Cat Carlisle Book 2. Terry Thomas Lynn

well for us. But there’s no way she could operate without close supervision. Surely you can see that? And as for you falling in love with her, forgive me for being insensitive. I’ve watched women fall at your feet over the years, old boy, and you’ve been impervious to their charms. Now you find a woman who piques your interest … In any event, you should be glad she doesn’t reciprocate. There’s no room for romantic entanglements in this business.’ He gave Thomas a stern look. ‘She’s not to be involved in this, Thomas. She is not to know about Win’s activities, or why I have sent you to Rivenby. Do you understand me?’

      ‘I’ll do my best.’

      ‘That’s not good enough. Surely a man of your abilities can manage a woman, despite your feelings for her.’

      ‘Cat’s got a nose for subterfuge. She’ll know I’m up to something, mark my words. When my investigation for you comes to light – and believe me it will – there will be hell to pay.’

      ‘Handle it, Thomas. That’s an order. Cat Carlisle’s your problem, not mine. Bigger things are in play here than your affection for some woman.’

      Thomas wanted to scream that Sir Reginald certainly didn’t feel that way when he asked Cat to drug her husband and switch his papers. This parry between Reginald and him had been ongoing for years. They had both grown used to it, expected it. But Thomas didn’t want Reginald issuing edicts where Cat was concerned. Because of Cat’s involvement – and his desperation to be near her – he’d take the mission. Didn’t he always?

      ‘A few ground rules before you go,’ Reginald said.

      ‘I’ve been at this a bit too long for ground rules, don’t you think?’ Thomas picked up the folder and walked out of the shop.

      * * *

      An hour later, after a stifling bus ride and a somewhat circuitous cab ride in the gruelling sticky heat, Thomas stood in front of Cat’s house in Bloomsbury, gathering his courage to walk up the steps and ring the buzzer. What if her attitude was ambivalent? Could he cope with her utter lack of caring? All he needed to do was lay his eyes on her and he would know how things stood between them. If she harboured the slightest affection for him, he would be able to see it on her face. And if he didn’t see anything? It was time to level with Cat, and, if necessary, walk away, Reginald be damned. He wouldn’t torture himself by continuing to work side by side with this woman. Unrequited love didn’t suit Thomas, and he had no intention of suffering through it. No, if Cat didn’t want him, he’d end the relationship. After they moved north and Cat and Annie were safely away from the impending disaster that would be London, Thomas would rescind his request for an easier job and let Reginald find him something all-consuming and dangerous, a job that would require all of his focus just to stay alive. Once he forgot Cat, he would end his relationship with Sir Reginald for good. If he survived.

      He took a deep breath, hurried up the stairs and was met there by Annie and Aunt Lydia as they stumbled out the front door. Cat’s aunt illustrated a popular children’s book series. She claimed she did this to pay the bills, but that her still-lifes were her passion. An influential collector had become enamoured with Lydia’s work last year, and now she was enjoying success. He watched the two women, surprised to find that he had missed them as well. Each of them carried a canvas under one arm, an easel under the other, along with matching tote bags slung over their shoulders. The box that held Annie’s gas mask threatened to fall out of her tote. Lydia – as was her custom – wore a pair of men’s dress trousers in a grey pinstripe, covered with a loose-fitting button-up shirt. At one time, the shirt was a fine custom-made affair, probably worn by a solicitor or banker. Thomas often wondered where Lydia obtained the fine men’s clothing that she painted in. He had asked Cat about this once. Her comment had surprised him. ‘Oh, from her lovers, probably. She’s had her share of them.’ He shouldn’t have been surprised. Splotches of paint cascaded down the front of this particular shirt. Lydia’s hair, as wild and curly as Cat’s, was piled on top of her head and held in place by two criss-crossed paint brushes.

      Annie Havers had started out as a maid in the Carlisle house before Cat’s husband was murdered. After the case was solved, Cat had taken Annie with her, offering her a job as a paid companion. They had become close, and now Annie was Cat’s ward. Cat confessed to Thomas that she wanted to adopt Annie, but Annie was loyal to her mother. The girl was 16 years old now and blossoming into a young woman. Thomas watched her fuss with her tote bag. Her movements held an acquired grace that Thomas recognized as a mimicry of Cat’s easy elegance. Cat’s influence was further reflected in the fine yet understated linen skirt and blouse Annie wore. The sight of Annie, the way she had grown stronger while under Cat’s care, touched his heart.

      ‘Hello, Annie.’ He smiled at her.

      Her face broke into a big smile. ‘Oh, hello! You’ve come back. Miss Catherine will be ever so pleased. I’ll just go and tell her.’ She dropped the canvas and easel and ran into the house. Thomas just saw her duck down the staircase which led to the basement kitchen.

      Thomas cast a sheepish glance at Lydia. ‘How is she, Lydia?’ Thomas had learned early on not to mince words with Cat’s aunt. The woman had the intuition of a witch, coupled with a rapier wit and an equally sharp tongue.

      ‘Lonely. Missing you,’ Lydia said. ‘And don’t act so surprised. She’s been out of her mind with worry. We read about the King’s harrowing escape, being chased across Norway in the snow with Nazis on his trail. I assume you were involved in that?’ Her eyes went to his shoulder.

      ‘I got shot. Infection. Forced hospitalization.’

      ‘You could have written,’ Lydia said.

      ‘May I come in?’ Thomas asked. He wasn’t in the mood for Lydia’s diatribes. They had a tendency to be blunt, prescient, and to the point.

      ‘Of course.’ Cat’s voice rang through the dark hallway. She appeared out of the dim gloom of the hallway, with Annie at her feet. His heart squeezed at the sight of her. ‘Lydia, let the poor man in.’

      She came towards him, hands outstretched, a smile on her face. ‘Thomas—’ She took one look at his shoulder and stopped in her tracks. ‘What’s happened?’

      Lydia said, ‘We’re going. We’ll be back later. It’s too hot to eat dinner, so don’t bother with it.’ Lydia ushered Annie out the door, shoving the canvas and easel into her arms.

      ‘Be careful,’ Cat said.

      ‘We will. Don’t worry,’ Annie said. She held up her gas mask, smiled at Thomas, and trotted after Lydia.

      Cat and Thomas watched as they walked down the sidewalk.

      ‘Come in. Let’s go down to the kitchen. It’s cooler down there.’

      He followed her, noticing how the waist of the linen dress she wore was loose around her thin frame. Her hair was longer now. She wore it tied back with a scarf. A stray curl, a perfect curlicue, rested against the white of her neck. Thomas bit back the relentless yearning and followed her down the stairs.

      Cat pulled a chair out for Thomas. While he sat down, she poured him a glass of lemonade from a crystal jug on the counter. She placed the glass in front of him and sat down across the table.

      ‘Enjoy that. I’m told lemons will be in short supply before too long. We’ve actually planted vegetables to eat in Pete’s back yard, if you can believe that. He and Lydia tilled up the grass, and we’ve got rows and rows of things growing. I don’t know a thing about gardening …’

      She rambled about new friends and the projects they were undertaking, Annie’s hard work under Lydia’s tutelage, and the child’s worry about things to come. The words kept coming, a feeble attempt to fill the empty space between them. Finally, she stopped speaking mid-sentence and stared at him, her eyes as green and clear as an emerald pool. He surrendered, met her eyes, unafraid to get lost in them.

      ‘What happened, Thomas? Where did you go? How did you hurt yourself?’

      He didn’t want