‘So my great-uncle thought, I assume,’ Quinn said. ‘She is well?’
‘She looked fragile, like glass. But formidable. Now I hear the story I can see she is under great strain, but she hides it—almost.’
‘I have a back-door key,’ Lina said. ‘We could let ourselves in and make our way to Aunt Clara’s rooms.’
‘No.’ Quinn shook his head. ‘I want to see Makepeace in action if he is there and I want to walk in through the front door legitimately so if we are found wandering about we may plausibly be lost.’
‘Then I will go in at the back door,’ Lina said. ‘I still do not understand what Makepeace has to do with this.’
‘He is a loose end I want to snip off,’ Quinn said, infuriatingly vague. ‘No, we all go in the front door.’
‘But I cannot!’
Gregor looked across her at Quinn and laughed. ‘Aha! Our young friend the prince incognito?’
‘Exactly. I have the clothes in my baggage.’
‘What are you two talking about?’ Lina demanded.
‘Let me explain,’ Quinn said. ‘Once we had reason to remove a young lady from a place where she was not happy to be.’
‘A harem?’
‘A staging post on the way to one. We could not walk out with a young woman, so we left with—’
‘A youth!’ Fear and a thrill of excitement made her laugh out loud. ‘But could I pass?’ Quinn’s gaze swept down over her bosom and she coloured up. Her breasts were not impressive, she knew that, but perhaps, now, that was a blessing.
‘By the time I have finished with you, you would pass for the Shah of Persia,’ he said with a grin.
It was certainly a high-class establishment, Quinn thought as they mounted the steps of The Blue Door at half past eleven that evening. The deep blue paint was offset by gleaming brass fittings, torchères flamed with brazen disregard for discretion and elaborately clipped shrubs in tubs lined the wide steps.
He looked for the spy hole and saw it blink with light for a moment before the door swung open. ‘Monsieur Vasiliev.’ The big man inside spoke politely, even as his eyes flickered over the two figures beside the Russian. ‘Welcome back. And your friends also. You will sign the book?’
It was all part of making this seem like an exclusive club, Quinn thought, signing George Arbuthnott with a flourish. Doubtless the book was full of more pseudonyms than genuine signatures. He stood back and the slim youth at his side bent his turbaned head over the book and produced an elaborate flourish. It had taken Quinn half an hour to teach Celina how to write something short but very rude in Arabic.
‘Gentle
men, the salon.’ Celina took a step forwards and he reached to touch her arm, then she must have realised her own mistake, for she dropped back, gazing around as though in wonder at what must be very familiar surroundings indeed. The doorman gestured towards a wide arch hung with blue-velvet curtains. ‘Mr Makepeace will be with you at once to enquire your pleasure. Refreshments will be brought.’
They sauntered through. Celina he could feel quivering slightly—fear or excitement? He suspected both, but he had confidence that she would act her part. With her hair concealed under a turban, her curves by a long jacket of heavy silk with a long brocade waistcoat over the top and full trousers caught at the ankles, she made the perfect youth. Her skin was stained to a warm gold, her eyebrows and lashes blackened and her blue eyes subtly ringed with kohl to make them seem darker. Cotton pushed high inside her cheeks changed the shape of her face and she had spent the afternoon following Gregor around trying to walk like a man—an exercise that had them both in fits of laughter.
Now she was serious, staring about her with a good approximation of a cocky youth rendered nervous by his first exposure to the sins of the flesh. Perhaps she had seen enough young men receiving their initiation here under the aegis of older brothers or even fathers to know what to do.
There were half-a-dozen young women in the room and four men. A swift glance reassured Quinn that he knew none of them. Two of the girls fluttered over, all pretty silks and low cut gowns. ‘Gentlemen.’ A redhead with bouncing curls took Gregor’s arm. ‘Oh, you’ve come back and brought some friends, Mr Gregor.’
‘Friend,’ Celina said in Arabic. Her accent was atrocious, but with any luck no one here would speak the language.
He had taught her three words. Friend for those she knew would not betray her, enemy for those who might and unsure.
‘Ooh.’ The redhead giggled. ‘Who is the young gentleman?’
‘A very special young gentleman,’ Quinn said with heavy emphasis. ‘He speaks no English and those who serve him would be very anxious if they knew he was out. But young men will be young men, hmm? And we think it is best he sows his wild oats with us and not by slipping off and getting into mischief.’
‘I’ll help him keep out of trouble,’ the redhead said with a smile, fluttering her lashes at Celina, who ducked her head and wriggled in convincing embarrassment.
‘I think we would all like to stay together,’ Quinn said. ‘Perhaps some of your friends would like to join us?’
‘Ooh, yes. I’m Katy and this is Miriam.’ The brunette gave him a look that promised a night of smouldering pleasures. ‘And there’s Daphne, just come down.’