“Harriet.”
“Right,” Erin said, her lips forming an amused smile. “So is it… Harriet… that’s been keeping you from me?”
Charlotte sighed. “I’ve been seeing her whenever she can get away.”
“You’ve been seeing her,” Erin repeated. “So is it serious?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte replied, setting down her mug of water. “I really don’t. I mean, it’s serious to me. But to her? I don’t know.” Erin opened her mouth to ask something but Charlotte dodged the question, turning away from her and asking, “More water?”
“No, I’m fine. But listen, lend me some clothes, will you? I got all sweaty walking over here, and then baking in your hallway really didn’t help. I’ve got somewhere to be in an hour and I can’t show up like this.”
“And you think I have something suitable?” Charlotte walked over to her trunk of clothes. She started looking through her largely androgynous shirts and wondered what on earth she had that would appeal to Erin, who dressed in a far more feminine way and was blessed with curves.
Erin approached from behind, and she gently touched her friend’s shoulder. “Do you have anything of Maggie’s still?” Charlotte immediately stiffened. Of course Erin hadn’t meant to borrow her clothes. Erin hurriedly said, “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
Charlotte quietly closed her trunk and stood up. “You don’t need to apologize. Maybe you’re right. It’s probably… it’s probably not good for me to hang onto her things anyway. The apartment is cluttered enough as it is,” she said, one corner of her mouth twitching into a weak, forced smile. “And maybe it’s time, anyway.”
“Charlie, it’s okay, really –”
“No, I don’t know why I didn’t give you her things back then, after it happened. She’d have wanted you to have them.” She pulled out a second trunk of clothes, one filled with silky and satiny clothes, dresses and skirts, delicate blouses and scarves, and a well-worn cashmere sweater. “Please, you should just take them.”
“I… I can’t right now. I’m going to a dinner,” Erin said quietly. “But maybe just a dress.”
Charlotte nodded and said, “Take what you want.” She turned away as Erin hesitatingly looked through the trunk, pulling out a simple floral-print dress.
“Is this okay?” Erin asked.
Charlotte barely looked over her shoulder to say, “Yes, of course,” before walking back to the kitchen area and refilling her mug of water.
Erin pulled her teal-colored dress over her head and quickly slipped into the floral-print dress. In wartime, a time of limited materials and expensive goods, she couldn’t turn down free clothes, even if they had belonged to her dead friend. She returned to the kitchen and tossed her sweat-soaked dress over the side of the still-broken tub. She walked over to Charlotte and squeezed her hand. “Thank you,” Erin said.
“Don’t mention it,” Charlotte said.
Erin regarded her quietly for a moment before she said, “I should get going. But let’s get together soon, okay? I want to hear more about this Harriet.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, giving her friend a quick kiss on the cheek and trying to avoid looking at her dress.
“Great,” Erin replied before saying goodbye and showing herself out.
Chapter Sixteen
The last game of the season took place on an uncharacteristically hot morning. By the second half of the game, both teams were showing signs of fatigue and their movements were becoming sloppy and imprecise. In the last ten minutes of the game, just when it looked like Paul might be able to score, he collided with a player from the other team and took a nasty fall, landing roughly on his side.
Paul growled and swore, saying something about his arm. Play had stopped and members from the two teams gathered around Paul, who stayed on the ground in a seated position.
“Charlie, give me a hand,” Paul said through gritted teeth. “I’ve dislocated my shoulder.”
Their teammates looked on, confused. Charlotte could see in their faces that they were wondering what she could possibly know about a dislocated shoulder. For those who knew anything at all about her work, they simply knew that she was a scientist in a laboratory, not a nurse or a physician.
“C’mon, mate,” Paul insisted, “I know you used to be a medic.”
Yes, she used to be a medic. She had been one briefly during the war. This information was sure to be in her file at work – the same file that Paul had perused to find out her shoe size. She also knew for a fact that she had never mentioned it to anyone present.
