The Running Lie

by Jennifer Young

  ‘Let’s try the hotel first. Should we call your mother?’ Victor asked.

  ‘God, no. We need to have solid information first, or she’ll be on her way here.’ Max scanned the street for a taxi. ‘Dad probably won’t want to tell her at all. As long as it isn’t serious.’ It couldn’t be serious. Not Dad, not after losing George.

  Max tugged her nightgown over her head. When she packed it in London, she liked the pink floatiness of it, but compared to Catherine’s severe red dress it felt almost childish. She took the pins out of her chignon and ran her brush through the blonde waves. Catherine’s dark hair was cropped in tiny curls.

  Her eyes ached. By the time they’d gotten to the hotel, she been given a message saying that Dad had been taken to the hospital. From one of his assistants, not Mr Rawls. Despite the fact it said to stay put, she’d changed out of her ridiculous dress and rushed there. Dad had been on his way out. He’d hugged her tightly, and then told her off for ignoring his instructions. Back at the hotel again, she’d settled him into his bed. If only his face hadn’t been so pasty.

  Angina.

  She’d never heard anybody mention angina as a concern for Dad before, no matter how matter of factly he shrugged it off.

  Max washed her face and examined it in the mirror as she smoothed in moisturiser. Victor said to give John a break. And yet he acted like she didn’t exist, after two days—well an evening and a morning—of her being the most important person in the world. She lay down on the bed, and then rose to pace again. How could she have this as a life?

  Tears rose to her eyes. What had happened to Dad? What would Mother say? If he got worse and Max hadn’t rung home, Mother’s fury would be terrifying.

  Thinking about Dad at least prevented her from dwelling on Catherine… and John. Max simply refused to replay the memory her ex-fiancé Daniel with Catherine.

  Max picked up a book and read. She had to concentrate on the German text, and it helped. After an hour, she switched off the light.

  She’d barely dropped into a doze when a hand clamped over her mouth. Just as she started to bite down, warm breath brushed her ear.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘MAX, IT’S ME. Don’t, please.’

  She pulled John’s hand away. ‘Are you crazy? How did you get in here?’ She reached for the lamp, but John stilled her arm.

  ‘Draw the curtains first.’

  Max flounced out of bed and pulled the heavy drapes. Once they settled, John switched on the light. He smiled at her, perched on the edge of her bed as if it was normal to appear in a locked hotel room. He still wore evening dress, but he’d shed his bow tie.

  ‘How did you find my room? How did you get in here?’ The chain holding her door closed hadn’t budged.

  John pointed to the window. ‘I could see you pacing. It’s a pretty nightgown.’

  ‘This is the second floor.’

  John shrugged. ‘I had to talk to you. But I can’t stay long. I shouldn’t have come at all.’ He patted the bed. ‘Please, sit down. Let me explain.’

  ‘I get it. Clearly, you have sex with women when Uncle Sam tells you. Did I fall into that category too?’

  ‘No. God, no. And I haven’t slept with her. I didn’t realise you knew each other, or that you’d be in Berlin, for that matter.’

  ‘What the hell happened to “I’m a journalist”?’

  ‘I am a journalist. I have a press pass and everything.’ He looked down. ‘It’s just not all I do.’

  Her adrenaline waned, and exhaustion crawled up her legs. She sat beside him. Part of the filmy skirt of her nightgown landed on his knee, and he toyed with it. Why couldn’t they be in Berlin as lovers, laughing giddily in this hotel room? ‘John.’ His arms folded around her, and he bent his head to kiss her. A smear of red marked his skin, an inch under his ear. ‘You’re wearing her lipstick.’ Her voice sounded remarkably steady, she thought.

  He drew away. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’ He crossed to the mirror and rubbed his neck with a handkerchief.

  Max closed her eyes. ‘Normally, with…’ She hesitated. ‘Without me, would you have already had sex with her?’

  John took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

  The veins in her hands stood out as she fisted them. Of all the men in the world, she’d fallen for him. Maybe it was why he was so good in bed—he’d honed his skills with multiple bad women across—what? Months? Years? ‘Would you have told me?’ She swallowed. ‘Don’t answer that.’

