyes and ears open and glean whatever information you can.'

Reid frowned. ‘Sir, I have to say I am not at all keen on the idea; the woman has the morals of an alley cat and I am reluctant to expose Sasha—'

‘Sasha?'

Reid flushed. ‘I mean Georgia—Sasha is my pet name for her.'

‘Indeed. But this is no time to be taking the high ground, old boy, and surely a few visits to attend supper and what have you would do no great harm? Besides, it's just a temporary assignment—the Afghans never stay away from home too long.'

‘But, who am I looking for?'

‘John's got the profiles, names, physical descriptions—he'll give you a briefing on exactly what the chaps look like. Obviously, it would be best if your wife knew nothing about this, she's young and naïve and goodness knows what might inadvertently slip from her tongue. Best if you accompanied her, seeing as you speak the Afghan lingo and can listen out for any interesting titbits of information. I am sure they will not be expecting anyone there to be able to speak their language.'

‘I'm hardly a native speaker in either Pashto or Urdu, sir.'

‘I'm well aware of that, Bowen, but you're fluent enough to understand a conversation, aren't you? That's one of the reasons we requested you be posted here.' Sir Stanley shot him a piercing glance, and then continued, tight-lipped. ‘Just keep an eye out, get close to the Countess, win her confidence.'

‘Is that really necessary, sir?' Reid shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not at all taken with the idea. ‘I don't think my wife—'

Sir Stanley sighed, with more than a touch of exasperation and annoyance. ‘Now look here, Bowen, in our line of work we quite often have to do things that we don't much fancy, that's what we get paid for. That's what we get medals and honours
from the Queen for.' He ruffled some papers on his desk, picked up a fountain pen and pulled off the cap, a dismissive gesture as he pretended to turn his attention to a document, muttering gruffly, ‘Just get on with it, there's a good chap.'

Reid exchanged a glance with John Hartley, who shrugged and rose from his chair, indicating with a discreet flick of his hand that Reid should do the same. He followed John to the door, where he paused as Sir Stanley called out to him, ‘Good luck, and bring me something useful. By the way, where's that report I asked you for regarding your day out with the Russian Hussars? I expect details, Bowen, we want to know just what the Russian capabilities and intentions are.'

‘I'm working on it, sir.'

Sir Stanley nodded. ‘On my desk by the end of the day.'

‘Certainly.'

Reid could do nothing more than utter that one word, before his clenched jaw prevented him from speaking. On the one hand, he was delighted at the prospect of getting out of the Embassy and doing something. These past weeks parked behind a desk had not been to his taste at all, and he did not think he would last long before asking for a transfer back to an active infantry unit. But on the other hand…Countess Irena of all people! He thought about the lewd book she had given to Sasha, about the exchange between her and Sasha in the garden after luncheon a few days ago that he had observed from the window. He was in no doubt that Irena had said something to upset Sasha, and that she had not told him the whole truth about that encounter, but he had swept it under the carpet, judging the association to be at an end. Obviously, now, it was not. As he returned down the corridor to his office, he murmured in an aside to John, ‘What does he want me to do? Sleep with the woman?'

John considered the idea and asked, ‘Would you? She's very beautiful.'

Reid snorted with disgust. ‘No, I most certainly would not! What do you think I am?'

John laughed, patting him on the shoulder, as he poured oil on troubled waters. ‘Only joking. Come on, let's go through those profiles and then you will have a good idea of who and what to look out for.'

‘Right. Then I'd better get cracking and write up that report.'

‘I hope your wife was not expecting to go out this evening? I doubt whether we will leave here much before ten.'

‘No.' Reid's reply was terse, but he sat down at his desk and tried to put all thoughts of Sasha out of his mind as he concentrated on his work.

