“I’ll handle it,” I snapped back. “Sylvia is not important. Getting to Hanoi, that’s all that matters.” I forced my voice back to an even and calm tone. “Do you have any idea when Alexander’s going to visit Dylan next? He visits every three months, doesn’t he? Isn’t a trip coming up?”
I knew the answer but I was speaking out aloud to diffuse the tension between us. According to the information we’d gathered by monitoring the Hanoi compound, Alexander was supposed to visit in two weeks. The trip was nearing and I was no closer to broaching the topic of going with him. I was getting nervous.
“You are the operative at the scene,” Lucien said. “Not me. I don’t have any ability to track Alexander Hamilton’s movements.”
“I have to go,” I said. I didn’t want to make his guards suspicious. I needed Alexander to trust me. I couldn’t dwell on Sylvia – Dylan was the target.
***
A young woman I didn’t know was in the house when I returned. She was in the kitchen, heating up some food on the stovetop. “Andrei,” she shouted out in French as I entered. “Viens ici.”
I heard the clear note of a child’s laughter from the study. A child? What was a child doing in Alexander’s house?
“Maintenant, Andrei,” she shouted again. She noticed me for the first time. “Ah, pardon,” she exclaimed. She switched easily to English. “You must be Jenny,” she said with a friendly smile. “I’m Sasha.”
“Hey Jenny,” Alexander walked in from the living room carrying a blond infant in his hands. “Here you go, Sasha.” He set the kid down on the kitchen counter and kissed me in greeting.
“Non,” the toddler protested, holding out his arms towards Alexander. “Veux jouer.”
“Il faut manger, Andrei,” Alexander reasoned. He picked up the kid again. “Et après ca, nous allons jouer, d’accord?”
“Alexander, stop spoiling him,” she chided. “He’s bad enough as it is. Andrei, viens ici, mon petit.”
I was completely disoriented. Who was this woman who was so at home in Alexander’s kitchen? Why was the child clinging to Alexander? Were they related? Was Alexander the father? After all, I didn’t know anything about him.
“Have the two of you met?” Alexander asked. He looked from Sasha to me.
He looked adorably rumpled. His hair stood out in all directions; he had a smear of something orange on his t-shirt. Given the child, I guessed mashed carrots. My heart melted a little. It was a complete cliché, but there was something irresistible about a man who was perfectly comfortable around children.
“Is Andrei a nephew?” I asked, blatantly fishing for information.
Sasha laughed. “No, we are not related. Alexander just likes to spoil Andrei.”
It did appear to be that way. When Sasha scooped the food she’d been heating into a bowl, Alexander took it from her and fed it to Andrei, blowing on each spoonful to cool it. When Sasha decreed that it was time for a nap, Andrei clung to Alexander and refused to go to bed. “I’ll take him upstairs, Sasha,” he said. “Jenny,” I’ll just be a few minutes, I think.”
I nodded. Sasha smiled at me when they had left. “Let’s open one of Alexander’s excellent bottles of wine,” she suggested. She grabbed a bottle from the refrigerator and two glasses and gestured me into the living room. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”
“Umm, okay,” I said hesitantly. Was this where I was going to get warned to stay away from Alexander? She didn’t need to do that. I would be gone as soon as he took me to Hanoi. Most likely, in two weeks.
“Ah, non,” she protested. “You think I am jealous. No, Jenny. I am very fond of Alexander, but not in the way you are.”
“In the way I am?” I inquired aloud.
She gave me a very French shrug. “I had a man that I looked at the same way once. A man very much like Alexander.”
“Rich, good-looking and powerful?” I asked dryly. I took a sip of wine. This was a surreal conversation to be having with someone I’d just met. Contrary to the oh-la-la stereotype, every single French person I’d ever met was quite reserved. They certainly didn’t ply me with wine and spill details on their past love affairs. That only seemed to happen in Hollywood movies.
“No,” she contradicted. “A man who was broken.”
“Broken how?” I had the sense that I was hearing something important. Alexander had disclosed bits and pieces of himself in Provence but I still didn’t know enough about him. He seemed like a decent guy. Why on earth would he get mixed up with the likes of Dylan and Sylvia?
“He is consumed by guilt and pain. The memories, they haunt him. My Andrei was the same way. Again and again, he would throw himself into battle, trying to forget.” She looked sad. “He never had very much time for me. The cause always came first.”