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Authors: Stephen Lloyd Jones
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evening with three paper sacks filled with groceries. For supper he cooked them linguine with mussels and tarragon in a cream and white wine sauce. He opened a Chablis to accompany their meal, and he soon found himself fetching a second bottle from the fridge.
While they ate, Charles talked of his work at the university. Remembering the texts he had seen her reading – early histories of the Hungarian people – he steered the conversation towards his knowledge of Eastern Europe. Nicole contributed little, but she did ask questions of him and listened intently to his replies.
He told them of his other projects. How the BBC had commissioned him to write and present a five-part radio series on medieval Europe. The first two episodes had aired in the past few weeks. He had received only a modest fee, but ratings had been promising so far and his producer was talking about a larger follow-up project.
Afterwards, they cleared the table and Nicole helped him wash the dishes. She brewed a pot of coffee and they took it into the living room. Nicole and her mother sat on the small sofa, across from his armchair.
‘I’ve thought of a way to get you back to France,’ he told them. ‘It’s going to take me a few more days to arrange things, but you’re welcome to stay here with me until then.’
‘Get us back to France?’ Nicole asked. ‘How?’
Charles could not resist a grin.
C HAPTER 5
Snowdonia
Now
Hannah kept the stock of the shotgun tight into her shoulder, sighting down the barrels and aiming at the centre of the old man’s chest. She was only a few yards away from him but she had seen how quickly he could move. She would not give him a chance to react.
His eyes flared as he saw the weapon, and Hannah felt cowed by the power they conveyed. As he raised his hands, his expression remained inscrutable.
‘Don’t,’ she snarled. ‘Put them back down. Into your lap. Now . Don’t misread me and think I won’t pull this trigger. Give me the slightest reason to shoot you and you’re dead, I promise you that. If you move out of that chair, you’re dead. If I ask you a question and I don’t like your answer, you’re dead. If your goddamned dog does something weird, this ends very quickly for you. Understand?’
He glanced briefly at Moses sitting by the fire, then carefully measured out his words. ‘If you are who you say you are, you have nothing to fear from me.’
‘I’m the one holding the gun, old man. I have nothing to fear from you at all.’
He continued as if she had never spoken. ‘If you’re not Hannah Wilde, if you’re the other one, then I know your secrets. Do what you will. I’m too old to be scared by guns. I’ve made my peace and I’m ready to face whatever comes next. You can send me on in the knowledge that we’re closing in on you and that this may well be the last murderous act you commit.’
She could see from the quick rise and fall of his chest that he was not as calm as his demeanour suggested. It had taken a feat of will to keep his voice steady as he uttered those words. ‘That was quite a speech.’
He inclined his head. ‘Perhaps a touch dramatic, but heartfelt nonetheless.’
‘How do you know who I am?’
‘I don’t. Not for certain. Let me ask you a question.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then pull the trigger.’ He waited, never taking his emerald eyes off hers. When she didn’t respond, he said, ‘When you were fifteen years old your father bought a farm in south Oxfordshire and inherited a herd of cattle. Which breed?’
She stared, stomach roiling. Not only did this stranger know who she was, but he was trying to verify her identity just like her father had taught her . She wondered what advantage she might give him by answering truthfully, and could not see one. If he was trying to win her trust, it was a laughable ploy. He could have forced the answers out of her father.
When he saw that she was hesitating, he added, ‘This is not to help
While they ate, Charles talked of his work at the university. Remembering the texts he had seen her reading – early histories of the Hungarian people – he steered the conversation towards his knowledge of Eastern Europe. Nicole contributed little, but she did ask questions of him and listened intently to his replies.
He told them of his other projects. How the BBC had commissioned him to write and present a five-part radio series on medieval Europe. The first two episodes had aired in the past few weeks. He had received only a modest fee, but ratings had been promising so far and his producer was talking about a larger follow-up project.
Afterwards, they cleared the table and Nicole helped him wash the dishes. She brewed a pot of coffee and they took it into the living room. Nicole and her mother sat on the small sofa, across from his armchair.
‘I’ve thought of a way to get you back to France,’ he told them. ‘It’s going to take me a few more days to arrange things, but you’re welcome to stay here with me until then.’
‘Get us back to France?’ Nicole asked. ‘How?’
Charles could not resist a grin.
C HAPTER 5
Snowdonia
Now
Hannah kept the stock of the shotgun tight into her shoulder, sighting down the barrels and aiming at the centre of the old man’s chest. She was only a few yards away from him but she had seen how quickly he could move. She would not give him a chance to react.
His eyes flared as he saw the weapon, and Hannah felt cowed by the power they conveyed. As he raised his hands, his expression remained inscrutable.
‘Don’t,’ she snarled. ‘Put them back down. Into your lap. Now . Don’t misread me and think I won’t pull this trigger. Give me the slightest reason to shoot you and you’re dead, I promise you that. If you move out of that chair, you’re dead. If I ask you a question and I don’t like your answer, you’re dead. If your goddamned dog does something weird, this ends very quickly for you. Understand?’
He glanced briefly at Moses sitting by the fire, then carefully measured out his words. ‘If you are who you say you are, you have nothing to fear from me.’
‘I’m the one holding the gun, old man. I have nothing to fear from you at all.’
He continued as if she had never spoken. ‘If you’re not Hannah Wilde, if you’re the other one, then I know your secrets. Do what you will. I’m too old to be scared by guns. I’ve made my peace and I’m ready to face whatever comes next. You can send me on in the knowledge that we’re closing in on you and that this may well be the last murderous act you commit.’
She could see from the quick rise and fall of his chest that he was not as calm as his demeanour suggested. It had taken a feat of will to keep his voice steady as he uttered those words. ‘That was quite a speech.’
He inclined his head. ‘Perhaps a touch dramatic, but heartfelt nonetheless.’
‘How do you know who I am?’
‘I don’t. Not for certain. Let me ask you a question.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then pull the trigger.’ He waited, never taking his emerald eyes off hers. When she didn’t respond, he said, ‘When you were fifteen years old your father bought a farm in south Oxfordshire and inherited a herd of cattle. Which breed?’
She stared, stomach roiling. Not only did this stranger know who she was, but he was trying to verify her identity just like her father had taught her . She wondered what advantage she might give him by answering truthfully, and could not see one. If he was trying to win her trust, it was a laughable ploy. He could have forced the answers out of her father.
When he saw that she was hesitating, he added, ‘This is not to help
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