Goodnight (Broken Heart Series)

‘What ho!’ boomed Bertie.

‘What ho!’ boomed Nick’s dad even louder.

Nick glanced back at Goodie whose expression remained unreadable. Ed, however, was staring up at the house, his mouth wide open.

‘Guess you’ve likely got a spare room going then, mate,’ murmured Ed by Nick’s side. His eyes moved from the grand, stone, twenty-bedroom estate house to Nick’s father and Bertie, who were engaged in the activity of slapping each other on the back and booming intermittently – both wearing red trousers and wax jackets. ‘Jesus, you’re all dead posh. I’m going to look like a right plonker staying here. What were you thinking, you daft article?’

‘Ed, you knew this already,’ Goodie said.

‘Right, okay … this one’s got a posh accent, I’ll give you that,’ Ed replied, indicating Nick. ‘No offence, fella,’ he added for his benefit, and Nick gave him an amused nod. ‘And Bertie … well, I just thought he was … well, he’s inexplicable. To be honest I assumed he was barmy, not bloody aristocracy. Tell me the rest of your family aren’t as bad as Bertie?’

‘No,’ Nick told him, and he relaxed for a moment before Nick added, ‘they’re worse.’

‘What ho!’ Nick’s father interrupted, giving his son a hug and a few hearty slaps on the back, which no doubt would leave bruises. ‘Damn good to see you, Flopsy. It’s been too long since you’ve been out to the sticks. Your mother worries, you know.’

‘Hello, old man.’ Nick smiled as he hugged him back with a few back slaps of his own. “Your mother worries” was his father’s repressed way of saying “I’ve missed you”. ‘Dad, this is Ed Southern; Ed, this is my dad: Monty. And this is …’ Nick looked around for Goodie but she was nowhere to be seen. He frowned.

‘Great stuff!’ boomed Monty, grabbing hold of Ed’s hand and nearly lifting him off his feet with the violence of his shakes. ‘Always good to add in some fresh blood to a family do. And I hear you’re a frightfully clever chap too; you’ll be keeping the old duffers like me on my toes.’

‘Uh …’ Ed looked at a complete loss.

‘Jolly good, jolly good,’ boomed Nick’s dad.

‘Goodness, the Ed at last,’ Nick’s sister, who had just come bounding out of the house to stand next to her father, put in. Her long legs were clad a pair of jodhpurs with riding boots, her dark hair and her wool jumper were lightly dusted with straw. A miniature version of her, in a nearly identical outfit, was clinging onto her hand and hiding under her jumper. ‘I must say I’ve been terribly impressed by all this science stuff; total dunce with that sort of thing, aren’t I, Flopsy?’

‘Hi, Tils,’ Nick said as he almost went back onto one foot with the force of her hug.

‘Uncle Nicky!’ The straw-covered, dark-haired little girl emerged from out of her mother’s jumper and wriggled in between them, giving Nick’s legs a crushing hug.

‘Hey, hedgehog,’ Nick said, reaching down for her and settling her on his hip.

‘You can’t call me hedgehog,’ she told him, snuggling into his neck. ‘I’m nine, Uncle Nicky. You called me that when I was a curled-up baby.’

‘You’ll always be my hedgehog,’ he said blowing a raspberry into her neck and causing her to squirm her way down. Introductions were made involving fierce hugs and cheek kisses from Tils, and shy smiles from her daughter Arabella. Ed was looking at Tils with such an awestruck expression that Nick almost laughed out loud. She was like a force of nature.

‘By Jove,’ Monty said as he looked over Nick’s shoulder. ‘Who is that?’

Nick turned to see Goodie pulling some equipment out of the car.

‘Ah, yes, now listen, Dad, Tils – it might be an idea if –’

‘What ho there!’ Monty boomed, and Nick sighed in defeat, his dad having already pushed him aside to stride up to Goodie, curiosity written all over his features. ‘Now, you must be the lady who’s been keeping my Flopsy safe for the last few weeks. I simply must tell you that I think you’re a … well, that’s to say …’ To Nick’s shock, Monty’s eyes glazed over for a minute and when he spoke again his voice was suspiciously gruff. ‘… you’re a right topper. Can’t thank you enough. Really, really great work and all that. Big weight of my mind, if I’m honest.’

And just like that, all Nick’s irritation with his father for going behind his back to organize the security team vanished. His dad had been worried; fear and worry were still written all over his features. Monty then proceeded to actually hug Goodie, and was joined a moment later by a tearful Tils and an excited Arabella. Goodie allowed this but remained frozen in place until they released her, all except Arabella, who stayed attached to her legs like a limpet.

‘You saved my Uncle Nicky,’ Arabella whispered, tilting her head back to look up at her.

Just how much was reported back to his family? Nick wondered in annoyance; the last thing he’d wanted was for them to know about the alley incident.

Goodie looked down at Arabella’s clear blue eyes and her face softened as she tentatively stroked her head.

‘Your uncle can look after himself,’ she said, and Arabella frowned.

‘But you’re like a superhero,’ she breathed. ‘Mummy told me.’

‘Yes, sugarplum, she is,’ Tils said in a shaky voice, and Goodie’s head came up to look at her. Tils gave her a silent nod of thanks, which Goodie returned.

