Kingsley set his half-empty bottle on the table. Black had two empty ones by his plate and worked on his third. Most of the houseguests had turned in for the night. The meeting had ended around midnight, an uneventful one, and Kingsley still stood undecided. His one condition had been to speak with the fugitive who had obsessed him for all of this time. Dumbledore had accepted and expected his answer by owl in the morning. Two others stayed behind, interested in hearing the story, Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin. Remus had added his say here and there, but for the most part, he said nothing.
–He cut off his finger?†Kingsley asked. He needed to hear the finer parts. He’d seen Pettigrew’s digit lying in a box. –And he ran down the sewer?â€
–Yeah,†said Sirius, taking a swig of his drink. He’d sat there patiently, answering questions like he’d told this story a hundred times. He shrugged. –He’s not stupid, Peter.â€
Kingsley stared at the ceiling. It sounded so simple, too simple. Glass shattered on the floor, and he was pulled from his thoughts. Tonks had decided to clear up and dropped everything before she reached the sink. Remus Lupin rushed over to help her, for he’d heard all of this before, too, and they didn’t want to risk waking anything up this early in the morning. Tonks spilled into her endless apologies, and the two of them exchanged introductions.
Kingsley finished off his beer and rubbed his tired eyes. –All right.â€
The staircase creaked. They all turned their heads towards the door and glanced at Emmeline Vance and an aged house-elf. She was a slender black woman dressed in a fine set of black robes. A sapphire pendant inlaid in silver lay on her breast. . She inclined her head to Sirius, who acknowledged her with a grin. The house-elf shuffled over to the dying fire and slipped into a room off to the side. Emmeline shook her head, laughing softly to herself, and placed a burning candle on the table. She handed a few rolls of sealed parchment to Sirius, her report for Dumbledore.
–Nice to see a familiar face,†he said, glancing at her. –Are you married yet?â€
–No.†Emmeline blew out the candle. She wished the others good night with a parting wave. –And the answer’s still no, Sirius.â€
–Shame.†Sirius feigned disappointment.
Remus rolled his eyes and tossed the bottles in the bin. Kingsley got to his feet and shrugged on his travelling cloak. Remus stopped him as he crossed the threshold. He sounded doubtful, waiting for the catch. –Wait. That’s it?â€
Kingsley considered him for a moment before he turned back to Black. He placed his hand on the doorframe and took a deep breath. He spoke slowly, sincerely, for he knew this was all Sirius would get. –We were wrong. My apologies. Tell you what. I’ve got your back.â€
–That’s not what I meant,†muttered Remus, taken aback.
Sirius met Kingsley’s gaze and nodded. Kingsley followed Emmeline outside and walked alongside her as number twelve, Grimmuald Place evaporated into thin air.
–That was very kind of you,†she said, draping her shawl over her shoulders.
Kingsley thought nothing of it. –We owe him fourteen years, miss.â€
It was the right thing. Kingsley couldn’t hand Sirius’s life back to him, but he’d make good on that promise. Gold didn’t turn back the clock. The assignment stayed the same; he’d attack it from another angle. It might prove a fun chase, laying a trail to nowhere.
–Miss?†Emmeline looked at him and laughed softly at his blank expression.
Kingsley felt as though he’d missed something, and he caught onto it a little too late. He treated all strangers with universal respect and kept them at a distance. –Sorry, that’s ingrained.â€
He’d been in the company of a handful of strangers for the entire evening. Instead of staying at the office, checking on a lead in Birmingham, he’d followed Arthur Weasley to a pub and listened to an interesting offer. The strange red-haired man had wrapped an edition of the Daily Prophet inside yet another manual of a motorbike. He’d felt the Ministry with a good feeling, for they were finally getting somewhere, but he realised he suddenly doubted everything around him.
–You don’t have to offer me houseroom,†she said as they turned onto his street.
