The Invisible Amateur (11 page)

Your brother is
restless, which makes it rather hard to nap. Do you need any more
help?

Relief spread
through Mycroft as she solved his problem for him.

No. I'm trying
to obey my orders and not pursue the two Russians who got away.
Perhaps you should send my brother out on an errand?

Mycroft pushed the
pen and paper away from himself after sending this message. If
Amelia didn't understand his meaning, she would read it out to
Sherlock and his younger brother would know what it meant. A minute
later, another vibrating feeling came from his pocket and caused
him to reach for the phone again.

Wonderful. Now
I can rest. Your brother is suitably occupied.

As he put the
phone back in his pocket, he exhaled in relief. For the second time
in less than a day, Amelia had helped him out of a difficult
situation with her own unique style of business.

She was a very
distinct woman. Not afraid of her emotions, but not ruled by them
either. At least for the most part. She'd shown some weakness when
scared, but only in her judgement to run to him at all costs. But
as Sherlock had pointed out, she'd shown him great loyalty. More so
than even his younger brother did, and something about that pleased
him more than he'd expected it to. Loyalty was not easily bought
these days.

If Sherlock had
retrieved that information, he wouldn't have been assured to get it
back, but she'd handed it over to him at the first opportunity and
faced a considerable amount of pain to get it. It showed bravery
and courage on top of a reasonable amount of skill.

The pain she'd
endured was one of Mycroft's sticking points. Four times now a
doctor had tended to her wounds because of something related to
him. The first and the most recent time, at the hands of the
Russians, were due to his lack of care, and he felt uncomfortable
about it. Thankfully, neither of those occasions had led to
scarring, but one other had.

The scar through
her eyebrow was a constant reminder that he'd ignored her when
she'd turned up in the Diogenes Club. Instead of trusting her
judgement, he'd thrown her out that day, and it had resulted in her
going through yet another situation where she was left hurt and
emotionally vulnerable.

Of the four
occasions, only her stalker hurting her had been entirely unrelated
to him, and he'd saved her from far worse by helping his brother
get to her. It mitigated a little of his guilt towards her, but the
royal family were right about one thing. He needed to do a better
job of keeping her safe if she was going to be a part of his
future.

If he could, he'd
have given her the healing ability that Sherlock and he shared, but
they'd never been able to replicate it for others, and neither knew
where it had come from. One day a gene within the brothers had
activated, and they found themselves able to heal and live longer.
By nature of being involved with them, Amelia would be the most
likely to be hurt. She was the weakest, the least skilled, and she
couldn't heal as fast. If he taught her more, she would need to
understand it would lead to more pain.

Mycroft didn't
need to ask Amelia to know what she wanted. In going to the
bathroom and attacking the Korean she'd made it clear. Pain didn't
bother her if it was part of the task and necessary to achieve the
goal set before her. She knew when she'd decided to retrieve the
information for him that it would be dangerous, and still done it
anyway.

That meant the
decision came down to how he felt. He needed to decide if he wanted
Amelia in his future or not. As he thought about the last week, he
rubbed his hand across his chin. She'd gained his respect, and when
he pictured her face as she handed over the data stick, he knew he
liked her. There had been no boast in her eyes. Just a gentle
confidence and appreciation for getting the task complete, along
with a small amount of relief.

It only took him a
few more seconds to fix on what he wanted to do. He reached into
his pocket one final time and tapped out a message to her.

Tea, 4pm. Same
place as last time.

With that sent, he
got to work arranging her training for the future. He had three
hours before their meeting, and plenty to organise.

As Amelia hurried
down from her hotel room into the reception area, she hoped she
wasn't late. It had taken her most of the afternoon to wash, dress
and make herself presentable with all the cuts and bruises she
had.

The bruises and
swollen areas of her face were covered up as best as she could
manage with make-up, and she wore her longer set of fingerless
gloves to cover the awful scabs around her wrists. Myron would
still notice she was hurt, but few others would. It was a relief
the winter gave her an excuse to cover up so much.

Before she could
go through to the terrace she noticed a familiar figure come
striding through the hotel entrance. She smiled as he nodded his
acknowledgement of her, and they walked through to the terrace café
together.

As soon as he'd
ordered drinks for the both of them, he fixed his eyes on her. She
saw him concentrate on the area around her left eye.

“It barely hurts
now,” she said, as much to break the silence as to answer the query
in his look.

“Good. Are you
ready to attempt this lesson again?”

She smiled and
nodded; already her eyes had been tempted to flick towards the
people on the nearby green and give herself an extra edge on
describing them, but she knew he would get the lesson underway
swiftly.

Taking a deep
breath, she turned her head and her eyes found an elderly woman and
child near the duck pond. The child had the same dimple in her chin
as the woman, but her hair was too grey and her skin too wrinkled
to be the mother of such a young girl. It was a grandparent with
her granddaughter, but Myron would expect her to see way more than
that. She studied them for a minute or two more.

“There,
grandmother and granddaughter. They come here often. The man with
the small stand knows them, but they're not here for a good reason
today. I think someone died and she's taking the child out to
occupy her.”

“Who died?” Myron
asked.

“The father,” she
said after pausing a moment.

“Why?”

“It's not the
mother. The young girl wouldn't have snacks in her little backpack
if the mother was dead.”

“Correct.
Another,” Myron commanded, his face remaining impassive.