‘Oh my goodness!’ Arabella shouted suddenly. ‘Is that your dog?’ Goodie turned as Salem bounded up to her side and then immediately sat next to her, ears pricked, eyes forward, not moving a muscle. ‘Can I pet him?’ Goodie nodded again and gave Arabella a small smile before Arabella embarked on her version of ‘petting’, which involved throwing oneself bodily onto the dog, hugging him around his middle and shoving your face into its hair. Salem allowed this but looked to Goodie for permission. Goodie made a hand gesture and Salem licked the length of Arabella’s face, causing her to giggle and give the dog another squeeze.

‘Xavier!’ Arabella shouted, and Nick watched the fat, snorting pug waddle around his car and right up to Salem before head-butting him in the chest, this being Xavier’s form of affection. Salem nosed the squirming little body and in return his muzzle got covered in a layer of Xavier copious drool; he then cast a long-suffering look up to his mistress, whose eyes were dancing with amusement at the sight of the ridiculous-looking dog.

‘Where’s Mum?’ Nick asked, tearing his gaze away from the new version of Goodie with some effort.

‘Blasted nuisance but your mother and your Aunt have been roped into this dashed flower-arranging for the Easter service,’ Monty told him. ‘Left us to scramble about for some provisions afternoon-tea-wise, but I expect we’ll get by with the help of the indomitable Mrs B. Come on everybody, chop-chop.’

Monty turned and started walking up to the house. Afternoon tea was enough of a draw that Arabella and Bertie went bounding after him. Nick grabbed his bag from the front seat and started walking up behind Ed. He thought Goodie would follow behind him, but when he turned to check, the driveway was empty other than the still snorting and drooling Xavier. He sighed and continued on to the house.

Goodie watched from the shadows as Nick’s body turned and his eyes swept the area. She’d noticed how much more relaxed he became even on approaching the house. Of course he was still wearing his sharply cut suit as one last meeting had been squeezed into the morning before they left, but for once his face was not totally clean-shaven. His strong jaw was shadowed with stubble that usually didn’t appear until early evening, and he’d loosened his tie: not big changes, you might think, but Goodie, whose very survival often relied on her ability to observe others, knew that they were significant. And quite possibly she had never observed anyone as closely as she did Nick.

She didn’t understand him at all. He was beautiful, in fact he may well have been the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on; he was intelligent, sharp-witted and a skilled negotiator; his appearance was immaculate, his tall, lean but well-muscled body (yes, she’d sneaked peeks at him topless on his treadmill at his massive flat) was always clad in perfectly cut, exquisite suits as he was always having meetings, making deals, accumulating more wealth and power; but despite these high standards for himself he was remarkably tolerant. In Goodie’s experience powerful men did not employ incompetent people, even if they were family; they didn’t tolerate them full stop. But Nick was patient with Bertie. Other than that outburst in the office, Goodie hadn’t heard him shout at Bertie once before. Goodie, who had spent much of her life protecting the vulnerable, had expected to have to step in; but all it took was a small nudge for Nick to see Bertie’s potential and change his demeanour completely.

Then there was Ed. How many multi-millionaires would have the patience and the belief in a man as eccentrically brilliant as Ed to take his crazy ideas and turn them into real possibilities? It wasn’t even just Ed and Bertie; Nick’s workforce simply loved him. He was not a dictator from on high with them, they didn’t call him Sir or Mr Chambers; they joked with him, they teased him, with no detectable fear of retribution. And Nick was funny. He laughed easily and his dry, often self-deprecating sense of humour had almost on many occasions made Goodie herself lose her composure; something that never happened to her.

Not ever.

She set off into the woods on the outskirts of the property to find the far guards.

‘Nice try,’ Sam muttered as he turned around on hearing Goodie and Salem’s approach. ‘You’re never going to be able to sneak up on me with that big beast in tow.’ Salem trotted up to his side and bumped his hand to get a head scratch.

‘Perimeter secure?’

‘Yeah, well, it’s a pretty isolated location. House is elevated on a hill. We’ve laid out a wire – should know if anything bigger than Flopsy or Cottontail crosses it.’

Goodie’s mind flashed to Monty affectionately calling Nick Flopsy, and then to the look in his eyes when he thanked her for saving Nick’s life.

‘I need to swap with Ed’s close protection officer. I’d be better out here as one of the far guards.’

Sam frowned. ‘What are you on about? We agreed: Geoff should join Mike and me at the perimeter. You’re better to stay close.’ Goodie clenched her fists by her sides.

‘This … this is bullshit plan,’ she told him, her Russian accent thickening.

‘Goodie,’ Sam said slowly. ‘You know that the best operative should stay as the close protection officer, and I know you know who that is. Don’t you bullshit me.’

Goodie looked away from him for a moment and Salem, sensing her distress, came and leaned against her leg.

Sam watched the dog and then looked at Goodie’s clenched fists before he spoke again, this time in a softer tone. ‘What’s this about, myshka?’

‘Urgh! Don’t call me that, you prick. All I’m thinking about is strategy.’

‘Is something –’ he frowned again and scratched his head ‘– are you …? I mean, I may never have thought I would ask you this particular question, but is something … upsetting you?’ Goodie’s eyes flashed with annoyance.

‘Fuck off,’ she spat at him before stalking back towards the house.

Sam watched her stiff, retreating back, a frown still marring his features. Something was wrong with Goodie. They’d experienced some extreme situations together in the past and he’d never seen her this rattled. Even after that bloodbath in Columbia, she’d shrugged and downed a few shots of vodka once they got back to base camp. Nothing affected her. Until now.