dates, destinations, manifests, cargo weights, and fees until the full amount was covered, on paper. Fitzhugh, now party to embezzlement, had the uneasy feeling—it was almost premonitory—that with each strand he wove into the ever-expanding web of deception, he was trapping himself.
“Does this trouble you at all?” he asked Barrett, who replied that it did, a “wee bit,” and then rationalized: His role was to deliver aid to Sudan, and guns were merely another form of aid.
When they completed their creative work, they went to the Hotel California bar for a restorative. There Barrett revealed that the secret of Fitzhugh’s and Diana’s wedding was out—a week ago she’d asked him to perform the service.
“First Quinette and Michael, now you and Diana. I’m specializin’ in odd pairings.”
“Because you are oddly paired yourself.”
“I am, sure enough. Heard about Tara’s troubles, by the way. Bloody shame.”
A bloody shame, Fitzhugh agreed. The former priest of Rome stirred his whiskey and soda and looked off at two aid workers who, in sandals and ragged T-shirts, resembled itinerant hippies. “Diana’s quite upset about it. Spoke to her only yesterday. She invited Tara to the nuptials and she got a regrets, with a full explanation. It might be a good idea if you talked to her. Call that a bit of advice from your minister.”
“Advice?” asked Fitzhugh, with a buzz of apprehension.
Barrett’s glance moved back to him. “I’m fond of you both. Take a day or two off, have a talk with her.”
She was taking hurdles in the ring when he arrived, a sight that always moved him. Her poise, crouched over the horse’s neck, booted legs bent, the beauty of mount and rider flowing over a bar as one, and the danger of a balk or fall combined to arrest his breath in fear and admiration. Focused on what she was doing, she didn’t notice him, standing outside the rail, until she cantered toward the barrier nearest him, a wall of straw bales. She reined up sharply, the horse tossing its head as if confused by the sudden halt. She patted its neck and walked it to the rail, looked down at Fitzhugh with a cool, remote expression, and in a voice that matched, said she wasn’t expecting him.
“I thought to surprise you. I saw John up in Loki. He suggested we ought to talk about . . . well, I’m not sure what.”
“And you needed him to tell you that? What would you have done if you hadn’t seen him?”
His apprehensions were confirmed—this wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit. “He told me you were upset.”
“ I have to cool her down. I’ll see you in the garden in ten. Ask Faraj to make you some tea.”
She strode into the garden like a Prussian, boots clacking on the fieldstone walk, and without a touch or word, sat across the round table from him, creating a physical symbol for her emotional distance. She placed an envelope on the table, opened it, and removed a wedding announcement and a letter, filled out on both sides.
“Tara has sent her regrets.”
“John mentioned that.”
“She saw fit to tell me why.” She lifted the letter with two fingers, then dropped it.
“Yes, he mentioned that, too.”
“She didn’t have to go into so much detail. She was venting. We’ve been friends ten years, so she’s entitled. Tara seems to think you were a part of what was done to her. At the very least, she says, you knew about it beforehand and did nothing to stop it. I need to know if she’s right. I need to hear about it from you.”
Fitzhugh took a sip of tea. It was cold. He lit a cigarette. “She came into the office in quite a state, and that was the first I’d heard of it.”
“I hope and pray, darling, that you are not lying to me.”
“No need to hope or pray because I’m not.”
She gave him an appraising look. “What was done to her was absolutely rotten. And it’s not only her. It’s everyone who worked for her. They’re all out of a job. Did you people ever give a thought to them?”
“Don’t include me in that ‘you people,’ ” he said, piping to his adolescent squeal, embarrassing himself. He wanted to sound manly and offended that she would think he’d been involved.
“And what about your boss?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, my friend is. And Tara wouldn’t say a thing like that if she weren’t.”
“She seemed to have no problem accusing me when she wasn’t sure. I wish