Omega

The man gave a combination of a shriek and a gurgle as he was hauled back towards Owain’s open door.

Owain dragged him inside and let go. The man sprawled, losing his hat while he fumbled to zip himself up. Expensive navy trousers. Handmade black shoes and a padded barathea overcoat. Black lamb’s-wool lining inside the hat.

“God in heaven!” said Rhys. “You almost made me wet myself.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” Owain told him. “Go creeping around in the dark without announcing yourself and you’re asking for trouble.”

Rhys removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and began swabbing himself down. He was still sitting on the floor. Owain made no move to help him up.

“Suddenly I was urgent,” Rhys said. He looked and sounded a little drunk. “Besides, I didn’t know you were in.”

Patently a lie. Owain closed the door and bolted it.

His brother climbed to his feet and inspected the scuffed heels of his shoes.

“What do you want?” Owain demanded to know.

Rhys looked warily at him. “I’m in London for a spell. Thought I’d look you up.”

“What’s wrong with the telephone?”

“I heard that Uncle was taken ill. I’ve been to see him.”

The field marshal was still in convalescence. Owain had only seen him once in the last forty-eight hours, and that briefly, while he was sleeping. Though no longer confined to bed, he was apparently still weak and obliged to delegate his duties to others. All the evidence suggested that the food poisoning was a simple mistake, a result of negligence rather than design. But Owain wasn’t convinced; he wasn’t convinced at all.

“So,” he said, “you went to his sick bed. Pleased to see you, was he?”

“I think he appreciated it.”

“And then you came here.”

“I thought you might like some company.”

“That’s a lie.”

Rhys just looked at him with an air of helplessness.

“Where are you staying?” Owain asked suspiciously.

“The Windsor. Waterloo Place. t I’d invite you out to dinner. Unless you have other plans.”

Owain walked into the living room. “Uncle suggest it, did he?”

His brother followed him through. “As a matter of fact, no. After the last fiasco I think he’s given up.”

Rhys had left the house in Paris while Owain was taking the call from Marisa. Sir Gruffydd had told Owain that he’d gone because he didn’t feel welcome. And nothing, as far as Owain was concerned, had changed.

“I think we need to talk,” Rhys persisted. “All I’m asking is for a few hours of your time.”

“I’ve told you before—I’ve nothing to say to you.”

His brother came up close and, before Owain could recoil, whispered: “I know about Regent Street, Owain. And I think I know why.”

“Geoff sends his apologies,” Tanya was saying, her voice carrying from the kitchen. “Something’s cropped up at work.”

A delicious smell of roasting lamb filled the dining room. Earlier I’d been out in the garden, trying to salvage usable leaves from the stringy mass of mint in the herb border. I’d peeled parsnips, scrubbed new potatoes, fetched a couple of bottles of rose from the store in the garage.

Tanya went upstairs. The radio was playing in the kitchen: someone was talking about markets and share prices. I moved around the dining table, laying down cutlery. Four places had been set.

Tanya returned, undoing the straps of her apron. Long neck arching out of a black scoop top, a peachy fuzz on its nape. But she looked distracted, even peevish.

She was holding the brass letter opener. It was shaped like a cavalry sword.

“Have you been trying to get into my writing desk?”

“What?”

“I found this in the lock.”

I just gaped at her.

“You weren’t exactly subtle. You left it jammed in there. What were you after?”

I had absolutely no recollection of doing so. But who else could it have been? Certainly Geoff wouldn’t have wanted to raid his own wife’s bureau, and definitely not as clumsily as Tanya implied.

“Owen?”

My full name. A measure of annoyance. And who could blame her?

font size="3">“What were you after?” she repeated.

I shook my head helplessly.

“If you want something, you only have to ask. Was it your keys and wallet?”

Now I had another brief memory, of trying to access her computer. But I didn’t know the password, hadn’t been able to log on. I recalled it as though I’d been sleepwalking.

“I’m not trying to stop you from doing things,” Tanya was saying. “But I can’t have you skulking around like a burglar. Doing needless damage.”

What had I been after? A means of escape? Two days had passed. What had I been doing in that time?

“Did you need money? Were you planning on going out?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

There was a degree of anger in her voice, but far stronger was her desire for a simple explanation. I couldn’t satisfy her because I had no answers.

“I can’t remember,” I said, angry with myself. “It’s ridiculous. I don’t know what could have possessed me.”

But this wasn’t true. I had more than an inkling.

Tanya unhooked her apron and tossed it on the worktop. “I’m going to take a bath.”

“You’ve got to believe me,” I said, but couldn’t then explain just what it was I wanted her to believe.