took a long breath. “That’s a policy question. We’re here to talk about this one instance. OK . . . I’ll see what I can do. We do have a lot of information about the Brézé family. We’ll get it to you as fast as we can; some of it will have to be dug out of hiding places. But I’m not going to clear everything off our plate just for this.”
“We won,” Harvey said, when she had gone.
Adrian methodically finished the last of his duck. He would be needing his energy, and ordinary food had its part in that too.
“And Ellen is . . . wherever she is,” he said.
He snarled, then controlled the sound. A glimpse at his face in the beveled glass mirror stopped it more effectively. The sharp teeth showed between the drawn-back lines of his lips, and his eyes might have been glowing from a Pleistocene night by the reflected light of a frightened tribe’s campfires.
“Christ, Harvey, I don’t want to do this.”
“You’re going at it awful hard for a reluctant man,” Harvey said.
His blunt fingers made pills from the last of the bread. Adrian gripped the edge of the table until rims of white stood out in his fingernails, welcoming the pain of it.
“Do you know why I’ve spent these years sitting on a mountaintop , Harvey? Running, meditating, swimming, talking to people at safe remove through a keyboard. Playing tennis when I felt daring? Because that life . . . life on an even keel . . . is one I can control. I don’t like what this . . . walking armed towards a fight, thinking in terms of threats and counter-threats and strategy—does to me.”
“It ain’t all that much fun, I grant you.”
Adrian shook his head violently. “No. It is entirely too much fun, at some levels. I know myself. I was made for this.”
“You don’t like you nearly as much as I do, ol’ buddy,” Harvey said quietly, looking away. “Think you might reconsider? You’d be a happier man. ”
Adrian felt himself smile; the expression in the mirror was worse than the snarl had been.
“Consider my sister, my friend. She has an excellent sense of self-esteem, feels comfortable in her skin and enjoys her life.”
Softly: “And she has Ellen. For a whole day now. What has been happening, there, in that creature’s nest?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
S omethingchirped in her ear. Ellen woke, yawned, stretched, and frowned. The place smelled different from her own bedroom, and not like Adrian’s either, with its faint undertones of expensive tobacco and leather-bound books and juniper. Not bad—fresh linen, flowers, coffee, a spicy scent like eucalyptus—but different . She whimpered as memories crashed in on her. Then she realized she was alone in the big rumpled bed, and relaxed. The chirping came again; she turned her head and saw a BlackBerry resting on the pillow next to her.
This is yours, the note on the screen said. Schedule loaded. First, go get checkup at clinic: 10:00 a.m. Dr. Duggan fully briefed. Don’t be late or I will spank you.
The time display read 9:00. “Am I going to . . .” she started to mutter to herself. Then: “Of course I’m going to go for this checkup. She’s not kidding about that spanking. I don’t think she means just a pat, either.”
She tore through showering and pulling on the cotton dress and sandals provided, clipped the instrument to her belt and grabbed a fluffy kiwi pastry and a slice of fruit-bread from the breakfast trolley. She scarcely noticed the quiet sumptuousness of the great room and the fixtures, except the painting hung to the left of the bed, Adrienne’s side. That caught her eye, enough to make her bend close for an expert’s quick appraisal.
What a splendid reproduction! she thought, the professional taking over from the personal for a moment; she’d seen the original during her student years at NYU, on a field trip to France. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better one.
A small plaque below had a poem inlaid in gold on some dark tropical wood:
“ And
“We won,” Harvey said, when she had gone.
Adrian methodically finished the last of his duck. He would be needing his energy, and ordinary food had its part in that too.
“And Ellen is . . . wherever she is,” he said.
He snarled, then controlled the sound. A glimpse at his face in the beveled glass mirror stopped it more effectively. The sharp teeth showed between the drawn-back lines of his lips, and his eyes might have been glowing from a Pleistocene night by the reflected light of a frightened tribe’s campfires.
“Christ, Harvey, I don’t want to do this.”
“You’re going at it awful hard for a reluctant man,” Harvey said.
His blunt fingers made pills from the last of the bread. Adrian gripped the edge of the table until rims of white stood out in his fingernails, welcoming the pain of it.
“Do you know why I’ve spent these years sitting on a mountaintop , Harvey? Running, meditating, swimming, talking to people at safe remove through a keyboard. Playing tennis when I felt daring? Because that life . . . life on an even keel . . . is one I can control. I don’t like what this . . . walking armed towards a fight, thinking in terms of threats and counter-threats and strategy—does to me.”
“It ain’t all that much fun, I grant you.”
Adrian shook his head violently. “No. It is entirely too much fun, at some levels. I know myself. I was made for this.”
“You don’t like you nearly as much as I do, ol’ buddy,” Harvey said quietly, looking away. “Think you might reconsider? You’d be a happier man. ”
Adrian felt himself smile; the expression in the mirror was worse than the snarl had been.
“Consider my sister, my friend. She has an excellent sense of self-esteem, feels comfortable in her skin and enjoys her life.”
Softly: “And she has Ellen. For a whole day now. What has been happening, there, in that creature’s nest?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
S omethingchirped in her ear. Ellen woke, yawned, stretched, and frowned. The place smelled different from her own bedroom, and not like Adrian’s either, with its faint undertones of expensive tobacco and leather-bound books and juniper. Not bad—fresh linen, flowers, coffee, a spicy scent like eucalyptus—but different . She whimpered as memories crashed in on her. Then she realized she was alone in the big rumpled bed, and relaxed. The chirping came again; she turned her head and saw a BlackBerry resting on the pillow next to her.
This is yours, the note on the screen said. Schedule loaded. First, go get checkup at clinic: 10:00 a.m. Dr. Duggan fully briefed. Don’t be late or I will spank you.
The time display read 9:00. “Am I going to . . .” she started to mutter to herself. Then: “Of course I’m going to go for this checkup. She’s not kidding about that spanking. I don’t think she means just a pat, either.”
She tore through showering and pulling on the cotton dress and sandals provided, clipped the instrument to her belt and grabbed a fluffy kiwi pastry and a slice of fruit-bread from the breakfast trolley. She scarcely noticed the quiet sumptuousness of the great room and the fixtures, except the painting hung to the left of the bed, Adrienne’s side. That caught her eye, enough to make her bend close for an expert’s quick appraisal.
What a splendid reproduction! she thought, the professional taking over from the personal for a moment; she’d seen the original during her student years at NYU, on a field trip to France. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better one.
A small plaque below had a poem inlaid in gold on some dark tropical wood:
“ And
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