Where the Heart Chooses

by Tinnean

  I could taste myself on her lips. Open-mouthed, she absorbed my gasps and moans.

  We staggered back to the bedroom and tumbled down onto the bed to make love again.

  Finally, between kisses, we fell asleep.

  I woke to Folana trailing her fingertips over the indentation of my waist, up to the curve of my breast. My nipples peaked, and her soft sound of pleasure echoed mine. She dragged her tongue across first one, then the other, and blew a warm puff of breath over each of them.

  “I never dreamed it could be like that.”

  I stroked her black hair. “Now you just need to find a man who will help you realize how good it can be between a man and a woman.”

  “Why?” She sounded shocked.

  “Why limit yourself? The realm of sensuality should be boundless.”

  “Would you be jealous, Portia?”

  “Would you want me to be?”

  She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “I’m…I’m terribly fond of you, you know, but I don’t love you. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I was glad she wasn’t in love with me. I would have hated myself if she were, especially since nothing could ever come of it. She had the Complex and the work she did for Sir Joseph, and I…I had what was expected of me.

  “I’ve heard about Sebrings.”

  “What have you heard?” I stroked my fingertips over her high cheekbones.

  “You only love once.”

  “That’s a fairy story.”

  “Is it?”

  “What are you asking, Folana?”

  “Do you…Am I…”

  The light was fading, and I sighed. “I’d better get dressed.”

  “I imagine that’s answer enough.”

  “I’m sorry.” My purse was on the dresser. I rolled off the bed and crossed to it, aware of her eyes on my nude body.

  “Don’t be.” She echoed my words of just moments earlier. “I’d like to think of you as my friend. I…don’t have many.”

  “I’d like that.” I held the red pack of Pall Malls toward her. “Cigarette?”

  “No, thanks. I prefer Gauloises.” The shoulder bag she seemed to favor was beside my purse. I tossed it to her, and she caught it in midair. “You could have looked in my bag for them.”

  “That would be the height of rudeness, sweet girl.” I put my Pall Mall between my lips and lit it, then returned to the bed.

  Folana was just taking her French cigarette out of the gold case. “A gift from Sir Joseph,” she said softly when she saw me staring at the case. It was very ostentatious.

  I stopped her from reaching for a book of matches. Before I’d gone to The Best of Times, I’d found a little antique shop and purchased a small token for her to remember me by. Perhaps I should have gotten her a cigarette lighter as a farewell gift. Perhaps another time…

  I tipped my head toward hers, cupped my hand around the strong fingers that had worked such magic on my body, and lit her cigarette with the glowing end of mine. The smoke we exhaled simultaneously intermingled and then dissipated.

  “It’s getting late, and Lady Portia will worry.”

  “And no doubt you need to finish packing.”

  “Mmm,” I murmured noncommittally. I drew in another lungful of smoke and swallowed it, letting it dribbled out through my nostrils. All my packing was done. I left nothing to the last minute.

  “What will you do?”

  “Once I get home?” I plucked a flake of tobacco from my tongue and looked around. “Ashtray?”

  She laughed again. “In the top drawer. That’s where Bart keeps it. There isn’t much room for anything, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  Sure enough, a battered metal ashtray, souvenir of some seaside resort, was in the drawer, beside plain white undershirts and underpants. The ashtray was spotlessly clean, and I wondered briefly whose doing that was. According to Folana, not the housekeeper’s.

  I took it out and crushed the cigarette in it, and handed it to…to my friend. For while what we’d shared was precious, I knew it would never go any further than this.

  “Are you not going to answer me now, Portia?” She tapped the ash into the ashtray and brought the cigarette back to her lips.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, gave her a slight grin, and began to roll on my stockings. “Once I get home, no doubt I will eventually find someone suitable to marry.”

  “Suitable to whom?”

  My family? My country? Me? I shrugged. There was that legend passed down through generations of Sebrings, of the men and women of my line loving once and only once. I’d enjoyed hearing those lovely fairy tales when I was a girl, but I was a woman now, and I knew that lovely fairy tales were all they were.