Charlotte calmly walked over to Paul, bending his arm to a ninety-degree angle at his chest, and rotated his arm outward until a small pop sounded. The relief showed instantly on Paul’s face. “You’ll need a sling,” she told him quietly. “And your shoulder will be sore for a little while.”
“Thanks, mate,” Paul said, getting to his feet. He looked around to his team, “Well, I guess you’ll have to finish the game with one man down.”
“Aww, forget it,” Geoff said, extending his hand to the other team’s captain. “We’ll concede. Good game.”
It was a disappointing ending to the season. They were all tired and ready for refreshments. As her teammates changed from their cleats into regular shoes, Charlotte took the opportunity to talk to Harriet, who stood alone by one of the goals, making some notes on a digipad.
“Harriet—” Charlotte began before she was quickly interrupted.
“That was impressive,” Harriet said, not looking up. “War-time medic?” she asked.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Harriet, I think we should talk – about us,” Charlotte said, glancing over her shoulder to confirm that they were out of earshot.
Harriet’s eyes snapped to Charlotte. “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up here, now,” she said.
“I know this isn’t the ideal place to have a conversation, but you’re not an easy person to get alone,” Charlotte said, holding her ground.
Harriet’s expression softened and seemed almost apologetic, but just then Geoff walked over and interrupted. “Drinks, ladies?” Charlotte gave Harriet a look that said, “See what I mean?” before agreeing to go to the Red Door.
#
“Here’s to a great effort by all,” Geoff said, lifting his mug of non-alcoholic beer. “Cheers.”
Charlotte sat with Joanna, Paul, and Harriet around a table as the other team members played darts, and they joined Geoff in raising our mugs to the toast.
After at least a half hour of talking about the game, there was a lull in the conversation. Geoff had recently returned from the restroom and Charlotte could tell by the change in his demeanor that he had taken some of his pills. He broke the silence by asking, “So isn’t that something? About the defector?”
Paul asked, “There was a defector? American or Canadian?”
“So you didn’t hear?” Geoff asked. “American. Some low-level soldier – a corporal or something, does that sound right? But he worked in military intelligence.”
“Do you really think this is an appropriate topic of conversation?” Harriet asked.
Charlotte focused on her beer, trying to keep her face unreadable. She could sense that Joanna was also uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Everyone’s talking about it. I mean, everyone. It’s not like it’s some secret.” Geoff responded. “Fine,” he said after a moment, “You’re right. Let’s talk about something else.” He looked coolly at Harriet and asked, “So, how have things been at work?”
For a reason unbeknownst to Charlotte, the atmosphere became even tenser. Harriet and Geoff held eye contact for an extended moment before Harriet smiled with her mouth only and said, “I should be going. It’s getting late.”
As Harriet got up, Paul said, “Harriet, it’s okay. You know Geoff’s just an idiot.”
“He’s dangerous, is what he is.” Harriet replied and stormed away from the table.
Charlo
tte had no idea what was going on. She looked at her teammates, who clearly understood something she didn’t, and said, “I’m going to make sure she’s okay. See you later.”
“I wouldn’t do that –” Joanna said, but Charlotte ignored her advice.
Charlotte caught up to Harriet outside the pub. Harriet was walking quickly away, her heels clicking on the pavement, and Charlotte had to jog to catch up with her. “I’d ask what that was about, but I have a feeling that you wouldn’t tell me anyway,” Charlotte said, trying to make her tone seem light.
Harriet kept walking without even glancing at her. “Clever woman.”
“So I’ll just ask instead, are you all right?” Charlotte asked, grabbing Harriet’s arm at her elbow.
Harriet turned to face her. Although she crossed her arms, the anger was fading from Harriet’s expression. She said, “Well, I know something that would make me feel better.”
“Won’t Thomas wonder?” Charlotte asked. Even though she wanted to be supportive, she couldn’t rise above her impulse to sting.
