“Very handsome,” Mrs. Ikanov said, her eyes widening.
Sadie nodded. “And your husband?”
“He is speaking to yours, in fact.”
“The one with black hair?” He had a heavily lined forehead, but nicely full lips and beautifully shaped eyes.
The other woman nodded and Sadie said, “I approve.”
They smiled at each other. “Do you live in Chelsea? Oh, is that water?”
“Yes, in the jug.”
“I’m parched.” Mrs. Ikanov walked into the kitchen and poured herself a teacup full.
“I was, too. Something about the rain makes me thirsty. But no, I live in Richmond. I have a live-in position.”
“You’re in service?”
“No, not that old-fashioned. A hotel.”
“Oh, I see. Your husband doesn’t mind?”
“He travels for work a great deal. Selling magazines.” Sadie felt herself slipping deeper into her role. “He always has such stories to tell when he comes back.”
“I would imagine so. Does he live in the hotel, too?”
“No,” Les said, coming up to her. He slid his arm around Sadie’s waist.
She realized she still wore her coat. Quickly, she unknotted her sash as he said, “We have a flat in the Primrose Hill area.”
“I love the view there,” Mrs. Ikanov enthused. “We live in Acton because my husband works for a soap company there.”
Sadie could see the moment her pretend-husband lost interest in the woman. His eyes half-shuttered, then his gaze wandered toward the open terrace doors.
He walked away with their coats. When he returned, he said, “Shall we dance, darling? I know you wanted to and they just put on a new record.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, setting down her teacup on the edge of the counter. She smiled at Mrs. Ikanov then took his arm.
When Les pulled her close to him, she tilted her head into proper dance position. Her cheek brushed his bristly jaw. She sighed with happiness. Albert the curate had been all but hairless. This was a proper man. She shouldn’t get in over her head, especially since Les was, at the very least, a liar, but there was nothing wrong with a nice time, a few kisses on her birthday. The full story could come out another day.
The record skipped. Several voices complained and a man ran to the gramophone to change the record. “Bees Knees” came on. It had been a massive hit a year or two ago and she remembered twirling around with Alecia at a friend’s house, all the girls dancing together. She grinned up at Les and he smiled back, looking a bit surprised.
“Good memories,” she whispered in his ear. “We used to play this song in the afternoons.”
“In the vicarage?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “No music in the vicarage.”
“What’s wrong? You lost your smile.”
She rubbed her cheek on his jaw again and closed her eyes. “I just realized how much I’ve missed my sister. It was so lonely in the house without her. It was either marry Albert or run away.”
“And you ran?”
“Yes.”
“Who is this Albert?” he inquired.
“The curate.”
He chuckled, the sound sending rumbles down her body. Her nipples peaked, a delicious sensation. He pulled her even closer, just what she wanted, as the hoof-like percussion part of the song began. She could stay like this forever.
“Never marry a curate, darling. He’ll never keep you warm at night.”
She smiled, her face hidden against his cheek, feeling quite relaxed, even without champagne. They danced through five songs. Les ignored Semyon’s attempt to catch his attention, and kept going until she said, “I’m gasping, Les, and not for a gasper.”
“Need some more lemonade?” he teased.
She pulled a face. “No lemonade here, only water.”
“I Dream of a Castle in Spain” came on. She stepped back.
“Don’t you like this song?”
“No, the tango bores me. I like fast dances.”
He glanced at her, then squeezed her hand. “Let’s go.”
“What about your friend?” She injected a slight amount of sarcasm.
“He can stay. This is hardly a blow. I’m happy to leave.”
She noticed his accent was gone again. What was going on? “Were you hoping this would be a wild party? Do I seem like that kind of girl?”
He tugged her hand, and she followed him out of the room and down the hallway toward the single bedroom where Les had left their coats. The door was cracked and others were inside.
A thickset Russian man wiped sweat off his brow. This was Mr. Ikanov. Mrs. Ikanov stood next to him. She smiled widely at Sadie.
“Oh, Mrs. Rake! I’m so happy to see you again.”
“We couldn’t dance anymore,” Sadie confided, fanning herself.
“Oh, I know. The heat. Too many people for one small room. I’ve never understood girls who dance holding cigarettes. I know it is all the rage but it makes the air unbearable.”
“I quite agree,” Sadie said, as Mr. Ikanov coughed.
Mrs. Ikanov smiled shyly and held out a scrap of paper. “I wondered if you’d like to have tea with me one day during the week?”
“Oh, thank you,” Sadie said. “But I work, you see.”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Ikanov blushed. “When you have a free day. I’ll come in, even to Richmond. It would be so lovely to have a friend with a husband like mine.”
