An Eve at the End of the Century (2)
Her steps were light as she left Lady Yerina's office. Perhaps it was the gratifying sense of having been acknowledged by the head of the organization. Yerina's image—glancing at her with a faint, knowing smile—remained vivid in her mind's eye.
"...Ah."
She had intended to return to her own quarters—which served as both her office as the Head of Intelligence and her home—but when she came to her senses, she realized her feet had carried her elsewhere.
And for good reason. For nearly a month and a half, they hadn't seen each other's faces, only exchanging brief updates over the phone. So... there was nothing strange about her behavior.
She hesitated for a moment. Is this alright? she wondered, questioning if it was proper to drop in unannounced like this. But action preceded hesitation.
"You're here to see the Head of Security, ma'am?"
"Yes. Will I have to wait long?"
"No, I believe he has no other appointments. Would you like to wait in his office?"
"Yes, please. Thank you."
Gaining entry to the Head of Security's office was a seamless affair. Normally, visiting the office of another department head—one of the five pillars of the organization—demanded a rigorous security screening, even for a fellow chief. But that rule did not apply to the two of them.
Since the Intelligence and Security departments collaborated so frequently, this exception had been established to avoid wasting time. For instance, when she had summoned the Head of Security to her office before his East Asian trip, there had been no extra security measures either.
Waiting alone in the empty room, Delis fidgeted with her fingers before rummaging through the cupboard, feeling a sudden urge to make herself useful. Black tea is out since he needs to sleep soon... Maybe I should just warm up some milk?
As she busied herself moving around the office and setting the table, she suddenly felt a presence behind her.
"Ah, you're back?"
"It seems I kept you waiting."
"No, I'm the one who dropped in unannounced without an appointment."
Pavel looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. Indeed, just like Lady Yerina, he would need to sleep soon to adjust to the jet lag. It would be inconvenient for both of them if she held him up for too long.
"I went to get some exercise. I couldn't do it on the plane, so I had to get it done before turning in."
"How diligent. I came by to keep you company before you sleep, if you have some time?"
She asked with a fluttering heart, anxious that he might turn her away. Fortunately, his response was not what she feared.
"It is fine. By the way, is this... for me?"
"Yes. I knew you had to sleep soon, so I purposely avoided tea or coffee."
"Thank you, Bloomfeld. I will enjoy it."
A wave of relief washed over her. She felt herself smiling the same smile Lady Yerina had shown her in her office.
"..."
Although she had come to keep him company, she hadn't decided on anything specific to say. After all, her coming here had been a highly impulsive decision, born of a vague desire to talk face-to-face after so long.
"So, what did you come to talk about?"
"Umm..."
"Bloomfeld?"
If she kept quiet any longer, the atmosphere would turn awkward. It was better to tell the truth.
"It's nothing, really. I just wanted to see your face after so long. Actually... I came without much thought."
Sometimes, the truth can be a weapon. She only hoped this was one of those times.
"A very honest reason."
Pavel drank the milk in the glass in one gulp and stood up. Then—click—he locked the office door.
"Pavel...?"
"It seems our conversation might go on a bit. After all, there's no need to let others see us, like last time."
Ah, he was talking about that time. It was a perfectly normal situation where he was putting a necklace on her, but the atmosphere had been so charged that it was bound to be misunderstood. Delis fingered the necklace's centerpiece and trailed off.
"I think Lady Yerina is asleep, though..."
"Not just the young lady, but anyone else." Pavel said, walking slowly back to the center of the office where the sofa and table were.
That was true. Delis, whose eyes had naturally followed the man's steps, suddenly snapped her gaze away. It was the direction she had headed earlier to get tea leaves—though she had given up due to the caffeine and grabbed milk from the fridge instead. But Pavel was heading neither to the cupboard nor the fridge, but to the wine cellar next to them.
"It seems we might need a bit of help from this to be truly honest with each other."
"Huh...?"
True to its name, the wine cellar was filled with wine. As far as Delis knew, Pavel hadn't bought them himself; they were bottles Lady Yerina had dumped on him because she didn't want to store them. The bottles inside were wines Yerina had received as tribute from various places.
"This is something I received when I returned from the Paris branch manager last time. Originally, the young lady received it... but she gave it to me, saying she doesn't drink."
"Ah, she doesn't really like it, does she?"
Almost none of the executives were unaware of what happened to Lady Yerina after a single pint of Guinness in Northern Ireland. However, this knowledge was limited to the executives in the UK. The Paris branch manager had prepared the gift beforehand without knowing this, so she had simply accepted it. It wasn't always wise to reject gifts from subordinates, much like how ancient China under the Sinocentric order couldn't refuse tributes from vassal states.
