Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Iona
We start out the next day at the slightly more reasonable hour of noon.
After a huge breakfast of waffles and eggs benedict at a café near the house, we walk to the Saatchi Gallery, where we view an exhibition by a young artist fascinated with metal, mirrors, and light.
Then we visit the Chelsea Physic Garden, wandering amongst medicinal, herbal, and poisonous plants until the garden closes.
I choose a few floral watercolor paintings, cards, and books for my family, emerging laden down with bags.
“Do you have any gifts to buy?” I ask Leith, as we drop the bags in the boot of the waiting car.
He opens the back door for me and waits for me to slide in before settling beside me. “Aaron used to love Cuban cigars and Mexican sotol.”
Shit, I walked right into that one. Venturing a glance at him, I catch his pensive expression.
I redden, knowing it’s too little too late if I offer my condolences now. “What about Declan? Or Diran?”
His brow furrows. “It never would’ve occurred to me.”
“Because they’re wealthy and don’t need anything?”
He gazes out the window at the river we’re skirting. “Our relationship isn’t like that.”
I wonder if he means they’re not strictly friends but more colleagues. In the following pregnant silence, I ponder what it must be like not to have anyone to buy gifts for. His parents and guardian are dead, he has no siblings, and Aaron was his only real friend.
He turns to me, his expression wary. “If I were to get Diran and Declan something, it would have to be pretty unique.”
Excitement brews in my belly, where guilt simmered a moment ago. “Something that perfectly expresses you and your relationship to them.”
He releases a short laugh. “I work for a criminal organization, not a local fitba?1 team.”
“But you’re part of the family, I’m sure they feel that,” I offer. “How would you describe your friendship with Declan?”
Leith crooks a fond smile. “Since the start we’ve joked around a lot. We’ve often laughed at collectors and hobbyists.”
“So collectors’ items are out—unless as a self-mocking statement.” I nod. “What do you think of when you think of him?”
“A tank, because he’s built like one. A vault, because he never spills secrets.” Leith’s lips twitch. “A secret romantic.”
That’s something we can build on. “Would he like a piece of art expressing love—or war?” Something occurs to me. “At the National Gallery there’s that painting by Botticelli of Mars asleep and Venus watching over him.”
“I appreciate the thought, Iona, but that’s more you than me.” He passes a hand over his finely stubbled jaw, his eyes narrowing in thought. “He did say a few weeks ago that he wished he knew how to cook, so he could make a few dishes for Màiri . . .”
I brighten. “Leiths School of Food and Wine is here in London! You could get him a few lessons—online or in person. He’d think of you especially because of the name.”
Leith tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. “I will. Thanks for the push. Declan’s father may be trickier. He doesn’t like much other than strategizing and violence.”
I snag my lower lip in my teeth. “What about something to symbolize how you first joined the Syndicate? Didn’t you defend Diran and his brother in a case?”
A mirthful glimmer gleams in Leith’s eyes. “Diran and Callum had forced Fina Heddle, daughter of the biggest wine importer in the UK, to marry Elaine’s nephew Kamdyn.”
“Elaine, Alec’s wife?”
“Aye. The twins wanted to keep Heddle’s wine business in the family, not just for the connections but to legitimize a lot of the Syndicate’s businesses—the restaurants, bars, and clubs.
The snag was that Fina was in love with Macklin Whyte, a vintner who was also devoted to her.
When Whyte saw that the Syndicate and Heddle were forcing Fina to marry Kamdyn, Whyte hurled himself off the top of a building. ”
I scrunch my brows. “How did Diran and Callum come to be tried for murder?”
“They were on the floor below the rooftop that night, dining with a couple of other Syndicate men,” Leith explains.
“Whyte owed the Syndicate a hundred twenty thousand pounds he wasn’t able to pay back.
Because the twins were there and the only men who could vouch for them were members of the Crew, the prosecution claimed their alibis were flimsy and that they pushed Whyte off the edge of the building. ”
Wow. A man plunged to his death—either because the twins had forced his girlfriend to marry another man or because they pushed him.
I shiver, wondering which was the truth. “How did you get them off?”
Leith’s eyes glitter. “I pointed out they could’ve hired anyone to kill Whyte, so why would they do the job themselves?
I argued for the suicide of a man who knew he’d never be out of debt and had an inferiority complex vis-à-vis his prospective in-laws.
I also found a desk attendant on the top floor of the building who testified he’d seen Whyte go up the rooftop stairs but no one else. ”
I swallow. “Was he paid to say that?”