 

Sasha waited eagerly for Reid to return home. Darkness fell. It was not unusual for him to spend a good part of the evening at the Embassy, but on this occasion it seemed longer and more difficult to bear the waiting. She curled up in a chair beside the hearth, wondering if Reid felt any reluctance to return, or if it was merely pressure of work. Perhaps what had happened between them at lunchtime held no particular significance for him, whereas for her it was momentous and she longed to see him again and talk about it. Maybe Reid did not feel that way, maybe for him it had just been…a minor occurrence. Maybe he would carry on as usual, with his rather erratic hours and his devotion to his military career. She wondered if maybe what they had shared meant nothing to him; no doubt it was an experience he had often had before with other women and had very little to do with love. It had only been a desperate act of physical need, powerful and raw, the primitive responses of male and female. No words of love and devotion had passed between them. Sasha turned her face to one side and closed her eyes, as if that would block out her painful thoughts and they would not be real, causing her breath to escape sharply from between her lips, muffling the sweet agony against the palm of her hand as tears threatened to spill. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have thought for one moment that being intimate like that meant that Reid loved her?

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief tucked in her sleeve, hearing footsteps in the corridor. The butler, Good, came in, announcing quietly, ‘Dinner is ready to be served, ma'am.'

Sasha glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was eight o'clock already. With a sigh she rose from her chair, squared her shoulders and replied, ‘I fear Major Bowen has been delayed yet again. Tell Cook to keep his meal warm, and that I will have mine on a tray upstairs.'

‘Very good, ma'am.'

Upstairs in her bedroom Sasha sat down at the small table by the window, gazing pensively out at the inky dark sky studded with stars and a silver moon, as she wondered what Reid was doing at this very moment. He'd had no lunch and he must be ravenous by now. Was he eating with the Cronins? Had he given her no thought at all, not even to send a message round to say he would be late? Had he gone out? Was he enjoying himself somewhere, without her? Did he not feel eager to return to her, to her bed, and explore further the passion they had experienced so briefly? Had he even given any consideration to getting married? The only barrier to their complete fulfilment and satisfaction of their desires was his insistence that they be wed properly, husband and wife in holy matrimony. How? When? She could not stem the hot flush of frustration that coloured her cheeks, as her glance strayed to the still-rumpled bed. Oh, Reid, she thought, sighing, come home soon! Thankfully, she was distracted then by Jane knocking on the door and bringing in her dinner tray. It was so beautifully and carefully set with snow-white linen, gleaming silver, a rose in a crystal vase, that Sasha felt touched.

‘Thank you, dearest Jane.'

The maid smiled, and retreated, pausing at the door, sensing that her mistress was deeply troubled. ‘Anything you want, mum, just ring for me.'

‘Thank you, but that will be all for tonight. You go on up to bed.'

Jane bobbed a curtsy and closed the door, leaving Sasha to eat her supper alone. The food was simple yet delicious as always, a hearty vegetable soup, followed by steamed trout and new potatoes, and a lemon sponge pudding. Afterwards, Sasha had a warm bath and put on her nightgown, pausing as she brushed her hair to stand at the window and peer across the darkened courtyard towards the Embassy. She could see the clock tower glowing, the black hands on the white porcelain background pointing to past nine o'clock. Surely he would be home soon? She got into bed and settled down to read
Jane Eyre
, leaving her door ajar and the lamp on, in the hope that Reid would not ignore the invitation when he came in. She needed to talk to him, to know what his intentions and feelings were, and that what had occurred between them in this bed was more than just lust.

 

By the time Reid had finished it was gone ten o'clock, but at last his work was done and he placed the twenty-page handwritten report on Sir Stanley's desk before he left. It was dark and cold as he walked briskly across the courtyard, taking a forbidden short cut that would bring him to the back of the apartment building, ringing the bell that would summon one of the footmen to open up the scullery door, and noting with approval that it was stoutly locked.

‘Good evening, sir,' young Harry greeted him, opening the door and then thrusting the bolts and bars securely again as Reid came in. ‘Can I take your coat?'

‘Thank you. Is my wife still up?'