–I offered to walk you home.†Kingsley walked up his garden path and tapped the door with his wand. He lived in a quiet neighbourhood surrounded by people who lived ordinary lives, but he took precaution almost as second nature. –I’d rather not let you out alone. I’ll take you there.â€
It was almost five in the morning. Kingsley needed to lie down before heading off to work. Two hours’ sleep would do him little good, but his getting answers had been a fair exchange. A trained Auror, he was no stranger to sleepless nights, for he often laid awake running things through his mind. He hung his travelling cloak in the armoire and went to take a shower. When he walked back into the sitting room, he found Emmeline sitting on his leather couch. She cupped a mug of hot coffee in her hands.
–Spain.â€
Kingsley slipped the gold earring back into his ear and poured himself a cup. –I’m sorry?â€
–That’s where I live,†she said, raising her voice, –or I did until I received an owl from Remus last week. I work for the Department of Magical Cooperation. I was stationed there.â€
–Oh.†Kingsley walked into the sitting room and checked his watch. –You were in the Order last time?â€
He’d thrown that out as guess. Sirius Black remembered her.
–You don’t remember me? No.†Emmeline turned to face him and cleared up his confusion. –I was engaged to Gideon Prewett. You were the one who asked me to identify the Prewett brothers.â€
–Right.†Kingsley sipped his brew and studied her face. She looked older, but he’d never forget those eyes. It was the first case he’d closed. He opened his mouth to offer his condolences, realised he’d done that once upon time, and finished his cup. He felt quite embarrassed.
–The faces blur together, one case blends into another,†she said, waving it away. –It’s nothing.â€
Kingsley checked the time and walked over to his fireplace after setting his mug on the coffee table. He reached for a clay jar and threw a pinch of powder into the flames. He gave her a parting wave, closed his eyes and stepped into the cold flames. Kingsley vanished.
He invited her to stay with him. He lived in a small house with a spare bedroom. The sitting room also served as his office, a place for the handsome writing desk. Kingsley wasn’t used to company, but she never asked for anything more than houseroom. It was almost as if she wasn’t there. She’d taken a post with the Ministry, stationed at home, and Kingsley worked around the clock, so they rarely saw each other because they kept odd hours.
After delivering Harry Potter safely to headquarters, they attended the meeting together. After Dumbledore adjourned, Kingsley took Emmeline’s coat off the back of her chair and slippedit over her shoulders. She wore a simple black dress tonight and had hurried to meet Kingsley at a street corner after a lengthy conference. She smiled at Bill Weasley, the eldest of Arthur’s children, a young man who wore his hair in a ponytail. He busied himself with a small collection of parchment rolls.
–No, no,†said Emmeline, declining Mrs. Weasley’s invitation to stay for dinner. Madrid, Marseilles and Cairo are screaming at me for answers. It can’t wait any longer, but thank you, Molly.â€
–Spain, France and Egypt all in one night?†Dumbledore patted her shoulder as he passed. –We wouldn’t want to keep you from your fun. Jaime must be begging you to come back to him.â€
–Forever his servant,†she said, shrugging. Professor Dumbledore wished them all good night as Molly went to fetch the children for a late supper. She stopped when she spotted Bill standing in the corner. They exchanged greetings and he hugged her. Her voice shook, for the gesture had taken her by surprise. –I-I didn’t expect to see you here. Look at you.â€
Arthur Weasley gave them a soft smile before sneaking back into the kitchen to start with the dinner preparations.
–You look just like him,†she said, stroking his face.
–Mum says that, too,†said Bill. –Well, not the earring, though Fabian tried one once, and Gideon reached over and ripped the damn thing out.â€
–You remember that?†Emmeline gave a watery chuckle. –You really shouldn’t have seen that.â€
–My ears are safe.†He shrugged. –It’s good to see you again, Emma.â€
Emmeline nodded, apparently unable to say anything more, and swallowed a lump in her throat. Bill seemed to understand and settled for another tight embrace. He, too, had tears in his eyes. Kingsley’s face remained expressionless and he followed Emmeline out into the cold night.
