Blood Pact

As Lou widened her eyes with mischievous pleasure and blew him a kiss over the heads of other customers in the gelato bar, Jack smiled at her delight. It had been a very good holiday, despite its brevity, and the building warmth of their relationship had more than countered the chilly weather.

They’d spent four days in Venice, with its misty mornings and damp days, roaming its narrow cobbled lanes. He loved this city in winter; its ancient buildings became even more muted and the Grand Canal looked like a watercolour painting.

They were now so used to traversing the maze of the old city that they could get back to St Mark’s Square without any assistance, and from any corner of the city – even if it appeared unfamiliar. He had to resist giving too much of a history lesson, but then Lou had studied art history and loved it. They were combining both of their loves with this trip – and, really, with this relationship, which had moved quickly from the first flush of meeting to something that felt solid, full of substance and potential.

Jack felt slightly scared when he looked at Lou. He kept thinking about how much he didn’t want to lose her – to an operation he was involved in, to some criminal who might decide to make his personal life a misery or, perhaps more predictably, to the long and demanding hours of his job. It was no nine to five. And it wasn’t friendly. He couldn’t discuss much of it with her, and wouldn’t anyway, not after her reaction, just over a year earlier, when Operation Stonecrop had brought fear and danger into her life through him.

Meeting Lou had been a chance occurrence: he’d been holding up her drunk, semiconscious flatmate at the door of their apart­ment building as she skipped down the stairs in pyjamas, her hair looped up in a bun with a pencil, and a warm smile on her face. She didn’t seem to care that he’d caught her so informally, and her casual friendliness, with a promise of cheekiness, had taken him by surprise. He now knew that his handsomely suited, but dishevelled, look that night had caught her unawares, too. Jack, even now, could feel the intensity of that first moment, its scorching pleasure, and he hoped that would never change. The last time he’d felt anything to match such a powerful desire for someone was six or seven years earlier, and he didn’t want to remember that time.

It was full of pain.

But this was full of fun.

Long may it reign, he thought as she edged another couple of people closer to the front of the queue. He was lurking at the back of the gelato bar; they’d been told not to miss this ice cream on any account so he would remain patient. He wandered out of the shadows into the sunshine of a Venetian winter, and caught his reflection in the shop window: the thin rays highlighted the tiny brushstrokes of grey at his ears. Not a lot, but enough that he realised he wasn’t getting enough times like these; life was all work and no play. He needed to do something about that. He raked long, blunt fingers through his dark hair, thinking about the trim he would need before he next walked into the office.

Another wave of people surged past him, speaking in various languages. What had happened to seasonal travel? He felt just a little churlish at discovering there were so many people on the move in one of his favourite cities. He was in their way. Another big group were just pushing through, following a woman with a red umbrella and looking longingly at the gelato bar, despite its being winter.

Tour groups gave him hives, but he understood the attraction. How else were holidaymakers to get their culture fix and be able to say yes, we saw this, and here’s the photo to prove it, while leaving time for what they really wanted to do on holiday – relax, eat, sleep long and lazily, and be in a new and exotic destination that didn’t resemble their daily grind.

He was certainly appreciating it, after months of working cold cases. After the adrenaline-pumping ops of the past, he was glad of the almost dull routine of these older cases, the bonus being that they had more friendly hours and he could spend more time with Lou. She deserved as much spoiling as he could give. And it was lovely to be kitted out in jeans and sweatshirts, with a casual jacket, rather than the obligatory suit or sports jacket with neat chinos and collared shirt. He could get used to this.

There she was . . . at last!

‘I hope it’s worth it.’ He grinned.

‘I’ve already licked yours.’ She laughed, flicking back a long tail of golden hair that had come loose from its clip and fallen across her face. It gave her a wanton look he liked. Lou, oblivi­ous to his yearning, handed him a cone with a scoop of green gelato the colour of artichoke. He hoped it was a different flavour.

‘It will blow your mind,’ she promised with an arch expression. ‘The world’s best pistachio.’

‘And your flavour?’

‘Tangerine,’ she said. ‘It’s like you, Mr Hawksworth . . . all fresh and spritzy.’

He laughed aloud. ‘I look like tangerine gelato?’

‘I didn’t say that. I would have bought mint chocolate chip in that case, to go with your minty sweatshirt and dark hair. No, this gelato tastes the way you make me feel.’

‘Fresh and spritzy . . . I’ll take that.’ He put his arm around her shoulders. With or without the extraordinary pistachio gelato – she hadn’t lied – he couldn’t think of a moment in the past few years when he’d been happier. ‘I was thinking of lunch on the top of the Hotel Cipriani.’

She cut him a dubious look. ‘Really?’

‘Do you have a better idea?’

‘Yeah, walk down a random alley and sit down at the first restau­rant that doesn’t look touristy or dodgy.’

He shrugged. ‘They’re all touristy.’

‘I don’t want anywhere posh. I want to hold your hand and steal spaghetti off your plate, and not feel embarrassed to order an outrageous dessert.’

He laughed. ‘Another reason to love you.’

‘That you don’t need to impress me with fancy places?’

Jack hugged her closer. ‘No, that you want to hold my hand while you eat.’ He leaned down and kissed her, knowing he would annoy the approaching tour group but to hell with it. Life felt good. He was in love.

His phone rang. He gave Lou an apologetic glance as he pulled it from his pocket. Carol Rowland. His heart sank momentarily but he didn’t answer, let it ring out.

‘Not important?’ Lou asked.

‘They know I’m on leave.’

‘Who was it?’

‘My boss.’

‘I think you should have answered it,’ she said as they broke into the glorious square of St Mark’s, where two small string quartets were vying to attract customers to their respective grand cafés. Pigeons lifted and resettled constantly in a madly moving flock.