She surveyed the
area again and picked out a lone male dressed in denim jeans and
jacket. He had a digital camera fixed to his face and was pointing
it at something on a tree near the edge of the park. He'd been like
that several minutes before she could gather enough information
about him.

“Single guy,
there. Amateur photographer. Is some sort of programmer as a day
job. Here on holiday and in his low thirties.”

“Explain,
why?”

“Well, amateur
photographer because he's spent over two minutes fiddling with
settings on the camera for just one shot, but it's not an expensive
camera. If he wanted to be paid, he'd have something better. Single
because no woman would let her boyfriend wear those two colours
together, and programmer because of the glasses. Low thirties is a
guess based on his haircut.”

Myron nodded.

“Correct again,
although you missed that he was staying with his sister.”

“Really?”

“He also has food
a woman packed for him.”

Amelia sighed. She
had been so close. Before she could pick out another target Myron's
phone went off.

“It's my brother,”
he said a moment later.

“Answer it, then.
I need to use the bathroom anyway.” She smiled and left the table,
trying not to listen as she walked towards the café toilets. It
would be an update on the remaining elements of the terrorist
threat, and she was sure Sebastian would tell her what she missed
if it was anything of interest.

When she came back
Myron was still on the phone, and so intent on the conversation
that he didn't notice her approaching from behind.

“No, Sherlock,
come back to London. You couldn't have done anything else, and we
don't want anyone learning that it hasn't hurt you.”

Amelia hung back
for a moment, her eyes going wide and her pulse beginning to race.
Myron had just called someone Sherlock, and it definitely sounded
like it was his younger brother. Afraid he would notice her, she
waited for a few seconds and then hurried forward, clipping her
boots on the leg of a table so he'd notice her and not realise
she'd heard anything.

“All right,
brother of mine. I'll see you at Baker Street later.” Myron hung
up, and she smiled at him and sat down, pushing the implications of
what she'd just heard from her mind. She couldn't dwell on the man
in front of her being well over a hundred years old. It would
paralyse her mind, and she couldn't let him see she suspected
something like that.

“Did he succeed?”
she asked when neither of them spoke.

“Almost. He's
apprehended one, but the other got away. Most importantly, he's
unharmed and on his way back home.”

“Does that mean
you have to rush off?”

“No. He will be
several hours, and we haven't finished our lesson.”

She nodded and
spent another fifteen minutes telling him what she saw in the
people around them. On only two more occasions did she miss
something that Myron pointed out to her.

“Well done,” he
said when she finished telling him the waiter's family history.
“You've improved.”

“I have a good
teacher,” she said and gave him a lopsided grin. He didn't respond
but stared at her for a moment. The hint of a frown passed across
his face before it went back to the usual impassive look.

“What?” she asked.
Hoping he hadn't seen something in her that might give away the
emotions coursing through her. Despite her best intentions, she was
struggling not to think about him possibly being Mycroft Holmes, a
man who should have died long ago, let alone look so young.

“Your hair is up.
Down is better. Like the last time we were here,” he said a few
seconds later.

“You think so?”
She raised her eyebrows and tried not to look even more shocked. He
nodded. “Then down it is.”

She lifted her
fingers to pull out the pins holding her bun in place. Less than
five seconds later her hair was cascading around her shoulders the
way it had the first time she'd walked out onto the terrace. Myron
blinked rapidly at her.

“It wasn't a
command.”

“I know, but I'm
getting a second date; the least I can do is make a little effort
for you.” She gave him her most mischievous look to let him know
she was teasing, even if she hoped her words would be true.

“This isn't a
date.”

“Maybe not, but
this is probably the closest thing to a date a woman has ever
managed to get with you.” Amelia looked up at him through her
eyelashes and grinned. A few seconds later a smile flickered across
his face, the first genuine one she'd ever seen him make.

~

Thank you for reading The Invisible Amateur. The sequel, The
Female Charm, will be available on February 13th 2016. You might
also like to try my fantasy works beginning with a free
short,
Wandering to Belong
.

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notified of the next publication by Jess Mountifield (or Amelia
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Already
published

Historical
Adventure:

With Proud
Humility (#1 in the Hearts of the Seas series)

Chains of
Freedom (#4 in the Hearts of the Seas series)

Fantasy (Tales
of Ethanar):

Wandering to
Belong (Tale 1)

Innocent
Hearts (Tale 2 & 3)

For Such a
Time as This (Tale 4)

A Fire's
Sacrifice (Tale 5)

The Hope of
Winter (A short story in the anthology 'Flights of Fantasy' - Tale
6.05)

Sci-Fi:

Sherdan's
Prophecy (#1 in the Sherdan series)

Sherdan's
Legacy (#2 in the Sherdan series)

Sherdan's
Country (#3 in the Sherdan series)

Sherdan's Road
(A short story in the anthology 'The End of the Road')

The Slave
Who'd Never Been Kissed (A novella in the anthology 'The Kiss')

Find purchase links
here

Coming
soon

Historical
Adventure:

Victorious
Ruin (#2 in the Hearts of the Seas series)

Fantasy (Tales
of Ethanar):

The Fire of
Winter (#1 in the Winter series, Tale 6.1)

The Tales of
Ethanar anthology - containing:

The Tales of
Ethanar 1-6.05

A Brief
History of Ethanar

Maps of
Ethanar

A Note on
Dragons

A Note on the
Humanoid Races of Ethanar

Fantasy
(other):

Angel of the
Sands

Already
Published

The Hundred
Year Wait (#1 in the Mycroft Holmes Adventures)