–He was the favourite nephew,†she said as they turned the corner. She took a deep breath. –None of the others knew, of course, but Bill was one smart kid who kept his mouth shut.â€
–Molly and Arthur have seven kids,†said Kingsley.
–I didn’t know that,†she said quietly. –There were other boys, smaller ones, but I don’t remember them. Charlie came along with Bill when we came to visit during leave. Bill laughed all the time.â€
Kingsley didn’t know to say to that. He knew Bill Weasley stuck to his family, and he admired that, but he had never been too fond of children himself. Kingsley dived into his work, and he rarely took credit for any of it, except for his mistakes. He second-guessed every move he made, and he hated the hesitation, yet he couldn’t escape it. His two biggest errors surrounded him the minute he left the Ministry of Magic. When he wasn’t in that cubicle, pressing red pins into his world map, or cruising through an atlas, he jumped on an assignment, anything with the Order. He’d actually enjoyed this game he played with the Ministry, and they hadn’t the slightest clue.
It had started raining before they reached his house, and Kingsley hadn’t brought an umbrella. Emmeline came up with an answer faster than he did. She waved her wand and conjured a black umbrella out of thin air. They walked underneath it, and Kingsley placed it by the door when they got inside. He fished his wand out of his jacket and tapped the door, keeping them in for the night. Three bolts locked themselves into place.
–Are you hungry?†He took her damp coat and hanging it in the armoire.
–No.†She sounded sad.
He nodded. Kingsley walked into his kitchen and fished a box of matches out of one of the top cabinets. After waving his wand, candlesticks and a bottle of ink zoomed out of a drawer. He caught them and walked over to his writing desk. He struck a match, lit the candles, and found a quill.
–You can work here for the night,†he said, offering her a wooden chair. –Shall I open the windows?â€
Kingsley saw her shivering and didn’t wait for an answer. It was not cold, for it was a warm summer, but he didn’t want to bother her. When she sat down, she took out a seal matrix and tested an impression on a leaf of parchment. She held the wax over candlelight.
He opened his windows and carefully locked the screen latch. He sat on the couch and flipped through a small book on the coffee table. It calmed him, the scratch of the quill on parchment and the rhythmic sound of the rainfall.
Soft sobs pulled him from sleep. He lifted his head and glanced at the woman sitting at his desk. He checked his watch and saw that it was nearly three in the morning. He felt awkward, for he wasn’t sure how he should approach this.
–Are you all right?†The question sounded foolish in his head, too.
She nodded as tears spilled down her face.
–You might want to step away for a while,†he suggested, getting to his feet. He walked over and glanced at a damp letter written in Spanish. –I can’t help you there.â€
Emmeline shook her head and pressed the matrix onto the bottom of her letter. The intricate red impression seeped into the parchment. Her hand shook above it.
–Here.†Kingsley took the quill from her and set it by the ink bottle. –Come back to it later. Never sign anything with doubt.â€
–I drafted this,†she said, taking a breath. It was the original document, for she pointed at the date, some fifteen years previously. She hadn’t signed it, but two other men had approved it.
Kingsley read off the name of Jaime Alvarez-Scalia; he stared at the faded signature of Gideon Prewett.
–Jaime works late at night,†she said, distracted. She swore when the ink bottle spilled over the document. She got up, wiping a splatter on her dress. –H-he has kids, and probably didn’t realise it. It’s nothing.â€
–No.†Kingsley leaned in and scooped the shards into his hand. He tossed it in a nearby wastebasket and turned his attention to the ink spill. He leaned in, catching the lingering scent of her perfume, and she kissed him. Kingsley didn’t pull away, surprised, and stepped back when they broke apart. He stood there for a moment, speechless. –I’m sorry.â€
It came out as an automatic response. He didn’t know what to say.
