Safe for Summer

the pawn found its voice and decided to use it. She didn’t like confrontation. She liked that less than when Autumn was indifferent. When she was in full vicious flow, she often blamed Autumn’s father for passing on his argumentative genes. When she was really mad, she accused him of passing on his argumentative Irish genes, as if reminding Autumn of his nationality would lessen her opinion of him. It didn’t work, because Autumn loved hearing his name spoken in whatever context. It meant he hadn’t been forgotten. Alison would like to forget him, but that just wasn’t an option. Autumn had seen the photos, the red hair, the full lips, and the pale skin. Her likeness to him was uncanny.
‘How am I being, Mother? Why don’t you tell me?’
‘Disdainful… ungrateful… irritable… obnoxious…’ Alison began.
Color rose in Autumn’s cheeks. ‘Don’t leave anything out,’ she snapped.
‘I’ve employed someone,’ Alison stated, pouring herself a glass of water.
‘What! Someone from MI5?’
‘Not exactly. Someone they recommended.’ Alison’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Someone who’s done work for them before… unofficially, you might say.’
The whispering in public was very annoying. Almost as annoying as when Alison got out a pad and pen and wrote notes instead of speaking. Autumn always wondered if her mother had to burn the notes after their conversations, or, at the very least, eat them. She hoped the latter. The thought of her mother chewing up Basildon Bond’s finest gave her a secret thrill.
‘Are you completely insane?’ Autumn exclaimed.
‘I’m being practical.’
‘You’re being over-the-top. I do not need a bodyguard or whatever this unofficial MI5 psycho is supposed to be.’
‘I would disagree.’ A deep, male voice interjected into their conversation.
Autumn’s purse fell off her knee and onto the floor as she turned to look at the voice’s owner. He smiled at her and picked her purse up, replacing it on her lap. He was tall, with short, glossy, black hair, and he had so much stubble on his face, it was on the verge of being called a beard. Autumn couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to get so close to their table without their noticing.
‘Do you mind? This is a private conversation,’ Autumn said, glaring up at him.
He was good-looking, but his clothes were a style disaster. He was wearing an off-the-peg charcoal suit, a white shirt open at the neck, and on his feet were very cheap shoes. He wasn’t the hotel’s usual clientele. He looked like he might be more at home selling mobile phones.
‘Can I join you?’ he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down.
‘No, you most certainly may not. Georgio! We need security over here.’ Alison screeched like an irritated parrot.
‘I am security. Nathan Regan.’ He offered his hand to Autumn.
She looked at the hand. It had long fingers, a red scar down the length of its middle finger, and there was the edge of a tattoo just visible on his wrist because of the too-short sleeves of the jacket. She didn’t know whether to shake it or offer him some antibacterial gel and the phone number of someone on Savile Row. His accent suggested he came from the north of England. She’d worked with Sean Bean on a commercial once.
‘Oh! I didn’t realize,’ Alison said, dismissing the doorman who had eagerly bounded over to assist them with a shake of one hand.
‘Didn’t realize what?’ Autumn asked her mother.
‘This is the chap I was talking about,’ Alison whispered. ‘The one recommended by MI—’
‘I was recommended by a friend. No need to elaborate in public,’ Nathan spoke. He picked up a handful of cashew nuts from the glass dish on the table.
He had interrupted her mother, broken into her conversation without thinking about the consequences, and now, he was eating bar snacks. Nuts that had been handled by every person who had sat at that table that day. Highly important people, granted, but many of whom would visit the toilet and then neglect to wash their hands. Public nuts were a health hazard. Everyone knew that. Except him, it seemed.
Autumn watched him expertly pour the nuts into his mouth and grind them up, salt and crumbs speckling his lips.
‘I’m Alison Raine, and this is my daughter, Autumn.’
Nathan fixed his eyes on Autumn. ‘I know who you both are. You wore a dress made entirely of magazine cuttings of yourself to that film premiere last week.’
Autumn felt uncomfortable. His eyes were a pale blue, flecked with gold she noticed, and the way he was setting them on her made her feel as if he could see right inside her. She gripped her purse tighter.
‘Classy,’ Nathan stated with a laugh as he helped himself to more cashews.
Autumn glared at him. ‘Are you insulting me?’ she asked.
‘Why aren’t you sure?’ Nathan challenged.
‘You are the rudest man I’ve ever met. There is no way you are going to be part of my security team,’ Autumn stated. She picked up her martini and downed it in one swallow.
‘I agree. I’m not going to be part of anything. I don’t do teams. I have my own way of doing things.’
Alison spoke then. ‘Mr Regan, I’ve been told you’re the best at what you do, and I’m afraid if I don’t take the first step to tighten up Autumn’s circle of protection then—’
‘Mother! Circle of protection! You’ve been watching too much Law & Order. I don’t need protecting!’
The idea that this rough-looking person, in the worst suit imaginable, was going to start running her security detail was horrendous.
‘You leave your apartment at the same time every morning, in your usual car, normally driven by Ed. You always take coffee in the little Italian place on the corner of Penny Road. You have a long black and a carrot cake, sometimes a chocolate muffin, but you pick out the chocolate chips, and you count them, and if there isn’t a multiple of five, you have to order another one. Your assistant, Janey, drives you to Oxford Street most days so you can try