Page 95 of Carbon

Then he spoke, and filthy or not, his words in that French accent did funny things to my insides.

“Bonjour, tout le monde.”

He held out a pastry box, and Nye’s eyes lit up while Black’s glowered with the warmth of liquid nitrogen.

Muttered greetings came from everyone except Black, who pushed his chair back and shook Gideon’s hand, all the time looking like he’d rather chop it off.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

“Oui. Several months. I trust you are well?”

Black wrapped an arm around Emmy’s waist, and there was no mistaking his message: Keep your hands off. “Never better. So, Ben Durham—I assume you have some information to share if you’ve come all this way?”

“I do.”

“Well, do tell, then you can go back home again.”

Gideon simply smiled at Emmy, and I was surprised Black didn’t rip his head off his shoulders.

“If Ben Durham is the man I think he is, there is a good reason for me being here.” He looked over at Sofia, and she sighed. A quick glance sideways showed Emmy biting her lip. “As well as taking in the sights of London, of course. It’s always been one of my favourite cities, and I ‘ave vacation to use.”

Black’s jaw twitched at the news that Gideon might not be returning to France immediately, but his demeanour remained coldly professional. “Care to give us the details?”

“Mais oui.”

He pulled a laptop from his briefcase, but before he could open it, a grey-haired lady who reminded me of Dorothy bustled in and flung her arms wide. “Gideon! Nobody told me you were coming. It’s been years.”

“Always a pleasure, Ruth.”

He hugged her, and I noticed she blushed.

“Are you still fond of a good steak for dinner?”

“If it’s cooked by you,cherie.”

“Then that’s what you shall have. And I’ll bring you coffee right away. Black, one sugar?”

He nodded and turned that smile on her full beam, holding his gaze as colour spread up her cheeks.

Yes, it seemed he certainly did warrant a fan club.

Gideon fiddled with his laptop, and I couldn’t help watching his hands. Long, elegant fingers and the recollection of Emmy’s earlier comment made me go the same colour as the housekeeper.

“What’s your network password?” he asked Luke.

Five minutes later, the IT gremlins had been banished, and a photo appeared on the screen. My heart leapt as Ben looked back at me wearing some sort of dress uniform—a white cap with a black peak, a pale green shirt with fancy red-tasselled epaulettes, and a row of medals.

“Is this the man you’re looking for?” Gideon asked.

I nodded, words stuck behind the lump blocking my throat.

He nodded back. “Benoit Durant. A most interesting man, and one I had the pleasure of meeting once or twice.”

Benoit Durant? Ben’s third-slash-fourth name?

“Under what circumstances?” Black asked.

“We were planning to offer him a job until the unfortunate incident at the beginning of last year. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I should start at the beginning.”

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