Millbank Manor/The Café Royal
June 1995
I looked at Annabel and Karl: her face virtually contorted in fury, and his remarkably impassive. The most surprising thing about our encounter is that I had actually liked him, which once again caused me to regret that I had not know our relationship before we ended up as enemies. I also wondered if he really knew what he was taking on with Annabel, but I guessed that he would find that out as they went along. However maybe, having witnessed my exchange with her, he would realise that it wasn't all going to be plain sailing, hopefully before she started the systematic character assassination of me to him which would make everything out to be my fault, and which would most likely drive a wedge between us once again.
I glanced across at my brother, the expression on my face a combination of embarrassment and helplessness, and when her attention was off me, I mouthed "Good luck" to him.
His response was to smile, and his answer was in German: "She is nicer to me..."
I shook my head slightly, and replied in the same language "Remember, she used to be nicer to me, too."
It might have been unfair, but it got a reaction. I saw a flash of unease on his face, and he nodded slightly to me. I return I smiled, to try and reassure him. I had expected many things from the conversation when I had learned he was with Annabel when I called, but sympathy for my old enemy was not one of them.
"Good bye, Karl... Annabel," I said quietly, and stepped through into the drawing room of Millbank. My last sight of them was my brother smiling, and raising a hand to wave to me, and Annabel glaring at me, an expression of virtually pure hatred on her face.
"I want my son back," she almost shouted, "or you will suffer the wrath of a mother's curse!"
I managed to keep my burst of rage at her for that last shot in check for milliseconds after the Trump link closed. However, as soon as it was down I grabbed the nearest heavy weight, which happened to be one of a pair of crystal decanters that Annabel had given me the year after William was born, and hurled it across the room, to shatter in pieces against the wall by French window with a satisfying crash.
"Bitch!" I shouted, finally giving vent to my fury, "narrow minded, stubborn, ill tempered bitch!"
"What the Hell!" came Andrew's voice as the drawing room door flew open. I ignored him, grabbed the second decanter and threw it after the first.
"Good God, Robert," said Andrew, laying his hand on my shoulder, "what's wrong?"
I turned to him, and I saw him flinch at the expression on my face. "Leave me alone," I hissed, trying to break free of his grip, "this is personal."
He ignored me of course, and instead put his left hand on my other shoulder, and tried to shake me out of it. "Calm down," he said, finally meeting my gaze, a concerned expression on his face.
"If I want to break the bloody things, that's my right. It's better than doing something I'd regret more later, like breaking Her," I snarled, still furious, "just let me be."
"I'm not sure I can do that," he replied, his tone firm but quiet, "please father, calm down."
I looked at him, still fuming, and noted the concern still on his face. After all, he only called me father when it was really bad. Then finally I began to take slow, deep breaths to try and get a grip on myself.
"I'm sorry, Andrew," I said, at last, when I could trust myself to speak.
"What on Earth was all that about?" he asked, surprised, "after all, it's not like you to waste good whisky." He smiled and indicated the pool of liquid by the French window.
"I've just had a talk with Annabel," I explained, trying to speak more calmly - an undertaking which was not one hundred percent successful.
"Ah. I should have realised," he said, acting as his usual pillar of calm when I get angry, "it's been a while since anyone got you this riled, except her. What happened? Last time I heard you two were talking again."
"She's got married," I answered.
"That is to be expected," came the matter of fact reply, "she is still a beautiful woman."
"I'm well aware of that, and that in itself isn't the problem" I snapped, still short on patience, "although to make matters worse she wants William."
"Less good. However, that is only one decanter's worth I would have thought, not two," he replied, a half smile on his face.
"It's who she's chosen that's the real problem," I finally said, "that and the way she was acting this afternoon."
"Anyone I know?"
"My brother Karl," I answered, slowly.
"She's marrying your brother? Fine." He paused a moment, looking unimpressed, then continued, "I'm not sure you've mentioned a brother Karl before. Luke, Kelric, Jason yes, but not a Karl."
