The Paris Affair Part 18

Malcolm frowned a moment, as though sifting through the past. "I was there when they met. At Oxford. In a dusty hall, where we were rehearsing Henry IV Part I. I can't say I knew instantly. But by the end of that rehearsal, I was making conversation with Oliver Lydgate and doing my best to appear invisible so David and Simon could talk." He hesitated. Malcolm didn't talk about anyone's feelings easily. "I can't pretend to know precisely how and when the relations.h.i.+p progressed, but the spark was clear from the first." He gave a faint smile. "Though it was more than a year later before Oliver asked me if I thought there might be something between David and Simon, and even then I don't think he'd have said it if he hadn't been three sheets to the wind."

Gleeful laughter carried back on the breeze. Colin was giggling as Simon held him up to examine a bird's nest in a tree overhead. "But you already knew that David-" Why was she having trouble saying it? She could be perfectly frank about most love affairs. But then most love affairs didn't risk getting the partic.i.p.ants arrested. "You'd known that David was attracted to men for some time."

Malcolm shot a look at her. "I can't remember not knowing. No, that's not quite true. We were boys when we met at Harrow. I didn't think about it one way or another. Even as we got older, as David showed little interest in girls or inclination to talk about them, I thought he was just reticent as I was." He glanced ahead at their son, as though hoping Colin navigated the shoals of adolescence better than he had himself. "But then I remember one day in a maths lecture seeing David glance at another boy. Just glance. There wasn't anything between them. David was as slow to develop in such matters as I was. But somehow I knew. And it wasn't like discovering something surprising. It was acknowledging something I should have seen long since." He studied her face. "Why?"

Suzanne drew a breath, fragrant with fresh cut gra.s.s and orange trees. Even now she hesitated to put it into words, because it was based so much on intuitions and impressions. "Because Louise Sevigny said she thought Bertrand loved someone in England. And I'm wondering if perhaps it should be blindingly obvious to us who that person is."

CHAPTER 13.

Malcolm moved through the elm trees in the Jardin du Luxembourg, planted by Marie de' Medici some two centuries ago. Rupert Caruthers was slumped on the ground, his back against a tree trunk, his gaze fixed on the leaf-strewn ground, though Malcolm suspected whatever he was seeing had more to do with memory than with what was presently before him. Malcolm took a half step forwards, letting the toe of his boot crunch over a pile of fallen leaves.

Rupert looked up with a start of surprise. "Malcolm. I didn't realize-"

"You were lost in thought."

"I come here, sometimes, when I want to get away." Rupert hesitated, then, his face oddly vulnerable, added, "Bertrand wrote to me about it. It was his favorite spot in Paris."

Malcolm dropped down on the ground beside Rupert. The smell of damp earth brought a memory of boyhood rambles. "You were right to have faith in Bertrand. He wasn't working for the French."

Rupert's gaze shot to Malcolm's face. Relief, triumph, grief, and anger did battle in his eyes. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be. Talleyrand says the French were shocked to learn Bertrand had been working for us."

"By G.o.d-" Rupert started to push himself to his feet.

"Rupert." Malcolm gripped his friend's wrist. "I'll do everything in my power to learn the truth. I swear it. But rus.h.i.+ng off in anger won't solve anything."

"It will-"

"Vengeance is singularly corrosive. And you don't know whom to wreak vengeance on."

"Stewart is-"

"An arrogant fool and a danger to his own people. But he's not the man who set Bertrand up. And if we're going to learn who did, we need to keep our wits about us."

Rupert hesitated, his wrist taut in Malcolm's grip. "If only I'd-"

"Don't, Rupert. For G.o.d's sake don't blame yourself. Therein lies the way to madness."

"I owed it to him-"

"You owe it to him to try to discover the truth. And not to ruin your life."

Rupert drew a harsh breath. "My life was-" He bit back the words and collapsed back beside Malcolm on the ground.

"You must miss him a great deal," Malcolm said.

The vulnerability was gone. Rupert's face turned as guarded as the Hofburg Palace. "He was my best friend."

"I think one's childhood friends sometimes know one as no one else does. I know that's true for me with David Mallinson."

A question flickered in Rupert's eyes. He must know about David's relations.h.i.+p with Simon. Was he wondering if Malcolm had brought David up to test the waters? For a moment Malcolm thought he'd pushed it too far and Rupert would close up completely. Then, as though he had a compulsion to speak, Rupert said, "I don't make friends easily. Not the sort one confides in. Losing someone like that-It's like a window shutting. A part of one's life closed off forever."

"A horrible feeling," Malcolm said. "I find it difficult enough to share things myself. I've learned I can talk to my wife. Better than I ever thought I'd be able to. But sometimes I think I'm afraid if she sees too much it will change the way she feels about me."

Rupert's gaze shot to his face, as though he was surprised by how much Malcolm had revealed. In truth, Malcolm was surprised himself. "You're fortunate in your marriage, Malcolm. Gaby and I-I'm fond of her. And I think she is of me. But we're not confidants."

