City of Jasmine (29 page)

I goggled at him. “Quentin Harkness? The same Quentin Harkness who married Delilah Drummond after her first husband died?”

“I hear she’s married to a Russian prince now.” I blinked as he grinned at my surprise. “I do still get all the major periodicals out here, pet. I have to stay informed.”

“I’m sure you do.” I was still dazed by all he told me, but I knew instinctively it was merely the tip of a particularly mammoth iceberg.

“So, Tarquin had a list of requirements—for someone to play the Saqr, is that right?”

“Precisely. He sent the list to Quentin, who told him about me immediately. Within a week I’d been vetted and offered a position in the Vespiary. I couldn’t believe it when they explained what I would eventually be doing. It was like a dream, everything I had ever wanted—adventure, danger, intrigue. I accepted on the spot and they put me into training the same day. I finished with flying colours and was preparing for my briefings on the eastern situation when Delilah threw her party.”

“And you met me.”

“And I met you. And my whole world turned upside down. I couldn’t believe my bad luck, really. I had everything I could ever dream of wanting, but I had to choose between them. I chose you.”

“But not for long,” I reminded him. There was no judgment in my voice, only acknowledgment.

“Not for long,” he agreed. “I thought, you see, that the Vespiary would come around. Occasionally they did. We weren’t supposed to marry or have attachments, but they would make exceptions for agents who were indispensable. It was my own bad luck to be less important than I thought,” he said with a grim smile. “They fired me as soon as I got back to London. But I begged Tarquin to give me a chance, anything. I told him I’d ride a desk in the city and write reports for the whole of the war, whatever he wanted. He sent me to China. Told me to assess the German chances there, and said if I did a good enough job he would consider letting me come to Damascus, after all.”

He paused and ran a hand through his hair. “I think you can guess what happened next. I botched it—so badly I nearly got us both killed. And I knew then I could never do that to you again. I had vowed to protect you. How could I expose you to that kind of danger out of my own stupidity and arrogance? There was only one way out.”

He stopped again and it was a long moment before either of us were able to continue. The sacrifice he had made for me was almost greater than I could comprehend. I said as much, but he shook his head angrily.

“I thought it was a sacrifice, but what if it was just another stupid mistake, Evie? What if I had trusted you and told you the truth of who and what I was that night in Shanghai? What if...”

“
What if?
The two most torturous words in the English language, Gabriel. You were twenty-one. And trying desperately to be a man. You made the only choice you thought you could at the time, and there is no point in trying to rewrite history. What’s done is done, and we both have to live with it.”

He swallowed hard. “I did live with it. Every day out here, I thought about what I did to you.”

“I’m surprised Tarquin let you come after what you did in China,” I said evenly.

He pulled a face. “So was I. But he knew how shattered I was by it. And I had proven to him I was willing to do anything to serve, and I had shown my resourcefulness by getting myself off the
Lusitania
and letting the name Gabriel Starke go down with the ship.”

“So you were on board.”

“I was. I made my way to the shore and stole some clothes, then walked until I came to a proper town where I could wire Tarquin. Gabriel Starke’s name was on the list of lost souls by the next morning, and I was in London, being commended for my quick thinking. Tarquin gave me my own group of agents, nine of us, and shipped us off to Damascus to take care of one another.”

“That sounds cosy.”

“It wasn’t. We fought like cats and dogs, but we were a family of sorts,” he said, nostalgia lighting his eyes. “We were all young and wild and so convinced we were going to change the world starting right here. We were so different, but we had that in common, that love of danger and that thirst to prove ourselves. Tarquin had his doubts, I think, about setting us loose on our own. I suspect he believed there might be safety in numbers. But we didn’t care. We called ourselves the Lost Boys and we came to Damascus. Tarquin knew I’d already been here as myself a few years before, but I was given a new cover identity—Rowan’s—and a disguise to make me look older than my years. I was told to make contact with Hamid again and when he agreed, to introduce the character of the Saqr. I spent most of the war with them, but from time to time I went to Damascus to rendezvous with one or other of the Lost Boys and exchange information. It was during one of those meetings that one of the Boys shared a collection of mediaeval manuscripts he’d found when he was in the desert. Some of us were good with languages, one was a cartographer, one was a history scholar—among us we realised we were sitting on a treasure trove. When pieced together the documents gave the whereabouts of two extremely valuable finds. One was the Cross. We talked it over and couldn’t agree on what was to be done with them. Our compromise was to cache the manuscripts in a safe place and come to a decision when the war ended. I went back to Hamid and his people and continued to act as the Saqr through the course of the war. When it was done, I expected they would get their own country, as London had promised them. As
I
had promised them,” he added bitterly.

