Amberlough(80)

“As it happens, more than anyone thought. She listened to me, DePaul, because she loves me.”

The echo of Cordelia’s accusation raised gooseflesh on Cyril’s arms.

“What did she say?” Memmediv went on. “Oh, yes, ‘Good idea, Vaz. Let’s get him back out there. I’m sick of wiping his drool off of you.’” He blinked again, slow and flirtatious. His long, dark lashes cast momentary shadows over his cheekbones. “She has a jealous streak, our Ada.”

Cyril said nothing.

Crow’s-feet deepened at Memmediv’s temples as his smile spread. “Now,” he went on, “you need something from me. If you ask very, very nicely, perhaps I can be persuaded to help you.”

“If you help me, you help the unionists. Isn’t that what you’re after?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” said Memmediv, “you’ll find a way; Konrad has you by the jewels.” He cupped one hand evocatively. “But other ways may be harder than this, less elegant. And you would look so sweet, begging on your knees.”





PART

3





CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

On the first truly sultry evening of the year, Aristide sat under the candy-striped awning of the Crane Gallery on Talbert Row, buttoned into a linen suit of summery white. Waiting for Finn’s trolley, which was late, he was moments from slipping away to make a few telephone calls and disappearing into the night.

The affair had been pleasant enough. But these days being what they were, there were more important people Aristide could be spending time with. Dalliances were for peacetime, and with the Ospies ascendant, this was no such thing.

His runners were reporting sharp drops in business due to unionist intimidation. After Tory MacIntyre’s run-in with the blackboots, Aristide could see why. Cordelia had thrown Cyril over entirely after the incident, and had nothing good to say about him since. It was ridiculous, but without her little asides about Cyril slipping into conversation, Aristide felt shut off from something he hadn’t even known he wanted. On top of it all, Cross was still incommunicado. He was beginning to worry something had gone wrong with her transfer of loyalties.

Before he could descend into further nervous calculation, the 8:15 trolley slid into view down tree-lined Talbert Row. Its bell clanged brightly, scattering automobiles. Aristide ground his straight into the ashtray, adjusted the amethyst studs at his cuffs and ears, and took a moment to preen in the window. As he straightened his tie bar, the trolley slid up to the curb and deposited a tipsy redhead on the corner. Finn’s shoulders were dusted with glitter, and there was a garish rosette pinned to his lapel.

“Mr. Lourdes.” Aristide pulled out a chair for his companion. “You’re late. And there’s confetti in your hair.”

“I was out with a few of the folk from the office.” Finn rubbed sheepishly at his coif, leaving it in disarray. His efforts did nothing to dislodge the rainbow spangles. As Aristide settled into his own seat, he got a better look at the gaudy loops of gold ribbon and tinsel erupting from Finn’s buttonhole.

“And what’s this?” he asked, reaching for it across the table. He kept the question from coming out sharp, just barely. That rosette was familiar.

Finn tugged it free and handed it over. “I was just … it’s my birthday. A few of the folk in the office took me out for drinks.”

“A p-p-party,” purred Aristide. “How nice. Who was there?”

“Oh, I don’t think you’d know any of them.”

“I think you’d be surprised. Names, Finn.” He knew he sounded curt, but things had just taken a very interesting turn.

“Well, Amelia was there, and Dugan—both from the bursar. Merrilee came for a bit—”

“Merrilee Cross? You know her?”

“I wouldn’t call us friends,” said Finn. “I only just met her a few weeks ago—she’s been away on business. But she’s nice enough. She came by as we were leaving. It seemed rude not to invite her along.”

“I’m sure it d-d-did.”

“Ari, is something the matter? Have I done something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no, darling. In fact you’ve been quite terribly clever.” He pinned the rosette back in place and leaned the extra inches across the table to kiss Finn on the tip of his freckled nose. “I d-d-don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s quite nice,” said Finn. “You know, I was getting a feeling you might drop me soon.”

“D-D-Drop you?” Aristide put a dramatic hand to his heart. “I’m wounded, Finn. P-P-Positively shot through the heart.”

“You’re wounded? Think how stung I felt.”

Aristide took Finn’s hand in his and squeezed it. “Would you be awfully p-p-put out if we skipped dinner altogether? I suddenly feel a great need to do imp-p-possibly wretched things to you.”

“They fed me a bit,” said Finn, “at the party.” He blushed, but his smile was wicked. “I could wait on dinner. Maybe even until morning.”

“Excellent.” Aristide pulled him to his feet. “I hope you like shirred eggs. Ilse’s are d-d-delicious.”

*

Finn laughed and flirted like a Princes Road harlot the whole ride back to Aristide’s flat. Wine or birthday gaiety made him vivacious. But as soon as Aristide closed the door behind them and slid the bolt, Finn’s smile dropped away.