Proserpina
When she came awake, the sound of her husband growling in a low voice over the phone was what she heard. Reaching out a hand, she found the space beside her was empty but the warmth signified that he had just risen.
Slowly, groggily, she lowered her feet to the ground, her hand going to her rounded stomach protectively. She should really stop depending on Beatrice and her strange concoctions that helped her to de-stress. Surely it must be armful for the baby, she thought restively.
She could make out Lucien’s back. He was standing , his back to her, staring out at the wintry sunlight in the garden outside. As he was dressed, she guessed that he had been up and awake for a while now.
She only had a vague memory of his getting to bed beside her, holding her to his large body, his face in her hair . When had he returned? She had no idea. But he had refrained from disturbing her. Soundlessly, she tiptoed to the bathroom.
When she returned after showering, he was still in the same position, speaking on the phone. Sighing, she ran a hand through her damp hair and went to him, wrapping her arms around his back, inhaling the familiar, safe fragrance of her husband’s citrus cologne and musky smell of his body.
Draping an arm around her, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her head, still intent on his conversation. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to listen but the words crowded into her consciousness, unwittingly.
Paddy.
Claude.
She hugged her lover fiercely, telling herself that she would not cry. Lucien’s arms tightened. He was her rock, the one person who kept her going.
He ended the call and tipping her face up, he kissed her hard, possessive and ruthless as always.
‘Woman, I am getting Paddy home. He can be treated from here.’ growled the Don and Proserpina drooped against him, relieved.
*
When she went downstairs, she found that Melissa had stayed the night and had taken over the preparation of breakfast as well. Sighing happily, Proserpina hugged her friend in silent gratitude.
“What about your kids?’ she asked as she sipped the chai that had mysteriously appeared before her.
‘Tristan has got us a good nanny. She’s a woman on the middle-aged side, Mrs Coelho. She comes in at times when I am away at school, to look after our angel and keep an eye on the boys.’
Proserpina nodded. Melissa had two sons who were roughly around her own triplets’ age. She had lost a baby soon after getting married to Tristan and it had taken some time to get around that miscarriage. The daughter who had come along later was still a toddler. And the little girl had Down’s Syndrome. But Melissa and Tristan Lord were like warriors who had taken it all in their stride.
*
Melissa reached out and stroked her friend’s hand.
“Don’t look so glum and harried. The Boss is in charge.’ She winked and the two friends smiled at each other.
Melissa and Proserpina went a long way back. And the bond they had forged was deep and strong. Each of the women knew that they would be there for the other.
*
Claude was on his way back home too. Piers and the Capo would be accompanying Paddy who was being transported in an ambulance with heavy security.
Proserpina sighed. Maja Nord entered the kitchen, her flame-coloured corkscrew curls askew as usual and came to a stop on seeing Melissa. The lovely blonde with the bright green eyes studied her curiously.
“Who’s this?’ she asked in a low voice. Proserpina looked around; she had been lost in thought. Smiling tiredly, she said, ‘That’s Maja. She is a friend of Schwartz.’
And she waved to Maja, inviting her to join them.
Melissa’s head whipped around again and she did a double take as her eyes skimmed over Maja and her scruffy jeans and old baggy shirt that did nothing for her appearance. So totally unlike anyone Schwartz, the dapper gent that he was, usually associated with. Aiyana had been a study in laid calculated perfection; never a hair out of place. Melissa continued to size up the other woman who was bristling with annoyance now at being observed like she was a cow at a fair on display.
‘She is?’ Melissa echoed doubtfully and Maja felt her temper rise. Who gave that elegant-looking woman the right to look at her and pass judgment, anyway?
Melissa Lord shrugged her shoulders as she turned away and thought, another stray that Proserpina had adopted. When would the woman become self-serving?
And then she felt a pang of remorse at her uncharitable thought; it had been Proserpina who had welcomed her to this very house when she, Melissa was a stranger and in need of some shelter. With that memory in mind, she turned to smile warmly at Maja who was still glaring at her. Maja gave a tight smile, rearranging her features to grimace in reply, a smile that showed how well she knew that she was unwelcome.
