Chapter 36 #2
He thanked Mr. Apak and followed him back to the gate. It was Nick, with an easy smile on his freshly shaven face that only emphasized the shadows under his eyes. He offered his hand. They shook. “Let’s be on our way to the consulate, then,” Nick said.
Alexander took it in stride; they had no plans to visit Saffron today, especially together, but he didn’t know how much the guards might gossip about later.
Alexander retrieved his jacket and they set off in the motorcar Nick had waiting. They zipped through the streets in silence. As much as he wanted to ask Nick why they were going to the consulate right now, he didn’t want the driver to hear anything.
That was, until the driver leaned over to check if the street was clear before a turn, and he realized the driver was Bagshott.
“What are we doing?” Alexander asked Nick.
“Seeing your wife. I have it on good authority that Tuesdays at noon is when Sir Randolph dines with a friend of his a few streets over in Bornova. It’s the only time I know he will not be at the consulate.”
“Why do you care if he’s there?”
“I don’t want him to know I’m here,” Nick said bluntly. “We met during the war, and I’d prefer he remain unaware I’m in the city.”
“You didn’t catch him doing something treasonous, did you?”
This was no flippant comment; Alexander had watched at a distance as Nick had ruined the lives of men and women working against the Allies in the war.
Nick rolled his eyes. “If I had, he’d hardly have his own consulate to run.
No, I just don’t want him thinking he has any oversight on our operations here.
The things Bey is up to are likely to touch his realm of connections, and I don’t want Sir Randolph to do anything that might spook Bey before we’re ready to move. ”
The consulate was quiet when they arrived, with only a Turkish maid to greet them.
“Mr. Feldman,” the maid said, poking her head into the nearest open door. “Mr. Ashton and Mr. Carmichael for Mrs. Ashton.”
Feldman emerged, nodding to Alexander and offering a hand to Nick, who was apparently styling himself as Mr. Carmichael for this meeting. “How do you do?”
“Gregory Carmichael, esquire,” Nick said confidently, pumping Feldman’s arm.
Feldman frowned at them. “I was given to understand the embassy would be providing Mrs. Ashton with legal assistance.”
“Oh, indeed,” Nick said, “but Ashton here is a mate of mine from the army, and I thought to offer any advice I might. I settled in Bursa, you see. Heard about it from a friend in Istanbul, wanted to see if I could help.”
It was startling just how easily Nick could spin out a perfectly reasonable but uninteresting story that Feldman, or anyone else, just glossed right over.
“I see,” Feldman said. “If you’ll follow me?”
Outside Saffron’s room, Feldman gave Nick the same instructions he’d given Alexander and any of Saffron’s other visitors: Do not bring weapons of any kind into the room, and do not make any attempt to help Saffron vacate the room or the consulate.
Should they have any wish to do those things, a stern warning from Feldman wouldn’t stop them, but Alexander supposed it was part of his duty to rattle off the warnings anyway.
He knocked, announced them, and opened the door when Saffron called out her permission.
Seeing her was like a punch to the gut every time. He didn’t know if it was because it was the circumstances, the fact they were now married, or simply because it was her, but he ached to close the distance between them, Nick and Feldman be damned.
But her eyes weren’t on Alexander—they were locked on Nick.
Her mouth opened in surprise, and Nick smoothly cut in front of her to take her hand and kiss in the air over the back of it.
“Mrs. Ashton, I am so very glad to see you holding up so well. We haven’t had the pleasure; I am Gregory Carmichael. Your husband and I served together.”
Her blue eyes bounced between Nick and Alexander, and he shook his head the barest degree. Her eyes darted to Feldman before she added uncertainly, “How do you do?”
“Carmichael is here to offer legal advice,” Alexander said by way of explanation, though it was no explanation at all, from the questioning look Saffron gave him.
“Let us sit,” Nick said briskly, helping Saffron onto the couch she’d clearly just been sitting on. Alexander went to sit at her side, and Nick nudged the nearest chair so it was impolitely close to Saffron’s other side. His purpose was clear: He didn’t want them to be overheard.
Feldman took up his usual position, sitting on the chair near the door, looking more likely to fall asleep than eavesdrop.
Still, when Nick revealed a file tucked into his jacket pocket, Alexander was glad for his precaution.
“The lab results from Martin Neill’s autopsy,” Nick said quietly. “Poor fellow was riddled with damage, from his liver to his lungs to even his eyes.”
“What did it?” Saffron breathed. Her hand found Alexander’s in his lap.
“There were moderate amounts of a toxin called colchicine in his body,” Nick said in an undertone, reading from the report.
“It was found in his blood, his kidneys, his feces and urine, even in the sample taken from his eyes. The only place they didn’t find it was his stomach contents.
Considering he was otherwise healthy when you set sail, it had to be the colchicine. Do you know anything about it?”
Saffron had gone very still, and now Alexander looked from Nick to her, he saw she’d gone white. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but a tear escaped and dropped onto Alexander’s wrist. “Saffron?”
“Colchicine is the toxin found in the family of plants called Colchicum,” she said in a rasping voice.
She looked at Nick, not at him. “The most well-known of that species is Colchicum autumnale, or autumn crocus.” She took a shuddering breath, and her eyes slid to his.
The despair in their blue depths crushed his lungs.
“Another name for that flower is meadow saffron.”