  For a brief moment I thought of Tidewater, the prestigious all-girl preparatory school the women in my mother’s family attended, and the young man I’d dated my last year there. Jason was good looking and smart, his touch was gentle, and his breath was sweet when we kissed. We were considering becoming engaged to be engaged after I graduated Tidewater—Father would never permit me to marry any sooner than after I’d earned my degree—until he was awarded a Rhodes scholarship. He promised to write, and at first he did, but then his letters became fewer and fewer until the last, informing me he’d met someone new.

  I’d considered the possibility that he might be the one, but on reading that last letter, all I’d felt was the mildest of regrets, and when Tau Zeta Epsilon invited me to tea my second semester at Wellesley, I did so heart whole.

  Cressida St. James turned out to be a lovely young woman—I met her and Jason at a ball a few weeks after I’d arrived in London—and I bore neither of them any ill will.

  Folana blew out a stream of smoke. “Will you tell him about us?”

  “Perhaps.” I made sure the seams of my stockings were straight. “Men seem to be aroused by the idea of two women together. Oh, I won’t mention you by name, never fear.”

  “I don’t fear, oddly enough. I have to thank you for that.” She reached for the sky-blue tap pants and pulled them on over her long legs. I watched, wishing there was time to strip them off and take her back to bed. “I think Sebrings are very good at keeping secrets.”

  I shrugged again and slid my arms into the sleeves of my sweater, and tugged it down over my head.

  “You hair’s gotten untidy. Let me plait it for you.” Folana took a brush from her bag and set to work on my hair. Once it was smooth and untangled, she separated it into three lengths.

  “You do that very well.” I closed my eyes, relishing the feel of her fingers in my hair.

  “I learned how when I was a goat-herd.” She left it at that, and I didn’t pursue it.

  I heard the door to the flat open, and someone entered, whistling a jaunty tune. There was a pause, and then a male voice sang out, “Oi, you lot decent in there?”

  “Yes, Bart. Sounds like he got lucky.” She didn’t seem at all jealous.

  “Damn. Want me to fry you and your friend a chop, Duchess?”

  “No!” Folana turned to me, merriment in her eyes. “Bart could burn water!” She grew serious. “He and I are leaving tonight.”

  “Back to Tangier?”

  “Yes.”

  Tangier, not Crete, where she was reputed to have family. Folana had no family. I stood up, stepped into my skirt, and pulled it up over my hips.

  “I have something for you. I’d planned on giving you this after our tea, but you distracted me.”

  “You expected to see me before this evening?”

  “No, I was going to send it to your flat.” I reached into my purse, took out a small jeweler’s box, and handed it to her.

  “I have nothing to give you.”

  “On the contrary. You’ve given me an afternoon filled with the most exquisite passion.”

  Folana pressed the catch, and the lid snapped up to reveal the jeweled brooch. She removed it from the box. “Violets.”

  Three flowers, each with five flaw
less amethysts for petals. The leaves and stems were formed from emeralds.

  I smiled regretfully, thinking of the lovely flowers in Lady Portia’s conservatory. “I wanted to give you the real thing, but they would only have lasted a few days.” I took it from her and pinned it to her breast. “I don’t think we’ll see much of each other, Folana.” I drew her head down to mine and kissed her. “And I’m sorry for that. I think…”

  “You think too much, Portia. What you’ve given me…Oh, not just this very pretty brooch,” when she saw my puzzlement.

  “Then what?”

  “The knowledge that two people can find each other in this mad business…”

  “I beg your pardon? I’m a civilian in these matters.”

  “Of course you are.” She smiled and brought my palm to her mouth, and then folded my fingers over the brief caress, as if to insure I never lost it. So fanciful of me. “I promise you this: if you ever have need of me, contact Sir Joseph. He knows how to get in touch with me.”

  Yes, he would, wouldn’t he?

