Muscling In (6 page)

He grinned and looked at his
watch. “I’ve just got to make a business phone call. See you downstairs in
twenty?”

“Yes, that should be fine.”

He turned and stepped from the
doorway. I stared at the space he’d occupied and my heart swelled with love. It
hadn’t diminished. The intensity of my feelings for him, if anything, had
grown. The more time we were together, the more I got to know him, understand
him, the more I loved him, wanted him. He was the most amazing person I’d ever
met.

And luckily it seemed he felt
the same way about me.

After drying my hair I piled
it up high, securing it with long pins. A few tendrils escaped and I twisted
them with my fingers, then applied spray. I kept my makeup minimal but was
generous with the mascara and added lipstick to match the red blouse.

Once dressed, I headed down
the stairs, my high heels clacking on the wooden boards.

On hearing me, Coben appeared
from the lounge. He gave me yet another appreciative gaze, then grabbed his
keys and wallet from the side cabinet.

“Let’s hope we can find a
cab.” I pulled a black shawl around my shoulders.

“I called one. It’s just
pulled up.” He scooped up a bottle of wine wrapped in tissue paper from the
side cabinet.

“Oh, very efficient, wine and
cab.”

We went outside. It wasn’t
dark yet but the sun had slipped behind the row of houses opposite and our
street was bathed in shadows. The air temperature had dropped and I knew I’d be
glad of my shawl later.

Soon we were pulling up behind
a sleek black motorbike parked outside a large townhouse in Kensington. The
house was painted cream, had black wrought iron railings and a huge polished
black door with a round brass knocker.

“Wow, must be at least four
floors.” I glanced upward as I alighted the cab.

“And with a basement,” Coben
said, cupping my elbow in his palm and nodding at the windows tucked below path
level and protected by the railings.

“I love these Georgian houses.
Maybe one day we…”

“Yes, one day I’ll buy you
one.” He pressed a quick kiss to my temple as we went up the four steps to the
front door. “When I’ve made my million.”

“Millions more like.” I
laughed. “That’s how much these places cost.”

“Mmm.” Coben banged the
knocker three times, then straightened his shirt.

I shifted from one foot to the
other and looked at our smudged reflections in the door.

Suddenly it burst open.

Harold Stern stood before us
wearing a big smile and a blue shirt that was straining over his potbelly.

“You found us. Jolly good,” he
boomed, gesturing for us to enter.

“Yes, no problem.” Coben
stepped in and held out his hand.

Harold shook it, still
grinning. He shut the door. “I don’t believe we had the pleasure yesterday.” He
looked at me.

“This is my wife, Sian.” Coben
smiled my way.

“Of course, it’s an absolute
delight to meet you.” Harold gently squeezed my hand in his. “Mable is really
looking forward to your company, dear.”

“And I hers. Thank you for
inviting us.”

“I’m only sorry it was such
short notice. But I really do want to pick your husband’s brains about a few
matters. As long as you ladies can cope with some work talk.”

“Doesn’t bother me in the
slightest.” I slid my shawl from my shoulders.

“And we do have a few other
guests,” Harold said. “Mable’s niece is here. She’s visiting from Australia. My
godson is also joining us.”

“Lovely.” I folded my shawl.

“Here, let me take that.”
Harold held out his hand. “I’ll pop it in my study.” He opened a door to his
left and took the shawl from me. “In fact, before we start on the red, maybe I
could just outline my plans with your husband.” He looked at Coben.

“Good idea.” Coben nodded.

I knew Coben would be pleased
to get some of the groundwork of the business conversation over with so he
could relax at dinner so I smiled my agreement.

“Mable and Rachel are in the
kitchen straight ahead.” Harold glanced at an open door at the end of the long
hallway. Female voices were filtering from it as was the heavenly smell of
roasting lamb. “And please, help yourself to a drink from the drawing room.
There’s champagne on ice, wine, gin and tonic, pretty much whatever you fancy.”
He hesitated. “No, hang on, how rude, please let me…”

“I’ll be fine. You carry on.”
I smiled and touched his arm. “I’ll grab a glass of wine and see if I can be of
help in the kitchen.”

