A Rogue's Company, page 3
Slowly, inexorably, he turned inside her grip.
“You grab the wrist with the other hand and keep turning, twisting it downwards. Either he follows it down or it breaks.”
She followed it down, then saw that she was coming face-to-face, or face-to-foot, with his boot.
“That’s the finale,” he said. “Kick to the face. This should all happen extremely fast. Got it?”
“I have the moves,” she said, rubbing her wrist as he released her. “I don’t have the speed.”
“Again, that comes with practise. It should be second nature. Let’s have you try it. We’ll skip the pain part—you can save that for Sidney.”
“Poor Sidney,” she murmured.
He stepped behind her and put his arm around her neck.
She was suddenly acutely aware of the flimsiness of the cotton fabric of her tennis outfit as he pressed against her.
Dancing. Only dancing, she thought.
“Right, my grip has loosened. Go.”
She grabbed his wrist and turned, then joined her other hand to the grip.
“Good,” he said. “Force me down.”
She did.
“That will really work on a man who’s stronger than me?” she asked, raising her foot towards his face.
“No man likes pain. You move fast, then down he goes. You’ve had some dance training, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t kick like a bloody ballerina. You want to break his damn nose.”
“More like a cancan girl,” suggested Sparks.
“Once again, but with the left this time,” he said.
They resumed their positions. He yoked his left arm around her and pressed against her back.
The body remembers.
Standing on the balcony at their hotel in Rome on their honeymoon in the middle of the night, him daring her to stand naked in the cool air for anyone to see if they knew to look up. Ronnie coming up behind her …
“Anytime you’re ready, Mrs. Bainbridge,” said Macaulay.
Jolted back to reality, she grabbed his wrist with her left and turned the other way, performing the sequence but mirrored. She kicked up hard this time, only to have her ankle caught in his free hand before it connected with his face.
“That kick’s coming along,” he said drily. “Let’s leave it out for now. I’ve had this nose broken enough for one lifetime.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said.
“Never apologise for doing a thing right,” he said. “Again.”
They worked on it for twenty minutes, then he took her back to Sidney and placed her with her back to him.
“I’ll call out testicles, shins, or head butt, and you react accordingly. Shin!”
She scraped her heel down the heavy bag.
“Stomp his foot like you’re squashing a cockroach!” he barked.
“I’ve never squashed a cockroach.”
“No, I suppose you have someone do that for you. Shin!”
She squashed the imaginary cockroach, wincing as the shock waves reverberated through her leg.
“That hurt, didn’t it?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I guarantee it hurt him a whole lot more. Head butt!”
She knocked the back of her head against the bag.
“No love taps. Head butt!”
This time, she felt the reverberations inside her skull.
“And after I’ve given myself a concussion, what do I do?” she asked, rubbing her head.
“You finish him off and stagger away,” he said. “Testicles!”
She pounded her fist behind her.
“Nothing to grab, is there?” she observed.
“You were on target, at least,” he said. “Shin!”
They continued in this manner until her time was up.
“Good first lesson,” he said. “Make sure you practise. Got a heavy bag at home?”
“I honestly have no idea,” she gasped.
“Well, you can always prop a mattress against the wall. Take a breather.”
“Thank God,” she said, sagging to the floor.
“Very good, Gerry,” said Sparks, pulling a form and a notepad from her bag. “Now, it’s our turn to administer the torture. Here’s our contract. Note that our five-pound fee has been waived in exchange for your lessons with Mrs. Bainbridge.”
“Three cheers for the barter economy,” said Mrs. Bainbridge, sitting with her back against Sidney.
“Sign this, and The Right Sort Marriage Bureau will make its best efforts to find you a suitable partner. Note carefully that we are not waiving the twenty-pound bounty should we be successful and you end up marrying one of our other clients.”
“I couldn’t trade that for more lessons?” he asked, glancing over the contract.
“Let’s see if I’m still alive after the first ten, then we can negotiate,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “Please note that you are waiving any claims for emotional injury.”
“That happens, does it?”
“All is fair in love and Defendu,” said Sparks. “Press hard when you sign so the carbon comes through.”
He signed. She signed underneath, gave him the copy, then folded the original and replaced it in her bag.
“Right,” she said, opening her notepad. “Let’s get the basics, then we’ll get to the rest of it.”
She went through his background, then looked over the notepad at him.
“Who are you searching for, Gerry?” she asked. “In your heart of hearts?”
“Ah, the organ I’m not supposed to have,” he said, grinning ruefully. “I’ve been spending the better part of my life beating people up or teaching other people how to do it.”
“Are you looking for someone interested in what you do? A fellow fighter?”
“Or the opposite?” asked Mrs. Bainbridge, who had regained her wind enough to focus on her instructor’s face.
“The opposite,” he replied. “I became what I am because there were opportunities available, then the war happened and my expertise was needed more than ever. Now, it’s not, and thank God for that, but I want to finally settle down with someone who—”
He hesitated
“Who what, Gerry?” prompted Sparks.
