“Prod bastards?” Skorzeny asked. “You mean Protestants?”
Haughey nodded, his cheeks florid with anger. “That’s right, Protestants. Orange bastards, the lot of them.”
“Like Lieutenant Ryan here?”
Haughey paled, glanced at Ryan, then cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I can’t tar everyone with the same brush. Wouldn’t be fair. No offence, Ryan.”
“None taken, Minister,” Ryan said, his eyes hard.
As Esteban and Frau Tiernan began clearing plates from the table, Skorzeny watched Haughey lift a glass, drink from it, his anger choked by the wine. He considered taunting the politician some more, but thought better of it.
The guests made their way to the drawing room for coffee and brandy. In the hall, Ryan approached Skorzeny.
“I hoped I might have a word with Célestin Lainé tonight.”
“Not at the moment,” Skorzeny said.
“He’s still here, isn’t he? I haven’t had a chance to speak with him alone yet.”
“Yes, he’s here, but you may not speak with him. I’ve asked him to stay in his room while my guests are here. Perhaps later.”
Skorzeny guided Ryan towards the drawing room, where cigar smoke and coffee aroma mingled in the air. The guests played the roles that were expected of them, the men telling lewd jokes, the women gossiping and comparing dresses.
Skorzeny didn’t know how long had passed before he realised Ryan and his companion were missing.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Celia had left first, not a word as she edged towards the open patio doors and slipped out. Ryan followed and found her standing in the shadows beneath the eaves of the house, shivering.
“What’s wrong? Why did you sneak out here?”
In the blue darkness, he saw her diaphanous smile. “It was too smoky for me, that’s all. I wanted a little fresh air.”
“You don’t want to be here, do you? I could hear it in your voice when you called. I could see it on you in the car. Tell me what the matter is.”
“Nothing,” she said, but her exhalation turned to a sob. She brought her hand to her lips, sealed her mouth tight.
Ryan stood with his hands at his sides, awkward, useless, an infant in a world of men. Then he raised his hands up to her shoulders, gripped them.
“Tell me.”
He felt her tremble.
She sniffed back tears. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid.”
He slipped his arms around her, brought her close. Her breath warmed his throat.
“You’ve nothing to be afraid of. Not when I’m here.”
She said, “Oh God,” and pressed her eyes against the side of his neck. He felt the movements and the heat of her eyelids, the lashes prickling his skin, the wetness.
“Please tell me.”
Celia pulled her head away from him, sniffed, her shoulders hardening in his arms.
“He sent me to you,” she said.
“Who?” Ryan asked, but he already knew. “Skorzeny.”
“He wanted me to make friends with you, talk with you, tell him if you said anything about the job, to tell him what you were thinking, to make sure he could trust you.”
Ryan’s hands slipped away from her. He stepped back. His heart raced. He leaned against the wall for balance.
“I’m sorry.” She found a tissue and wiped at her cheeks, cutting through the mascara smears. “Please don’t tell him I told you. He’ll …”
“He’ll what?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say exactly.”
The storm at Ryan’s core intensified. “You mean he threatened you?”
She turned away as if it shamed her. “Yes. I think so. I mean, I’m not sure. But yes. It was never like this before. I don’t belong here.” she said. Celia told him of the man she’d accompanied to dinner, how she’s acted impressed with them, encouraged them to tell her their banal secrets. “Can we leave?”
Ryan took her in his arms once more. “Of course we can. We’ll go right now. And don’t worry, I won’t say anything. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He guided her back towards the patio doors and the laughter and smoke within.
Skorzeny blocked their path.
“Are the young lovers seeking the shadows?” he asked.
“Celia wanted some air,” Ryan said, an arm around her waist, keeping her close.
Skorzeny eyed her from head to toe, letting his gaze linger where it shouldn’t. “Aren’t you feeling well, my dear?”
Celia gave him a weak smile. “The food was a little rich for me, I think. And the smoke.”
Skorzeny nodded, his eyes wary. “I see. I’ll have Esteban fetch you some water.”
“Actually,” Ryan said, “I was about to bring Celia home. But thank you for your hospitality.”
“Leave? Now? Absolutely not. Have you forgotten, Lieutenant Ryan?”
“Forgotten what?”
Skorzeny smiled.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
The dining room table had been pushed to the wall, the rug rolled up, leaving the polished wooden floorboards. A selection of swords lay on the tabletop along with two jackets, one white, one black. The chairs had been lined up along the opposite wall. The men and women took their seats, drinks in their hands.
“You’re not serious,” Ryan said.
Skorzeny grinned, his eyes flashing. “Of course I am. Épée or sabre? Foil is for women and little boys.”
Celia stood in the corner, biting her nail.
Ryan felt the gaze of the room on him. “Neither. I won’t do this.”
Haughey laughed. “What’s the matter, Ryan? Where’s your fighting spirit?”
Ryan gave him a hard stare. “Would you like to take my place?”
Haughey choked on his brandy, guffawed. “Holy Christ, big fella, do I look like a fighter?”
“No, Minister. You don’t.”
Haughey’s smile dimmed, his eyes narrowed.
“Choose,” Skorzeny said. “Épée or sabre?”
Ryan looked at the swords lined up on the table. The two sabres had French grips, the épées had pistol grips. He lifted one of each, tested their weight, their balance. The épées were old fashioned pieces, large cupped hand guards, three-pronged tips rather than the buttons used for modern electronic scoring. Ryan chose.
“Épée,” he said.
Skorzeny lifted the black long-sleeved jacket, the master’s colour. “Good. Five touches. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Ryan lifted the white jacket. “Where are the masks?”
“No masks.” Skorzeny took the other sword for himself. “We are not children.”
Ryan slipped his arms into the thick cotton sleeves and fastened the jacket at his side, shortening the straps until the fabric gripped him tight around the midsection. He reached between and behind his legs, fastened the groin strap to the small of his back.
Skorzeny moved to one end of the cleared area of floor, his jacket snug on his barrel torso, his sword ready. “You will keep score, Minister.”
“Right you are,” Haughey said.
Ryan took up his position facing Skorzeny. Each adopted the En Garde stance, swords raised, knees bent, feet aligned.
The room hushed.