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‘Hello, Edge.’
There was a smile and a warning in Lucas’s voice and Edge returned the smile stiffly as Sam moved away.
‘Where is Olivia?’ Sam asked as she sat on the sofa, hands clasped with pointed propriety.
‘Overseeing the packing and trying to find Inky before we leave. Well, Edge. It has been a while.’
‘Yes. Lisbon.’
‘During the war?’ Sam asked.
‘No, on my way to Brazil.’
‘Four years ago. Your brother was busy there.’
‘As I remember so was yours.’
‘Oh, do kiss and make up, you two,’ Sam said. ‘I thought you were friends!’
Edge smiled at the concern beneath her annoyance.
‘We are. Your brother is merely voicing his objection to the unorthodox manner of our marriage in his own inimitable way.’
‘That is one way of putting it,’ Lucas said. ‘If it were anyone else I would take them outside and deliver my warning in a rather more direct manner.’
Edge shook his head.
‘We were always too evenly matched. I don’t think both of us sporting a black eye or a bloody nose would quite make your point.’
‘Learn some tricks in Brazil?’
‘There is this fascinating method of combat called capoeira.’
Lucas’s dark eyes brightened with interest. ‘I have heard of that. You must show me some time. We’ve turned the great hall downstairs into a boxing and fencing saloon and I’ve been teaching Olivia how to fence...’
Sam straightened.
‘Lucas! I asked you dozens of times and you never agreed.’
‘That is because I trust Olivia not to run me through when she’s annoyed at me.’
‘I am twenty-six, not six, you know.’
‘It’s not a question of knowing. It’s a question of accepting,’ Edge interjected, watching the silent battle in Lucas as he almost visibly unravelled the bonds of responsibility over Sam’s fate. No doubt he would have to go through the same circling and sniffing when Chase arrived. ‘It is good to see you again, Lucas.’
Lucas sighed.
‘I’m glad you’re back, Edge. As long as you are good to Sam, I will remain glad.’
* * *
Sir Oswald Sinclair was a man of about fifty, more slightly built than Lucas, with grey-streaked brown hair and the face of a contemplative monk. His eyes were either grey or a pale brown, it was hard to tell the way he kept his gaze veiled.
‘Sam.’ He placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders after the introductions were complete and looked her over and almost smiled. ‘That is better.’
He turned to inspect Edge.
‘So. You are Greybourne’s son.’
‘I am afraid so.’
‘Yes. I never met your sire, but your brother expressed a similar sentiment towards him when we met.’
‘You met Rafe? When?’
‘The first time was some ten years ago in Paris. The last time was a year ago in London while he was between...occupations.’
‘There, you see? I told you it was best to speak with Oswald.’
‘My dear Sam,’ Oswald interjected, ‘I do not believe it is wise to begin wedded life by wielding the phrase “I told you so”. Not so, Lucas?’
‘Let’s just say I would suggest making that point more diplomatically,’ Lucas replied. ‘But this is Sam, after all. Her idea of diplomacy used to be “once more unto the breach”. I’m happy to see you still have your lance and sword on you, Sam. Give Edge hell.’
‘Thank you, Lucas,’ Edge said.
‘Enough, you two. Now, Lord Edward, I would like you to tell me everything you know about your brother’s activities and then I shall tell you what I myself have heard.’
Edge straightened.
‘You have news of him? How...?’
‘You needn’t look at Sam like that, Lord Edward, she said not a word to me on this issue since her arrival in London. But my people track persons of interest entering our ports and your brother is even more distinctive now than he was before his scars, a fact which undoubtedly makes his occupation rather more challenging than usual. Add to that the fact that he arrived aboard a vessel manned by a captain known for making unreported stops along his routes. Now, we shall begin by telling each other what we know. You begin, if you please.’
Edge hesitated, but with a look at Sam he put his cards on the table and told Sir Oswald the little he knew.
‘If you know of my brother, Sir Oswald, then you know he is not concerned with formalities. I am worried he might have become embroiled in something not quite...above board.’
‘Your brother is no fool, Lord Edward. Though his antipathy for your father has propelled him into a rather colourful existence, it is his skill and inclination which kept him there. To my knowledge he has never yet done anything counter to the interests of King and Country. As far as I can ascertain, whatever took him to Egypt and beyond has thus far not had international repercussions barring the message regarding his death which was clearly a forgery. If he is settled in London, I shall no doubt hear of it. A man of your brother’s physique and connections is unlikely to go unnoticed here.’