"Sand only told me a few days ago."
"And as I remember you came back from that conversation looking less than happy, too."
"It wasn't particularly comforting to find out that the man who initiated the assassination attempt on me during the War was my brother: Annabel's new husband, to be specific," I replied, "or that one of Hitler's chief arcane experts was my father. I didn't much feel like talking about it."
Andrew looked curious, but thankfully he didn't press. I guessed that he would ask me later, but my son has enough tact to know when to let a subject drop, at least temporarily. More than me, if I am being honest. Instead he changed the subject.
"You're supposed to be in London tonight. Had you forgotten?" I looked at him, blankly, so he continued. "The BMA dinner?"
"Believe me, I am not in the mood for polite small talk this evening. I think I'll give it a miss."
"Fine, but for one small thing," he replied, a half smile on his lips, "you are giving one of the speeches..."
"Dammit," I cursed. My conversation, if you can call it that, with my ex-girlfriend had pushed all thought of the meeting out of my head until that moment. Thankfully I had already put some work into my presentation. "Okay, you're right. I'll see what I can do."
"I assumed we're 'porting, not driving?"
"It would be quicker," I had to admit, and after pouring myself a Scotch from one of the bottles in the drinks cabinet I headed back to my office to try and get my head around healing magic and modern pulmonary medicine for that evening.
I finally got the speech finished at about six-thirty, and then headed upstairs to bathe and change. Black tie was the order of the evening, so it took a few minutes longer than usual to dress. Still, I managed to meet up with Andrew in the library at around seven, whereupon I grabbed my notes, and then triggered a teleport to the house near Hyde Park. On arrival Luther, the butler at the town house, told us that the carriage was ready - apparently Andrew had called ahead. I thanked both of them, and Andrew and I headed downstairs to where Alex, the coachman was waiting. He drove us smoothly and quickly to the Café Royal, and we joined the throng of people going into the dinner.
"Duke Robert, good to see you," said David Williamson, current chairman of the BMA, as he saw us, "Lord Andrew."
"Evening, David," I replied, "good turnout."
"There usually is at these events. You should make the effort to turn up more often."
"Maybe, although I do have a lot of commitments."
"I understand, which is why I am pleased that you could make it this evening," he replied. I nodded, smiled, and moved inside to let him greet the rest of his guests.
"That looks like Max Caldwell over there," commented Andrew, looking across the room, "I need to talk to him. Catch you later?"
"Fine," I replied, and as he went I turned to talk to some of the arcane medical specialists I knew who were present, as well as one or two of the mundane ones.
We were seated by eight, and the meal lasted for an hour and a half or so before it finally came around to the speeches. At least mine seemed to go down fairly well, although I had a feeling that I would be in for some interesting questions later, from one or two of the expressions I could see on the faces of the audience.
I took my seat once more and listened to the last speaker of the evening, the Right Honourable Edwina Farrell, one of the government health ministers. I was interested to note that the applause she received was a little less enthusiastic than my own, although I will freely admit that I may be biased. Then finally the formal part of the evening was concluded and the tables were cleared away for dancing.
I scanned the room, trying to work out where Andrew was, and that was when I saw her. A woman in her mid thirties, with shoulder length red-blond hair, sitting at the Williamsons' table.
"Robert," asked Sam Jordan, one of the people I had been sitting with, a thoracic specialist, "what's wrong? You've gone as white as a sheet and you look like you've seen a ghost."
"Who is the woman sitting by Edna Williamson?" I asked him, as I realised he was right.
"Claire Connelly. She's one of the mage surgeons at Bart's: a bloody good one, too."
I looked across at her once more, and saw her turn towards me, as if she was aware of my scrutiny. I don't know if it was just that Annabel had reawakened memories that had been buried for a while, but as I looked at her, observing me through dark eyes, it was like looking at Elizabeth once more. Older than my wife had ever been, certainly, but there was something about her that made the mental connection for me.