  John tucked the handkerchief away. ‘I don’t plan on…’

  Max didn’t want to hear the rest. ‘How long have you been doing this? What do you even call yourself?’

  ‘An agent, usually. And since I left on…’

  ‘Your job?’

  ‘This version of it? Eight months. Please let me explain.’ John leaned against the wall and pulled out his cigarette case. The interior metal glinted in the dim light. No cigarettes. ‘Chr…’ He stopped. ‘I’ve smoked too much tonight.’ He shoved it back in his pocket.

  ‘I won’t wilt if you swear.’

  ‘We suspect her brother. I need to get closer to her to get to him.’

  ‘That’s utter nonsense.’

  ‘It’s my job.’

  ‘Tommy Dinsmore couldn’t make a sandwich by himself.’

  John’s lips twitched. ‘Victor says you don’t cook.’

  ‘That’s beside the point. I know Tommy; I’ve been to countless parties with Tommy. He is a sweet, lovely boy.’ She realised her voice had risen, so she lowered it carefully. He hadn’t seemed so sweet when he wouldn’t let go of her today. ‘Not an international criminal. If it’s anybody, it’s Catherine. She’s brilliant.’

  ‘I don’t see it.’

  ‘Look higher than her neckline.’

  ‘Max, that’s not fair.’

  ‘She is a master at playing dumb to reel in men. But she was one of the top students at Vassar in our year.’

  ‘So were you. Is that why you dislike each other so much?’

  ‘It’s not why I hate her. You’d have to ask her about her reasons.’

  ‘Why?’

  Max didn’t have to ask what he meant. ‘She toyed with George.’ George’s attraction to Catherine had been more a conflagration than a crush. His admiration of her hair, her figure, her way of laughing at him. He was only three years younger than Catherine, but Catherine treated him like a child. She’d rejected George on New Year’s Eve in ’48. And later that night…

  ‘But that isn’t why you don’t like her, is it?’ His blue eyes studied her, piercing too deeply. ‘She hurt you, not your brother. It was your ex-fiancé, wasn’t it?’

  Max rose from the bed and paced again. She had told no one. Not George, not Vivian, not her mother. No one knew except Catherine and Daniel. ‘I walked in on them. And she laughed.’ She’d laughed, flung her hair—then a long dark fall—to the side and kept moving on top of Daniel’s body as Max backed out of the room.

  John held her arms loosely, and she stopped pacing. ‘I swear I won’t sleep with her, Max.’

  Max closed her eyes. The exhale came a little more freely. ‘What do you suspect them of doing?’

  ‘They’re broke. Yet they keep entertaining high members of the German government, and living on something.’

  ‘Half of Britain does that. Well, not with the Germans.’

  John didn’t smile. ‘There’s something going on. I’ll consider your point about Dinsmore. Thank you.’ He sighed. ‘How’s your father feeling?’

  ‘He’s resting. They said it was angina.’

  John’s eyebrows rose marginally.

  ‘You know something.’ In his half beat of silence, her anger rose. ‘Dammit, John, why won’t you…’

  ‘From what I heard, they think it was something in his champagne. Fortunately, he didn’t have much of it. There’s no obvious link to the Dinsmores—or anyone else for that matter. I wouldn’t be here if there were.’

  Her chest fe
lt too icy to rise and fall properly. ‘Do you know what’s being done?’

  John sighed again. ‘That waiter is being questioned. You didn’t drink yours, did you?’

  ‘No.’ Max shivered, fighting nausea. ‘Would it have been fatal if he’d had more?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Max took a breath, but John shook his head. ‘Honest. I really don’t know.’

  ‘This would have happened anyway, right? It has nothing to do with you and me?’ Had she put Dad at risk?

  ‘No, no. It couldn’t.’ John held her hands. ‘There’s a reason your father has guards. His job comes with risk. He knew that when he took it on.’

