The Unlikely Spy

She smiled and said, "No, it's just been a very long time."

 

"Well, that makes two of us. It's been a very long time since I've told a woman that she was beautiful. In fact, I can remember the last time. It was when I woke up and saw Margaret's face on the day she died. I never thought I could find another woman beautiful after that. Until I made a fool of myself by crashing into you in the blackout last night. You took my breath away, Catherine."

 

"Thank you. I can assure you the attraction was mutual."

 

"Is that why you didn't give me your telephone number?"

 

"I didn't want you to believe I was a wanton woman."

 

"Darn, I was hoping you were a wanton woman."

 

"Peter," she said, and jabbed him in the leg with her finger.

 

"Are you ever going to answer my question? Why aren't you married?"

 

Catherine stared into the fire for a moment. "I was married. My husband, Michael, was shot down over the Channel the first week of the Battle of Britain. They never were able to recover his body. I was pregnant at the time, and I lost the baby. The doctors said it was the shock of Michael's death that did it." Catherine's gaze shifted from the fire to Jordan's face. "He was handsome and brave and he was my entire world. For the longest time after his death, I never looked twice at another man. I started dating a short time ago, but nothing at all serious. And then some foolish American who wasn't using his blackout torch smashed into me on a pavement in Kensington. . . ."

 

There was a long and slightly uncomfortable moment of silence. The fire was dying. Catherine could hear the sound of a rainstorm getting up and pattering against the pavement outside the window. She realized she could stay like this for quite a while, sitting next to the fire with her brandy and this kind and gentle man. My God, Catherine, what's got into you? She tried for a moment to make herself hate him but she could not. She hoped he never did anything to threaten her, anything that would force her to kill him.

 

She made a show of looking at her wristwatch. "My goodness, look at the time," she said. "It's eleven o'clock. I've imposed on you too long. I should really be going--"

 

"What were you thinking just now?" Jordan asked, as if he had not heard a word she had just said.

 

What was she thinking? A very good question.

 

"I realize you can't talk about your work, but I'm going to ask you one question and I want you to tell me the truth."

 

"Cross my heart."

 

"You're not going to run off and get yourself killed, are you?"

 

"No, I'm not going to get myself killed. I promise."

 

She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. His lips did not respond.

 

She pulled away, thinking, Did I make a mistake? Perhaps he wasn't ready for this.

 

He said, "I'm sorry. It's just been a very long time."

 

"It's been a very long time for me too."

 

"Maybe we need to try again."

 

She smiled and kissed him again. This time his mouth responded to hers. He pulled her close to him. She enjoyed the sensation of her breasts pressing against him.

 

After a moment she drew away.

 

"If I don't leave now I don't think I ever will."

 

"I'm not sure I want you to leave."

 

She gave him a final kiss and said, "When am I going to see you again?"

 

"Will you let me take you to dinner tomorrow night--a proper dinner, that is? Somewhere we can dance."

 

"I'd love that."

 

"How about the Savoy again, around eight o'clock."

 

"That sounds perfect."

 

 

 

 

 

Catherine Blake was brought back to reality by the cold blast of rain and the sight of Pope and Dicky sitting in a parked van. At least they had not interfered. Perhaps they were content to watch from a distance for the time being.

 

The late-night traffic was light. She quickly flagged down a taxi on Brompton Road. She climbed in and asked the cabbie to take her to Victoria Station. Turning around, she saw Pope and Dicky following.

 

At Victoria she paid off the driver and went inside, melting into a crowd of passengers stepping from a late-arriving train. She glanced over her shoulder as Dicky Dobbs came running into the terminus, head wheeling from side to side.

 

Quickly, she walked out through another door, vanishing into the blackout.

 

 

 

 

 

27

 

 

BAVARIA, GERMANY: MARCH 1938

 

 

 

 

 

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