“Are you sure?” Harold asked
uncertainly.

“Yes.”

Coben gave me a look that let
me know he was grateful for my words.

“Yes, of course.” I took the
bottle of wine from him and stepped away.

For a moment the men were
silent. Then I heard the study door shut. I wasn’t so precious that I needed a
drink poured for me, and Mable was certainly easygoing and sweet. I was happy
to find my way to her kitchen.

The drawing room was a
magnificent high-ceilinged room with a picture rail and several large
still-life paintings on the walls. The marble fire surround was decadent and
the two oversized sofas were red with cream stripes. To the right was a full
drinks cabinet with a silver trolley on wheels set next to it and holding a
bucket containing a bottle of champagne. To the left a large bay window offered
views down to the road and was dressed with heavy red curtains.

Standing in the bay, with his
back to me, was a man. He had broad shoulders, very short hair and wore dark
denims and a black shirt. He appeared to be fiddling with his phone.

I set the wine on the drinks
cabinet. “Hello,” I said, wondering if this was Harold’s godson.

He turned.

“Ed.” I widened my eyes in
surprise. I’d only bid goodbye to the man I’d drawn a bird on a few hours ago
yet here he was. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.

A flicker of recognition
crossed his eyes and he slipped his iPhone away. “Hey.” His face softened.
“Fancy seeing you here…Sian, right?”

“Yes.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I felt a sizzle
of heat travel over me. The appreciative glint in his eye couldn’t be missed.
“How’s the new addition?”

He rested his palm over his
thigh, placing it where I knew there to be a small dressing. “Fine.” He gave a
nonchalant shrug. “One of many.” He stepped up to me. “Can I get you a drink?”

“White wine would be great.
It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure you’re in demand at
the parlor and I can see why. Your work is outstanding.”

“Thank you.” I flushed a
little at the compliment.

He poured chilled sauvignon
into a cut crystal glass and handed it to me.

“So this is the godson duty
you mentioned, is it?” I took a sip and watched as he poured himself two
fingers of brandy.

“Yeah. I make a point of
catching up with Harold and Mable when I’m in town. They were my parents’ best
friends for over forty years and never having had any children of their own
they’ve always been very generous with time and support to me and my brother.”

“They’re really nice people.
You’re lucky to have them watching over you.”

He sipped his drink, studying
me.

Now I felt stupid. He was a
big, tough guy, military too. He didn’t exactly need an elderly couple looking
over him. Not these days anyway.

“It’s a beautiful street,” I
said, gesturing to the window and stepping up to it. “Have they always lived
here?”

“For as long as I can
remember. I used to play cowboys with my brother in the back garden, must have
been about six or seven then.” He stood beside me, his shoulder almost level
with my ear.

He really was huge, a fraction
taller than Coben and certainly a bit wider. Like Coben he smelled lovely,
something spiced and rich, perhaps with a hint of sandalwood.

We watched a red Ferrari
cruise past.

“Nice car,” I said.

“If you like that sort of
thing.”

“You’re not into vehicles?
Most blokes are.” I glanced up at him. “My husband would love a Ferrari.”

“I like vehicles plenty, just
not cars.” He paused and glanced at the motorbike parked on the street. “Where
is your husband? You forget to bring him?” A cheeky smirk crossed his face.

“He’s just catching up with
Harold about something, business stuff, you know.”

“Oh, what’s he do for a
living, then?”

“Cyber security, Middle East
is his speciality.”

Ed’s eyebrows raised slightly.
“Sounds interesting.”

“It keeps him very busy.”

A noise in the hall caught my
attention and I turned. The click of shoes on the floor grew louder. Coben
appeared in the doorway.

He stopped and scanned the
room. His gaze settled briefly on me, then flicked to Ed.

His mouth slackened for a
second before squeezing into a straight line. He kept his attention firmly on
the man at my side.

