A Symphony of Echoes (12 page)

Already the legends had begun.

Tim went off to speak to Evan while I stood still, collecting my thoughts, letting others mill around me.

When they came to prepare his body for burial, they would find he wore both a hair shirt and hair breeches, both garments stained with blood as they irritated and chafed his skin. They would also find his body riddled with worms. He must have been in constant pain. I could not help comparing this emaciated man, suffering gladly for his faith, with the hard-drinking, hard-riding playboy companion of the king. He hadn’t played at being Archbishop of Canterbury. He hadn’t used his office as an excuse for high living as so many did and would do in the future. He had found a purpose in his life. I felt a slight sadness at my own lack of faith.

Tim and I stood back as Evan collected his team together, checked them off, and we made our way softly through the crying people, outside into the brilliant, star-studded night and back to St Mary’s.

They were ready.

And so to our Last Night Fancy Dress Party.

I knew Peterson would go as Robin Hood. He always did. Guthrie usually went as a Viking, complete with historically inaccurate horns on his helmet. I’d been so busy organising my departure I’d forgotten to sort out my own costume until Mrs Partridge brought in the most gorgeous golden gown and hung it on the back of the door.

I gasped. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘Wardrobe,’ she said, smugly. ‘It was commissioned for a series about the Borgias. They didn’t like this one.’

‘Why ever not? It’s wonderful.’

‘The actress playing Lucretia Borgia claimed it made her look sallow.’

‘And did it?’

‘Oh, yes. But her bad complexion is your gain, Director.’

‘Well, thank you, Mrs Partridge. I confess I’d forgotten all about it.’

She nodded. ‘I thought you had.’

I wondered briefly if she had ever performed similar services for Dr Bairstow. It seemed unlikely. Firstly, Dr Bairstow never forgot anything and, secondly, at similar events in our time, Dr Bairstow always went as the Director of St Mary’s. He’d found his look and he stuck with it.

‘And you? What’s your costume?’

She just raised an eyebrow and I kicked myself. Of course, she’d be going Greek.

I never gave a thought to what Leon might wear.

The first thing I discovered was that the dress was so low-cut that the wearing of any underwear at all – anomalous or otherwise – was not even to be considered. Theoretically, the dress was boned and so tightly laced that any additional load-bearing garments should be superfluous. That’s all well and good, but even after I’d defied the laws of physics and fastened it all up there was still a horrifying amount pushed up and out, apparently defying gravity. Modest ladies could insert little lace or muslin fichus, to prevent early-onset blindness in their male escorts. I did my best, but even a tablecloth the size of the plain at Marathon wasn’t going to cut it. I bundled my hair up in a jewelled net, slapped on some make-up, and made an entrance.

I had two energetic dances with Evan and instructed him, as Senior Historian, to dance with every member of his department.

‘Even the girls,’ I said, nastily and left him spluttering. He was such a product of the previous regime.

I saw Leon across the hall. I don’t know who he’d come as. He was wearing a loose linen shirt, unlaced at the throat, tight breeches, and leather boots. He looked like every 19th century hero come to life – Mr Darcy, Heathcliff, Mr Rochester … all distilled and poured into a pair of skin-tight breeches. They were cream and very, very tight. I had always thought he had a nice bum anyway, but it wasn’t just … they fitted him well … really well … he had good, strong legs … they really were quite tight … things were … outlined …

I walked into a table.

‘Good evening, Director,’ he said, calmly and I knew he was laughing at me.

‘Good evening, Leon,’ I said, vowing future vengeance.

‘How did Thomas Becket go?’

‘Without a hitch,’ I said, proudly.

‘Well done,’ he said, failing to make eye contact.

‘Hey. I’m up here.’

‘Yes, but we’re all down here. Care to join us?’

‘What sort of example is this to be setting?’

He laughed and went to talk to Pinkie.                                          

I circulated. I had another Margarita. The corners of the room blurred comfortably. Things began to pick up. The volume of music increased considerably. People had to shout now to make themselves heard. Somewhere, someone dropped a glass. There was a shout of laughter. I recognised this moment.

