At least if she wanted to pretend she didn’t know they were from him. Though she must.
A knock sounded on the door, and Drake was able to get to it in almost normal time. He opened it with a smile for Red, who was positively beaming back.
“I’ve found a position!”
“Come in.” Drake stepped back and motioned his friend in. “That’s wonderful news. Where?”
“The prosthetics factory—the one owned by Lord Whitby and his daughter, that Miss De Wilde gave me the card for. I had my interview this morning, and they’ve offered me a position. A good one. I’ll be helping develop new devices, with room to advance. I could be a manager someday, they said, if it all pans out.” He sank to a seat with a look of blissful awe on his face. “They even advanced me my first pay. Can you believe it?”
“Of course I can.” Grinning, Drake settled on the couch he’d not had to resort to lying on at all yet today. “I told you, Red. Circumstances change. You’ll be the perfect man for that job, and kudos to them for realizing it.”
And to Margot for having mentioned him to Lord Whitby. And to Red himself for following up on it when other men would have been too proud to chase a lead they hadn’t found for themselves.
He only let his gaze slide once to the window, outside of which no man in a grey overcoat was waiting to be followed.
And he wouldn’t be followed now, even if he came back. Not by Red, at least. “When do you begin work?”
“Monday. I can’t stay long—I need to find some clothes. The suit De Wilde gave me won’t work for business, I suppose. I’ll need something appropriate for daytime. Brown, perhaps, or grey. The advance will cover it. They were quite generous.”
He’d borrowed a suit from Lukas De Wilde? For Margot’s birthday dinner, Drake assumed. Which must have been her doing. And she must have done it subtly, because Dot hadn’t said anything, and it was the sort of thing she would have mentioned, solely as praise for her friend.
Praise she deserved. She hadn’t even known Red then—but she’d gone out of her way to be kind. To help him.
Did she realize she had such a soft heart under that barricade of mathematics? Or perhaps for her it was mathematics. One man in need combined with one man with plenty equaled a fine solution.
“I can’t quite believe it.” Red scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’d almost begun to think . . . but this changes everything. Everything.”
“I’m so glad for you, Red.” And more than a little relieved. He still wasn’t sure where his friend had been living, or if he managed to purchase any meals aside from the ones he shared with them here. “You’re still joining us tonight, aren’t you? You certainly should. We can celebrate.” They’d all agreed last time that they’d make it a habit—the four of them, sharing a meal of an evening. It would guarantee Red got one, that Margot didn’t have to take hers alone, and that Dot and Drake had some extra company to keep from annoying each other.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Though I’d better go and do that shopping now. I had to come by straightaway, though, to tell you. Do you need anything while I’m out?”
“Just a letter to post, if you would.” He nodded toward it and stood. “And actually, if you’re going to be dropping by a haberdasher, I could use a new hat. Fedora, size seven and a quarter.”
Red quirked a brow. “Planning another jaunt out of doors, are you?”
Drake smirked back. “Well, I’m not going to be staying inside forever. The goal’s to get out and about, after all.”
“Were it up to your physician alone, you’d still be in hospital.”
“Yes, well. Thank the Lord for Admiral Hall and his powers of persuasion.” He sidled over to the money tin and drew out two pound notes. “This ought to be enough, I’d think. Though if not—”
“If not, then I’ll cover it and you can reimburse me later.” The words were casual, but Red’s tone was elated. “Color?”
“Grey or black. Use your judgment.”
“Until this evening, then. Cheerio.”
He left with every bit as much enthusiasm as he’d entered, leaving Drake to smile and shake his head at the empty-again flat.
Having had enough of pacing for a while, he settled at the table to finish today’s stack of intelligence review before the quiet was interrupted by Dot and Margot bustling in to start the meal.
Something more to make him smile.
He’d found a routine for the work. Reading through each telegram, each diplomatic report, with a pencil always in hand. He’d underline anything that struck him as important, note it on a separate paper, and then mark each paper with a few words at the top to sum them up, in case they needed to be referenced later.
Not exactly like being out in the field, finding the HUMINT to prove or disprove the SIGINT. But he at least knew he was being useful. And it kept him busy, which certainly improved his disposition.
Soon enough the clock struck the hour that was his signal to finish for the day. He gathered all the papers together and slid them into the folder for Dot to take back to the OB tomorrow. He then went and tidied himself a bit, caught between wishing for the wardrobe still in Spain and glad he didn’t have the choices to worry over. It wasn’t as though Margot were the type to really care about whether his jacket was single- or double-breasted anyway.
Still. He knew he looked sharper in the suits Abuelo had provided than he did in these—the ones he’d left in London for when he visited. At some point he’d have to fetch his uniform from the flat where he’d stored it, but he couldn’t exactly get across the city easily just now, and Hall hadn’t mentioned it.
He emerged from his room a few minutes later and didn’t even have the chance to consider how to fill the time before he heard the key in the lock and laughter outside it. Dot and Margot. His pulse sped accordingly.
She followed his sister through the door, still smiling. And directing it at him. “Hello, Drake.”
