Page 42 of Peril in Piccadilly
“Can they do that?”
“I imagine they could if they wanted to,” Tom said. “I’m not with the diplomatic corps, so I’m not the right person to ask. But it wouldn’t surprise me.”
Nor would it surprise me, really, now that he had pointed it out. I sat back against the seat and drew my bottom lip into my mouth, gnawing anxiously.
“Surely not?” Christopher said from the backseat.
Tom flicked him a look in the mirror. “I don’t know, Kit. But I don’t think it’s a risk I would want to take.”
No, I didn’t think I wanted to risk it either, now that the hazards had been pointed out to me. “That’s going to be an awkward conversation.”
“You’ve already laid the basis for it,” Christopher told me, “by saying you’d prefer to stay here. It’s just one step further to break things off completely.”
I supposed he was right about that. The question was, did I want to break things off completely?
On the one hand, there was Germany and not wanting to go there. There was the possibility that I was, perhaps, risking my life here in England simply by associating with Wolfgang.
On the other hand, there was the fact that I liked him well enough, and that by marrying him, I’d become aGräfin. Not that I particularly wanted to be aGräfin, but it was the sort of thing a young woman of our class aspired to. And there was a part of me that wanted to see Heidelberg again, even if I didn’t want to live there permanently.
But I could always take myself to Heidelberg on holiday. I wouldn’t have to marry Wolfgang for that. I could talk Christopher into going with me, or perhaps Aunt Roz. Or both. Christopher’s mother might want to see the place where her sister had lived and died. My father had died on the Front, I didn’t know exactly where, and had been laid to rest in a hurried ceremony in a field somewhere on the Continent. But my mother had a proper grave in a proper graveyard, and her sister might want to see it.
“St George would be devastated,” Tom said and brought me out of myself and back to the interior of the motorcar. We had passed Oxford Circus and were on our way towards Tottenham Court Road.
“Excuse me?”
“St George. He would be devastated if you ran off to the Continent.”
I snorted. “Hardly. He’s marrying Laetitia, and I think they’d both be happier if I made myself scarce.”
“I don’t think Crispin would agree with that,” Christopher said from the backseat. “He rather enjoys his pining, I think.”
Tom chuckled. I glared at him, and he added, “Come now, Pippa. This can’t have come as a surprise. We’ve all been telling you to stop flirting for months.”
“I haven’t been flirting,” I said mulishly. I liked bantering with Crispin—he’s clever and quick-witted and has a wicked sense of humor when he’s not being deliberately cruel, or at least when he isn’t being deliberately cruel to me—and I’ll also admit, under pressure, that I have enjoyed the occasions upon which our banter had made Laetitia (and sometimes her mother) squirm with discomfort. But that didn’t mean I’d beenflirting. Certainly not. Just because I enjoyed the bickering, didn’t mean there was anything romantic afoot.
“Here we are,” Tom said. He turned the Tender onto Essex and we could see the Essex House Mansions looming at the end of the street.
“Are you coming up for a drink?”
Tom slanted Christopher a look in the mirror. “I don’t think I’d better, Kit. It’s been a very long day.”
Yes, of course it had been. He had been working since four o’clock this morning, hadn’t he?
“Any news on the investigation?” Christopher wanted to know.
“I updated Pippa.” He glanced at me as he slid up to the curb on the opposite side of the street from our front door. “She can tell you. But the short answer is no. We still don’t know who the bloke is or how he picks his victims, just that he sticks to a certain sphere of society.”
“The ones with money,” I said, as I fumbled for my door handle. “Just stay where you are, Tom. I’m perfectly capable of letting myself out of the motorcar. And letting Christopher out, too. You stay there, where no one can run you over, and let us get out on the pavement.”
Tom nodded. “Under normal circumstances, I’d do a better job of convincing you I’m a gentleman, but at the moment?—”
“No worries,” I told him as I moved the seat aside and reached into the backseat for Christopher. “We can manage.”
“Will you let us know how the investigation fares?” Christopher stepped onto the pavement and shrugged the tweed coat from his shoulders. He took a moment to fold it gently before placing it on the seat next to Tom. “Thank you for the loan. Not a gentleman, you said?”
“I suppose I did that part well enough.” Tom smirked up at him across the passenger seat. “As for the rest, I imagine I’ll be in touch in a day or two. In the meantime, try to be good.”
“I’m always good,” Christopher said, to which both Tom and I rolled our eyes.