  Still, her exhale sounded shaky. ‘I know.’ She closed her eyes. ‘You actually climbed up the building?’ Maybe if she pushed the word ‘poison’ out of her mind…

  ‘It’s got lots of toeholds, especially on this side. Check out the facade tomorrow.’ He ran his hands up her bare arms. ‘You look chilly. I’ll go.’ He sighed. ‘I love you.’

  How had she ever thought his face hard to read? She wanted to kiss the sadness away, and before she could rationally think it through, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek, his eyebrow, his nose, before settling on his mouth. John stroked her hair as Max slid her cold arms under his jacket. Maybe getting closer would… He gripped her wrists just as her right hand found warm metal. Her left touched a leather strap. Max pushed his jacket off his shoulders, revealing a shoulder holster. And a gun.

  John drew the gun and placed it on the bedside table.

  ‘Is it that dangerous?’ The black holster stretched over the shoulders of his white shirt. Dad’s drink had been laced. Of course it was dangerous.

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  Max buried her face in his chest. How could she love someone like this? John brushed his lips over her neck.

  ‘I’m careful. I promise.’ He sighed again. ‘Speaking of which, I should go.’

  Max kissed him, unfastening a shirt stud. She reached for the second. ‘Tell me to stop.’

  ‘We should.’

  The studs were warm in her palm, like his gun had been. She pressed her lips to the gap in his shirt. She needed this contact, but her eyes still scanned for lipstick. Did she trust him or not? ‘Please,’ she murmured.

  ‘God, Max.’ John’s arms tightened around her, and he lifted her onto the bed.

  John fumbled over the side of the bed, but then his arm curved back over her.

  Max half sat up. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I forgot. No cigarettes,’ he said.

  ‘How much did you smoke?’ She rubbed her cheek against his chest. The acridness clung to him, far more heavily than usual.

  ‘You took two hours to turn off the light.’ His fingers walked down her spine, and she shivered. ‘I’m usually quite patient.’

  Max kissed him. ‘Thanks for the note.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m reckless around you. I shouldn’t have called the hotel, or come tonight. But I couldn’t just leave it after this afternoon. And tonight was worse. Can you forgive me?’

  Max stared into his blue eyes for a long moment. Forgive him? Yes. Make a life with him? She honestly didn’t know.

  ‘I’d understand if…’

  ‘I don’t think it’s a question of forgiveness,’ Max said. ‘But I don’t know how—what’s the next step? How do you meet my father again as yourself? How do we—if there’s a we—what do we do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ John stroked fine filaments of hair back from her face. ‘I hope there’s a we.’

  Heat filled Max’s eyes. Not tears. She traced around the bandage on his forearm, trying to look anywhere but at the gun on the bedside table. His gun. ‘What really happened here?’

  ‘A knife. Slashed, not stabbed.’ He squeezed her. ‘Don’t look so horrified. It’s very shallow. All it did was ruin a suit.’

  ‘Okay.’ Okay? How could someone having a knife fight and calmly saying it ruined a suit be okay? ‘Which suit?’

  ‘My grey one. I’ve already replaced it.’

  ‘So what, you deduct that from your taxes?’ Max felt slightly light headed. How could this conversation be happening?

  ‘I get reimbursed. Sorry, this is really dull.’

  Max ran her finger around the bandage again. ‘You got cut—slashed with a knife. At work. I’d hardly call that dull. Terrifying, yes.’

  John buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. ‘Max.’

  ‘I get it; it’s your job. Your normal.’ She closed her eyes. But how did she make it her normal? ‘How long are you in Berlin? Are we likely to run into each other again?’

  ‘I don’t know. Although I guess now your father…’

  ‘Has met you as both John Knox, who goes out with me, and now James Carter, Catherine Dinsmore’s boyfriend?’

  John winced. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Does he know what you do?’

  ‘I doubt it. Government people usually don’t know agents’ names. Certainly not from other countries. Although I suppose he could conceivably—well, frankly, I wouldn’t wish somebody like me on any daughter of mine.’ He scrubbed his face. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

  ‘That I saw it or that you have this job?’ A daughter. Max tried to push away the image of John holding his nephew’s tiny body in that photo.

  ‘Both.’ He kissed her. ‘I love you. I know that’s probably hard to believe, given today, but I do.’