‘If she calls again, I’ll answer,’ he said. He didn’t want to ruin this romantic time, but if Carol was ringing, knowing he was away, then something was up. She would definitely ring again . . . and soon. ‘Now, do you want to try somewhere in San Marco?’ he asked, sweeping his hand in an arc.

‘No, Jack, this really is for the tourists, although I admit the music is delightful. But look at the queues. I swear Venice becomes more crowded each time I visit.’

They strolled to the opposite corner and ducked down a familiar lane, but then deliberately took unfamiliar turns until they found a streetside restaurant where a couple was vacating a table.

‘Here,’ Lou said, squeezing in with her back to the window. ‘Perfect.’

They were near a heater too. The house specialty, risi e bisi, was delicious, and just as they began sharing a tiramisu, his phone rang again.

‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.

‘Take it. The rest of this is mine, though,’ she warned.

He laughed and swung away from the table to talk. ‘Hawksworth.’

‘Jack.’

‘Ma’am.’

‘I apologise for interrupting your break.’

‘It must be important.’

‘It is. When are you back?’

‘Two more nights. Back Friday.’ He heard her give a soft hiss. ‘Do I need to change my flights?’

‘No,’ she said, after a pause. She sounded emphatic, as though she was trying to convince herself. ‘Enjoy your time. I’ll see you Saturday, then?’

‘Of course. I’m guessing I’m not going back to cold cases?’

‘No. I had a drink with the Deputy Assistant Commissioner at CTC,’ she said. ‘And I’ve offered you up to him.’

He blinked. Counter Terrorism Command? ‘All right. Why?’

‘Don’t worry about that now. Get on with your holiday, and I’ll brief you when you get in. Bye, Jack.’

He stared at the phone after Carol rang off.

‘Everything okay?’ Lou asked, dramatically spooning the last mouthful of tiramisu into her mouth without a shred of guilt in her expression.

He shook his head. ‘Not sure.’ Then he looked down at the empty plate and gave a wicked smile. ‘What I am sure about is that you’re going to have to pay for that selfish gluttony.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yes, I’m going to take you back to the hotel and—’

‘Coffee?’ the waiter interrupted. He began to expertly clear the dishes.

‘Yes, please. Two,’ Lou said, laughing at Jack’s face as he disguised his next words by clearing his throat. ‘And Jack . . .’ she began, waiting for the young man to depart. ‘I’m too full to pay my debt. You’ll have to wait.’

‘I can’t help it if you’re a glutton.’

She tipped her head back and laughed joyously.

‘But it’s another reason to love you.’

‘How I love my food, you mean?’ she asked.

He nodded.

‘So that’s two reasons to love me that you’ve mentioned this afternoon.’ A playful tension suddenly wrapped around them. ‘Is three the charm?’

He studied her, thoughts swirling. Just before the silence became awkward, he smiled tenderly. ‘No, I love everything about you. They don’t need to be numbered.’

She nodded. ‘Good. So . . .?’ Playful turned to more serious. She covered his hand with hers. ‘You know about my past relationships, and you’ve told me about yours.’

‘Very grown-up, aren’t we?’ He laughed but she didn’t. ‘And?’ Now he frowned.

‘I don’t want to be just another one in the line. I’m thirty-five, too old now to invest in the wrong guy. You feel like the very best fit I’ve ever met, but maybe you’re someone who can’t imagine beyond the first year or two.’ She waited. ‘I’m not accusing you of anything, Jack. I just want to be honest. So here it is. I’m crazy about you, and I don’t get crazy about people. I prefer animals, to be frank, but I’m frightened to let myself go any deeper with you in case you don’t feel the same way.’ He opened his mouth to speak but she continued before he could. ‘And I’m not suggesting you have to be in love with me, but I am with you. I don’t want to become a casualty if you’re reluctant to look too far ahead. I’d rather you had the space right now to say so, because I’m in a dangerous quicksand.’

The coffees arrived before he could respond, creating a momen­tary brittle silence.

Lou sighed. ‘Talk about a mood buster. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—’

‘No, no, I’m glad you’ve said what you have. And you’re right, I’m nervous to speak of love because I’ve had my fair share of disasters.’

She leaned forward with an earnest expression. ‘Hey, irrespective of me, it’s probably time you accepted that what happened with Anne was never your fault, if I’ve listened correctly. She marked you and deliberately pretended to be someone else.’

He nodded thoughtfully. That wound was only just healing . . . scar tissue covering it.

‘I’m being very selfish, but I have to protect myself. I’m not a kid and being someone’s date or holiday companion isn’t enough. You’ve changed my world, and I can see a life with you in it, but I can’t go for years wondering about a future. Now—’

‘Marry me,’ he said quietly, cutting across her words.

‘What?’ She said it far too loudly, her voice taut with shock. She sat back, looking perplexed. ‘I didn’t mean for you—’

‘I know. Will you marry me, Lou?’ He got off his chair to kneel, smiling at her.

‘Stop!’ she said, looking around wildly as people began to stare and point excitedly, realising what was happening.

‘Is that a no?’ He looked wounded. ‘Don’t break my heart.’

‘And you won’t break mine?’ she all but whispered.

He shook his head slowly, skewering her with his gaze to empha­sise his sincerity.

‘Then yes. Yes, a thousand times over!’

He made a show of struggling up from his knees, to laughter all around, and then bent to kiss her tenderly. ‘I love you with all my heart . . . all of me.’ Then he whispered, ‘As I’ll show you later when your tonne of tiramisu has settled.’

She gurgled laughter through her tears. ‘I love you back, Jack . . . almost as much as that tiramisu. It’s a tight contest.’

He kissed her again to applause all around, and when they parted he murmured, ‘Let’s go find a ring in Venice.’