A smile. That was all. A hello. Simple things. But they felt far from simple, and his speeding pulse went bumpy. “Evening, ladies. May I help with anything?” Now that he could spend a bit of time on his feet, he wouldn’t mind helping his sister with meals in general.
But she always waved him away, as she did now. “Just be ready to answer the door when Red arrives. And keep us company, of course. After you put away the work DID sent home for you.”
Dot’s hands weren’t shaking—sometimes they were, if Margot didn’t walk home with her to keep her distracted. Sometimes she had to take a few minutes in her room, to take some deep breaths and just be out of the out-there. But tonight she was smiling and seemed at ease. It didn’t look like a front.
Though he’d make sure. “Can I at least get anything out for you while you relax for a moment and catch your breath?”
She knew what he was doing, of course, giving her an opening to excuse herself. Hence why her smile was soft. “I’m fine. We slipped out right on time, and I’ve been looking forward to this.”
He took the new packet of work and put it with the completed bundle and then took Dot’s coat from her and held out a hand for Margot’s. She held his gaze, those dark eyes intent. She apparently understood too. Of course she would. Dot hadn’t tried to hide her difficulties from this new friend. She shrugged out of her coat and held it out to him. “Thank you.”
“Certainly.” The way she held the coat, he couldn’t manage a brush of her hands. But if he positioned himself right when she left, he could help her back into it. Maybe let his hands rest for just a second on her shoulders.
Knowing well that his smile probably revealed the nature of his thoughts, if she cared to decipher them, he turned toward the coatrack.
When he turned back, it was with a question on his tongue. “So what frustrated you two today?”
Margot paused mid-reach for a pot, brows lifted. “Do we look frustrated?”
“Not at all.” He smiled and leaned against the table edge. “But there’s always something
.”
“The ribbon on my typewriter broke.” Dot, never too shocked by anything he asked, pulled the flour canister forward. “And it was brand-new too. What about you, brother of mine?”
“Hm. Well, the neighbor above us kept playing that same phonograph record over and over, at top volume. I was about to tell Alexander that his ragtime band was sacked.”
Dot laughed. And looked to Margot. “What about you, Margot?”
She had such an interesting way of moving. Not fluid and graceful like a young lady who had studied the social arts, but rather each move was brisk, efficient. As if she calculated the most effectual order of movements and performed them accordingly as she did the simple tasks of meal preparation. A striking contrast to Dot, who paused in the center of the kitchen area even now and spun in a circle, obviously trying to remember what she’d been about to do next.
Margot set the small saucepan onto the stove. “Well, we added two more telegrams to our unbreakable stack—more and more keep coming in that are encrypted in a code we’ve yet to break. I’m sure we could crack it if we had time and examples enough, but we don’t.” She pursed her lips a bit at that last part.
Drake smiled. “Does it bother you to have unbroken codes?”
“It makes me itchy.” She wriggled a bit in demonstration, as if she had an itch there between her shoulders, in the most difficult spot for one to reach on one’s own back.
A chuckle joined his smile. “Why not do it on your own, then? In your own time, I mean?”
Margot was already reaching for the sack of potatoes and selecting a few. “I’m not certain we’ve enough to work with. And besides, DID hasn’t given me permission to take them home. I offered, but he insists that a bit of free time is necessary for one’s mental health and ought not to be filled with the same sort of work that employs one’s days.”
That did indeed sound like something Hall would say. He demanded the best from his people, but he was also always cognizant of their need for time away from the office. “At what point does it become critical enough to demand attention during working hours?”
“Soon, I should think.” Margot carried her potatoes to the sink. “If the codebook isn’t recovered from a U-boat or zeppelin before long, anyway. That’s of course the fastest way to solve the problem, if we can get our lads to the wreckage before the Germans.”
“Is Hall still offering prizes to anyone who recovers something useful?”
She grinned. Directed at the potatoes, but still. “Much to his superiors’ dismay, yes.”
“Then I imagine if there’s a codebook to be found, you’ll have it.” He pushed off the table and joined them in the kitchen. “I can peel those for you.”
Dot sighed. “Drake, just go and sit down. It isn’t big enough in here for all three of us.”
“I’m not going to sit there being useless while there’s something I can do.” In proof, he nudged his sister out of the way—perhaps with a bit of exaggerated force just to earn her frustrated grunt—and reached for the paring knife.
She grumbled a bit but eventually moved off to pull from the icebox the cut of beef she’d bought yesterday.
Margot fetched a second knife and joined him at the potatoes.
He worked to keep his smile at a minimum. It was nice though, working side by side with her. Even doing something as mundane as peeling potatoes—a task their cook had set him to countless times when he was a boy, always at her elbow trying to beg a biscuit or snack and asking “too many infernal questions.” When their business was back up and running smoothly, he’d probably be able to hire a cook again. When he married, his wife wouldn’t have to prepare their meals herself, unless she wanted to. But this was nice. He wouldn’t mind repeating it day in and day out for the next five decades or so.
