Chapter Twenty

Anna found Athena in the attic, painting, by the dormer window. It was the day after Christmas, and the house was quiet. Her husband had taken Chris to a soccer match in north London, and they had enough leftovers of ham and roast beef to last a week. Trevor’s older brother, Terence, was a solicitor and a confirmed bachelor who, while they were roaming the world on Foreign Office postings, lived in the London townhouse and maintained the place.

The place being a three-story, four-bedroom-and three-bath restored Edwardian, with a full attic and basement. While they were away, Uncle Terence had a woman come in for a few hours each day to cook his dinner and do general housecleaning. The woman had the week off, for Anna didn’t like to share household duties with any other woman, not while she was in residence. She had her own fixed way and preferred to be the woman of the house while home in London.

Anna gazed affectionately at her daughter. Whenever the family was in London, the dormer window in the attic became Athena’s refuge. A refuge to escape with her art.

“Take tea with me, Athena. I have some things to share with you.”

Her daughter, still clad in her bathrobe and nightgown, her hair disheveled, and devoid of makeup, glanced up and groaned. Athena the artist, apparently didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Mum, I’m in the middle of—“

“’Thena, we need to talk and, with your father out of the house, this is a good time. Let’s take some air and walk to the village for tea. Remember the scones at Dorkers?”

Famous all over London for its variety of scones, all made with fresh fruit, Dorkers had long been their favorite place for mother-daughter tea. The village was actually the urban town center of Kensington, a quarter-mile away, north of Portobello Road, a quaint street from which their own street, Lime Court, veered. During their years of globetrotting, their once artsy-craftsy neighborhood had become one of the most gentrified, upscale areas in metropolitan London. Trevor said he was happy he and his brother Terence had bought the townhouse years ago, for he couldn’t afford to buy it now, thanks to the inflation of real estate in London.

Athena paused, her brush suspended in air.

“Dorkers? Haven’t been there since last summer.” Her attention turned back to her painting, the beginning of Alex Skoros’ portrait. “I just had the urge, the feeling that I needed to get this portrait done. ASAP, you know?”

“ASAP? What is that?” She couldn’t keep up with her daughter’s American acronyms.

“You know, as soon as possible. Because of his mother’s precog dream.”

Anna found a spot on the wall to lean against, remembering all too well her cousin Lorena’s precognitive dream. One of her two youngest sons would be killed in a car crash while driving in a car with his brother. Alex would be at the wheel when this tragic accident happened. That was the way Lorena had seen it. She’d first had this dream a year ago, and since then, had strongly advised—no, nagged incessantly—the two brothers to never be in a car by themselves with Alex at the wheel.

If Athena was sensing impending tragedy, then Anna’s own dream—from the previous night—was validated. In the dream, she saw an open casket but not who was in it, Lorena Skoros draped in black and their Greek-American friends all wearing black armbands. Despite all of Lorena’s warnings to her sons, Anna feared that fate awaited one of these two young men. Poor soul.

Anna’s eyes rested again on her daughter as she hesitated over her canvas.

“’Thena, leave that alone for now and get dressed. We’ll walk and talk. I have several important tidbits of information to share with you.”

Finally, her daughter sighed heavily and began wrapping her brushes in foil, keeping them damp and ready for her return.

“I’ve been going at it since six this morning. I’m so bleary-eyed. God, where has the day gone? I’ve had no problem with his body. It’s his face, his expression I can’t seem to…Oh well, time for a break.”

Forty minutes later, her daughter was walking beside her. Wearing her usual jeans, sweater, one side of her parka on, the left side slung over her shoulder and casted arm like a cape, her left hand holding it in place, Athena looked like a young teenager instead of a twenty-year-old. A white knit cap held her blonde hair in place as it streamed down her back, reminding Anna of the white-haired four-year-old that her daughter used to be. Athena exited Lime Court and proceeded to march up Portobello Road, eager to sample Dorkers’ latest creations of scones. Anna had to clutch at her sleeve to get her to slow down a little, the girl’s legs were so long, her stride so wide.

“Sorry, Mum. How’s Father bearing up under all the strain? Is he able to relax a bit?”

“The soccer’s a good distraction for him. Good for Chris, too, to spend a day with his father and uncle.”

“Yeah, male bonding and all that.”

“We’ve been invited—all of us, in fact—to the Ministers’ New Year’s Eve Ball, but of course, we’ll be in Como then. There will be a number of social events when the Prime Minister arrives in Washington, including a State Dinner at the White House. Your father and I have been invited to that as well.”

