Page 28 of A Night of Secret Surrender
They left just after ten o’clock in the morning, the rain having eased, although the wind was high. The marketplace at Boulevard de Clichy was busy, the vendors well into selling their day’s wares.
There were soldiers on the far side of Place Blanche and by the slight turn of head Celeste knew that Summer had seen them, too.
The trick was not to falter or hesitate. That was what the hunters would be looking for, that momentary stoppage or the first change of direction that would be the pointer to complicity. She had done this herself, looked through a crowd for the very same small thing over the years. So she kept her chin firm and walked behind Shayborne. He went slowly, the slight limp less noticeable as he spoke to a man next to him in a jovial way, of the weather and travel and the price of bread. Not just the two of them now, but others, she thought, a family to draw them in.
‘You are a priest who hails from the south, Father?’ Celeste was close enough to hear the conversation between Summer and the man next to him now.
‘Indeed, I am. I have had word that my mother is ill and so...’ He stopped and she could hear the grief in his words.
‘Then you must let me send you on your way with some bread and cheese. Maria?’ A woman she had not seen joined the man along with three very young children. ‘Could you give a wedge of cheese to the priest here?’
The soldiers were to their right now and close, but without any hesitation whatsoever Summerley Shayborne stopped to take the offered fare.
The soldiers gestured them on, a family who were travelling together, their gazes lingering on others now, smaller groups, people who loitered alone. And then they were in the wider alleys of Place Clichy, disgorged into space. A tavern full of patrons lay before them and, after offering his farewell to the family group, it was to this that Shayborne led her.
Taking a small seat to one side of the room, she squeezed in beside him as the barmaid came over with two tankards of ale.
‘The fellow over there sends you these with his regards. He hopes he might join you?’
‘I would be honoured,’ Shayborne replied and lifted his glass to a tall man in the corner who ambled over and sat down, too.
‘It’s not a good day out, Father. Is it a room you’d be wanting?’
‘A meal might be more to our liking.’ Summer pulled forth a purse that was thin and light, placing it down on to the seat beside him.
The man was quick, Celeste had to give him that. Before she could blink an eye his hand had slid across the wood and replaced it with another purse almost the same, only this one was far heavier. When Summer lifted it again he gave no sign at all of anything being different as he extracted a few of the coins.
Summerley Shayborne knew this man and he had expected him to be here at this time on this day. As she helped herself to some of the food his eyes caught her own.Trust me, they seemed to say, and her fingers slid back from the knife at her belt.
‘My sister and her husband own a place a few streets west from here. I should imagine they will be pleased to put you up for a few nights for a reasonable price. Do you know Boulevard Malesherbes?’
‘Indeed, I do.’
‘Here is the address, then.’ He pulled paper from the bag at his belt and proceeded to write out his direction, though as the clock on the wall behind them boomed out the hour the man stood. ‘I will leave you to your meal.Bon appetit.’
Then he was gone, out into the street as the noise in the tavern rolled around them again, convivial and loud. She did not speak, though, as she processed the events of the past few moments in silence. The bread was fresh and the beef stew tasty. As she ate she realised it had been two days since she’d had a proper meal of any sorts and she was starving. Shayborne ate, too, his face set into a smile, though the tight white of his knuckles told her that danger was close somewhere. Breathing out, she copied him, relaxing the lines of her shoulders against the wall behind and tipping down her hat.
The two men knew each other, that much at least was plain. How had he set up this meeting before he’d ever had the need to? The barmaid watched them from her place across the room. A new student in the game of intelligence, Celeste supposed, for she herself would not have glanced across once.
Sometimes she felt ancient.
‘We’ll leave Paris tomorrow.’ He said this quietly, the tankard hiding his lips.
When she nodded he turned away as if his words explained everything. And perhaps they did. Even in a foreign city, Shayborne had set up contacts that were in place should he have a need of them. There was a sort of artistry in such forethought, as well as comfort. After six years of existing in the underbelly of Parisian espionage she had not managed to weave a safety net around herself at all and such negligence said as much about her as it did about him.
He was a man who did not operate alone. He trusted others and depended on their integrity, something she had never grasped the knack of. His contacts were solid.
She’d always paid others well, even for questionable loyalty, whilst he garnered his respect merely by being the sort of man that he was. Honourable. Swallowing, she was saddened by the comparisons between them and, when the meat stuck in her throat, she coughed and took a deep sip of the ale.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to accompany him, after all. Perhaps she should have disappeared after saving him in the dungeon of Les Chevaliers when he still thought her...worthy. Such a word made her smile because in truth she was so far from being anything like him.
‘You are enjoying the meal?’
For the first time since their arrival at the tavern she looked straight at Summerley Shayborne. ‘It is always enlightening to see a master at work.’
‘Hardly that.’ The light caught at the new growth on his chin.
‘I have seen your friend before. I cannot quite remember where.’