‘Mrs Bowen retired some hours ago, sir.'

Reid stared around the warm kitchen, neat and tidy, a fire glowing in the range, sniffing at the scent of food. It had been a long day, with only tea and sandwiches, and as he gazed appreciatively at the range with its covered plates kept warm on top, the footman hurried to set out a tray with his meal.

‘Shall I bring it to the dining room, or your chamber, sir?'

‘No, I'll eat it here.' He didn't want to disturb Sasha, if she was asleep, with the commotion of servants and the clatter of cutlery. He pulled out a chair from beneath the scrubbed pine table, and then turned as Harry stood there staring at him, ‘What's the matter, boy?'

‘Um, er, nothing, sir, it's just that—'

‘What?' Reid sat down with a weary sigh, as Harry placed before him a tray set with the same meal that Sasha had enjoyed earlier, now not quite so fresh as hers had been, but nonetheless hot food of any kind was welcome.

‘Well, sir, it's just that upstairs folk don't usually eat, well, downstairs.'

Reid laughed, reaching for the salt and sprinkling some on the potatoes. ‘I'm a soldier, Harry, I've had worse food in worse surroundings than this, I can assure you.' He eyed Harry speculatively, and then gestured towards the kettle sat on the range. ‘Any chance of a mug of tea?'

‘Of course, sir.' Harry dashed about getting teapot, cup and saucer.

‘I said a mug.'

Hurrying to obey, Harry reached for one of the white china mugs used by the servants, found the sugar dish, and went to the pantry for milk. On his return, Reid gestured with his fork. ‘Make yourself one, and sit down. I want to talk to you.' He smiled at the flash of alarm in Harry's eyes. ‘Don't worry, you've done nothing wrong.' Reid concentrated then on eating his meal, enjoying every morsel, then laying down his knife and fork with a sigh, and nodding his thanks as Harry set down a mug of steaming tea in front of him. He waved him to a seat, took a sip from his mug, added two spoons of sugar, and then looked at Harry. ‘I believe you've accompanied my wife to visit her cousin, Countess Irena, on a number of occasions.'

‘Yes, sir.' Harry's eyes were wide as saucers, still fearing that he was about to be reprimanded.

‘You know where the house is, and the servants who work there?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Good. I've got a little task for you, Harry. I want you to keep an eye on that house, see who comes and goes; if my wife goes there without me, I want you to stick very close to her. Understood?'

‘Yes, sir!'

Reid rose from the table, throwing down his napkin. ‘Tell Cook my thanks for an excellent meal.'

He went upstairs, treading softly, and paused outside Sasha's room. He could see through her open door that she was asleep, with a book clutched in her hand. He went in very quietly, and turned down the wick of the bedside lamp, until it gutted and the room was plunged into darkness. He resisted the temptation to lean over and kiss her. It was late, and after all the events of the day, he did not know what to say to her.

 

The glow of pre-dawn woke Sasha, and her first thought was the disappointing knowledge that Reid had not come to see her. She stirred restlessly, her ears tuned, but she could hear no sounds. Had he come home at all? Well, she would soon find out! She pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, walking barefoot and on tiptoes as she left her own room and crossed the corridor. She paused in front of Reid's door, listening, but she could hear no telltale signs of movement. Slowly, carefully, she turned the handle and opened the door, peeping in. To her relief, she could see Reid sprawled on his back in the middle of the bed, bare-chested. She was so glad to see him that she had no thought except to be close to him, and she went in, closed the door behind her and padded softly across the carpet. She lifted the covers carefully and slid into the bed beside him, savouring the warmth of his body, the smell of his manliness. With a sigh she snuggled up against his side, her eyelids drooping as contentedly she settled down to sleep again.

Reid stirred, disturbed by the mattress dipping beneath his body and the awareness that he was not alone. He turned on his side, his hand sliding over her hip, sleepy still as he asked in a low, gruff murmur, ‘What are you doing here?'