Harold stepped past him and up
to the drinks cabinet. “Coben, old fellow, what are you drinking?”

Coben said nothing. It was as
if he’d been rooted to the floor. His eyes flashed and his hands curled into
fists.

What the hell is the matter with him?

“Coben? Drink?” Harold
repeated.

“Er…Scotch.” His voice was
hoarse. “Please. If you have one.” He pushed his shoulders down and tilted his
chin. He looked a little paler than he had earlier.

“Coben,” I said, hoping he
wasn’t coming down with something. “Come and meet Harold and Mable’s godson. Ed
Mooreland.”

Chapter Three

Coben accepted the drink
Harold passed him and took a large gulp. He walked up to me.

I reached for his hand. His
fingers were cool, his palm a little clammy. Perhaps the talk with Harold
hadn’t gone according to plan.

Still he stared at Ed.

Ed stared right on back.

“Funny thing is…” I started,
trying to fill in a weird silence that had descended and wondering why the air
felt like it had an electric current running through it. “I actually met Ed
today. What a coincidence, eh?”

“You met him?” Coben dragged
his attention from Ed to me. “What? How?” He narrowed his eyes.

Why is he being so rude?

“He came into Dragon’s Ink. He
was a client.” I tried to keep the irritation out of my tone. “I added a bird
to his half-leg tat.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ed held
out his hand to Coben. His voice was tense.

Coben took it, shook very
briefly, then shoved his hand into his trouser pocket. “She tattooed you?” He
paused. “My wife.”

“Yes. Your
wife
.” Ed knocked back the last of his
drink. He swept his tongue over his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes. “She’s
very good.”

“I know.” Coben mimicked Ed by
finishing his freshly poured Scotch in one go. He shifted forward and back as
though wondering whether to sit or not—or maybe leave the room.

“I’ll be back in a moment.”
Harold raised a large glass of red into the air. “Best just check the boss is
okay in the kitchen.”

“Sure.” I smiled his way. It
was a false smile because something was going on. I had no idea what but I’d
never seen Coben so twitchy.

“Ed is in the military,” I
said, tucking my loose strands of hair behind my ears.

“Oh yeah?” Coben tilted his
chin.

“Yep.” Ed turned away and
headed to the drinks cabinet. “Don’t ask me about it, though.”

“He can’t tell you,” I said.
“It’s top secret.”

Coben kind of grunted.

I poked him in the ribs.
“What’s the matter?” I mouthed, frowning.

“Nothing.” He clenched his jaw
and a tendon jumped in his cheek.

Ed poured himself another
drink. As he turned back to us, Mable appeared. “Ah, here you all are,” she
said, holding out her hands. She came up to me and kissed my cheek. “Sian, you
look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “So do
you.”

“Coben, thank you so much for
coming this evening.” She angled her face toward him.

“My pleasure.” He politely
touched his lips to her cheek.

I glanced at Ed. He was
staring at Coben. Two lines plowed across his forehead and he was breathing
deep, his shirt tightening over his broad chest.

I’d never known Coben to be
anything other than perfectly polite and controlled when we’d been out, so this
reaction to Ed was weird. But it seemed Coben had a strange effect on Ed too—I
just didn’t understand what.

“Dinner is served.” Mable
rubbed her hands together. “In the dining room and you must come and meet
Rachel, Sian. She’s an artist, like you.”

“Oh, okay.” I warmed to Mable
a little more. I adored being described as an artist because it’s what I was.
Sometimes people, older people especially, forgot that.

“Want a top up?” Ed asked,
holding the Scotch aloft and nodding at Coben’s glass.

Mable linked her arm with mine
and led me from the room. I glanced over my shoulder at Ed and Coben.

Something passed between them.
A look, a frown, an acknowledgment. Coben shook his head very slightly, only
just perceptible. Ed went ahead and filled his glass.

Fuck!

Of course.

