22
KNIGHT TO A4
Upper East Side
Manhattan
Nicholas wasn’t surprised to find Nigel in the kitchen, reading a book, a lead crystal lowball of Talisker Storm, neat, sitting by his elbow.
“Waiting up for me?”
His butler raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and sighed. “I see you’ve ruined yet another pair of pants, that lovely Spanish leather jacket your father gave you for your birthday, not to mention the bespoke shirt from Gieves and Hawkes. And the shoes? My, Mr. Gunderson would weep to see them.” Another sigh, a shake of the head. “They go in the trash bin as well. Barneys rejoices. And Barneys’ children, since we’ll be paying their college tuition for years to come.”
“Ha bloody ha.”
“You and Agent Caine were at the Bayway Refinery, weren’t you?”
Nicholas nodded.
“And that means, then, that you two plunged into the flames and rescued workers? That explains the missing sleeves, the black face.”
Nicholas saw the carnage again in his mind and nodded again, numbly.
Nigel paused for a moment, saw what a tight rein Nicholas had on himself. He lightly laid his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “You did well. Now, what can I do?”
Nicholas snapped to. “There’s really nothing, but thank you. Please go to bed, Nigel. I’m fine. I think a drink might be a good idea, though.” He poured himself at least three fingers of Talisker and drained it in a single gulp. The liquor shuddered through his body, warmed him to his ruined shoes.
“Did that help?”
“Yes, yes, it did.” Nicholas eased into a chair, watched Nigel pour him another.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Your mother called. The news of the refinery explosion already made it to England. I told her I believed you were at Lincoln Center, watching a play.”
“That was well done of you, Nigel, thank you.”
“I don’t think she believed me for an instant, but bless her, she didn’t push it. You can expect a call from your father and grandfather tomorrow. Early.”
“Everything is all right back home?”
“Yes, everything is fine.” Nigel studied Nicholas’s face for a moment longer, then said, “You should soak up the Talisker before you go to bed. There’s cold chicken and orzo in the Sub-Zero.”
“No, I think I’d like to keep the bad away a while longer,” Nicholas said, and he nodded at the bottle of Talisker. “This will do nicely.”
Nigel didn’t move.
“What is it, Nigel? Is there really something going on at home I should know about? And you’re protecting me like you tried to protect my mother?”
“I’ve known you all our lives, Nicholas. I’ve seen you angry and frustrated, but not as much as you are now. I’ve seen you even dirtier than you are now, more banged up, seen you inches away from losing that infamous Drummond temper. But you want to know something?”
Nicholas’s eyebrow shot up. “Yes?”
“You’re enjoying yourself.”
The Talisker spurted out of Nicholas’s mouth.
“No, no, Nigel, you’re wrong. All the bonkers crap that’s going on? No, no, I am not enjoying myself.”
Nigel merely shook his head. “I’d say you’re downright giddy. I was worried about all the change, but I’m glad to say the move to New York suits you very well. Your grandfather will be pleased to hear it.”
“You’re dead wrong about the giddy part—well, I hope you are—and you’re quite right: New York and the FBI suit me very well. It’s only a pity they don’t give agents clothing allowances. And stop talking to my grandfather behind my back.”