“Oh, right. That puts my mind at rest. And second… you don’t know where the Lake District is, do you?”
“No.”
“The wrong side of the country, you tosser. If Ididmanage to get on a boat from there, it would be going to Ireland. Or America.” Eve patted his hand. “Still, I enjoyed the five seconds where I thought you actually had an idea.”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault. Well, your lack of geography is your fault. Oh fuck, Nic, it’s so unfair.”
“My geography?”
“All of it. You’ve got your copain, which—good?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. He’s something special, Eve.”
“And there’s Alma, and my God, she’s wonderful.”
“You’re officially courting, I hear?” Nico slanted a brow.
“I told her the important parts,” Eve said. “She knows and she’s happy and she’s… she’s perfect. She’s the woman I’ve always wanted, so it’s not just about the money, or not getting my legs broken: I don’t want to mess this up with her. And you’ve got your copain, and can we not think of a brilliant solution?”
“I’m trying. Out of interest, did the ‘important parts’ you told her include us owing Gaskin a fortune and maybe needing to flee the country?”
Eve winced. “Not as such.”
Nico would have liked to give his cousin a stern talking-to about the ethics of involving someone in a relationship under false pretences, except it would make a cat laugh. “I am very much in favour of finding a brilliant solution,” he said. “Let’s do that. We should get back to the house.”
Nico had once seen a farce about a priest with a double life as a highway robber, who was constantly running out of one door as a bad man and re-entering through another as a good one. It was not an analogy he chose to dwell on as he came back to Carey Street.
He was sitting on his bed, thoughts circling around a fixed point ofWhat am I going to do?when there was a soft cough at the door, and he saw Mr. Thorpe, wordlessly indicating that Nico should come with him.
He slipped out, and by silent agreement they headed to the end of the corridor before speaking.
“All well, monsieur?” Nico asked. “It is not the Morris?”
“No, that gentleman hasn’t been back,” Mr. Thorpe assured him. “It is another individual, asking for you.”
Nico didn’t invite callers. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see where he was living before this, and he had been careful not to treat Titus’s house as his own. Not to mention he hadn’t been to any sort of party or event in some time—they were no use to him if Titus wasn’t interested—and was probably slipping out of people’s minds, which suited him very well. “Who?”
“The person in question gave his name as Gaskin.”
Shit.Shit. Nico put on a blank look and said, “Thank you. I will go down.”
Thorpe had left Gaskin in the parlour, alone but with a footman waiting outside, presumably so the man didn’t roam around the house stealing things. It was a very natural precaution.
Nico came in and shut the door. “Monsieur Gaskin. What can I do for you?”
Gaskin smiled without mirth. “You could pay me.”
“You will be paid. We discussed this and I have ten days more according to our agreement. Possess yourself in patience, monsieur.”
“I’m a very patient man,” Gaskin said. “But when someone owes me a lot of money, and then I hear about that someone planning to do a midnight flit out of the Lake District, you’d be amazed how my patience runs out.”
Nico stared at him. Gaskin looked smug, as well he might. Nico and Eve had had that conversation in rapid slangy French, no more than ninety minutes ago.
“I commend you on your information network, monsieur,” Nico managed. “You should work for the Government.”
“Wash your mouth out,” Gaskin said almost amiably. “So what I want from you and Perreau is my money within three days.”