They knew each other from the
Air Force. I should have guessed. Ed’s super-secret job…he was special forces.
I’d thought as much but this just confirmed it in my mind. Coben clearly didn’t
want to give the game away about Ed’s elite career, not now that he was out in
civvy street. It wasn’t his place to discuss it. Besides, it was perfectly
possible Ed’s family and friends didn’t know what a dangerous job he had.

Coben had talked to me about
his decision to leave the RAF. He’d considered special forces himself but
decided against it, preferring to join in the rat race and be his own boss.
He’d had enough of taking orders, he’d said, and wanted to be the one giving
them instead.

Coben had picked a different
route.

Ed had taken the dangerous one.

The dining room was another
grand space with lofty ceilings, dark furniture and a long table set with
elegant cutlery, a pretty summer flower display and expensive-looking
glassware.

I was directed to a seat next
to Rachel, a pretty young girl of about twenty who had golden skin, the result
of being in Australia, I guessed, and a warm smile.

As I sat I glanced at the
door, wondering where Coben and Ed were. No doubt catching up on their
situation, discovering the lay of the land and what Mable and Harold knew. I
felt pleased I’d worked it out and would be sure to keep their secret safe.

They entered the room at the
same time Harold did. He was holding a large plate of lamb that he set in the
center of the table. Mable followed with steaming vegetables.

Ed and Coben sat opposite
Rachel and I. As Mable fussed over telling us what the sauce was and that
potatoes were on the way, Coben caught my eye.

“Okay?” I mouthed.

His face softened a little and
he nodded, took another sip of his drink.

I glanced at Ed. He had a
little rise of color on his cheeks. He didn’t look quite as cool as he had
earlier when I’d been inking him. He turned from Coben and engaged in a
conversation with Harold about the upcoming general election.

“Mable told me you’re a tattoo
artist,” Rachel said, helping herself to lamb.

“Yes, that’s right.” I spread
my napkin on my lap.

“How did you get into that?”

“I went to art college in
London.”

“Oh, me too, but not in
London. I loved it.” She huffed. “Haven’t done much with the qualification yet,
though. There doesn’t seem to be much work around.”

I smiled. “I hear you. I
struggled to get work in any kind of art job that appealed to me but one day I
dropped off some designs at Dragon’s Ink and the manager, I guess I struck
lucky, said he had an opening for an apprentice.”

“Cool.” She passed me the fork
to gather meat onto my plate, then dipped into the vegetables with a large
silver spoon.

“It was. It took a few years.
I was a dogsbody to begin with, and they ripped at me for being a girl, but once
I proved I could design and ink I just became one of the team.”

“Are you the only girl?”

“Yes.”

“And do you have tattoos?” She
glanced down my body as if trying to see through my clothes.

“No.” I laughed. “I think I’m
the only tattooist in the world that doesn’t have any.” I helped myself to
green beans and glanced at Coben. He was rubbing his temple. “I did a design on
my husband, Coben, though. That’s how I met him.”

Coben glanced up. He smiled at
Rachel. “I’m sorry, we weren’t introduced.”

“I know who you are.” She
licked her lips and straightened a little. “Uncle Harold mentioned you’re going
to help him out with his new business venture.”

“If all goes to plan.” He took
some lamb, then wordlessly passed the fork to Ed.

Ed piled meat on his plate,
enough to feed several men, before adding the roast potatoes Mable had brought
into the room.

“So what did your wife tattoo
on you?” Rachel asked Coben.

“A bird. Here.” He touched his
right collarbone.

“Does it mean something?” she
asked.

“It reminds him of his time in
the Royal Air Force.” I glanced at Ed to see if he’d acknowledge what I’d said.
If he’d ask Coben about what regiment he’d been in or where he’d been deployed.

Ed piled his fork with meat
and shoveled it into his mouth. His eyes cast downward.

No, of course he didn’t ask.
He already knew.

A little thrill went through
me again. I’d figured it out. I’d grill Coben later about my mysterious client
and what he did. See if I really had connected the dots. How exciting, a real
SAS man at the dinner table.