Sadie glanced at Les. He was oddly expressionless, his pale gray-blue eyes assessing the Ikanovs. When he caught her gaze, he came to life.
“So busy, my bride,” he said. “She is happy to make new friends, Mrs. Ikanov. I’ll be sure to have her contact you when she is given a day off.”
“Saturday must be the day,” Mr. Ikanov said. “Dinner next week, perhaps?”
“This is Mrs. Rake’s birthday,” Les said. “Special circumstances.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Ikanov smiled. “Many happy returns!”
“Thank you.” Sadie beamed as Les helped her with her coat, then handed her the beautiful new gloves. She tucked the scrap of paper carefully into her handbag, then nodded goodbye to the couple as Les escorted her from the small bedroom.
When they were back in his car, alone at last, Les said, “Your birthday is waning, Sadie. Where do you want to go next?”
“How about the place where you buy your accents?” she asked. She had to needle him, though she was aware of being in a strange place, and in his car, at that. No one she knew was aware of her whereabouts.
“My accents? What do you mean?” he asked as he started the car.
“Sometimes you sound English and other times you sound Russian.”
“Oh that.” He glanced at her and chuckled, then pulled away from the curb. “My grandmother was Russian. She raised me. I imagine I start speaking with her accent when I’m around Russians. Is that what happened?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “When you spoke to me you sounded English. Quite plummy, really, but then you’d have a faint accent.”
“I did attend Oxford,” he said modestly. “There is no mystery about the accent.”
“Did you lose your parents young like I did?”
“When were you orphaned?”
“Ten years ago, nearly.”
“You were very young. Admittedly, I was younger. My mother died when I was seven, and my father when I was at school.”
“And then your grandmother took you in? Like my grandparents. Now it’s just Grandfather. My grandmother has passed away.”
“Yes, I’m all alone now. No brothers or sisters.”
“I’m sorry. That’s hard.”
“We’re both rather alone in the world.”
They had driven about five miles from the party. She had no idea where they were, but they went down several leafy roads before parking in front of a row of terraced houses similar to the ones they had left.
“I thought we
could take a walk if you like,” he suggested.
Just as he said it, rain splattered on the windshield again. He pulled off his gray cashmere muffler and tucked it around her neck. “There, you’ll be fine.”
She smiled and allowed him to help her from the car. Between the gloves and the muffler, she was as warm as butter on toast. And when he put his arm around her, she felt even cozier. He was careful to walk under the trees as much as possible, to keep her dry. It didn’t work very well because most of the leaves were gone, but she felt cozy, nonetheless, like these London streets were laid out just for her and her adventure with this unusual, elegant man.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Twenty-five. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Too young for the war, just barely,” he said.
“Oh, I never wondered that.”
“No?”
“Men who were in the war, the ones who are just a little older than you? They are either very quiet, stern almost, or rather frantic with gaiety.”
“What am I?” He squeezed her shoulder.
“Something in between, I suppose.” A mystery, still, though he had explained the accent. Eventually, they emerged from the tree-lined streets into a large green space. She felt a bit out of breath from climbing up the slope, or maybe it was the view of the city, spread out before them. Lights lining the streets twinkled. “Is this Primrose Hill?”
“Yes, of course. Nothing else like it in London. I live near where we parked.”
She giggled. “I suppose I do, too. Do you want your ring back? Were those married-only parties? Is that why you made me wear it?”
He stroked her shoulder. “I suppose I wanted to feel connected to you.”
She remembered the look in his eyes when he’d seen Semyon, and knew there was a bit more to the story, but she understood loneliness. “It’s fun to playact, to be someone else. But sometimes, I just want to be me.”
He pulled her against the warmth of his body. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. They were even closer than when they had danced. But she was too shy to wrap her arms around him. He was a stranger. She took off her new glove and pulled off the signet ring, then pressed it into his palm.
“Time for a divorce?”
“Yes,” she agreed, smoothing her glove back on. “Do you need these back as well?”
“No, the gloves really are your birthday gift.” His lips curved into a lopsided grin. “One last kiss before we part forever?”
She giggled and tilted her face up to his. “We shouldn’t separate without one.”
“Have you been kissed before, Sadie?” His warm breath, laced with champagne, tickled her upper lip.
She pressed her lips together to cure the tickle. “A few pecks from the curate. He didn’t know what he was doing, though.”
“And you do?”
“I could tell,” she said pertly. “I’ve kissed my own hand better than he kissed me.”