*
Breakfast was a simple affair; bacon and eggs with pancakes on the side. The boys, particularly Lou and Dom pulled long faces but one withering look from Melissa had them wolf down their food with startling speed. Magnus watched the faces of the people around the table and then caught himself as he met the cold gaze of his mother. The now-inseparable duo, Tara and Maddie, ate heartily and soon, everyone had dispersed. The Don had left earlier, opting to not stay for breakfast. His only acknowledgement of his wife’s best friend was to bestow a cursory nod in Melissa’s direction
It was no secret that he only chose to eat at home if the food had been prepared by his lovely wife.
*
Proserpina sat wearily, her hands over her small stomach staring out blankly at the winter landscape from her favourite nook in the kitchen.
When will all this end? she asked herself tiredly. And a small voice in her head replied, Never.
*
Claude
He came to feeling queasy and stared around himself. His shoulder was hurting like hell, he thought, frowning as he looked around the hospital room, wondering why he was lying on one of the beds.
And then, it all came back to him. With an oath, he swung his legs off the bed and then wished he had not moved so quickly.
‘Claude.’ came his brother’s warning voice from the shadows and he saw that Piers had been standing in the doorway.
The handsome young man stepped into the room, the door shutting behind him. As the light fell on Piers’ fair head, Claude saw that his brother looked weary and strained.
But it was Piers who spoke first, ever the concerned, protective elder brother.
“You feeling ok?’ he asked in a rough voice and Claude nodded.
‘I have felt better,’ he joked lamely. And then, “Where’s Paddy?’ he asked in alarm as he became aware that the bed beside him was empty.
‘Pappa has decided to get him shifted to the house,’ said Piers shortly,’ In fact, Philippe has already left with him. I was waiting for you to come awake. We can join them.’
Claude moved, his brother stepping forward to help him off the bed. At that moment, the door opened and one of the nurses appeared, tearful as she looked at Claude.
“We are so sorry,’ she mumbled and then stepped forward to check him and his wound. The arm in the sling did not hurt as much as the one with the stitches and Claude winced as she set about re-bandaging his arm.
“We can remove the sling now, Mr St Claire.’ she said in a small voice.
‘Hey, cool.’ grinned Claude but he was eager to leave and get back home. Piers was back on his phone but his eyes were on Claude and on the nurse, disapproval in his expression.
‘Yes, Sir.’ said Piers as he ended the call and Claude realised that he had been talking to their father.
Leaning heavily on his brother’s arm, Claude left the room. Briefly, as he sat in his brother’s SUV, eyes closed, he wondered about the woman who had come so close to killing Paddy.
‘Did you find her, that nurse who was trying to kill Paddy?’ he asked Piers in a low voice. The words came out slightly slurred as he was recovering from the drugs he had been given, painkillers to lessen the throbbing in his arm. The men riding up front would not hear him but he lowered his tone anyway.
Piers shook his head, running a hand over his face tiredly.
“She is an assassin, one of the best, Ex-Mossad. In Paval’s pay now.’
Claude let the information sink in. he was still groggy from the drugs but one thing bothered him as they continued to drive in silence.
“If she was so good, why did she not kill him?’ he asked, turning to his brother in some confusion.
*
Hila
As she rode to her small apartment in the middle of the city, Hila was asking herself the self-same question Only, she knew the answer to that.
The Monk had told her about the man she had to kill but he had failed to mention one very important detail; that the young man was autistic. it was only when she was about to empty the contents of her syringe into the tubes attached to his prone body, that the words on the file open beside his bed had jumped out at her.
Patrick St Claire; Autistic.
Everything else had blurred before her.
The crafty old monk probably knew every detail in her file by now, she raged inwardly, and he had known that there were some deeds she would never do.
One of them was killing a person who could not retaliate, who was challenged in some way, physical or mental.
And Hila had known immediately that she could not go ahead with it.
Her brother’s face loomed large as though he was standing in front of her. The empty grin, the large eyes with a vacant look and then, the last image of him as she had seen his body,