If this young lady beside him could be convinced to give him a chance. Would she mention the letters tonight? Probably not. But she also wasn’t avoiding him, so she must not mind them.
Perhaps not minding could become enjoying. And enjoying could become looking forward to. And then if ever he stopped, she’d miss them. Miss him.
“Have you heard from Red yet about his interview?” Dot asked from the other side of the kitchen.
Drake skated his knife down the side of the potato, careful not to waste any of the meat. Cook would always give him a mostly playful cuff if he wasted anything, even in prosperous times. “He stopped by, yes, in quite a jovial mood. I’ll let him tell you the details though.”
“So then it went well?” She rooted around in the cupboard for something or another. “Oh, I’m so glad!”
“I imagined you would be.” Laughter seeped into his tone, he knew. And he didn’t exactly try to stop it. “Perhaps now you two will make the courtship official instead of pretending you don’t know what I’m teasing you about.”
Something hit the back of his head and then fell to the floor. A dish towel, he saw with a chuckle. And noted that the childish response had Margot biting back a grin.
“I wish you’d just stop the teasing.” But his sister didn’t exactly sound put out. “We’ve only just got reacquainted, and when we knew each other before, there was Nelson.”
“Yes. But isn’t that in part what creates a bond between you now? That he meant so much to both of you?”
When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw a soft smile on Dot’s face. “It is. We can reminisce together . . . and yet somehow, it isn’t awkward. We can remember, but his ghost isn’t there between us.”
His first potato finished, Drake reached for the next. “Where do you see yourself when the war’s over? I know Nelson had intended to move to the country. Is that what you want?”
“No. It was never really what I wanted. London is home, you know that.” She hummed a bit, no doubt tilting her head in that way she always did when really considering something, though he didn’t turn round again to see. “I think I would be happiest somewhere here in this neighborhood I’ve got to know so well. I don’t need a large house like we used to have—to be honest, I quite enjoy taking care of the place and cooking my own meals. Perhaps a bit larger than this one, eventually. If I have children.”
“When,” he corrected.
“There are no certainties. I know that very well. I’d rather given up the idea of a husband and family—there are too few of our generation left, and I certainly don’t intend to go out in search of the ones remaining.”
“But now?”
“Well. We’ll see, won’t we?”
Her smile was audible. Drake sneaked a glance at Margot to see what she thought of the conversation, but she looked intent on her potatoes now. He already knew she didn’t particularly want a husband and family. But what did she think of Dot’s wanting them?
She would look at it academically, he imagined. If it would make Dot happy, then she would consider it the thing Dot ought to pursue. If not, then not. “What about you, Margot? At which university would you most like to teach someday?”
She looked up at him, surprise in her expression. She didn’t answer, but just stared.
He lifted a brow. “Why are you so shocked by the question?”
“Because no one ever credits my goals as viable. Certainly no one ever thinks I’d have a choice in a university.” She hesitated, looked about to say something else.
His gaze moved to her eyes, tangled there in hers. She was probing, trying to discern if he really believed in her dreams or if he was only asking to placate her. To make her think he did, to win her over, before beginning a campaign for her to be content with the normal role of a wife.
He couldn’t blame her for the probing. Frankly, he wasn’t quite sure himself where he stood. He’d always imagined himself married to a woman who fit the mold his mother had set forth—to raise their family, to be there when he got home of an evening, to be the pillar of strength behind him while he went out into the world to support them.
There was nothing wrong with that image. His mother had t
hrived in the role, as Dot would do. But it was what they wanted. Not so for Margot.
And he couldn’t quite imagine anyone else in that traditional place by his side, not now that he’d met her. He didn’t know what marriage to her would look like. Didn’t even know if she’d agree to it anytime soon, whether she came to care for him or not. But one thing he grew more certain of with every conversation they had.
She was worth waiting for. Worth seeking hour by hour, day by day, month by month. Year by year. Even if it took him a decade to convince her to be his, it would be worth it. And the wait would only make him appreciate her all the more.
His work in the field had taught him patience. Perseverance. Lessons he’d use now, with her.
For now, it was enough to peel potatoes by her side, if that’s all she’d grant him. He smiled and turned back to it, only glancing over at her now and then. “One thing I’ve learned about you already, Margot De Wilde—you’re a formidable force when you’ve set your mind to a thing. You’ll find a place at whatever university you want. So . . . which do you fancy?”
Her posture shifted, her shoulders easing into the relaxed posture that they’d taken on when speaking of her family. Of people or places she loved. “King’s College. Several of the cryptographers are from there—I think I’d be a good fit.”
And it was in London. Excellent. “You don’t mean to go back to Belgium?”
“To visit. But it isn’t home anymore. Assuming, of course, that I’m allowed to stay here.”
Dot laughed. “I imagine DID can pull a few strings for you, Margot.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Drake smiled into his spuds. He would count on it too.
23
I love to watch you and try to imagine the thoughts pouring through your mind. Are they ordered and calm or a whirling dervish that would mystify me? I picture them like a whirlwind, each thought a bejeweled raindrop. Beautiful storms of brilliance.
The Number of Love Page 25