I’d seen The Boss do this. He would stay for maybe an hour or so, showing his face and then things would start to get rowdy. He knew, none better, that steam needs to be let off occasionally. You never actually saw him go, but you’d look up and he’d be gone. His senior staff would melt away shortly afterwards and then the party would kick up a gear.

Of course, being Dr Bairstow, he always got his own back the next morning with an unpleasant combination of a prolonged and complicated all-staff briefing and widespread distribution of the ‘Deduction from Wages for Damages Incurred’ paperwork. However, the point was that somehow, he knew when to make himself scarce and now, so did I.

I put down my glass and oozed backwards out of the door. As I left, they cranked the music up again.

It took a while to negotiate the stairs; heels, long dress, alcohol, and an inability to see my own feet being the main problems. I started down the corridor and an arm shot out from a curtained window alcove and dragged me inside.

I knew his smell. I knew his touch. Most of all, I knew those breeches. I fell gracelessly into his arms and found his mouth. Things got a little hectic for a while until a couple of people ran past, shouting, and we remembered where we were.

‘My room is just around the corner,’ I said, trying to adjust my clothing. ‘You couldn’t have waited?’

‘You’re lucky I didn’t throw you across the sausage-rolls and take you there and then.’

I had a sudden mind-picture and sagged against the wall, struggling a little for breath, but that would have been because it was a small space and the curtains made it stuffy. Not because of the sausage-roll thing at all.

‘What are you doing?’ he said.

‘I’m trying to get
these
back in
there
.’

‘Why would you want to?’

‘So I can decently walk around the building.’

He surveyed the problem with an engineer’s eye. ‘No, I don’t think it’s going to happen.’

‘It must. I got them in there.’

‘Barely.’

‘You’re not helping.’

‘Why would I want to?’

‘Well, I’m obviously going to have to spend the rest of my life in here, then. Good night, Chief Farrell.’

He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it over mine. ‘Here, borrow this.’

I looked at his broad chest and had to lean against the wall again. ‘Tell me how that is supposed to help.’

He stuck his head out of the curtains. ‘Come on.’

We sprinted out of the alcove and along the corridor, crashing through my door. The shirt came off again and sailed over his shoulder.

‘I should get out of this dress.’

‘You’re already out of that dress.’

Having been made for a TV programme rather than for an actual assignment there was an anomalous concealed zip. He fell to with enthusiasm and slowly the dress began to slither to the floor in a whisper of silk. I reached out an arm and switched off the lights.

He stopped what he was doing and said, ‘You really don’t have to do that, you know.’

‘I know,’ I said, ‘it’s just … next time, maybe.’

‘Next time, definitely,’ he said, resuming normal service.

‘Yes,’ I said, lost in him and what he was doing and not really paying attention. ‘Next time,’ and pushed him hard against the door.

‘Don’t think I’m not very appreciative, but are you on some kind of medication?’

‘It’s the breeches,’ I said, channelling Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, whose husband was well known for pleasuring her with his boots on.

The darkness was thick and warm and curled around us. Small breezes wafted through the open window, cooling my skin but nothing else. Two floors down I could still hear the music, throbbing, deeply insistent, finding an echo in this hot, dark room. I could feel my heart pounding. And his. We were slick with sweat. I could feel his need, as great as my own.

‘Whoa,’ he said, lifting his head. ‘Is there a time limit? Are we trying to set a record?’

‘I want you,’ I said simply. ‘I’m hot and full of desire for you and I want you now, before I lose that feeling. I want to feel real, raw, red-hot passion.’

He pulled away again, looking down with shadowed eyes.

‘Then you shall.’ He pulled me down onto the floor. My pulse rate kicked up even higher. This was going to be good.

He dropped off to sleep like the Great Pyramid trying to hang glide. I lay for a while, reliving some moments and then abandoned the pursuit of sleep in favour of something more practical. Slipping his shirt over my head, I picked up the poor, misused dress and hung it carefully on a hanger. Either they’d turned the music down or the party was over at last. The building seemed silent. This was my last night here. This time tomorrow, I would be back in my St Mary’s.