Malcolm stretched his legs out in front of him and contemplated the toes of his boots. "For a long time I never thought I'd marry at all. I hadn't seen a particularly good example from my parents, and I doubted I'd be good at sharing my life with anyone. I suppose the truth is I didn't think it was fair to inflict myself on anyone. Then I met Suzanne, who'd been left alone in the midst of a war. That gave me an excuse."

"Gaby needed protection," Rupert said. "It had always been hard for the family as emigres and with the scandal about Bertrand it had grown intolerable. And of course I needed-"

"You needed a wife. As heir to an earldom. A burden I didn't share. I imagine you were under considerable pressure from your parents to marry."

"Isn't everyone?"

"My mother died years ago, and my father never paid much interest to me. Not an ideal relations.h.i.+p with a parent, but there are certain advantages."

Rupert gave a bleak smile. "My parents wanted me to marry, of course. It got worse as I got older. Gaby was in difficult straits, and I've always been fond of her. It seemed the right time-"

"Did Gabrielle understand?" Malcolm asked.

"Understand what?"

"What you were offering her?" His own proposal to Suzanne rang hollow in his ears.

Rupert hesitated.

"I warned Suzanne," Malcolm said. "That I hadn't thought to marry and didn't think I'd be very good at it. I made it very clear what I was offering. And what I wasn't." He drew his knees up, sc.r.a.ping his boots over the ground. Hot shame washed over him.

"I didn't-That is, I never said-"

"I suppose it rather has to do with how Lady Caruthers feels about you. I had no illusions about how Suzanne felt about me." He could see the wide-eyed surprise in her gaze that night on a balcony overlooking the river Tagus when he proposed. "And yet I wondered often after we married if I'd done an unfair thing to her. Because however much I've come to care for her, I can't make myself into something I'm not."

"That's just it." The words burst from Rupert with sudden force. "I care for Gaby, but I can't be-" He bit back whatever he had been going to say and swung his gaze away, his face set hard.

"Rupert." Malcolm touched the other man's arm. "David and Simon Tanner are two of my best friends. I've known what was between them since we were at Oxford. I've known it was the sort of relations.h.i.+p David wanted for longer than that. I value what they share tremendously. To own the truth, I've been jealous of it."

Rupert swung his head round to meet Malcolm's gaze, defenses slammed into place. "What's between Mallinson and Tanner is irrelevant-"

"You loved Bertrand," Malcolm said. "That's relevant. And I can't imagine the h.e.l.l it must have been for you to lose him and not be able to talk about it."

Rupert jerked away from Malcolm. "d.a.m.n it, Rannoch-"

"Please, Rupert. I wouldn't have pried if I didn't need to learn the truth about Bertrand's death. I think you want to learn it, too. But more than that I think you need to talk."

Rupert's fingers curled inwards, pulling the leather of his gloves taut across his knuckles. For a moment he looked like a trapped animal. Malcolm felt a stab of self-hatred. Then Rupert released his breath in a rough sigh. "I've never talked about it. I've never told . . . anyone."

"Love's difficult enough without having to keep it secret."

Rupert stared at the interlaced leaves of an elm tree. "I didn't know when we first became friends. We were only children. I only knew he understood me as no one else seemed to. Then it was as if . . . we both discovered it together." His gaze held a wonder of a discovery he'd never put into words. Young, intense, delirious love of the sort Malcolm had never known. "We were able to spend so much time together. We never talked about the future, save that we both knew I was expected to marry. Somehow I thought we could go on as we had before. Share rooms in London when we finished up at Oxford. But of course my parents pressured me to take a wife. Of course ultimately it had to change. I sometimes think Bertrand saw that better than I did. And that it was because he saw it that he volunteered for the mission in France. It made the decision for both of us."

"And allowed you to continue to work together."

"That's what Bertrand said." Rupert turned his gaze to Malcolm. "I told you the truth yesterday. Bertrand didn't tell me anything about the mission until he'd already volunteered his services to Carfax."

"It must have been a shock," Malcolm said. He worried enough when Suzanne went into danger, but at least she'd never volunteered her services to Castlereagh or Wellington without telling him. Not that he wouldn't put it past her to do so or put it past them to use her without telling him.

"I was furious. I said Bertrand had no right to take such a decision without consulting me. He pointed out that we had no claim on each other."

"That must have hurt."

"You have no notion. And yet I couldn't deny it." Rupert sc.r.a.ped a hand through his hair. "I told him it was too dangerous. He said danger couldn't stand in the way of duty. He accused me of thinking him a coward. I said I only wanted to protect him."

Malcolm gave a rough laugh. "I've had remarkably similar conversations with Suzanne on more than one occasion."

