“You haven’t used me at all. I had a lovely time. I knew what I was about, the whole way through. You don’t owe me an apology for any of it.” Connor’s hand had not stopped moving against the back of his head. “But I think we ought to revisit our terms, sweetheart.”
Vidal lifted his face off the wet patch he had made on the front of Connor’s shirt.
“Are we still having fun, Vidal?”
“Yes, my friend. We are still having fun.” Vidal’s eyes were full. His mouth had pulled into a smile. “But I think… I think I might be looking for a boyfriend.”
Connor closed his eyes for a beat. When he opened them again, the smile he gave Vidal was sad, but sincere. “Yeah, sweetheart. I thought you might be.” He kissed Vidal once more on the forehead and let him go.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Vidalwent up the stairs with one hand on the banister and the sling stiff across his ribs. The flat was quiet. Wallis had let himself out at six, and Mercè came pattering down the corridor at the sound of his key in the door. He picked her up one-handed and carried her through to the kitchen, where the broth was still on the hob, gone tepid and gathering a thin grey skin across the surface.
He stood at the cooker for a long time with Mercè against his good shoulder, trying to decide what to do next. He should pour it down the sink, wash the pot, and avoid Connor for a few days while they both recovered from what had ostensibly been the most amiable break-up Vidal had ever experienced. But he also couldn’t stand the thought of Connor sniffling away miserably downstairs…
No. He had to go ahead with the plan: tomorrow he would carry it down to Connor, alongside the sourdough rolls he’d baked, and there would be no scene. The handover would be simple, just Vidal saying‘heat it for ten minutes, the bonesare good for one more pass’. Then Connor would say‘ta, sweetheart’, and that would be all.
Vidal had cried himself out less than an hour ago against the front of Connor’s T-shirt. Now he had to sit with the fact that Connor had asked him a single question,‘are we still having fun, Vidal?’and had given him the option to choose him.
He could have, because Connor was so easy to be with and to love. But Vidal hadn’t been able to because the man he wanted wasn’t Connor, it was the one who’d left with a John Lewis gift card in a Smythson envelope.
? ? ?
Wallisarrived at six the next morning. He let himself in with his own key, set the kettle on, and was at the kitchen counter going through the day’s diary when Vidal came down the corridor in his silk robe with Mercè under his good arm.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Captain.”
“Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Vidal took the mug offered him, sat down at the kitchen table, and watched Wallis run through the day’s schedule on his iPad. Two o’clock, they had a visit to the consultant at the Royal London for a follow-up on the arm. Half past four, a courier from the Cardonan embassy was scheduled to drop by with urgent documentation Pare had asked him to sign. At six there was thedinner reservation at Scott’s with Lex and Barnaby that Vidal would not be keeping.
“Cancel the dinner with Barnaby and Lex, Captain. I am not up to it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vidal watched him over the rim of his mug. Wallis was cut from the same cloth as Beauchamp; career military and Sandhurst-trained. The sort of man who’d write reports in numbered paragraphs that left nothing to interpretation. If the dossier hadn’t come from Beauchamp…
“Captain, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, sir.”
“During the handover, did Major Beauchamp leave you a written review of my associates?”
Wallis’s pen stopped against his iPad and he turned to face Vidal across the kitchen. “Sir. The Major left me a comprehensive handover document. He was very detailed about your security arrangements at the building, your medical contacts, and your household staff. It ran to about forty pages.”
“That was not my question, Captain. Did the Major leave you a written assessment of the people I see socially? My friends. My neighbours.”
Wallis paused. “The Major is a thorough officer. His handover work was the most detailed I’ve received in eighteen years of this kind of work. There was very little I could fault.”
“You are quite carefully choosing your words, Captain.”
Wallis looked at him. “Sir, as a matter of standard operating procedure, when I take over a principal protection role, I conduct my own review of the residents of the building and the principal’s social associates. I do this regardless of the quality of the handover I’ve received. It’s not a comment on my predecessor. It’s simply how I orient myself to my principal’s daily life.”
“I understand.”