The rest of the meal went by
with light conversation. Mable and Harold were charming hosts and involved
everyone in topics about travel and what was going on in London. They were keen
theatergoers and Harold had us all laughing at a tale about a show going wrong
and the main characters having to ad-lib.

Dessert was a delicious
offering of Eton Mess, one of my favorites, but as soon as it was finished,
spoons and forks set down, Ed stood.

“Harold,” he said, then turned
to Mable, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut my evening short. Something came
up earlier today that I have to sort out.”

“Oh, really?” Harold wiped his
mouth with his napkin, then set the screwed up linen on the table. “That’s a
shame.”

“Edward, is it really that
urgent?” Mable asked. “We’ve seen so little of you lately.”

Coben glanced up at Ed.

Ed caught his gaze briefly
before returning his attention to Harold. “I’m afraid it is. You know what it’s
like. But thank you for inviting me.” He tucked in his chair, then gripped the
top of the seat.

“Rachel, it was lovely to see
you again.” He nodded at Rachel. “Sian, you too.”

“Same here,” I said.

Rachel smiled.

Ed put his hand on Harold’s
shoulder. “I’ll call you, soon.”

“Be careful, son.” Harold
frowned, his mouth set in a serious, almost stoic line.

“Always.” Ed stepped behind
Coben. He repeated the same gesture on Coben’s shoulder, squeezing it too.
“Good to meet you, Coben.”

Coben swallowed as he stared
straight ahead, then, “You too,” he replied stiffly.

Ed gave Mable a quick hug and
was gone.

No one spoke. His sudden
departure appeared to have stunned everyone slightly.

The front door banged. The
roar of a motorbike filled the room. It revved away, the rumble from the
exhaust so loud the windowpanes rattled as did the chandelier hanging over the
table.

“Oh, he does worry me on that
thing,” Mable said, sipping her wine and frowning.

“The motorbike outside is
Ed’s?” I asked.

“Yes, he loves the damn
thing.” Harold rolled his eyes. “Always tearing around on it.”

“I’m sure he’s a very capable
rider.” Coben shrugged. “In his line of work.”

“Well that’s just another
thing that worries me.” Mable shook her head. “I keep hoping he’ll retire.”

Ah, so they do know what he does.

“Retire?” Rachel laughed.
“He’s too young to retire even for an army bloke.”

“RAF, dear,” Mable corrected,
“it’s different.”

“Well, anyway, what is he now,
thirty-one?” Rachel shrugged.

“Thirty-four,” Coben said. He
shot a glance at me. “I’d guess, anyway.”

“Mmm, yes, he’d be thirty-four
now, you’re right.” Harold nodded. “It was his birthday last month.”

And looking damn good for his
years, I thought. The guy was seriously fit. But I wondered how Coben had
guessed his age so accurately. It seemed an odd thing for him to remember if
they’d just been work colleagues.

“Well,” Harold said, “perhaps
we
should retire for coffee. Coben,
would you partake in a cigar with me?”

“Er, yes, thanks. That would
be nice.”

Harold and Coben stood and
left the room.

“I’ll make coffee.” Mable
smiled at Rachel and I. “Why don’t you ladies make yourselves comfortable in
the drawing room.”

“Would you like help with
this?” I gestured to the table littered with empty plates.

“Oh no, my housekeeper will
see to that in the morning.”

“Shall I make the coffee?”
Rachel asked.

“No, no, not at all, you girls
go and talk art and I’ll be with you in a moment or two.”

The rest of the evening went
by quickly. The coffee perked me up as I’d felt tired but I was still happy to
leave just before midnight when Coben appeared from the snug—smelling of cigar
smoke—and told us a cab was outside waiting for us.

“Thank you,” I said to Mable
as I set down my empty coffee cup and stood, “for a wonderful evening.”

“My pleasure. It’s been lovely
to spend more time with you both.” She stood too and gave me a quick hug.

“And, Rachel, do call in at
Dragon’s Ink if you’re in the area. I’ll show you around.”