  I couldn’t promise her the same. When it came down to it, Folana Fournaise answered to no one but herself. I didn’t have that freedom.

  I gathered up my purse and we walked out of the bedroom. “Take care, Portia.”

  “Istenhozzád, Folana. Farewell.”

  I gathered up my jacket and the parcel from The Best of Times, and left her there in Bart Freeman’s flat, while smoke curled in the kitchen from the chop that burned, and he watched in affronted impotence.

  Her laughter followed me out the door.

  Late the next morning I flew back to the States.

  * * * *

  Chapter 3

  A tall, dark-haired man carrying a briefcase approached me in the first class passengers’ lounge. “Miss Sebring? I’m Bradford.”

  “How do you do?” I held out my hand. “Thank you for offering to accompany me home.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” His grip was firm but not painful. “I have some work I’ll need to catch up on, so I hope you won’t mind. I picked up some magazines for you to read on the flight.” Vogue, Mademoiselle, and Ladies Home Journal, as well as True Confessions and Modern Screen.

  “That’s very kind of you.” I sighed and thought of the Anna Karenina I’d planned to read in the original Russian.

  “Not at all, not at all.”

  Once we had boarded and fastened our seatbelts, he took a file from his briefcase and buried his nose in it. He only set it aside when the stewardess wheeled the cart with our dinners on it down the aisle.

  It was 4:47 P.M. when our flight landed at Friendship International. The country was still on Standard Time, and the sun had already set.

  Bradford escorted me to baggage claim and remained with me until Tony arrived.

  “Sorry for the delay,” he said. “Miserable traffic this time of day. Thank you, Bradford.” Tony shook his hand.

  Was Bradford going to get a commendation for seeing I made it across the Atlantic in one piece?

  “You’re welcome, Sebring. Miss Sebring, it was a pleasure. I’ll just be going now.” He smiled, although it never reached his eyes, and then nodded and hurried out of the terminal.

  I had no doubt I’d never see him again, and so I dismissed him, instead studying my oldest brother carefully.

  “You look tired, Tony.”

  “So do you. Only you’ve the excuse of enjoying the London nightlife.”

  “Mmm.” It was as good an excuse as any. I pointed out my luggage to a skycap, and he stacked them on his cart.

  “Did you buy out London?” Tony asked dryly.

  “I’ll have you know that this is only one trunk more than I left with!”

  “Considering all your other luggage were suitcases?” He laughed and shook his head. “The car is just over there.”

  He took my arm, and we walked to his El Dorado, our conversation remaining desultory while there was a possibility of being overheard.

  “How are the parents?”

  “Doing well. Looking forward to their anniversary. They’re expecting us at the house in Chevy Chase.” A small pied à terre Father kept for those times when he was working at State. “How was London?”

  “Its usual self, although you’ll be interested to know that the British Museum has lost its charm.”

  “Ah.” Tony bit his lip to keep from laughing and turned to the skycap. “This is the car.”

  Once my luggage had been piled into the trunk and back seat of the Cadillac, he tipped the skycap. The man looked at the bills in his palm, a broad smile on his dark face, and he touched his cap and strutted back to the terminal, whistling what sounded like a Fats Domino song.

  My brother opened the passenger door for me and waited until I had settled myself on the wine-red leather of the front seat. I crooked my finger, and he leaned down as if to assure himself of my comfort.

  “I wasn’t being flippant,” I murmured. “You do look tired. Are you all right?”

  “Damn Commies. I’ll tell you once we’re on the road.” He got behind the wheel and lit a cigarette, then started the car, switched on the running lights, and drove out of the airport.

  Tony had the radio set for a classical station, and I closed my eyes and let Borodin’s “String Quartet in D” wash over me. I knew he would tell me whatever I needed to know whenever he was ready.

  After a few minutes, he said, “I know you intended to return to school for your master’s degree. I’m afraid that will have to be put on hold.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know the Hungarian Revolution failed.”