“Would you like to take me home with you or not, Charlie?” Harriet asked.
“You know I would.”
“Then let’s go,” Harriet replied, starting to walk again.
“Wait,” Charlotte said. “Just tell me something.”
“Something,” Harriet replied dryly, stopping with her hands on her hips.
Charlotte shot her a look that said she wasn’t amused. She said, “I just need to know. What is it that you do, anyway? I mean, for a job? You don’t have to tell me why Geoff’s question pissed you off, but…”
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Harriet said.
“I know that,” Charlotte said, feeling wounded by her words.
“I work in media,” Harriet said.
“I know that, too. You’ve told me as much before,” she replied.
Harriet seemed to be struggling with what to say, having some kind of internal debate. “I’m a producer for the EBC,” Harriet finally said. Charlotte, of course, knew that the EBC meant the European Broadcasting Company, which had replaced European national media agencies about a decade before.
“But I thought that was all propaganda,” Charlotte said, confused and unsure of how to reconcile that kind of work with what she knew of Harriet.
Harriet looked closed off, secretive, and asked, “Still want to take me home?”
Charlotte felt a flicker of genuine uncertainty before she held out her hand and said, “Come on, let’s go.”
Chapter Seventeen
With the windows blocked off with contact paper, Charlotte’s apartment was completely dark when the lights were turned off. Rather than calling for McGillicuddy to illuminate the small space, she had manually turned on a lamp. As she and Harriet lay together in bed, the covers strewn on the floor, the lamp’s translucent, blue glass shade cast a cool light on everything in the room and made their skin, especially Harriet’s, seem impossibly pale. Charlotte knew that she should feel closer to Harriet after the admission that Harriet worked for the EBC; after all, she had been trying to learn more about the reticent woman. But this new information and the ramifications of what it must mean were gnawing at her.
She said, “Harriet…” She knew she needed to seize the moment, that Harriet was unlikely to stay very long now that her physical needs had been met. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner about the EBC? That you work there?”
“You must be joking,” Harriet said. She sat up in bed, unselfconscious about her naked form. “What is it that you’d like to think I produce there, Charlie? Nature documentaries?”
Charlotte looked away, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and reaching for her discarded tank top. “No, of course not,” she said, pulling the shirt over her head and then putting her underwear back on.
Harriet spoke to the back of her head. “I produce the news. I decide which stories – what content – is given to the public.” Charlotte was all too familiar with the kinds of stories that passed for “news” these days – sensationalist pieces meant to keep the public afraid and compliant.
“You and a team of others, I’m sure. It’s not like it’s all up to you – they’re not all your choices,” she said, still facing away from Harriet.
“Why do you need to soften it, Charlie? Can’t you handle that I produce propaganda? That’s what you called it, after all.”
Charlotte glanced back over her shoulder. “Listen, I’m sorry –”
“Sorry you’ve gotten involved with me, is that it?” Harriet asked, her voice threatening to falter.
“No, that’s not it,” Charlotte said, finally turning to face Harriet. “I just don’t understand. I can’t reconcile how someone… someone who does what you do…” She winced at her phrasing but continued, “Could ever get involved with someone like me. And then, your books – your American books…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “I don’t know what to think, Harriet.”
She watched Harriet’s face, bracing herself for the nude woman’s response. To her surprise and further confusion, Harriet seemed less upset. In fact, she seemed oddly vulnerable, and it had nothing to do with her undressed state.
Charlotte’s mind continued to race, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. “I just can’t figure it out, Harriet. You’re telling me that you’re part of the… hell, the enemy… those who want to get rid of people like me. But our relationship, and these other things that you’ve revealed, makes me think otherwise.”
Harriet slid off the bed and pulled on her panties followed by her dress, quickly fastening the thin belt around her waist. She’d left her bra on the floor, but she now snatched it up in one hand.