She lifted her hand and stroked his face. –Kiss me.â€
None of this made sense, but Kingsley had stopped thinking altogether. A voice in the back of his mind told him to act as though this had never happened. Any second now, he’d take a few steps toward the kitchen and brew some coffee. He wasn’t able to look away from her. She was a beautiful woman. Kingsley was not a blind man, and he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed her. She’d been alone for fifteen years, dedicated to her proposals and treatises, and these memories confused her. He pressed his lips against hers, forgetting the mess on the writing desk.
Kingsley left the sleeping woman in his bed and went off to work the in the afternoon. He weaved through the crowd in the Atrium, and most of them headed for home. Not him, he tied himself to no schedule. The department never came out and said it, nor did they draft it explicitly in a contract, but the senior officials advised against marriage. He got more done on the night shift because there were fewer distractions. He shuffled through his paperwork and glanced at the small red beaded map.
–Peru.â€
He jumped back and almost fell into his chair. Someone with spiky violet hair was already sitting in it.
–What?†Kingsley waved his wand over the mess and caught organised files in his arms. He came to his senses and dismissed Tonks’s random suggestion. –Sirius is in Tibet. He can’t be there.â€
Tonks grinned at him. –Really? Where’d you pull that cock-and-bull story?â€
–We’ve lax forces in Asia, especially near China,†said Kingsley, raising his voice and marking his location with a pin. He turned his back to her and spotted a limping Rufus Scrimgeour locking his office. –Black was clever enough to keep an eye on the news before, and chances are, he’d be doing the same, especially since no outside governments have aided in the search. No, he’d go where we’d have to struggle the hardest to get him near the Himalayas.â€
–Good point, Shacklebolt,†growled Scrimgeour, limping past. He glared at Tonks, noticing the folder in her hand. –Are you shadowing him tonight?â€
Tonks nodded. She voiced what Scrimgeour was about to say. She couldn’t take cases for a year since she’d just gotten through qualifications. –Of course, I’m related to Black, and there’s a conflict of interest, so I’m just organising for the presentation tomorrow.â€
–Good girl,†said Scrimgeour, nodding at her. He slammed the heavy oak doors.
‘You are such a liar,†she said, tur6ning back to Kingsley and tossing the folder aside. –Tibet? Yeah, that sounds good. Why not?â€
–Shadows don’t usually talk,†he mused, stepping aside when she nearly fell out of the chair, –and they shouldn’t move, either.â€
–You missed an interesting dinner,†she said conversationally. –Black almost did get killed.â€
–Molly?†Kingsley didn’t bother with another guess. Tonks sat on the desk and gave him the chair. –That’s why I didn’t stay. We’d already had our disagreement before we left for Surrey.â€
–You and Sirius?†Tonks glanced around, though they were quite alone.
–He wanted to get Potter, which, of course, was out of the question.†Kingsley pulled out an atlas and fingered through its pages until he landed on Tibet. –He doesn’t think.â€
–Kingsley,†said Tonks, raising an eyebrow. –He’s the only person Sirius has.â€
Kingsley ignored her. He felt for the man, and he tried to be understanding. He had sat in an empty Azkaban cell once during qualifications; he’d volunteered himself for an hour. It hadn’t been that bad, for he just stared at the wall and mentally recited legislation. He wouldn’t have done it for much longer, for the prisoners screaming in their sleep frightened him. Did anyone deserve to sit in there for thirteen years? Sirius had suffered in silence.
–He’s not a free man,†he said finally, –and it’s our job to protect him. I’m thinking of visiting the place again, escorting the Minister.â€
–Why?†Tonks looked up a photograph of the Potters’ wedding in her file.
The thought had just occurred to him. Kingsley wasn’t even entertaining it; he merely voiced it aloud to hear it. He imagined visiting Antonin Dolohov and getting a clearer picture of the Prewett brothers.
–Did you know Emmeline Vance testified against Dolohov?â€
–Do not ask her about that,†said Tonks, glaring at him. She flipped the page and acted as though they were discussing a game. –Remus and Sirius talked about it last night. Bill asked why she had taken an offer in Madrid. They called her Patricia.â€
–She took her middle name,†said Kingsley, working his way through a thick folder.