  “That’s yesterday’s news, Tony.” The Revolution had been over for at least three months.

  “Yes, well, there’s been a lot of chatter between Moscow and the puppet government the Soviets established in Budapest.”

  I glanced at him sharply. Is that what’s been keeping you up nights, big brother? Because it was easy to see that if something was disturbing him, it wasn’t a romantic liaison gone awry. “I imagine they’re doing this in code?”

  “The NSA is—” His head whipped around to stare at me as what I said sank in. “Have you heard of the Venona Project?”

  “Should I have?”

  “No. It’s classified.”

  “Then obviously I haven’t. And please keep your eyes on the road. I’ve spent the past nine months in England, which you know, and it feels as if you’re driving on the wrong side.”

  He laughed, and, as I’d hoped, relaxed, but not for long.

  “I need as many people as I can find who are fluent in Russian.”

  “Is that all that difficult?”

  “Two words, little sister—security clearance.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “I hope so. Father’s seen to it that you have that level of clearance, Portia. I need you to join us.”

  “So this is why he wanted me home?”

  “Yes. Do you mind?”

  “You’re joking, aren’t you? Tony, I’m flattered that you can use my expertise!”

  “No, I mean do you mind that you had to curtail your visit?”

  “Of course I don’t! This is important!” But I thought of Folana Fournaise, and the brief time we’d had together, and I gazed out the window, seeing only my own reflection.

  * * * *

  The entire family was there to welcome me, even Jefferson.

  “I thought you were still in England.” I noticed his gait seemed a bit stiff, and I arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Father sent for me.” He ignored my raised eyebrow and kissed my cheek. “I was able to get a flight out early last evening.”

  “I imagine someone was very disappointed,” I murmured.

  He grinned and shrugged. “‘Someone’ was extremely grateful for the time we had together. Unfortunately, ‘someone’ had to leave last night also.”

  “Hmm.”

  Bryan looked from Jefferson to me, and then studied Jefferson more closely. He s
miled. “Strained a muscle, Jeff? I know a good masseuse.”

  Bryan was the quiet one of the brothers, speaking only after he’d weighed all the factors, taken everything into consideration, examined it from every angle. His position as analyst in the CIA suited him down to the ground.

  “Thanks, Bry. I might just take you up on that.” Jefferson’s grin was rakish.

  “Your love life will have to take a back seat, Jefferson,” Father interrupted. “We need to bring Portia up to speed on this project. Mary?” He addressed Mother.

  “You have about an hour and a half before dinner, Anthony.” Which would be at eight, as usual. “I’ll have a tray of hors d’oeuvres brought in to your study.” Beyond the entertaining required by Father’s position, Mother chose not to be involved in his work.

  “Thank you, my dear. All right, children. Let’s retire to my study.” Once the door was closed, he poured us each a glass of sherry. “Has Anthony told you about the Venona Project?”

  “He touched on it briefly. I’d help decipher the Russian codes?”

  “Yes. You’ll be staying with him, rather than driving back and forth. I’ve convinced your mother that’s the safest thing.”

  There was a tap on the door, and Plum, the young man who was in training to replace his father as our butler, entered. “The hors d’oeuvres, sir.”

  “Thank you, Plum.”

  I took a piece of cheese and popped it in my mouth. “I don’t get my own apartment?” I asked after Plum left.

  “You stay with me, Portia.”

  “But Tony, suppose you want to entertain a lady friend?” I opened my eyes wide, unable to resist teasing him. “Overnight?”

  “I take my dates to dinner and a show. I do not do overnight entertaining in my apartment.”

  “Well, suppose I—”

  “I don’t want to hear about my baby sister entertaining a man overnight.” He scowled at the other three, who were laughing. “Don’t encourage her! You aren’t the ones who’ll be there worrying!”

  “Ah, you’re such a good brother, Tony.” I put my arms around his waist and rested my head against his chest. “I’ll behave. Aren’t I a Sebring?”