Page 31 of Harmonic Pleasure


Font Size:

They walked another block or two before admiring the outside of the Temple Church, including the round portion. “Why is it round?” Vega asked, confused.

“That’s the original church. Now the narthex, they added the rest later. William Marshall’s buried there, if you want to go in sometime.” Farran tilted his head. “That’s not the bit I find most interesting, though. Let’s walk down a bit and find a quiet spot. I haven’t forgotten your other question. About the curses.”

Vega nodded, and they walked in silence down through a narrow alley and then down the street, the Thames coming into view, then turned right to follow the Embankment. They made ithalfway down the curve of the park, to Cleopatra’s Needle. “You said you’d heard the stories about it, some of them,” Farran said.

“Some, yes. That there are curses. And ghosts.”

“It’s a complicated question, really.” Now, suddenly, Farran wasn’t sure he wanted to get into it in a public space. “But look, see how the sphinxes are facing inwards? They’re supposed to be protective. And then there’s the whole matter of why this is here now. Which is partly international politics, which means it doesn’t make all the logical sense you might want. Then there’s what’s actually on the obelisk.” Farran was about to say more, but then Vega’s hand was on his arm, tightly.

“Can we go back to my flat? By some means where he couldn’t follow us? No, don’t look directly.” Farran hesitated, then adjusted his hat, managing to glance in the direction Vega had been looking. A man, one who fit the description she’d given him of Thomas Vandermeer.

“Same man?” Farran asked it quietly.

“Think so. Why is he here? Why would he be here? Is there a way we can, I don’t know...” Vega’s hand squeezed tighter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Take a breath. Do you think he’s seen you?” Farran tried to keep his own wits together, thinking about a place where they’d be able to slip into a crowd, and then find another street and get a cab. “If we could slip down to the Tube, it’d be a crowd.”

“Not the Tube, please.” Vega shook her head. “A cab. Is there somewhere?”

Farran nodded, and then stood up, offering his arm to her. “This way.” He wasn’t sure exactly what route would be best. But if they went away from the river, there were trees and people. They could cut back up toward Fleet Street or the Strand. There were hotels all along that stretch, but also plenty of offices and government buildings and shops. “Here we go.”

They wove through several groups of people, including nannies out with small children, before turning down one street, then another, until they came out on the much busier Strand. Farran immediately managed to flag down a cab, helping Vega get into it with one hand while he kept an eye out. As he took his seat, she gave her address, and the cabbie drove off.

Chapter 23

LATER THAT AFTERNOON

By the time Vega opened the door to her rooms, she was freezing. Shivering, the sort of bone-deep cold she hadn’t felt in ages. Not since she’d helped several of her uncles with a problem out on Salisbury Plain proper, something where the magic had gone twisted. “Tea?”

“Your landlady?” Farran asked, though he’d come in behind her.

“I need to be at the club by seven. As long as you leave with me, no problem. Most of the others won’t be back until around then, anyway.” Vega shivered again, more visibly. “Tea.” It wasn’t a question.

Farran frowned at her. “I can manage the kettle. You go change into something warmer and more comfortable if you want.”

It was, hilariously, the opposite of what most people might suggest, alone with a woman in her rooms. ‘Slip into something more comfortable’ implied many fewer layers, silky fabric rather than cosy, and vastly more access to skin. Vega couldn’t deny that she wanted to bundle up. “You’re certain?”

“Yes. On both counts.” He turned to peer at her kettle. Vega assumed he could sort it out. It was an ordinary sort of model.She’d learned how to use all the more common ones in the dressing rooms of various clubs, and the same probably applied for wherever Farran did his work. People with stable places of work got set in their ways, confused by a different model. Maybe that was why she liked the way Farran went about things. He had an adaptability that was like hers.

She went back through to the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. After a moment’s consideration, she went for a silk step-in, then a blouse, skirt, cardigan, and wool stockings. She added a charm or two to the cardigan and stockings for additional warmth. She’d have to change at the club, anyway. When Vega came back out to the sitting room, Farran was just setting the kettle back in place, standing by the table she used for the tea things. “Just a few minutes for tea. I did it in each cup, if you want to hold it for warmth.”

That seemed like an excellent idea, and Vega sat, then blinked up at him. “Oh.” She didn’t want to banish him to the desk chair. It had quirks, and it wasn’t very comfortable for chatting. “Have the other half the sofa?”

Farran nodded; he didn’t ask if she meant it. Some people might. And he didn’t immediately sit down right next to her, close enough to touch, which plenty of other people also might have. It was a friendly amount of space, not assuming anything. The fact she kept thinking like this really meant they ought to talk about it, but she didn’t want to spoil, well, whatever it was. It did not help that she couldn’t stop thinking about what Vivian Porter had said. And hadn’t said, but what she’d implied.

That Farran wouldn’t take Vega being a Cousin badly. That he had good manners for that sort of thing. Vivian would never have brought him to one of the estates if he couldn’t be trusted that way. They had other things to talk about, though, before that. “Where do we start?” There, that was practical.

“Curses. And I meant to say something about the Temple Church, too, that might or might not be relevant when it comes to secrets. Though I’m scarcely an expert there. And then, of course, Mister Vandermeer.” Farran said it evenly enough, until the end, but then he was watching her intently. She more or less repressed a shiver, and he said. “Start there. It’ll be better shared. He makes you feel uncomfortable. Physically, magically, something else?”

“Yes.” Having to put it into words outside her head was a help. She knew it, no matter how difficult it was. “A sense of cold. He was closer to me last time, close enough to speak, and it didn’t feel like that then.”

“You didn’t have the talisman in your pocket then,” Farran pointed out. “It felt warm around things more like what we’re seeking, at least for me. Perhaps the opposite here, for something...” He shrugged. “Something that’s the opposite of what we want? Or maybe he’s got some talisman or device it’s reacting to.”

“Well, it’s not terribly modern, made last week. Vandermeer dressed well, but nothing he wore was brand new.” Her chin came up when Farran blinked. “You get used to paying attention to that sort of detail. Especially at clubs where people come back, week after week. Who’s in good funds, who isn’t. How recently someone skilled has polished their shoes. Subtle, especially for people who buy good things to start.”

“But there. And I suppose you’ve a decent eye for paste gems and costume jewellery,” Farran said. Naturally, he’d think of that sort of object.

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of costume jewellery. And if I were going to a club, all sorts of people around, I’d rather wear something like that, honestly. Less worry about it.” That was the truth. Of course, some of it was about what jewellery she did and didn’t own in her own right.