–Is that her file? Kingsley!†Tonks snatched it away from him. –Are you running a check on her since she’s in your house? She’s not a Death Eater. Afraid she’s coming after you?â€
Kingsley immediately felt bad about his spur of the moment decision. Tonks started to say something, but he found it no longer mattered to him. –No. I don’t care.â€
–She’s cute,†she said, glancing at a photograph.
It hadn’t even been a fair duel. Five men had advanced on Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and Dolohov received punishment for the harshest of the offenses. Kingsley, who had been at the scene and caught the scent of decay, had declined to see the bodies. Frank Longbottom had accepted that, for after all, Kingsley had been fresh off his qualifications. He doubted Emmeline even knew the other four who had trapped her fiancé and his brother. She’d lived in fear.
He locked drawers and cleared everything in his cubicle. He had finished his presentation, for he’d only needed to add a few finishing touches, and started down to the Atrium. He stopped and stared at the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Tonks, who had followed him, got caught on the lift and caught up with him.
–Why come back?†he asked.
–You left me there, and I wanted to know what happened to you,†said Tonks, annoyed.
–No, Emmeline,†he said, smiling at her.
He watched witches and wizards pass through the emerald green flames. Tonks shrugged.
–You like her?†Tonks glanced at him, and Kingsley started laughing, which, most unfortunately, was taken as a yes. –Really? You do.â€
Kingsley neither confirmed nor denied this. He was caught in a tight corner either way, so it was best not to say anything at all. He spotted a man dressed in an old travelling cloak and watched him pass the drowsy security guard, Eric, before he slipped a silver lighter in his pocket. Kingsley quickened his step and Tonks followed them. He tapped the red-haired man on the shoulder, making him jump as he stepped into an empty fireplace.
–It’s Wednesday.†He caught the man and steadied him. Arthur Weasley gave him a lopsided gaze. Kingsley knew he was tired. –Go home. I’ve got it.â€
Flustered, Arthur muttered an excuse. Kingsley shook his head, for he wasn’t going to hear it. Arthur was really good at helping people out in a pinch, but his body lived by his work schedule. The only people who guarded the weapon worked for the Ministry. Kingsley asked Tonks to follow the man home. Kingsley watched the two of them disappear before he stepped back into the lift and the golden grilles clanged shut.
Months passed. Sirius Black no longer meant anything to the public. He’d died in the Department of Mysteries and none of them bothered to issue an apology. Kingsley had expected as much, and he took orders from a new command. Cornelius Fudge was still Minister for Magic, even though his name was mud and that would soon change within a matter of days. The public had been shouting for Cornelius Fudge to get out before they forced him out.
Kingsley had been reassigned. He’d been ordered into Fudge’s office shortly after the incident at the Department of Mysteries. After Fudge had shouted at both Rufus Scrimgeour and Albus Dumbledore, reminding them that he was still Minister for Magic - not a very wise move - he’d ordered Kingsley to report to Downing Street where he would guard the Prime Minister.
–Your dream job,†said Emmeline, straightening his tie. Kingsley wore a silk dress shirt underneath a black suit. He’d been with the Prime Minister for a little over a month now, so he’d fallen into a ritual. He’d polished his shoes by hand the night before. –Paperwork for the Minister.â€
–I’m his head of security.†Kingsley snapped on his watch and put his earring in before he shrugged into his jacket. He slipped his wand into his inside pocket. –He just doesn’t know it yet.â€
–Same difference.†She walked into the bedroom. –If he needs a translator, I’m here.â€
–Very funny.†Kingsley left the bedroom door open and hurried down the corridor. –Remus!â€
Kingsley walked into his sitting room and glanced at the man sleeping on his couch. He prodded him gently, feeling bad about waking him because Remus hadn’t slept for days since Sirius had passed. He didn’t move. After calling his name, shaking him more vigorously each time, Kingsley snatched the pillow from underneath his head and smacked him with it.
