Reunion

by Pil Lee

Tess pulled into her driveway on a cold spring afternoon. As on every other day she automatically scanned the front of the house as she juggled groceries and keys on the front path, never expecting to see anything. But today, of all days, the one day when Damien was away, she saw that the curtains were fully closed and the door mat askew.

“Amateurs,” she thought, even as she was desperately wishing for her gun for the first time in four years. She let her keys slip to the ground and knelt to get them, her mind racing for a way to buy more time and get back to the car, when she heard the double snick of a Glock Special three times in quick succession. It was the old signal, the one that let her know it was a friend waiting for her. A colleague. She felt the sneer rise as she repeated the word to herself, “Colleague”, then she forced her face blank as she straightened and went cautiously up to the door.

It pushed open lightly at her touch and she walked into a soft gloom, lit only by a table lamp by the doorway to the lounge room. She stood in the hall, unwilling to go any further, until she heard a deliberately loud breath and knew who it was. And then she realised she’d known it would be him from the first instant on the path.

“Matthew,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“Hello Tess,” came the reply, little louder than hers.

“Who’s with you?” she asked, not moving.

“I’m alone,” he said, the slight laugh in his voice she remembered so well. “Who were you expecting?”

“I haven’t expected anyone in a long time,” she said as anger started to creep into her throat. She tried to swallow it down as she walked carefully into the room.

He sat in the big wing chair by the darkened windows, hands resting lightly on the arms and his gun lying loose and naked in his lap. They looked at each other for a moment.

“My life is my own,” she said finally, hating herself for being the first to break the silence, but at the same time already weary with the old, old game.

The man shook his handsome face from side to side.

“Never Tess,” he said. “Sorry.” He cocked his head on the side, regarding her quizzically, and she realised with a shock that she had let herself stand outlined, unarmed and stationery in a doorway. Furious, she ignored the instinct to move quickly against the wall and stood her ground.

“I have nothing to fear, Matthew,” she said.

To her surprise he nodded, his face suddenly serious. “I know,” he said. “You’re clear.” His voice held a kind of wonder that made her feel sorry for him for a moment, then he flicked his cold eyes up to hers and she knew that she had never been free, her life had only been a temporary gift these last few years, and now they were going to take it back again.

She left her defiant position in the doorway and sat slowly down in the chair at the other end of the room.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

And the voice that answered wasn’t from the smooth young modern spy in his expensive suit, who now bent his head to gaze at his weapon as if in prayer. It was an older voice from the hallway and then it was beside her as she sat rigid in her chair.

“It’s not the Agency this time Tess,” he said, gazing kindly down at her upturned face.

She stared back mutely at a man in his late fifties, of medium height, pale wavy hair graying, his eyes blue and tired and hands tucked into an old suede jacket. He reached out and pulled her gently to her feet then stepped back, turning slightly so she could see him in the dim light.

“How am I looking?” he said. “Pretty good for a dead man, don’t you think.”

Tess tried to find her voice and speak his name, but to her horror as soon as she opened her mouth a huge gasp burst out. She struggled to stop the sobs burning her chest as tears betrayed her, and through her shame she heard Matthew stand and leave the room. The front door shut quietly behind him and she was left alone with an old man in an old suit, smiling wryly at her.

“Goodness me,” he said. “I never thought I’d see you cry, Is this something your new life has taught you? What’s your husband’s name? They told me you were married, you know. Damien?”

She tried to speak, but the words didn’t come.

“I never thought I’d see you cry,” he said again, shaking his head.

Tess tried for the detachment she thought she’d finally mastered. “I cried last time I saw you,” she said, blinking the tears away. “When I thought you were dead.” Then she looked at him with the full force of her anguish four years ago. “You were dead, Anthony. I saw you go down. I saw you bleed out.” She was suddenly angrier than she had ever been in her life. “I watched you bleed out,” she yelled at him.

He regarded her for a moment then turned and sat down in the chair Matthew had just left.

“I’m sorry, Tess,” he said. “Truly I am.” He looked at his hands. “There are many regrets and that’s one of them.”

