The Sacred Vault_ A Novel - Andy McDermott [192]
‘You mean we’re stuck down here?’ said Nina in alarm.
‘For the moment. I wouldn’t open that door for a while, anyway - there might be a fire outside. But we’ve got power, we’ll have air - if this place was built as a bunker, it’ll have scrubbers like on a submarine - and I saw supplies in the living quarters. The Khoils must have set things up so they could stay down here if they needed. We’ve just got to wait for someone to come and dig us out.’
She still wasn’t happy. ‘That could take ages.’
‘So? Is there something else you were planning on doing?’
Her gaze went to the collection of antiquities. ‘You know, I could actually use the time to check the treasures. Find out if any of them have been damaged, try to catalogue everything . . .’
She started towards them, but Eddie put his hands round her waist and pulled her back. ‘For Christ’s sake, it’s always bloody work, work, work with you!’
‘Well, what do you think we should do with the time?’
He pointed at the door leading to the sleeping quarters, a smile spreading across his bruised face. ‘Seeing as we’ve finally got some time to ourselves, I’ve got a few ideas.’
Nina grinned. ‘Just so long as they don’t involve props.’
Epilogue
New York City
Nina stood before her office windows, staring out across Manhattan. Despite the December cold, it was a clear day, sunlight glinting dazzlingly off the skyscrapers. But her mood was anything but bright.
Eddie stood beside her. ‘If you’re not feeling up to it . . .’ he said quietly.
‘No, I’ll be okay,’ she insisted. ‘I have to see him. I need to see him.’ More loudly, to the open intercom: ‘Bring him through, please, Lola.’
Eddie squeezed her hand in reassurance, then stepped back at a tap on the door. Nina took a breath. ‘Come in.’
Desmond Sharpe entered.
Nina felt a resurgence of the feelings that had stricken her at Rowan’s death. Desmond was shorter and stockier, hair grey rather than black, but his eyes were just like his son’s. She tried to greet him, but the words froze in her mouth.
He saw her distress, and spoke first. ‘Hello, Nina,’ he said softly.
‘Hello . . . Desmond.’ Nina hesitated before using his first name, almost falling back on a formal ‘Mr Sharpe’. But she had been on familiar terms with him while dating Rowan, and afterwards.
She introduced him to her husband, who shook his hand. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Eddie said simply. Desmond thanked him. ‘I’ll be outside, give you some privacy.’
He left the room. Nina tried to assemble her thoughts before speaking, but found herself only able to begin with a superficial pleasantry. ‘Thank you for coming. Although you didn’t have to come all the way from Bridgeport. I wanted to see you at home. And - and I’m so sorry that I wasn’t able to be at Rowan’s funeral. I should have been. I’m sorry.’ Her eyes turned down to the carpet between them.
‘Nina, it’s okay,’ Desmond replied, stepping to her. ‘I know you’ve been . . . busy. I still keep up with the news.’
She lifted her head, seeing his small, sad smile. ‘I’m still sorry. I should have seen you, or at least called you, much sooner. I didn’t because . . .’ He gaze dropped again, as did her voice. ‘Because I was afraid to.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought you’d blame me.’
‘Oh, Nina.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Why on earth would I blame you? You tried to help him; you . . .’ His voice became choked, hoarse. ‘You were there with him. At the end. And, do you know, of all the people he could have been with, I think Rowan would have been happy that it was you.’
Nina looked back up at Desmond, hot lines of tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Desmond left Nina’s office several minutes later. Eddie was waiting outside; the older man paused to speak to him. ‘Thank you.’ ‘For what?’ Eddie asked.
‘For dealing with the people who killed my son. I didn’t say this to Nina, and I hope you won’t tell her I said it, but you gave them what they deserved. I call that justice. The world needs more people like you.’
Eddie wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that,