Athena looked impressed. “Wow, a dinner at the White House. How did Father pull that off?”

That earned a surprised smile from Anna. “You had a lot to do with that, figlia mia. Sir Peter Willcott is including us in the British delegation, his way of rewarding us for having such a brave daughter.” She gave her daughter a quick, loose hug, ever mindful of Athena’s arm cast and sling. “Brave but foolish, I might add. You’re invited, too, and Chris. Isn’t that quite an honor?”

Athena looked nonplussed. “But my arm will still be in a sling! And everyone’ll be in formal wear! Oh brother, of all times to have a bum arm.”

“Your arm? No, not by then, the cast should be off in a month or two. The PM’s visit has been postponed until March. Your father feels that the ambassador has given the PM false reassurance that all is well, no more threat to his safety. Several ministers have finally convinced him that extra precautions need to be taken, and so the visit has been postponed.” She sighed audibly. “I’m quite worried. Lorena and I have been having terrible dreams, not only about Alex and Kas, but also about the PM’s visit. Sir Peter thinks all is well, now that those Serbian mercenaries are out of the picture. Quite the contrary, we believe.”

“Maybe your dreams are just dreams of worry, anxiety. Y’know, like me dreaming I’ve flunked my Western Civ exam. I know I didn’t, but I still dream of failing it. How daft is that?” When Anna remained silent, Athena added, “So you think the Serbs weren’t bluffing? There’s a second team of terrorists on standby?”

“We believe so,” Anna replied solemnly. “Lorena and I, anyway. The security details do, too. At least, they’re not discounting the idea.”

“What can we do to help, Mum?” Athena asked.

Anna shrugged. “You and I are supposed to do nothing.” She brightened suddenly. Mustn’t dwell on the negative, she thought. Postponement was an excellent idea, considering how close those Serbian thugs had come to her family. “I’m certain Max and the other security officers know what they’re doing. With the FBI’s assistance, they’ll sort it all out.”

They stopped at Notting Hill Gate to let a convoy of trucks pass, then crossed over to Kensington Church Street. A couple of blocks to the left were Kensington Gardens and the Palace where Princess Diana once lived. They were veering to their right, however, up Campden Hill to Kensington High Street, where Dorkers reigned supreme. At five o’clock, the pub—with the bakery next door—was filled to overflowing. They were lucky to find a table when a family of four suddenly finished and got up to leave.

They studied the enticing menu. All sorts and types of scones were offered.

“Ooh, here’s a new one,” cooed Athena. “Apricot and walnut. Doesn’t that sound frightfully yummy? I’ll take two and skip dinner.”

“The fig and pistachio sounds good to me,” said Anna. When the server departed, she took a card out of her purse. The card stock appeared custom-made and the printing was scrolled in ornate, calligraphic style. “We just received this. An announcement of Alex Skoros’s upcoming wedding to Nikki Theopoulis.”

She handed it to Athena and watched her jaw drop. Was it what she feared, that her daughter actually had a crush on Alex instead of Kas? Curious, she seized Athena’s right forearm, which her daughter shook off gently, smiling wryly.

“Just ask, Mum. No tricks. And no, I’m not hurt—shocked, yes, that it’s happening so soon. Alex is such a playboy. Kas doesn’t like her, says she’s a GAP, a Greek-American Princess. I wonder what hold she has over free-as-a-bird Alex. When’s the wedding?”

Anna withdrew her hand and gave her daughter a half-apologetic smile. Inwardly, she was greatly relieved. So it definitely was Kas that her daughter had been pining over. She hadn’t said two words about him since they’d returned from California.

“In two months. It does seem sudden, doesn’t it? He spoke of her only once while we were there. Lorena said he was dating a number of girls, that was all.”

Anna’s attention began drifting elsewhere as she gazed around the pub, but her daughter’s voice, soft and wistful, drew her back.

“Kas told me about her, this Nikki, when we were there. That she’s determined to snare poor Alex. She probably got PG just to force him to marry her. I guess now it’s out. I imagine Alex wouldn’t tie the knot unless he had to. I wonder if Kas is…Well, maybe not, since Kas seems to march to his own drummer. I suppose that’s one of the qualities I like about him.”

Anna decided to say nothing, not even ask her daughter to confirm the meaning of PG, or what she had begun to say about Kas. It was clear that Athena’s thoughts were filled with Kas Skoros. They both occupied themselves with their tea and scones. They sampled a bit of each other’s and exchanged opinions.

Smiling, Anna changed to a cheerier topic. “Have you heard from that young man, Dan? The painter?”

