complete discretion . . . telling her that the pension paid to her account for the last five years had not come from the War Office after all, but from Cameron. That he had ensured it to continue after his death, tied it up in his will in a private bequest without his family’s knowledge and separate from his widow’s funds. That it was well-invested, the earnest solicitor intoned, and should continue for Eve’s life.
She chased the solicitor out, shrieking, and then she collapsed utterly, crawling into her bed like a wounded animal and hiding there for months. How did you do it, Cameron? she’d wondered, staring at her own Luger. Barrel to the temple? Under the chin? Or between the teeth, the kiss of cold steel and gun oil the last sensation on earth? Eve had played those games often in the years that followed, on dark nights when the guilt wouldn’t let her sleep. Putting the Luger through the paces of suicide . . . but she had never quite pulled the trigger.
Too much of a stubborn bitch, she used to think. No fatal streak of romanticism or nobility in her soul, not like Cameron’s. But now, as the cab streaked out of Grasse and past the mimosa fields, Eve wondered if it had been not stubbornness but fate. Maybe guilt and grief could not be sated until justice had its turn first. Maybe it was the cold spy-trained part of her brain whispering that despite Cameron’s decades-long lie, an enemy was still out there to be dealt with. And until he was, the bullet between the teeth could not be fired.
Well, tonight the enemy would die. For Lili, for Rose, for Charlie, for Eve. Tonight, Evelyn Gardiner’s fight would be finished. More than thirty goddamned years past due, but better late than never.
She thought of the last bullet, knowing Charlie would hate her for firing it and so would Finn—but it was partly for them, as they’d realize later. A murderer dead next to her victim left them utterly in the clear. No one would be punished for this but the guilty. They could swan off into the sunset together, bless them.
“Madame, we have arrived.”
The cab halted at the end of an access path that led perhaps a quarter mile toward a gracious little jewel of a villa. Its white walls shone in the moonlight, and its roof peaked against the dark sky. Several windows showed light through the curtains. He was home. Eve wondered how long René had sat in that restaurant nibbling his toast points after she and Charlie left. Not long, she suspected. That told her something: he was still frightened of her.
You should be, she thought.
“Shall I drive you to the doorstep, madame?”
“I’ll walk,” she said, and swung out of the cab.
CHAPTER 41
CHARLIE
I’m sorry, Finn, I thought every time I heard the Lagonda’s gears grind. I hadn’t driven much in the last year, it was now full dark, and I could hardly reach the pedals—the car was groaning at me as I steered her through the narrow French roads. I swear if there is so much as a scratch on your baby when this is done, I will make it up to you. The brakes gave a resentful squeal, and I winced.
I didn’t drive particularly well, but I drove fast. I was outside Grasse in no time, and then the fun started. “Just past the mimosa fields” wasn’t exactly a pinpoint instruction in a city surrounded by acres of flowers. A half-moon climbed as I hunted, aware that Eve was ahead of me and time was ticking by. I thought of her facing me in the hotel, telling me to get out of her way. She’d looked like a worn-out knight lowering his visor for one last charge, haggard, gaunt, composed, serene.
My brother had had that expression the last time I saw him alive, I realized. The expression that said “I am ready to die.”
Not Eve, I thought. Please not Eve! If I failed her, lost her, I was never going to forgive myself.
The Rue des Papillons sported several private paths leading to country villas for the rich. The first I tried led to a house with a prominent for sale sign, the second to a family home where about six children were trooping inside for supper, clearly not René’s domicile. Now I leaned forward, and against the dark sky saw the dim peak of another house. Heart hammering, I pulled as much