“And when they didn’t?”

“I resigned,” he told her with grim satisfaction. “I’ve never been more ashamed of anything in the whole of my life, Evie. At least what I did to you, I was able to justify that by telling myself it was for your own good. But what had I done to the Bedouin? I had urged them to fight, led them to fight. And for what? A handful of broken promises made by chaps in London who’ve never set foot in the Badiyat ash-Sham. I was disgusted with the lot of it. I couldn’t face myself, what I’d done in my arrogance, believing it was for the best. And that’s when I realised it’s been our greatest failing all along—treating them all, Baghdadi, Damascene, Cairene, Bedouin, every soul from the Bosphorus to the Nile, as if they were children. It’s despicable. We had no right ever to interfere in the first place, and I was furious at myself and at everyone else—London, the Vespiary, even you.”

“Me?” I was startled out of the spell his words had cast.

“Yes, you. I thought back to how it was in Shanghai, how it really was, and I saw that at the first sign of trouble, you were ready to bolt. As soon as things were too real, too hard, you were ready to leave me. I know I picked a hell of a fight with you that last night, but you didn’t fight back, you didn’t fight for us. And I started to wonder if I’d imagined it all.”

“Imagined what?” I asked, my mouth dry.

“The way you’d looked at me, the way you’d loved me. I began to wonder if I was crazy. I must have taken out that photo of us on our wedding day a thousand times, just staring at it for hours to see if it was really there—the way I thought you’d felt, the girl I thought you’d been.”

I thought of us, leading parallel lives, never touching, but wondering the same things, feeling the same pain. It was almost more than I could bear.

“And was I?”

“God help me, I couldn’t tell. I wondered if everything I’d ever done in the whole of my life had been just a series of extravagant failures. And I thought, if I could just do one thing right, make it up to you—”

“The Cross,” I whispered.

“The Cross. After the war, the Lost Boys were scattered. Some were dead, some were back in England. So I went for the manuscripts alone, but when I got there, I realised someone had beaten me to the punch. All the information about the greater treasure had been taken.”

“There’s something bigger than the Cross?”

He nodded. “I presume you’ve heard of Lady Hester Stanhope?”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s only Aunt Dove’s idol. I must have heard the story a hundred times—how she left England a century ago to travel through the East and settled in Syria to live out her days in lavish eccentricity.”

“Quite,” he said. “She also collected manuscripts and antiquities, and she started the first proper archaeological excavation in this land when she dug at Ascalon. She had purchased a particular manuscript, a medieval chronicle that detailed the whereabouts of a hoard of Templar gold stashed at Ascalon since the days of the Crusades. The Turks were resentful of her digging, and to show them she didn’t mean to profit from the excavation, she destroyed the only good thing she turned up—a statue of a goddess. It placated the Turks, and she was left in peace. But she found something else, as well—the Templar gold. She never had the resources to remove it, but she added her notes to the medieval manuscript and bundled it with the one describing the whereabouts of the Cross. Somehow the manuscripts passed out of her possession and eventually came to where we found them. I wasn’t sure exactly what I would do with the Cross when I found it, but when I realised one of the other Lost Boys had been there first and had broken trust with the rest of us...” His face darkened, and he seemed to be struggling with strong emotion.

“In any event, I decided then it was every man for himself. I decided to take the Cross and give it to you.”

“For atonement.”

“For atonement,” he echoed. “And I promised Hamid I would stay close should he have need of me.”

“Why me?” I demanded. “Why give it to me instead of Hamid? You care for him and for his people. You could make a very good argument for it being rightfully theirs. And you owe him atonement, too, yet you wanted me to have it. Why?”

“What do you think would happen to the Bedouin if I gave them a priceless relic that every Christian European nation could make a claim to?”