“Yes, he’s called a few times.” Athena shot her a quelling look. End of story. Obviously wanting to change the topic, her daughter frowned and shot back a question. “Have you heard from Detective Palomino?” The pub’s noise level had increased to near shouting volume, so Anna had to lean toward forward to hear her daughter.

“Ah, yes, an update on the serial killer—rather, the alleged serial killer.” Anna sighed, then launched into an update. A container ship with an American registry, the Baltimore Bullworth, had left the U.S. over three weeks ago, stopped over in several West African ports of call, and then went on its way to Abu Dhabi with half a shipload of small electronic and automobile parts. On its return trip via the Indian Ocean, it was taking on Indian computer parts and textiles at various Indian ports, and making a stop in Vietnam for furniture, and in Japan for cars and motorcycles.

“According to the detective, if he doesn’t jump ship at one of these ports,” Anna explained, “this Person of Interest will eventually return to his home port of Baltimore and will be taken into custody. All they can do is question him and try to extract a confession, or at least some information that might aid the District Attorney’s office in indicting him for murder. Palomino said he wasn’t going to hold his breath, waiting for either one. They’ve searched the brothers’ place of business, that electricians’ shop. Nothing’s there that could help them. No sign of the younger brother.”

Athena shook her head. “He’s too smart to leave any evidence behind. They should question his shipmates. Oh, and contact the local police at those ports-of-call, see if any girls show up dead. Wouldn’t that be too coincidental?”

Her daughter sounded so cynical and pessimistic. Not for the first time, Anna wondered whether, by exposing her daughter to such human ugliness, she’d succeeded only in making her lose faith in the basic goodness of mankind. Still, the veil has to come off for everyone at some point in life. Doesn’t it?

Was this cynicism an unintended consequence of their God-given gift? Anna looked away.

Or did God intend that we should be on the alert for the evil among us and because of our clairvoyance, be able to see it before anyone else? So that we can do some good to offset the bad? Or at least warn others to beware? Can we save lives and bring some justice to the world with our gift? Shouldn’t we try?

Athena was now smiling at someone behind Anna, so Anna turned around. Max and Trevor’s secretary, Winston Blake, had just walked into the pub, their gazes landing immediately on the two women. The two men, about the same age, approached with Max in the lead.

“Fancy meeting up with you two lovely ladies.” Max, who, like Athena, was casually dressed in jeans, leather jacket and boots, smiled at them. “I was just taking Win for a spin on my new Harley, or Hog, as the Americans call it. Athena, you’ve met your father’s new secretary, haven’t you? No? Mrs. Butler, you have, I believe.” With Anna’s brisk nod, he introduced Winston Blake to Athena. They shook hands, his grasp lingering long past propriety, until Max raised his eyebrows. Anna considered him nice enough, but too handsome and vain for his own good. However, her husband liked him, considering him a very capable right-hand man.

“Don’t be such a sod, Win. She’s too young for you, ol’ boy.” Max laughed and addressed the two women. “Win was with our Embassy in Tripoli, Libya and before that, Riyadh in Saudi Arabia. He’s one of my Cambridge mates, so too old for you, Athena. Keep that in mind, Win. My job’s protecting her and the rest of the Butlers, until this nasty business blows over. And that means protecting her from chaps like you.”

Both men laughed. To cover Athena’s flustered expression and apparently blank confusion, Anna asked them what had brought them to Kensington.

“We stopped to visit some schoolmates of ours who live in South Kensington near Warwick Gardens.” Max gestured at their table. “Of course, who hasn’t heard of Dorkers? We said we’d pick up some scones on our way to meeting them later in Piccadilly. Did you have a good Christmas?”

Anna said they had and chatted with them for a few more minutes before the men left. As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned to her daughter, whose face looked as pale as the scone on her plate.

“What’s the matter, ’Thena?” Her daughter looked down at her hand, which was holding a spoon and stirring an empty cup of tea.

“I don’t know, maybe nothing, Mum,” she murmured breathlessly.

“Listen to your instincts, figla mia. What did you see?”

Athena’s deep green eyes rose to meet her mother’s. They held for several seconds before she spoke.

“Maybe I should talk to Max tomorrow. He’ll laugh in my face, and think I’m totally blinkered, but… Remember what he said, the danger of an insider, someone inside the Embassy who knows what all the plans are for the PM’s visit?” She glanced over at the pub’s side door, through which the two men had just entered the bakery section. “Well, I think I may’ve found him.”

Anna sat back, stunned.