“Who I can be gentle with,” he said shyly. “I want to take care of someone.”
“And for her to take care of you?” asked Mrs. Bainbridge.
“I can take care of myself,” he said quickly. Then he shook his head. “Yeah, that’s the problem with me, isn’t it? I would like to come home to someone where we can spoil each other rotten at the end of the day.”
“There are women who would like that very much,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.
“But there’s another thing,” he said, “and this may narrow the field. She’d have to be willing to leave England.”
“You’re leaving?” exclaimed Sparks in dismay. “Not going back to Shanghai, surely?”
“No, that place is over and done with,” he said. “No future in it for the likes of me. I was thinking Africa. One of the Rhodesias.”
“Really? Why there?”
“It’s a place where an Englishman can start over and do very well very quickly,” he said. “Living’s cheap, and some mates of mine are already set up working security for the mining operations and such. They could use a trainer.”
“How soon would you be going?” asked Sparks.
“Next year, if I make the jump,” he said. “I’m giving this place six more months to take off, and then we shall see.”
“So we have a narrowed field and a deadline,” said Mrs. Bainbridge, getting unsteadily to her feet. “We’ll get to work, Mr. Macaulay. And we’d be happy to let our female friends know about this place. I do offer a suggestion, though.”
“Yes?”
“Install a changing room,” she said, gathering up her suit. “The ladies prefer it. Some have more delicate sensibilities than I have. Back in a jiffy.”
“She’s not on the market, is she?” asked Macaulay as she trotted off.
“Item seven in your contract,” said Sparks. “We agree not to date our clients. And she wouldn’t want to take her son out of London, anyway.”
“Pity. Fancy going a few rounds while we wait?”
“Thanks, Gerry, but I don’t want to spoil my makeup.”
“Keeping up with your practising?”
“Oh, yes,” said Sparks, a glint in her eye. “And I’ve got to put my skills to the test a few times lately.”
“Successfully, I take it.”
“I’m alive and unbruised, thanks very much. And I mean it about the thanks. You taught me well.”
“Still carry that pigsticker in your bag?”
“You know it.”
Mrs. Bainbridge returned, properly suited although her hair was in a rare state of upheaval. Iris looked up at it, then silently reached into her handbag, pulled out a dark blue beret, and handed it to her.
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “Is it as bad as all that?”
“If it’s any consolation, Sidney’s looks far worse.”
“That’s no consolation at all,” said Mrs. Bainbridge, placing the beret on her head. “There. I am fit to be seen in public. Mr. Macaulay, this was most educational. I look forward to next week’s session, and hope that my recently inflicted brain damage won’t adversely affect my ability to find you a suitable match.”
“Luckily, you’ve got Sparks with you,” he said, shaking her hand.
“I am most fortunate in that,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “Good day.”
A man coming in held the door for them as they left, then stared after them admiringly.
“Good on you,” he said to Macaulay. “Who are the birds?”
“The tall one’s a new client,” said Macaulay. “Taking self-defense lessons.”
“Give me her name and number before she’s finished, I beg you.”
“Not a chance.”
“How about the petite stunner by her side? She taking the course, too?”
“Former student,” said Macaulay.
“Any good?”
“The best.”
“But you could take her, right?”
“Oh, I could,” said Macaulay. “But there’s not many men in England who can say that.”
* * *
“Well?” asked Iris as they walked to their stop. “How did you like it?”
“It was oddly therapeutic,” said Gwen. “More fodder for Dr. Milford to chew on.”
“Yes, I was wondering where that scream came from. Your power increased when you did it.”
“I thought screaming would be part of the technique,” said Gwen. “You never did when you were learning?”
“Early on,” said Iris. “But when I trained with Macaulay, we were taught to be silent when we—well, when we engaged. At what or whom were you screaming?”
“All of the evil and sadness in the world.”
The tram arrived, and they climbed to the upper deck.
“Be specific,” persisted Iris when they had taken their seats.
“We received a cable. My father-in-law is due back from East Africa.”
“Ah. And he knows about the decision not to send your son to his handpicked school, where generations of male Bainbridges were warped at an early age.”
“Carolyne wrote him about it, but we haven’t heard anything back from him on the topic.”
“It was amazing that you got her to come round. Maybe she’ll continue to back you.”
“It will be regarded as mutiny belowdecks,” said Gwen. “They both have legal custody of Little Ronnie while I’m still a ward of the court, so she was within her rights to act, but once he’s home, Lord Bainbridge will be assertive, and she will submit as she always does. I almost wish he had stayed down there. If he pushes it, I may have to resort to litigation, and I’m not certain that’s the best idea.”
“If it were me, I’d go to war.”
“But it’s not you, and I’m not the only one whose happiness is at stake. The problem with war is that there are casualties. Mr. Macaulay was right—peacetime is more complicated.”