Pavel smoothly took two wine glasses from the cupboard and placed them on the table. All of this happened in the blink of an eye. Before she knew it, a wine glass with a splash of red wine was placed in front of Delis. The glass with a little milk left in it offered a stark contrast.
"They say it's a French Bordeaux. I don't know much about it, but the Paris branch manager bragged about it so much that I ended up learning."
Delis nodded vaguely. She didn't know much about wine either, though she remembered hearing the name. She had often seen her father enjoying beer after work. Of course, she was too young to drink with him back then... Ah, no. Thinking of her father brought a sudden wave of melancholy. She shook her head to dispel the thought.
...Right, she wasn't alone. The man sitting in front of her pulled her sinking heart back to reality. What would he think of a woman who nodded to herself and then shook her head? She hoped he didn't think she was crazy.
"Bloomfeld, are you alright? You don't look well."
Though he looked like the epitome of bluntness on the outside, he was actually quite warm-hearted.
"No, I think it's just because of the heavy workload. Tomorrow is a holiday, so I'll be fine."
If he weren't, he wouldn't have cared for her so subtly. He was someone she was truly glad to have met. Well, in many ways.
Without overthinking, she took a long sip. A bitter taste mixed with acidity, yet with a subtle hint of fruitiness. She set the glass down and stole a glance at him, wondering if Pavel would look at her strangely.
"I have a rough idea of where today's conversation is headed... but I should ask first. Is it alright if I dig into your past today?"
"I knew it... You knew."
"It's just a piecemeal deduction. Of course, the final puzzle piece must be handed over by you, Bloomfeld."
Yes, there was no way he wouldn't know. The words she had mumbled while half-asleep in his arms had been quite telling, and she had left several clues for him to notice since then. Delis let out a small sigh and asked, "...Does Lady Yerina know too?"
"She knows."
"That's a bit of an ambiguous answer."
"She knows, but she seems to think it's something you must resolve yourself. It's best to minimize external interference as much as possible."
That was true. She had already received an unpayable debt of gratitude from Lady Yerina in advance. After all, whose help had allowed her to squeeze the heart of Victor Malenkov, the hitman who had run over her father? It was unreasonable to ask for any more help than this.
Delis's eyes curved slightly. A curve filled with an emotion that was hard to distinguish between relief and a self-deprecating chuckle.
"Is that so? Then what about you? If non-intervention is the correct path, then this past is solely mine to bear."
Pavel answered without hesitation.
"Because it seems you need my help. Besides, for some reason, Bloomfeld, you don't seem to think of me as an outsider."
Before she knew it, her glass was filled to the brim with the same liquid. Just as she had told Pavel a half-truth earlier, tomorrow was a holiday. Wouldn't it be fine to drink as if she were going to empty the bottle? She took another gulp of the red liquid and asked back, "Me? Your help?"
Her voice was slightly louder than before. Was it because of the embarrassment of having her twisted affection, which she wanted to hide, exposed?
"Yes."
An immediate answer that left no room for doubt. He was so full of conviction.
Just as Lady Yerina and Pavel trusted her information analysis skills, she trusted Pavel's intuition. So if the man in front of her said so, then it was so. Delis took a quick breath. A very brief breath. It had only been two glasses, but her breath already carried a faint scent of alcohol. She wondered if her flushed cheeks were visible to Pavel.
"You're right. It seems I do need your help. Will you help me?"
When she had wandered aimlessly to his office, she had no purpose, but now a clear purpose had formed. She couldn't hide it forever. Especially since he was family, someone who should be closer than anyone else. Having hidden it for over ten years since realizing her awkward adolescence, it had been a very long time. Perhaps the story she was about to tell would be close to a confession.
"As much as you need. If you want to stop, or if it's too hard to go further, just say so at any time."
"Why, will you stop for me then?"
"Of course. After all, this is for your sake."
Once again, he had noticed. Thanks to his unique intuition, he seemed to know exactly that she was still hesitating. His blunt yet subtly caring nature hadn't gone anywhere. Did he really not know the deeper emotion underlying all of this? Or was he just pretending not to know? Whatever it was, it would end before the clock struck midnight.
He must be tired himself after a flight of over ten hours and then exercising, yet he was humoring her childish and impulsive complaints. It was almost like a daughter throwing a tantrum to her father. When she thought about who she was projecting onto whom, even this felt like an appetizer that stirred up guilt.
The birthday of the saint who washed away humanity's original sin was fast approaching. In the midst of this, what she had to confess was how she thought of her old family, and how she thought of her new family. The growing guilt bloomed into a sense of transgression. The gentle intoxication turned that transgression into pleasure and ecstasy. Thus, with a heated breath, she uttered her first words. For there could be no more fitting topic for a quiet chat on an Eve at the end of the century.