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I jump into the flagging conversation. “Then you know Cress writes historical novels.”
“Yes. Very impressive. I plan to read your first book, Dr. Taylor, as soon as I can. Brian raved about it, especially as he knows my fascination with polar exploration knows no bounds. And Viktoria says you recently finished a book about the Merchant Adventurers and the court of Ivan the Terrible.”
Des, arms crossed, is silent. Still mute, Cress nods.
“When will it be available?”
When Cress still doesn’t speak, I say, “June. It’s already available for preorder, I think.”
After a couple of tries, Cress manages a few words. “Yes. You can order it from your favorite bookseller.” Determination settles around her eyes and mouth, and I watch her chest inflate as she takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about a new project, and I was wondering if I could speak to you about it.”
Colin glances over at his brother. “Us? Why would you care about our opinion?”
“I was… I was…” Again, she’s tongue-tied. This isn’t the Cress I’m used to.
I take her hand and start stroking the inside from her palm down to her wrist and back. After a pause, she begins again. “I’m thinking about writing a novel centering on your father and his time at Bletchley Park.” Her voice is timid. She lowers her eyes, studying her feet.
Colin doesn’t even pause. “Brilliant. I’ve always hoped someone would write about Dad. He’s one of the unsung heroes of Bletchley.”
Cress melts, in a good way. Her shoulders are no longer at her ears, and she is breathing normally, pulse slowing, and the slight tremors she hadn’t been able to suppress have subsided. I hand her the champagne flute, and she manages a sip without choking.
Des straightens. “No.”
Colin regards his brother with a resigned expression.
“Why?” Cress’ voice is a barely murmur.
“I have no desire to have someone fictionalize my father’s life. Perhaps I should say sensationalized, in print.”
Colin presses Cress’ hand. “He can’t abide agreeing with me on anything. Don’t worry about it.” He presses her hand again. “I’ll give you my contact information so we can stay in touch. I’m agog and I can’t wait to discover what you’re thinking.”
A gong sounds and we are called for dinner. Colin takes Des’ arm and drags him off toward their table.
With an uncertain smile, she hands the glass back to me. I grasp both stems in one hand.
As we troop in for the meal, I have my other hand on Cress’ shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I warned you about Des, but I hoped he might be reasonable, for once.” I press my lips together, frustrated.
“I guess that ‘s the end of it.” Cress’ voice is even but her hands are shaking.
“Don’t give up yet. Let Colin try to work things out. And if he can’t, maybe you can name the character something else and fictionalize him enough that it will still work.”
“Maybe,” she agrees uncertainly. “In the meantime, I’ll go back to some other ideas I was playing around with.”
By now we’ve reached our table and I set down the glasses and pull out her chair. “In all the excitement, don’t forget you’ve promised me a dance.”
ChapterTwenty
Max
I go for the Serpentine swim on my own again this morning. Swimming with a group seems safer than the runs I normally do at home. Cress is knackered and slightly hung over after the party. When I suggest she join me, all I hear is a groan as she puts a pillow over her face. I try to shake off the feeling of being watched as I check behind me on my quick walk to Hyde Park. No one. But if anyone is following me, they can hide in the early morning gloom.
When I reach Leicester Square, Clay, Jarvis, and Metin are in the Chicago conference room with Elena, who is taking notes. A PA brings me a full mug and a plate of biscuits, which should tide me over. JL is probably at the gym at the Athenaeum. He told me he plans to go to the Tower with Hillary. He’s fascinated with the opportunity to observe the security around the crown jewels, and she told him she will introduce him to the Ravenmaster.
My legs ache and I shift farther from the table to stretch out as I stare at the screen. My knees are still sore from the fall two days ago, exacerbated by a night of standing too much and many dances. Not only the three I managed with Cress, but dances with my mum, Aunt Grace, Meggy, Diana, and Liz, as well as the wives of my father’s three best friends, and several elderly cousins I hardly remember. I’m fagged and awash in tea, with the constant calls from my bladder.
After another trip to the loo, I slip back into the uncomfortable office chair, my back and thighs screaming. I haven’t kept up my running for the last few months and my body is protesting the lack of exercise. Two days of swimming doesn’t make up for daily ten milers.
My shoulder muscles bunch up as I try to find the best position to take the strain off my neck. I’d love to reposition the screen, but the installation isn’t adjustable. Frustrated, I rub my neck, trying to work out the knots.
