I can’t manage to get myself up to my room without you, I’ll just sleep in a booth.”
“You aren’t embarrassed about last night, are you?”
“Should I be?”
Charlotte laughed, shaking her head. “Sometimes I wish I could be as oblivious as you are at least pretending to be right now. Thanks for intervening with Tommy. He wouldn’t have gone too far, and I’d have handled him if he’d tried, but I appreciate the help.”
“You could have flipped him on his ass?”
“More likely I’d have called the barman.”
“Smarter, I guess. Not as much fun.”
“You’re an interesting man, Agent Rawlings. Best of luck with whatever’s next for you.”
She lifted her bag and started out the door, glancing back at Greg Rawlings, trying to ignore a pang of regret that she wouldn’t see him again. She couldn’t explain it but it was there. Maybe he’d find a way? Maybe he was feeling the same thing?
What was she thinking?
Fortunately, her cab was waiting. Next stop was the Oxford train station. She’d be in Edinburgh tonight and on her way to Boston and Knights Bridge in a day or two.
Samantha and Justin were a special, wonderful couple, but Charlotte’s opinion of weddings hadn’t changed in the past twenty-four hours.
Best to avoid them.
* * *
An hour after Charlotte left for Edinburgh, Greg stood on a footbridge on a marked trail that had taken him through the village, down a twisting lane and into woods. The wooden bridge spanned a shallow stream, the coppery water coursing over rocks and mud. He’d changed out of his wedding clothes into khakis and a polo shirt and jacket but he hadn’t bothered with rain gear. Might prove to be a mistake given the darkening clouds.
He dug out his phone and called his son in Minnesota. Fifteen and he had his own phone. Not unusual these days.
“Hey, Dad,” Andrew said. “What’s up? How was the wedding? Are you still in England?”
“Still in England. Wedding was good. Nice setting, great food, great people.”
“Did you dance?”
Greg heard the teasing note in his son’s voice. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Wish I’d been there to see that. Did you dance by yourself or with someone?”
“I don’t dance by myself. What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
“Whenever I said I wasn’t up to anything as a kid, my mother handed me a broom.”
His son chuckled. “Good thing you’re in England, then.”
“What’s your sister up to?”
“Nothing much.”
“I bet your mom has two brooms.”
“She’s not here. She’s at a movie with...” Andrew stopped abruptly. “Never mind.”
“With Richard,” Greg said. “I know. I texted her earlier. I hope they’re having a good time. Listen, I’m on my way to Washington via New England. What if you and Megan join me for a few days? It’s okay with your mom. I have some time off before I start my new job. New England would be different. I’ll be staying at a small-town inn that’s being renovated.”
“I’ve never been to New England,” Andrew said.
“We’d have the place to ourselves. You and Megan can each have your own room.”
“Sounds cool. What’s there to do there?”
“Beats me.”
His son laughed. “Good thing you’re not a salesman, Dad.”
“I was there for a few days in the winter. It’s a pretty town. We can hike, go fishing—swim if you’re brave since it’s only June and the ice just melted.”
“Ha. This the town where Ambassador Scarlatti lives?”
“Yes, it is.”
Greg was impressed his son remembered the retired ambassador, a smart, interesting if also occasionally overdramatic man who owned a house on the same Knights Bridge lake where Brody Hancock had grown up. Vic had encouraged Brody to join the Diplomatic Security Service. They were the reason for Greg’s wintry visit to the small New England town.
“Ambassador Scarlatti lives on a lake, doesn’t he?” Andrew asked.
“Echo Lake,” Greg said.
“He’d let us go swimming and kayaking?”
“Probably. Brody owns the land where he grew up. We can go out there, too.”
“This is sounding better and better,” his son said.
“I can teach you how to fly-fish.”
“Do you know how to fly-fish?”
“Yeah. You bet.” He had no idea how to fly-fish, but how hard could it be? “We could ride bikes, too. This inn must have bikes, or we can borrow some. I know people in town.”
“That’d be good,” Andrew said, sounding more enthusiastic.
Greg didn’t mention he hadn’t been on a bike in years. They chatted a few more minutes. Megan was out with friends, so Greg postponed calling her. She had her own phone, too. Laura had been amenable to them flying to Boston. He’d pick them up at the airport and they’d hang out together for a few days. Going to Minnesota himself was less and less an option. Laura needed space, and he didn’t live with her anymore. The kids were old enough to come to him or he could pick them up at home and take them somewhere. No staying on the sleeper sofa. He and Laura weren’t going to have that kind of postdivorce arrangement.
“Okay,” Greg said. “Let’s make Knights Bridge happen.”
“Knights Bridge?”
“That’s the town where we’ll be staying. It’s west of Boston. Look it up. It’s small but it’s got to be on the map.” He paused. “I think.”
“Great, Dad.”
Greg heard the sarcasm in his son’s voice and grinned. “I’ll get back to you with details.”
When he disconnected, Greg felt both a sense of satisfaction and a sense of loss. He wished Andrew and Megan were with him now, in the quiet English countryside. He was accustomed to being apart from his kids but that didn’t mean it was easy. In some ways, they were better at dealing with his absences than he was. It was the life they knew.
He