–You sleep through everything. Sorry.†Kingsley kept him from heading the coffee table and set a letter on the edge of it. –Dumbledore needs you to read through that. He asked for a speedy reply. Scrimgeour’s the new Minister.â€
–Since when?†Remus blinked his eyes and spoke into the couch, half-asleep.
–Oh, yesterday,†said Kingsley evasively, buttoning his cuffs. –I was just at the Ministry, and Dumbledore, Fudge and Scrimgeour went all there. Needless to say, I got the out as soon as possible.â€
–Who won?†Remus asked hoarsely. They shared a knowing smile. –Yeah, well, that figures. What’re you doing?â€
–Guarding the Prime Minister,†said Kingsley. He walked over to his writing desk and opened the drawer. He took out a black box that he’d received at the Ministry and took out a gun. He loaded the chamber with a clip and snapped it back.
–You’re serious,†said Remus, fully awake.
–I won’t be going for this if trouble strikes.†Kingsley slid the weapon inside his jacket. –Yes, I know how to fire the thing.â€
–I don’t doubt it.†Remus looked impressed. –Who forged your licence?â€
–I did.†Kingsley never let another hand forge his documents in case his cover backfired. –When are you checking on Tonks?â€
Emmeline joined them in the kitchen minutes later. She wore a long, midnight blue chiffon dress that hugged her in all the right places. She had pinned her long hair up, too, and complemented the ensemble with silver jewellery. One of her heels dangled off her hand.
–Well, you make a lovely wife.†Remus watched Emmeline slip on her shoes.
–Thank you.†She handed her pendant to Kingsley and he hooked it together. Remus complimented this, too, and she simply said, –An engagement gift.â€
Kingsley hid his surprise behind a mask, his face expressionless. He placed his hands on her shoulders and checked his watch. Their ride would be arriving shortly. He poured a mug of coffee and found that this piece of jewellery, a trifle, bothered him.
–You never said that,†he said softly.
–I did.†She laughed softly, fingering the thing unconsciously. –It’s nothing.â€
‘No, no, I don’t think you did,†he said, shaking his head. –I’d wish you’d stop saying that.â€
–It’s just a trinket.â€
She wore this trinket every single day. Emmeline dressed in the finest clothes, for she attended many conferences and chose not to wear dress robes. Often, it didn’t match her attire. Kingsley wanted to snatch it off her neck, just to get a reaction, for she kept her secrets, all of them, to herself, revealing bits and pieces by mistake. Over the last year, he’d grown fond of her, and questions burned in the back of his mind.
A horn sounded outside.
–Give us a moment.†Kingsley jerked his head at Remus. His friend took the hint and went to chat with the driver. Emmeline made to follow him, but Kingsley lay a hand on her shoulder. –Patricia.â€
Emmeline stared at him, shocked.
–You ran back to Madrid earlier this year,†he said, controlling his anger. –Tell me. What do you want?â€
–We’re going to be late.†She glanced at the open door.
–Why won't you answer me? Let me rephrase.†Kingsley slipped his hand into his breast pocket and showed her a red jewellery box. He slipped a glittering silver band on her shaking hand. –What do you want?â€
She said nothing.
–We’re going to be late,†he called to Remus when he stood in the doorway. He tossed him his wallet , and Remus went to discuss nonsense with the driver. Kingsley lifted Emmeline’s chin with his finger and kissed her softly. –I am in love with a girl, my lady in Spain, but she’s never here. How long do I wait?â€
Emmeline wrapped her arms around his neck. –Thank you.â€
–So, and I’m just throwing this out there,†he said tentatively, choosing his words carefully at the wrong moment. –Jaime?â€
–We’ve never shared more than a handshake,†she said. –And he’s almost eighty.â€
Kingsley sighed. He’d never been so relieved to hear of an old man nearly kicking the bucket. He took her hand, and they walked out the small black car. The driver, a young man with a pimply face, tipped his hat to Kingsley and tossed him a lighter wallet. They slipped into the backseat, waved to Remus, and rode in the car for some twenty minutes. It had started raining, so the drive took longer than expected. Kingsley glanced nervously at his watch, counting the minutes.