“Speaking of Gerry, any immediate thoughts of a match? Romantic match, I should say, not an opponent on the mat.”
“My ears are still ringing from bumping heads with poor Sidney, and I want to be at my desk with my box of file cards so I won’t miss any possibilities.”
“Fair enough. I’ll get Saundra to type up my notes first thing. How lovely to say something like that! We have a secretary! And a second office!”
“Which we need to finish painting,” added Gwen. “Shall we do that this Saturday?”
“I’m free. Here’s your stop. See you in the morning. The world must be peopled!”
“The world must be peopled,” said Gwen.
She gave her partner a wave as she reached the stairs, then climbed down to the street.
* * *
She walked the rest of the way to Kensington, stopping in front of a storefront window to brush her hair as best she could.
How was your afternoon, Gwen? she thought. Well, Iris set me up with a strange man, I changed into a skimpy outfit, we were intensely physical for almost an hour, and now my hair’s a complete mess.
Yes, that would go over well at home.
Home.
The place where she lived at the mercy of her in-laws until she could successfully challenge them for custody of her son, which she couldn’t do until Dr. Milford certified her as competent again. Never mind that she was successfully running a business—which was an activity Lord Bainbridge’s antiquated circle would consider evidence of instability in a woman, anyway. But the world continued to consider her sanity suspect because she lacked sufficient British stoicism to keep calm and carry on after the love of her life died for his country, and now she was about to go to battle over the education of their six-year-old son.
Nine more lessons, and she could go to battle properly prepared.
She turned onto their street and came to the front door of the Bainbridge house. Before she could pull out her key, the door opened and Lord Bainbridge stood there, regarding her with disdain.
“Harold, how good to see you,” she said in what she hoped was a pleasant tone. “I trust that you had a comfortable journey.”
“Gwendolyn. You’re late.”
Jab to the chin, she thought. Eye gouge. Knee to the testicles.
“What’s this nonsense about Ronald not attending St. Frideswide’s?” he asked coldly.
No, she thought.
Not yet.
CHAPTER 2
He looked tired, thought Gwen. Tired and angry. Not a good combination under any circumstances, but particularly not a good one for this first reunion. She had hoped that they could have hid behind polite pleasantries before it became time to exchange blows.
Lord Bainbridge was not a tall person, which had been a surprise to Gwen when they had first met. Ronnie was a fine, young sapling of a man, tall enough to look directly into Gwen’s eyes when they danced despite her heels, and the introduction to his middling shrub of a father had been startling. Ronnie’s height made more sense when she met his mother who, though not approaching Gwen’s five foot eleven, still towered over her husband and from all reports came from a family whose men could have stood in for ship masts.
Lord Bainbridge resented his wife’s physical superiority, and made certain that their portrait, which hung menacingly in the front parlour, had her seated with him standing behind her, resting his hands on the back of a chair that must have been chosen to make him look taller. A regular high-backed chair would have given him the appearance of a large, unfriendly hand puppet.
This tactic of arranging his surroundings for his benefit carried into other aspects of his life. Every pose, every position in any given room, was meticulously calculated to display him at his best. Gwen had underestimated his pettiness, or suppressed that aspect in her memory while he had been away for so long, so now there they stood, he with the benefits of higher ground and a blocked doorway. Gwen, a soldier’s wife and daughter, was chagrined over being caught at such a strategic disadvantage.
“I apologise for my tardiness, Harold,” she said. “Would you mind if I came in before we continue this conversation? I have no interest either in scandalising the neighbours or entertaining the passersby.”
He stepped back reluctantly, and she walked by him into the entry hall.
“When did you get in?” she asked.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said.
“No, I haven’t. The subject is still awake and within earshot. I have had a long and difficult day, and I am famished. We are going to sit down to dinner as a family, reunited for the first time in several months, and maintain civility in front of my son—”
“Why are you late?”
“I am taking a physical fitness class,” she said.
“Whatever for?”
“So that I may be physically fit, of course. Now that I am a working woman with a desk job, I need to do something to stay in shape.”
“Why? Planning to sink your hooks into another wealthy boy now that my son is dead and gone?”
“How dare you!” she said, the colour rising in her cheeks. “You of all people should know how much I loved Ronnie.”
“I of all people know how much he was worth.”
“And you think that’s why I married him.”
“I do.”
“And why, then, do you think he married me?”
“Because you were a good-looking girl and he was young and besotted.”
“You think so little of your only son.”
She saw him go dead behind his eyes for a moment.
“What I think of him no longer matters,” he said. “What matters is how to handle my grandson.”
“My son. Harold, Ronnie left behind a letter—”
“So my wife wrote me. Hinting that he did not wish his son to attend St. Frideswide’s.”
“Not hinting. Stating directly. As much as one can shout vehemently in a letter, that’s what he did.”
“No matter now. He’s dead, you’re a lunatic, and—”