"Will you excuse me a moment, Sam?" I asked, getting to my feet. He shrugged and nodded, and I made my way across the room towards her.
"I hope you will forgive the intrusion," I said as I reached her.
"Of course," she replied. Close up, of course, the resemblance was less strong, but there was still something I couldn't place. "Is there something wrong? You seemed to be staring at me."
"I'm sorry, that was rude of me..." I answered, suddenly feeling embarrassed, "I thought for a moment that you were someone else, but I was obviously mistaken."
"If it is any consolation, I feel I have met you before, also," she commented, sounding a little puzzled, "although I can't for the life of me remember when. You gave an interesting speech, Your Grace."
"I hope it didn't put too many people to sleep," I replied, trying to sound light hearted, but I felt very on edge and still rather awkward.
"Well I certainly found it interesting," she answered, smiling.
"Thank you," I said, quietly, "listen, I don't suppose you would care to dance, would you?"
"I would be delighted," came the reply, which slightly startled me, "and perhaps afterwards you would be willing to explain some of the proofs you've used for your theory on the process of magical pulmonary regeneration. I have tried something similar myself, but with surprisingly limited success."
"If you wish. By the way, for formal introduction's sake...Robert de Lacy," I added, offering my hand.
"Claire Connelly," she said, taking it and smiling, "pleased to meet you. Shall we have that dance now?"
We stepped onto the floor and danced for a couple of turns, before finally coming back to one of the tables and starting to talk business. We spoke for quite a while, and as the time past I realised that I was enjoying her company far more than I was enjoying the rest of the evening. Various other people floated past, both to greet her, and to ask me to clarify the occasional point I had made in the speech, but I was gratified and a little surprised that she did not get up and leave. In fact, I got the impression that she was also enjoying the conversation, and I felt strangely at ease with her. It was as if I had known her all my life.
"Robert?" said Andrew, coming over eventually.
"Yes."
"I'm heading back. Are you ready to leave now? Or will you get a cab?"
I looked at both my son and Claire, and saw that there was a strange expression on her face. As if she had seen or assumed something that had put her off guard.
"Sorry," I said, realising I had been remiss in the introductions, "Andrew, this is Doctor Claire Connelly...Claire, this is my son Andrew."
The expression on her face changed, and she looked a little relieved and offered him her hand, but in turn Andrew now looked a little concerned. "Well?" he asked, finally.
"Would you mind going on ahead? I'll join you later."
"Sure. See you back at Millbank," and with that he headed off, throwing one last look over his shoulder at us...or more specifically at her...before leaving.
"I had probably better be getting back too," she said, standing up, "I am on shift at nine."
"Can I call you a cab?" I asked, if anything expecting a flat refusal. Believe me, my behaviour that evening was unusual for me - I am normally a little more restrained when it comes to women, rather than rushing in where angels fear to tread. After all, last time I surrendered to my initial instincts I ended up with Annabel.
She paused for a moment, then smiled. "Alright, I would like that." Pleased, I got to my feet, then gently took her arm and escorted her to the cloakroom. She picked up a light cotton wrap, threw it over her shoulders, and then we stepped out into the night.
"Which direction?" I asked.
"Victoria. I live near the river on the Westminster side."
I hailed a cab, which drew up beside us, and I opened the door for her and helped her in.
"You may think this is a little presumptuous of me," she said, quietly, "but can I offer you a night-cap? I know it is out of your way, but..."
I looked at her, surprised, and once again I had that strange feeling that she was looking back at me through Elizabeth's eyes. "I don't want to intrude," I said, finally, feeling for all the world like an awkward teenager. Bloody stupid at my age.
"Please, don't be concerned," she replied, "it's strange, I really feel as if I have known you for years. I just cannot work out why and I'm curious enough to want to find out."
"Then I would be delighted to escort you home for a night-cap," I answered, after a pause, and then climbed up into the cab. She gave directions to the driver, who flicked the reins and we set off towards her home.