“One of them,” she rasped.

“It was necessary for me to just — disappear — for a while.”

“And not tell your partner.”

“And not tell my partner.”

“So who knew?” she said bitterly. “Did Matthew know the whole time?”

“Of course,” said Anthony. “He’s the big man with head office, you know. Their favourite shark, you know that.”

He smiled at her, head on the side, while she stared at him, still unable to believe he was there. The silence stretched into awkwardness, then he stood and came towards her again. She backed away and sat down suddenly as her chair hit the back of her legs.

“Where have you been,” she asked, but he waved the question away.

“It’s not important,” he said. “What I’m here for now is your help.”

“I swore I’d never go back,” said Tess.

“Did you?” He pursed his lips. “What about now? What about now I’m still here?”

Tess struggled to work out her answer but he continued without waiting.

“Anyway, as I told you before, it’s not for the Agency.”

She looked at him, not understanding.

“It’s a little private matter,” he said. “A private matter of revenge.” He touched his temple where the bullet scar had always been and Tess snorted with disbelief.

“After all this time,” she said. “Anthony, it’s been years. It’s been decades.”

“Well, you know,” he said, “Time files when you’re having fun. Or not.” His blue eyes gave that old familiar twinkle at her and suddenly nothing else mattered except that he was back.

“Where’s your husband?” he asked.

“He’s in Singapore,” she said. “At a meeting.”

“At a meeting,” he repeated. “What does he do?” Before she could answer he fired more questions at her. “Where did you meet him? How long have you been married? What’s he like?”

She shook her head, thoughts swimming, and he laughed and held up his hand.

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I don’t really care.”

“Nor do I,” she said, knowing it was true, and just wanting to hear him laugh again.

“So ..?” he said, still standing in front of her.

“So ...” she smiled up at him. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Well,” he said, leaning in towards her as if to whisper, “You’ve already done it in a way.”

She didn’t understand. “Done what?”

“Given me a rendezvous spot. A place beyond suspicion. A lovely house in a lovely suburb where no-one will suspect that a crusty old spy like me could be lurking. Lying in wait.”

“So this will be where he’ll come to meet your revenge?” she asked.

“This is where he’s coming”, said Anthony.

“Now?” she whispered.

“Almost right now,” he said with a grin.

“Then you’ll need this,” said Tess, reaching for her bag on the floor. And as her hand touched it she saw the man in front of her reach down too and with the delicacy and speed she remembered so well he neatly broke her arm.

Her face a mixture of shock and pain she cradled her limb, curling foetally around it in her chair. While she huddled stunned, a thin squeal forcing its way between her teeth, Anthony turned her bag inside out onto the ground. He searched swiftly through the contents and turned to look at her, puzzled.

“There’s no gun, my dear,” he said. “What were you reaching for.” Then he found the side pocket and slipped his hand inside. Breathing hard, Tess saw him pull out the old beads, his lucky beads, always with her since the day she thought he’d died.

“Well will you look at this,” he said, marvelling at them. “And here I thought you were going for a weapon.” He regarded her silently for a second. “It seems I owe you an apology.”

She gazed back at him as she shuddered from the pain in her arm.

“Why would I hurt you,” she cried.

He buttoned the beads into his jacket pocket and knelt before her. “Isn’t that the first lesson?” he asked. “Trust no-one. It seems you’ve forgotten rather a lot in only four years.”

“I would never hurt you,” she said bitterly. Fresh tears covered her cheeks as she tried to lift her head. “I loved you.”

“And I loved you,” said Anthony. “But even so ...”

“No,” said Tess. “You don’t know what I mean. I loved you. I love you.”

“I know what you mean,” said Anthony, standing apart now, his arms loosely at his side. He watched her gasping in the chair with kind dispassion, then moved quietly across the room to check the curtains.

“It won’t be long now, dear Tess,” he said. “Try to stay quiet, won’t you love.”

Fear blossomed in her mind and she looked desperately up at him as he drew his gun.

“It won’t be long now.”