Rupert looked at him in surprise, then nodded. He picked up a fallen elm leaf and twirled it between his fingers. "That's when Bertrand pointed out we could work together, that it was an adventure we could share. We argued until dawn. But in the end I couldn't talk him out of it, and if he was set on it, I wanted to be part of things. Once I agreed, I got caught up in the mission. Even when we were apart we shared something. Something secret. That made a difference. And we could meet from time to time. It's amazing how little one can learn to get by on."

Malcolm nodded, thinking of the times he'd been separated from Suzanne. A prosaic note with no mention of love could still speak volumes.

Rupert went still, gaze fixed on the leaf in his fingers. "I was in Lisbon on leave at some d.a.m.ned emba.s.sy dinner when he-when it all happened." He dropped the leaf. His hand curled into a fist. "When they killed him. I didn't know until I got back. I couldn't believe-Wellington showed me the proof. Even then-I couldn't believe Bertrand would betray his country, but more than that, I couldn't believe-"

"That he'd betray you?"

Rupert turned and looked Malcolm full in the face. "Yes. To trust someone so thoroughly-I'm not sure I ever will again."

"And yet it seems you were right to trust him after all."

Rupert squeezed his eyes shut. "I'll never forgive myself."

"You didn't know what was happening. You couldn't have prevented-"

"Not for not preventing it. For doubting Bertrand. For believing for even a moment that he could have been a traitor. Love isn't supposed to have doubts."

"Love is complicated." Malcolm studied his friend in the shadows of the overhanging branches. "Tell me about after Bertrand was killed. What did you do?"

"You mean after I came close to calling Stewart a liar and nearly got myself cas.h.i.+ered for insubordination?" Rupert gave a bleak smile. "Bertrand was dead. And I wasn't sure I'd ever even known him. To be honest I didn't care much if I lived or died."

Malcolm nodded. "There was a time in my life when I felt much the same. I stumbled through the motions."

Rupert looked at him for a moment and nodded. "I went home on leave. Bertrand's parents were devastated. His father had a stroke, and the family had already been suffering the social repercussions of him being a.s.sumed to have gone over to the French. We were stupid not to have thought of that. Gaby was trying to hold things together for her uncle and aunt. She missed Bertrand as well. We could talk about the good times."

"It's natural you were drawn together."

Rupert grimaced. "And I knew what I owed to my name. It seemed one of the few things I had left to hang on to. Gaby was in precarious straits with no fortune and a family scandal. I could offer her protection. I could help Bertrand's family, and do my duty to my own."

"So you offered for her."

Rupert nodded. "I thought-No, it's foolish to say I thought we could be happy, because I didn't think happiness was a possibility for me. But I thought we could rub along. I didn't realize-"

"That perhaps Gabrielle's feelings for you ran deeper than yours for her?"

Rupert's mouth twisted. "I haven't been-I haven't been unfaithful to her. But as I said before, I can't be what I know she wants me to be. And now she's tied to me."

"She has her child and a secure position. That counts for a lot." Rupert looked sideways at him. "Is that what you tell yourself about Suzanne?"

Malcolm drew a breath. "I love Suzanne." The words echoed oddly in his head. It wasn't something he voiced very often. "But that doesn't mean I can be what she wants or needs. Whatever the novelists say, love doesn't transform one. I'm still the man I was before I met her, with the same scars and flaws and inadequacies. Love doesn't sweep away all obstacles. In fact, sometimes it creates them. There can be a great deal to be said for rubbing along amicably."

"But one misses-" Rupert scanned the trees that stretched before them, memories s.h.i.+fting through his eyes, at once painful and sweet.

"Yes," Malcolm said.

"Who?" Rupert's voice was rough. "Who did this to Bertrand?"

"I asked you before who his enemies were. Does your answer change now I know the truth?"

Rupert's brows drew together.

"I take it the girl in Spain you told me about was a fabrication?"

"The girl existed. But the hopes were all on her side."

"Who knew about your relations.h.i.+p with Bertrand?"

"No one."

"You're sure?"

"My G.o.d, you can't think it's the sort of thing we'd share."

"Not willingly. But secrets can get out."

Rupert shook his head. "We were careful. We both knew the consequences. We were both conscious of our families. And once Bertrand went to France and then Spain, we only saw each other in secret. For reasons of the mission more than our relations.h.i.+p."

"What about Gui?" Malcolm asked.

"Malcolm, I told you yesterday, Gui's a bit f.e.c.kless, but you can't think-"

"In investigations, I've learned never to rule anyone out." Even his closest friends. "And money and a t.i.tle are an obvious motive."

"But there wasn't any money then. Or estates. And the t.i.tle was only a dream emigres clung to. The family were in desperate financial straits. You can't think Gui somehow foresaw Napoleon's downfall and strategized to get rid of Bertrand so he could have the t.i.tle and fortune after the Restoration? Morality aside, I don't think Gui's that organized or forwards thinking."

"Did he know about Bertrand's work?"