‘Do that.’
As Xavier rose to leave the room, Elena looked anxiously at Harry. His anger, though controlled, was almost palpable. Underneath it all she saw the strain that he normally concealed so well, and her heart went out to him. With a sense of foreboding she wondered what more they were about to discover. Surely the prize could not be snatched away now? That would be too cruel to contemplate. She drew a deep breath and locked her hands together in her lap, forcing herself to adopt an expression of calm she was far from feeling.
In the corridor outside she heard footsteps, and then male voices, speaking low. A few moments later Xavier returned with another man, a stranger who walked with aid of a cane. He looked to be about thirty, or a little more. Taller than his companion, he was possessed of a lean, athletic build. His clothing, though serviceable, was of good quality and clearly spoke of the gentleman. The face was arresting. Undoubtedly handsome, it was at present pale and a little drawn, as though its owner had been ill and was but lately recovered, and a vivid scar marred the left cheek. Yet, with its chiselled lines and piercing grey eyes, it was eerily familiar.
For the space of several heartbeats each man took the measure of the other in silence. Then the stranger spoke.
‘Hello, Harry.’
The words dropped into a well of stillness for Harry might have been turned to stone. He too was very pale, his gaze fixed on the other man’s face. Then, with a visible effort, he gathered his wits and found his voice.
‘Jamie?’
‘Yes.’
Elena’s heart seemed to miss several beats. Then, as her brain caught up with her eyes, she understood why the stranger had looked so familiar. Beside her Harry continued to stare. Gradually shock and incredulity gave way to realisation.
‘Dear God! Jamie!’
He crossed the intervening space and clasped his brother by the shoulders. The warm and solid flesh beneath his hands was undoubtedly real, like the grey gaze that met his own. When he looked into his brother’s eyes, the last shred of doubt vanished.
‘It is you.’
That knowledge brought a surge of emotion so powerful it assumed the intensity of physical pain. Then wordlessly the two men embraced in a hearty hug. When eventually they drew back Harry looked from his brother to Sanchez.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Xavier is not to blame,’ said Jamie. ‘He was just following orders.’
‘Even so...’
‘Once he learned why you were here he came to find me.’
‘I should think he did.’ Harry’s throat felt suddenly tight. ‘Why, Jamie? How could you do it?’
‘It’s a long story.’
Elena rose from her chair. ‘You two will have much to say to each other. I’ll leave you to talk.’
Harry gave her a grateful smile. She returned it and then headed for the door. Sanchez followed her.
‘I’ll be in the next room if you need me,’ he said.
When the door closed behind them Harry turned to his brother. ‘I was never happier to see anyone in my life, but, by heaven, you’ve got some explaining to do.’
‘I know it.’ His brother gestured to the chairs. ‘Shall we sit down?’
In truth Harry was glad to obey. Now that the initial shock was wearing off he found himself trembling with reaction.
‘Have you any idea of the heartache you’ve caused our family?’ he demanded. ‘Dear God, man! When he learned of your loss Father was beside himself. Then, when he discovered that Edward had been killed, the poor man almost lost his mind.’
Jamie’s pallor intensified. ‘I am truly sorry, on both counts. I didn’t hear about Edward for some time after the event. Even now it’s hard to believe he’s gone.’
‘I know. Almost every family of our acquaintance lost someone at Waterloo.’
‘You were there, I collect.’
‘Yes, and I hope to heaven that it’s the last battle I ever see.’
‘Battles take many different forms,’ replied Jamie. ‘Some are conducted far from the public gaze.’
‘The business that engaged you, for instance?’
‘Just so.’
‘Well, you have a worthy ally in Sanchez,’ said Harry. ‘He gave a most creditable performance—each detail of your alleged death was utterly plausible.’
‘It was intended to be.’ Jamie glanced at the handwritten papers on the table nearby. ‘However, if you look at his account again you’ll find that the word death is never actually used. Nor was it when Xavier informed the authorities of my supposed accident. That is the interpretation of events that others put on them.’
Harry stared at him. However, when he thought back to the previous day’s conversation it struck him that Sanchez hadn’t used the word then either. He had spoken only of loss and disappearance. Harry’s imagination had done the rest, as was the intention. Some of the other remarks were also ambiguous: I feel privileged to have met and worked with your brother, a man both trustworthy and likeable. At the time he’d heard only the past tense; his brain had missed the opening verb and the entire lack of one in the latter part of the statement. Admiration mingled with anger, the latter chiefly directed at himself for being gullible.