“It would be taken,” I said softly. “By force.”

“Exactly. Besides, there was another reason it had to be you.”

He stared at the floor a moment then raised his eyes, those brilliant blue eyes, piercing me with raw, ungilded truth.

“Because I wanted to see you one last time.”

The vulnerability on his face was too much. I looked away until he mastered the emotion.

“So sorry to interrupt,” said a voice from the tent flap. Halliday was standing on the threshold, a small revolver pointed at both of us. “But I’m afraid I simply can’t wait any longer.”

Gabriel moved to shield me, but Halliday cocked the revolver. “I think not, old man. Stay right where you are. You, too, Mrs. Starke, and no sudden movements, if you please.”

I crossed my arms slowly over my breasts. “I presume you will allow me to cover up at least?”

“And take the chance you’ve a weapon hidden under your pillow? No. I promise to be a gentleman and not look if it consoles you.” He turned to Gabriel. “You know what I want.”

Gabriel rose with as much dignity as a naked man could manage. He held up his robe and Halliday shook his head.

“Take it out. I want to see it, and I don’t think I ought to put the gun down, do you?”

Gabriel gave him a bored look and proceeded to retrieve the goatskin bundle.

Halliday smiled. “Open it, if you please. I’ll keep my gun trained on your wife just to make quite certain you continue to cooperate.”

Gabriel started to pluck at the knots, but I was in no mood to humour anybody.

“How do you even know about the Cross?” I demanded. “No one in Damascus knows.”

Halliday smiled, never taking his eyes from Gabriel’s deft fingers. “Dear lady, this is the East. There are no secrets here, and Miss Green is rather more talkative than most. I owe you a great deal of thanks, Mrs. Starke, for introducing us. As it happens, she was in need of some semi-official assistance.”

He gestured towards Gabriel. “It seems she was suspicious of you, Mr. Starke. She was worried you were about to make a great find and intended to cut her out. But Miss Green is an ambitious woman. She planned to nip in and take it before you could remove it to Damascus. She thought a man with my diplomatic contacts would be just the person to help her get the find out of the country for herself.” He paused and flicked a glance to me, holding me in place with his gaze. “Now, I am an amenable fellow, but it did occur to me, I would far rather have the treasure than let her keep it. And if I liberate it before she gets it, she can’t very well make a formal complaint, can she? Her hands would be tied and I would have the dosh. Rather a tidy plan, I thought.”

“Very neat,” I said, but sarcasm was lost upon him. He merely gave me a beatific smile and continued to hold his gun on us. “You yourself provided me with the final bit of the puzzle, my dear, when you admitted to the sheikh that Mr. Starke had unearthed a relic. I did a bit of judicious listening after that, and put the pieces together. It occurred to me that the last known person to have the Cross was the Countess Thurzó, a lady you saw last night and a person who would not have had the opportunity to dispose of the relic. It seemed obvious to me that Gabriel Starke is not a man to let such an opportunity pass him by. He would have retrieved it at the first opportunity.”

I looked to where Gabriel had just got through the goatskin and was busy with the velvet wrapping.

“I suppose this is where we ought to tell you that you will never get away with it,” I said pleasantly. “In most cases of sensational fiction it’s an overstatement, but in this particular scenario, we do have rather a number of well-armed Bedouin allies,” I pointed out. “Do you have a plan?”

“I most certainly do. Hurry up, Mr. Starke. I’m in no mood to be trifled with.” He turned back to me. “That’s the trouble with having such a pleasant face. People always think I’m not entirely serious when I am. In fact, just to prove my point,” he said, his voice chillingly conversational, “I think I will shoot one of you in ten seconds if that Cross isn’t open. Ten. Nine. Eight.”

I whipped my head to where Gabriel’s fingers were still working methodically. “Gabriel?”

“Five. Four. Three.”

“Gabriel!”

“One,” Gabriel said, tossing the relic down on the ground in front of Halliday. It landed at his feet, and in the shimmering lamplight of the tent it glowed as if from an inner light. Halliday’s face creased into a smile. Gabriel stood, feet planted wide apart, arms folded over the breadth of his chest, still as blessedly, gorgeously naked as the day he was born.