Marcia Talley - The Last Refuge

‘Hannah?’ Alex glanced quickly over his shoulder, then back at me.

‘Who were you talking to?’ I asked.

‘Some tourist from Raleigh, up for the day.’

‘Ah. Michael was worried that he might be a reporter.’

Alex flushed. ‘Shit, Hannah. I know better than that. I’m not itching to get canned. Besides, I need the money.’

‘Amy’s been wondering where you got to.’ I smiled, looped my arm through his. ‘Shall we?’

Alex covered my hand where it rested on his arm. ‘I’m very fond of Amy,’ he confided. ‘As you are no doubt aware.’

‘A person would have to be blind not to notice,’ I teased. ‘No wife or girlfriend at home, I suppose?’

‘Do I seem like a rogue to you, Mrs Ives?’

‘Not at all, Mr Mueller.’

We’d reached the boardwalk when Alex said, ‘I had a fiancé until six months ago. She dumped me for a motivational speaker from Des Moines. Seems there’s more money in the touchy-feely biz than in music.’

‘Motivation, schmotivation.’ I squeezed his arm. ‘I’d rather listen to you play the violin any day.’ I looked up, smiled. ‘How long have you been studying?’

‘Since I was five. Mom bought me one of those teeny-tiny violins and took me to a woman who taught the Suzuki method.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘Suzuki believed that children who hear fine music from the day of their birth and learn to play it, develop discipline, endurance, and sensitivity, as well as a beautiful heart.’

That certainly described Alex, I thought, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

‘And the dancing?’

He shrugged. ‘Just a hobby.’

As we neared the place where I’d last seen Michael and Amy, I was suddenly distracted by a handsome chap wearing a dark green suit with gold buttons. His khaki breeches fit his slender frame to perfection. He’d topped off his ensemble with a powdered wig and a tricorn hat, and as we approached him along the boardwalk, he removed his hat and bowed deeply.

‘Paul!’ I grinned up at Alex. ‘Sorry, Mr Mueller, but I know this gentleman.’

Alex released my arm, doffed his hat and bowed deeply. ‘Later, alligator.’

My heart raced as I closed the distance between me and my husband. Paul gathered me in, crushing me and hundreds of yards of fine silk fabric to his own equally well-costumed chest. I flipped the parasol so it shielded us from Chad’s Steadicam and planted a kiss on my husband’s lips. He returned it hungrily.

‘Watch it, bub, or I’ll roger you right here,’ I whispered, my lips close to his ear.

‘Is that a promise?’ he murmured into my hair. ‘I’ve been worried about you, Hannah. Jud told me you’d been ill.’

‘He shouldn’t have worried you, Paul. I’m fine. Really. A touch of the flu. No big deal.’

‘Thank God.’ He kissed me again, then said, ‘I got your message.’

‘Both of them?’ I knew about the bottle-mail, but wasn’t sure about the email.

‘Both. You should take up calligraphy. That note was a work of art.’

‘For a beginner,’ I said, leaning back so I could look him in the eyes. ‘Amy’s back now, thank goodness. Problem solved.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘So she’s no longer in any danger?’

‘She and her husband talked it out. I think she’s safe, at least until Drew figures out that she’s not going to go along with his plan. But that won’t happen, if it happens at all, until Amy leaves Patriot House. Till then?’ I shrugged. ‘What could be safer than a house full of people where cameras are rolling practically twenty-four seven?’ I looped my arm through his, and urged him along the sidewalk back toward the water: Mr and Mrs Colonial Annapolis on an afternoon stroll.

‘What about the fugitive, Drew Whats-his-name?’

‘Cornell. Outside of Amy and Drew, nobody knows that Drew is alive except you and me, and Amy doesn’t know about you.’

‘Don’t you think you should turn him in?’

‘I’ve never laid eyes on him, Paul. He’s like a phantom. But then, that’s what SEALs are trained to be. Shadows. Besides, who would believe me? I have no proof. The only proof would be the man himself, or his body, and Drew Cornell is making himself scarce.’

‘Amy?’

‘Maybe, although I think she figures Drew is entitled to the money after the hell he’s been through.’

The sun beat down hotly on my bonnet. I shifted the parasol to better shade my face, then reached for my fan. ‘Is it hot, or is it just me?’

A look of concern crossed his face. ‘Is it too soon for you to be out? We don’t need any relapses here.’

I smiled up at him. ‘I was on my way to Starbucks when I was – how shall I say? – interrupted.’

‘How about some water?’ Paul reached inside his coat and came out holding a bottle of Deer Park spring water. He twisted off the cap and handed the bottle to me.

I took an unladylike swig. ‘Ooooh, that tastes good,’ I said, dabbing at my lips with the back of my gloved hand. With the parasol and the fan, the bottle would require three hands, so I gave it back to him. ‘Where did you get that fabulous costume, Paul?’

‘I borrowed it from the Masqueraders’ costume room,’ he said. ‘ School for Scandal opens in a couple of weeks. I think this outfit properly belongs to Sir Benjamin Backbite, but it fit, and the director is a colleague of mine, so there you have it.’

‘Is some midshipman running around the stage in his skivvies?’

Paul laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it back in plenty of time for the dress rehearsal.’

As the flames of the burning vessel died down, the wind fanned the embers, sending sparks spiraling up into the sky. Spectators began to drift away, to the bars, to the restaurants and to the souvenir vendors that were waiting to separate them from their money.

‘Walk me home, will you, Paul?’ I suddenly felt drained, weary. Maybe I had ventured out a little too soon.

‘Do we need to get permission from Founding Father first?’ he asked, taking my arm.

I shook my head. ‘We’ve been surprisingly free to wander today, although they have beefed up their film crew.’ I pointed my parasol at Chad. ‘Exhibit A, or maybe B. Maybe he’ll get tired of following us. Find other fish to fry.’

A few minutes later we did, in fact, lose Chad. I had steered Paul purposefully toward the canopy where I’d last seen Karen and Dex. There, in the space the VIPs had vacated, we found Gabe and Dex kneeling on the ground, playing a game of marbles. Irresistibly cute and quintessentially mediagenic. One look at the kids and Chad was a goner.

Paul escorted me up Prince George Street where we stopped at the Paca House gate. A security guard dressed in the red and white uniform of the Maryland Militia was guarding the door. ‘Your house, I believe, madam. Mine is just up the street.’ He bent down and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Of course I am, Paul. It was only the flu. I just need a little rest. Probably tried to overdo it.’ I touched his cheek.

‘Will you email me again?’

I whipped off my hat and shook out my curls. ‘Can’t. Amy’s iPhone went AWOL.’

‘Ah, that explains why you didn’t answer. But I did leave you a message in the bottle.’

‘You did? When?’

‘Just before climbing into this get-up and going downtown to meet you.’

‘What did it say?’

‘Aside from arranging to communicate with you through the proprietors of Maryland Table at the Market House, not much. Just a little something of my own. I call it “Heart Foam.” I shall not publish it,’ he said, quoting from a favorite Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, Patience .