–You’re the secretary, dear,†said Emmeline, patting his leg.
She smiled at the driver’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. Once they reached Downing Street, they went round in circles, trying to find a spot until the driver let them out on the curb. They waited at the black gate, a security measure, and a large man with a covered face ushered them inside, apologising for his illness. They followed a page down the hall. Voices and laughter echoed off the walls as they passed rooms, but they didn’t stop until they reached an office. There was a handsome polished desk and a fireplace. Over the fireplace, an old picture of an ugly man hung on the wall. The man scratched his nose with the end of a quill and nodded curtly at Kingsley. He walked out of the portrait and left a muddy brown canvas behind.
–We’re connected in more ways than you think.†Kingsley gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. –Are you all right?â€
The door opened and the Prime Minister gave a rushed apology, saying his family dinner had run late. Thankfully, he overlooked the tardiness of his guests. He walked over to his desk and took a seat. He followed their gaze and glanced at the portrait.
–You can’t remove that?†he asked.
–We won’t, sir.†Kingsley erased any doubt and put the matter to rest. He sat down next to Emmeline when the Minister, a little crestfallen, asked them to pull up chairs. He seemed out of place, pulled from a party, and rubbed his hands on the polished surface of his desk.
–She’s your wife?†demanded the Prime Minister, jerking his head at Emmeline. Kingsley let him have the floor, for he’d realised the Minister favoured him. –How long have you been together?â€
–Five years,†said Kingsley and Emmeline together.
Kingsley rubbed the silver band. They’d practised this and had been through it a hundred times. They needed a flawless execution.
–No children?†asked the Prime Minister.
–Not yet,†said Emmeline, thanking the Minister when he complimented Kingsley’s high quality work. She spoke about some Building Society project like she held a position in the man’s cabinet.
–I like her, I like her very much,†said the Minister, excusing himself when someone knocked on his door. He left.
Kingsley paced himself, telling himself they had cruised through the introduction. There was still work to be done. The Minister returned, and Emmeline, by a stroke of luck, kept him talking. They discussed adding Emmeline to the Minister’s service, and he accepted easily, especially given the unfortunate incident with his Junior Minister. They only touched of this, for they didn’t have much to offer. Within the next half hour, they’d found themselves swept into a small party.
–Well done.â€
Kingsley accepted two glasses from the waiter and toasted her. They watched the gala as outsiders. The Minister’s small daughter tugged on his trousers, and Emmeline laughed when he lifted her into his arms and joined the slow waltz. The girl loved him. For the life of him, Kingsley didn’t understand why. When she visited her uncle, she followed Kingsley like a little faithful dog. He twirled around with her, smiling at the other guests and keeping an eye on things.
–You’re good with her,†said Emmeline, nodding at the ill guard.
She followed him out of the room and he shared a quick word with the waiter, telling him they were going to step out and get some fresh air. They walked down Downing Street slowly, passing the old buildings and the black cars while Kingsley bored her with a lecture on government. This was one of the games he played with her, and she fell for it every time.
–She’s asleep.†Emmeline peeked at the little girl. –You don’t want children?â€
–No.†Kingsley patted the child’s back and gave a flat answer. He swung the talk back to politics, starting with the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
Emmeline dropped his hand and glanced down the quiet street. Thinking he’d insulted her, Kingsley followed her gaze with a questioning look. Kingsley nodded at the bored guard standing the corner; he was chatting animatedly with the young page who had escorted them into the premises. He glimpsed back at the black car, their ride, and saw no silhouette. A crack echoed in the night air. Kingsley imagined he heard another one. No, they had conditioned themselves to react in this paranoia.
Kingsley leaned closer to Emmeline, and she assured him that she felt fine and wished to clear her head. He pecked her softly on the cheek before heading inside. The black gate clanked shut behind him.