“Talk to me, Harriet,” Charlotte continued. “Help me to understand. Are you the enemy? I can’t believe that you are. If you’re not the enemy, then what? Are you some kind of –” The word “rebel” died on her lips.
“I have to go,” Harriet said. She turned to leave when her eyes caught sight of the teal-colored dress draped haphazardly over the side of the tub. She held her bra up in her fingertips and said, “Why don’t you add this to your collection?” Releasing her delicate-looking bra and letting it fall back to the floor, she added, “It seems I’m not the only woman visiting you.”
Charlotte was too stunned to react – to explain that the dress belonged to Erin, a friend. Besides, Harriet was the one who was married. Before Charlotte could get a word out, Harriet had slipped her shoes on and left, the door closing with a slam behind her.
Chapter Eighteen
Charlotte felt as though a monumental shift had taken place, that she was seeing everything and everyone differently. And she was scared. Since arriving in London, the world had changed from one of peace to one of war, and she had gone from a tolerated visitor to an interloper. She had been with Maggie during this time of transition when so much of the world seemed consumed by paranoia and xenophobia, convinced that the hoarding of precious resources made more sense than international cooperation; when North America closed its doors and Europe shrank to a union of eight countries.
She had made a choice to stay with Maggie, at the sacrifice of her identity as an American. She had chosen love over politics, and she had felt safe with Maggie, protected. Her new identity as a British citizen hadn’t felt like a lie; after all, she had the legal paperwork. More importantly, Maggie knew her background, and it was only Maggie who mattered. In time, she came to trust a few others, but of those friends only Erin remained.
Now her world was changing again. It wasn’t just that Harriet knew – or rather, Harriet knew a mere part of her story and identity. She had carefully crafted a stable life for herself with a steady job, an adequate apartment, and new friends – or so she thought. This new insight into Harriet changed everything, though. Who was Harriet? Government propagandist, a modern-day Leni Riefenstahl? Or was it possible that she had gotten too close to Harriet’s truth – was she a rebel infiltrator? The way that
Harriet had reacted when she questioned her gave Charlotte hope that the latter explanation was the correct one, although that explanation seemed unlikely and came with its own set of dangerous implications.
The first half of her shift at work had passed, and she had gotten nothing done. She kept trying to study a lab report but the words and numbers passed in front of her eyes unread.
She sent two brief diginotes to Harriet; one read, “The dress was a friend’s. It’s not what you thought.” The second one asked, “Can we talk?”
She had yet to receive a response to either note. Meanwhile, her mind was busy replaying conversations from the last several months, and she had reached the conclusion that Joanna knew much more about Harriet than she had revealed.
Their middle-of-the-night lunchtime arrived but Charlotte had no appetite. She met Joanna at her locker, where Joanna was hanging up her lab coat – there were strict rules about wearing the lab coats outside – and retrieving her thermos of soup.
“Let’s take a walk tonight,” Charlotte said, her voice sharper than she intended.
“You don’t want to sit in our usual lunch spot?” Joanna asked.
“I think more clearly when I’m walking,” Charlotte responded, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her cargo pants.
“That sounds serious,” Joanna replied, closing her locker door. Her emotions were masked when she turned to look at Charlotte. Joanna added casually, “But sure, let’s walk. I know just the place to go.”
Neither of them talked for the first ten minutes or so as Joanna led them away from the building and away from their usual route toward both their homes. With the air much cooler than during the day and without the sun threatening to leave its mark on any unprotected skin, parts of the city were generally busier places at night. As they walked, though, the neighborhood changed from industrial to residential and became quiet, as most people in this neighborhood were away from home, off at work.
Charlotte listened to the echoing of their footfall off the brick buildings. On the tiny street that they walked down, the only other sound was a low hum of the streetlights. Joanna kept her voice low when she spoke, finally breaking the silence. “Am I to assume you caught up with Harriet the other night, after she left the pub?”
The Organization Page 7