  ‘I love you.’ She did. But what did she do with that?

  ‘I need to go. I shouldn’t have stayed this long.’

  Max rolled onto her stomach as he left the bed. The last two times she’d watched him dress, dread didn’t tighten her chest. He shrugged into the holster and lifted his gun.

  ‘Did you have that tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘It was in my car.’ He nodded towards the chest of drawers. ‘Nice flowers.’

  ‘From Tommy. Asked me to save him that dance.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Max watched emotion flicker over his face. The smile that broke over hers surprised her. ‘I’m positive you’re not allowed to be jealous over that, of all things.’

  John leaned over to kiss her. ‘You’re completely right.’ He sat on the bed and lifted a shiny shoe. Max saw herself briefly reflected in the toe cap, a foolish, foolish woman.

  ‘Will anybody know you got back late?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t been followed so far.’ He tied the lace and slid into the other shoe. ‘Max, I know this doesn’t change what you saw, but…’

  ‘When you’re home again.’

  John smiled. ‘I hadn’t really thought of London as home before you.’

  Max closed her eyes as John’s fingers cupped her cheek. ‘Please, please be careful. When will you be back?’

  ‘I don’t know. Depends on a lot of variables. I’ll call.’ He stood up and pulled on his jacket.

  Max nodded. ‘Can you take the stairs?’

  ‘Window’s safer.’

  Max rose from the bed. Four days ago, she’d worried about making tea naked in his flat. And now she wound her arms around his waist, pressing her nude body again the stiffness of his formal shirt. He stroked her spine down to her hips.

  ‘Listen, if we do see each other again.’ John squeezed her.

  ‘I know. I’m a stranger to you. Despite this.’ She kissed him and then let her lips drift across his neck. ‘And this.’ When she reached his collar, John grabbed her hands.

  ‘Max, honey.’ His breath shuddered out. ‘I really can’t stay.’

  His kiss—kisses—felt like a promise. Then he turned off the lamp. They crossed to the window hand in hand, but Max had to release John’s to let him raise the casement. ‘Sleep well, honey.’ He ducked out with a quick wave.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MAX SLEPT LATE. She almost imagined John still lay beside her when she woke. She rolled over, burying her face in the pillow that still held his scent. She had
to trust him.

  The knock on the door came as she twisted her hair into a chignon. Holding her hair in place, she crossed the room and opened the door. Undoing the lock earlier to go bathe had made her smile. Much good it had done.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Victor said.

  She motioned him and Emma inside. ‘Sorry. I’m almost ready.’

  Victor sat in the chair and crossed a leg over his knee. Emma perched on the bed. Max studied the shadows under her own eyes before she picked up a hairpin and pushed it into her hair.

  ‘So, John came by last night?’ Victor said.

  The next hairpin slid out of her fingers and pinged onto her stockinged foot.

  ‘I’m just guessing,’ Victor said. You don’t seem the type to invite a bellhop in, even if you were angry with John.’

  ‘Victor,’ Emma said. ‘Don’t.’

  The flush spread from Max’s chest all the way up to her hairline. ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘We’re right next door.’ Victor laughed. ‘Max, don’t look so mortified. You’re an adult. I’m surprised he did though, if he’s working.’

  ‘He climbed through the window.’

  ‘Show off.’ Victor paced around the room. Why was he looking in her lampshades? Emma’s smile distracted her from Victor’s exploration.

  ‘You certainly seem happier,’ Emma said. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Not much. He thinks it something to do with her brother, but he’s wrong. Her brother’s an idiot. A very nice idiot. It’s her. Whatever it is.’ With the last pin in place, Max turned. ‘Let’s get breakfast.’ A flush heated her cheeks again. ‘Do you think Mr Rawls heard us too?’

  Emma touched the wall. ‘The bed’s closer to our side. Let’s hope not.’

  Given how Mr Rawls had reacted to the flowers, he probably would have burst through the door if he heard them.

  ‘Breakfast?’ Victor stopped by the door. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘I want to check on Dad first,’ Max said. She slipped on her shoes. ‘I could meet you downstairs?’