I went through into my office – the Director’s office rather, and sorted and tidied the paperwork there. Nothing important. Mrs Partridge would be easing the handover. I made sure nothing personal was hanging around and went back into the bedroom. I checked the wardrobe, making sure I was going back in the clothes I came in with. Everything was there except for my weapons. Ian had taken charge of those. There really was nothing left to do.

I heard Leon stir and went to sit beside him on the floor. ‘You fell asleep unflatteringly quickly. Were you bored?’

‘Yes, but good manners prevented me from leaving early.’ He sat up and kissed my hand. ‘I must go.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I’m not doing the boots and breeches walk of shame at 8.00 a.m. tomorrow, just as everyone’s going in to breakfast.’

‘No need. Your Director has everything covered. Your going-away outfit is in the wardrobe over there.’

‘My Director always has everything covered. I live for the day she doesn’t. You made me a promise. I’m going to hold you to it.’

‘You can hold me to anything you like.’

‘All right then, how about this? Not tomorrow night – I’m certainly going to be in Sick Bay and you might be too. But the night after – shall we do something special?’

‘Not like tonight, then?’

‘Better.’

‘Oh, good. I didn’t want to complain, but I definitely felt there was some room for improvement there.’

‘Yes, you need to work on your scream. I want a full-throated roar next time, not that little girlie squeak. Or two, maybe.’

‘Says the man who can barely keep his eyes open.’

He lay back, looking absolutely wrecked. I was worried I’d done some damage. ‘Are you all right?’

He whispered something I didn’t catch. Alarmed, I said, ‘Leon?’ and leaned forwards.

I really should have known better.

‘So,’ he said, after a while. ‘It’s a date then. You, me, the day after tomorrow. I love you, Max. You don’t have to hide yourself from me.’

‘You shall see me,’ I said, softly.

He closed his eyes and I curled up alongside him, still on the floor, warm and safe. It was one of the happiest nights of my life. I believed every word he said.

Some forty-eight hours later, I would happily have torn out his heart with my bare hands and made him eat it.

The next morning, I assembled them all together for the last time. They had dignified the occasion with formal uniforms. I was a little moved. And sad. This had been my unit – albeit temporarily. True, my work here was done, but I was going to miss them. It was impossible not to compare the bright-eyed, slightly hung-over individuals before me with the damaged children they’d been all those weeks ago. It was just faintly possible I’d done a good job here. I wondered if the Boss would agree. Of course, he might feel that actually commanding St Mary’s myself would give me insight and wisdom, and make me more amenable to the day-to-day rules and regulations pertaining to the smooth running of his unit. I looked forward to correcting this unreasonable assumption.

They were all looking at me. I’d better get started.

‘Extraordinary people achieve extraordinary things. Your achievements over the past six weeks have been more than extraordinary. I am full of admiration for this unit. I have watched you face your enemies and your own fears, and give them both the kicking they deserved.

‘I count it an enormous privilege to have been able to make a contribution to what is, already, an exceptional unit and will go on, I’m sure, to truly spectacular achievements.’

I couldn’t help glancing at Pinkie, wondering again, just what it was she was up to. What was on that cube? Her face, as always, gave nothing away.

I continued. ‘There is nothing now for me to do. You are a fully functioning unit. Your new Director must now decide in which direction you are to move, and appoint the right people to achieve these goals.

‘Before that, however, I would ask you, please, to join with me in thanking, Leon, Tim, and Ian for their invaluable help and hard work. They are far too modest about this, but I would like to state publicly, that without them, none of us would be standing here today. Tim, Ian, and Leon, St Mary’s thanks you for your service.’

The room erupted with cheers and applause. I joined in. Ian actually blushed. And me without any sort of recording device. They rose slowly to their feet and made those awkward bobbing movements with their heads. As the senior officer, Leon said, ‘An honour and a privilege, Director,’ and they all sat down again.

Those were the last words that anyone spoke to me as Director.

I swallowed and continued.

‘In this business, I’m never sure whether to wish people a successful future or a successful past, so I shall wish you both. It has been an honour and a privilege to serve with you. I hope to get around later and say a personal goodbye and thank you to everyone, but my final duty is to announce the name of your new Director.