‘I’ll come back,’ he told her, his arms staying tight around her body.
‘You will?’ she breathed, stopping her struggles.
‘I promise,’ he said, and in front of everyone he gave her a brief kiss on the lips before moving away.
‘Gross!’ yelled Arabella, but Goodie noticed she was smiling and her cheeks were pink with pleasure.
Goodie watched the ten-year-old and sighed. Warm, happy, loved, secure; no worries other than school and homework and maybe keeping her room clean. This was how life should be; this was how Goodie would make life forherchild; how she would keep life for the Chambers family. Nothing would touch them; she would make sure of it.
* * *
‘Have you ever met her?’Bill asked Martin as they walked up to the huge front door of the Chambers mansion. ‘I mean when she was active.’ Bill was ten years younger and had only been with the service for the last three, having been recruited straight after his finals at Cambridge where he’d come top in the year, his exam scores setting actual records and putting him on MI6’s radar.
‘I was on clean-up after her once,’ Martin said, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck as he strode forward. ‘Messy.’ He shuddered and shoved both hands into his pockets.
‘Yeah, I’ve read the reports.’ One of Bill’s strengths was research and one of his obsessions was Goodnight. He’d read everything he could lay his hands on about her; it was part of the reason he was here with Martin for this assignment.
‘Jesus,’ Martin whispered as he looked up at the imposing stone building, ‘she’s landed on her feet at least.’
‘Goodnight has enough money of her own,’ Bill mumbled as he started up the stone steps. ‘There must be something else holding her here.’
‘Or someone.’
Bill frowned. ‘That just doesn’t fit her profile. She doesn’t do … attachments.’ By the time they had reached the top step the door had swung open. A slender, breathtakingly beautiful blonde woman, leaning heavily on a walking stick, was framed in the doorway.
‘Hello, boys,’ she said, her voice low and even, not betraying a shred of surprise.
‘Uh … hi,’ Bill stammered, feeling weirdly intimidated, despite her obvious physical weakness.
Martin sighed and stepped forward, holding out his hand for her to shake. ‘Mrs Chambers, we are so sorry for the intrusion. My name is –’
‘I know who you are and where you are from,’ she cut him off, her cold expression making him drop his hand back to his side.
‘Darling, what are you …?’ A tall, well-built, dark-haired man came up behind Goodnight and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. ‘Oh.’ He frowned as he looked down at Bill and Martin. ‘Er … hi there.’ Bill almost let out a nervous laugh as the man he recognized from his pictures in the press pulled Goodnight back and slightly behind him as if he was protecting her: totally bizarre.
‘Mr Chambers,’ Martin addressed him and extended his hand for a second time. This time it wasn’t left hanging, but the force behind Nick Chambers’ grip almost made Martin wish it had been. ‘I’m Martin Lacey and this is my colleague William Shepton. So sorry to intrude on your evening but we were wondering if we could talk to your wife briefly.’
‘Well, that would depend,’ Nick said, pushing Goodnight even further behind him before planting his feet wide and crossing his arms over his chest, ‘on who you are and what exactly you’re doing on my doorstep at nine o’clock at night.’
‘We’re civil servants, Mr Chambers,’ Bill put in smoothly.
‘Oh, right then,’ Nick said, ‘thankssomuch for clearing that up for me. Not at all vague.’
‘There were some government contracts that your wife was involved in, and we’re here to discuss them.’
‘Is my wife still involved in any contracts?’ Nick asked, both his eyebrows rising.
‘Well …’ Martin shifted uncomfortably on the step, flicking a glance over to Bill who was staring at Goodnight with his mouth slightly open: no help there. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘Okay,’ Nick lifted a hand to the door, ‘so there seems to be precious little to talk about then.’
‘Mr Chambers,’ Martin said again, putting his hand out to block the door that was rapidly closing on his face. ‘I really must –’
‘Let them in, Nick.’ The door opened fully again and all men turned to look at Goodnight. She had one hand wrapped around Nick’s wrist and was looking up at him with a determined look on her face. ‘If they wish to talk to me they will do it. Putting them off tonight won’t make a difference.’ Nick’s jaw clenched for a moment as he searched his wife’s face, and his grip tightened on the door. Just as Martin thought he would slam the door in their faces anyway, he saw Nick’s grip relax and he stepped back, giving both Martin and Bill a curt nod to enter.
‘Follow us,’ Nick said, starting down the corridor. Instead of striding ahead, as you would expect, given the type of man he was, he shortened his stride, checking that his wife, who had a pronounced limp and was still leaning heavily on her stick, was keeping up. He pushed open another huge oak door leading them inside a vast living room. There was an old man sitting by the fireplace, his hand poised over a chessboard.
‘Dad,’ Nick said, ‘these chaps need a quick chat with Anya. Do you mind …?’