My husband’s eyes skip between mine. “I’ll leave it at that, Flame.”
My mouth slacks, and I suspect the worst. But I press on with the task at hand. “I suppose you couldn’t get Diran something wine-themed, to remind him of how you joined the Crew?”
He rubs his thumb over his lower lip. “It’d be purely symbolic, since Diran doesn’t drink wine.”
A laugh erupts from my belly. “What about one of those placards the wineries and pubs have—like a small barrel with a bunch of grapes over it and the name of the place in brass letters?”
“Diran’s Delicious Draughts?” Leith chuckles. “It’s a whimsical idea. He doesn’t laugh much, but he just might this time.”
“You could have it made while we’re here in London,” I suggest.
“All right, I’ll look into it.” He tilts his head. “Why are you so keen for me to give them gifts?”
I hitch a shoulder. “Gifts are like thank-you cards. They’re not necessary, but they’re always appreciated, and they lubricate society’s gears.”
As Draven pulls over at an outdoor market near London Bridge, Leith pops his door open and hands me out. “You’re clearly gifted at gift-giving, Flame.”
Blushing, I revel in his rare compliment.
* * *
We enjoy two more full days in London, visiting the Hunterian Museum of surgical history, Greenwich, and Eel Pie Island, where we view a few artists’ studios and pick up the gift Leith commissioned for Diran.
The artist sculpted a coat-clad pig standing against an overturned barrel and pointing to a sign reading, Diran’s Draughts.
The whole work is made of wood and brass. It’s funny, apt, and unforgettable.
At the sight of it Leith smiles. “To the untrained eye, this could be a beer or wine barrel, but it’s for beer.”
“Is that okay?”
He scoops it up under one arm. “It’ll be an inside joke.”
By now, I’ve come to hope Leith has abandoned his plans to do away with me.
He jokingly calls me Scheherazade every day, and talking about Aaron is verboten.
But I assume I’ve changed his mind where having revenge is concerned.
He knows what happened to me, that I did what I did in good faith, and that I didn’t intend for Aaron to die.
He’s got too much good sense to continue on his bloody mission.
On Thursday morning Draven and McKinley drive us back to Glasgow.
In the front entrance Leith sheds his jacket. “Come to my study after you’ve unpacked.”
I’m about to ask where our bedroom is, when a woman with a smart salt-and-pepper bun, jeans, and a beige shirt emerges from a door on the left.
“Amanda, this is Iona. Iona, Amanda is our housekeeper.” Having made these brief introductions, Leith turns and heads off toward the wing where he first coerced me into marriage.
“Glad to meet you, miss. I’ll show you to your room.
” Amanda ushers me toward a broad staircase, at the top of which a gallery leads to a series of rooms on either side.
She opens the double doors to the first room, and I suck in a breath.
The walls are stone-washed granite, the floor and ceiling are pine wood, and antique farmhouse furnishings complete the rustic look.
The windows opposite the door bracket a four-poster king-size bed, a couple of eighteenth-century dressers stand to either side against the walls, and a dressing table sits off to the right next to a full-length mirror.
An armchair fills the lefthand corner by the door, and a wingback perches by the mirror.
Opening a set of double doors by the armchair, I’m shocked to find a whole wardrobe full of my own claes.
“Amanda, where did these come from?”
“Leith had them sent over for you.” She lays a pile of towels on the bed. “Let me know if you need anything, miss. There’s an intercom here, by the door. Will that be all?”
I pick my jaw up off the floor. “Aye, Amanda. And please call me Iona.”
With a curt nod she leaves me to wonder how Leith got into my apartment and hauled all these claes over.
Amanda must’ve organized all my outfits, which are sorted by dresses, skirts, tops, and trousers.
Running my hands over a favorite fawn-colored pencil skirt, I decide to go pantyless and braless.
I find my sleeveless white top with the shelf bra and change out of my traveling duds before slipping into this body-hugging outfit.
Do I plan on teasing my husband just a wee bit? And if he settles me on his lap, will I be sure to let him know I’m easily accessible?
Aye to both.
Downstairs I knock on his study door, shifting my weight from one kitten heel to the other.
“Come,” he calls.
Déjà-vu hits me as I step into his study, brushing hair behind my shoulder. My heart picks up speed, and my breaths come quickly as I recall how he overturned my life right here, not three weeks ago.
He looks up from a document on his desk, and his gaze heats, pouring over my body like lava. “Come here.”