“Hmmm.” His lips moved closer to hers, just an inch apart.
A solemn moment. This could be her first real, proper kiss. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and she felt lightheaded with nerves. How could he want her to make the final move? “I don’t know—”
He silenced her protest by pressing his mouth to hers. One arm pulled her waist snugly against his pelvis, while the other arm cradling her shoulders loosened, so that she dipped back. The pressure of his mouth increased against hers and her lips parted willingly. A gust of wind blew around them, bringing raindrops. But she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to the sensation of his mouth against hers, feeling as warm as if it were August and not January.
Until the rain began in earnest, that was. He pulled away from her, leaving her face still tilted up. A fat drop of rain caught her in the eye. She had to remove her arms from his neck to wipe the moisture away.
“The problem with these tight fitting cloche hats is they don’t protect your face,” he said. “We’d better return to the car.”
She couldn’t think of anything to say, still dazzled by their kiss. He seemed to understand, and put his arm around her, directing her to the path that would take them back to their car. As they descended the slope, she wondered if he would ask her to take the next step with him and try to bring her to his flat. She’d all but told him she was a girl alone in the world.
Instead, he talked lightly about the music they had danced to, The Thief of Bagdad, a movie he’d seen recently, and an elaborate birthday party he’d been to as a child in the Insect Room at the London Zoo.
“I want to go to the new Aquarium,” she said, in an attempt to add to the conversation.
“That just opened last spring, didn’t it? I haven’t been either. I’m not always in London, of course.”
They reached the street and he directed her toward his car, not even glancing at the sleepy buildings around them. A little disappointed, but also relieved that he’d treated her like a lady, Sadie allowed him to help her into the car.
The seat was chilly, but she warmed up as soon as he slid in next to her and started the engine. Halfway through the drive she unwound his muffler.
“You can keep it,” he said. “It looks adorable on you, that elfin chin popping out over the wool. The color makes your eyes even more blue, too.”
She felt her cheeks warm. “You’re too generous, Les. I can’t allow you to keep giving me gifts.”
“I like giving you gifts. There isn’t anyone else to, right?”
She didn’t want to remember that. Her sister couldn’t afford idle purchases and her grandfather expected all spare money to go into the church roof fund. He liked to say his granddaughters weren’t peacocks. “What about you? Who gives you birthday gifts?”
“No one anymore,” Les said, his hands easy on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry. At least we found each other.” She smiled at him. “Speaking of elfin, did you know your ears are a little bit pointed?”
He chuckled as she took off a glove and brushed a finger over the tip of his ear.
“Ticklish?” she asked.
“It’s not a place I’m normally touched.”
She jiggled her finger against his soft skin again, then, suddenly shy, put her glove back on. “You must think I’m terribly silly.”
“I appreciate your sense of fun. I spend a lot of time projecting bonhomie at the world, since I’m a salesman. It’s nice to be with someone I’m at ease with. I’m not making all the effort in order for us to enjoy each other’s company.”
“That’s quite a speech about the life of a salesman.” She thought about her own first week as a chambermaid. Most of the time, she had her head down working. If guests passed her in the halls, she moved against the wall and looked away, as instructed.
“It’s work, and these days, you can’t be too choosy.”
She knew he had money. His luxury car and the location of his flat told her that. But maybe it was all inherited. It would be rude to ask for details.
All too soon, they were pulling up to the Richmond Inn. Her birthday adventure was coming to a close. As he pulled the car under the awning over the inn’s entrance, she said, “Thank you so much for taking me to the parties. I had a lovely time.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “Especially on Primrose Hill.”
He flashed his teeth at her. “That was my favorite too, Sadie.”
She waited for him to ask her out again, but he didn’t. Maybe he had to go back on the road soon, but she had no way to contact him. Not that a girl could, of course. He would decide if he wanted to see her again. It seemed much easier to be courted by someone your family knew, someone local. But she’d never met anyone like Lester Rake. Leaning into his arm, she said, “Thank you for making my birthday special. I will treasure these lovely gloves and your scarf. Are you sure I should keep it?”
“Absolutely.” He slid one finger up the back of her gloved hand, then curled the muffler higher on her neck. “Tha
nk you for such a magical evening. I’ll get your door.”
He helped her out of the car, squeezing her hand, then Old Ben was at the door, gesturing her in. She glanced back, hoping Les was staring at her, but he’d already returned to the car. Where she stood with him was anyone’s guess. For herself, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget that magnificent kiss at the apex of London.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, Les sat across from his section head, Douglas Childers, Lord Walling, a titled aristocrat known around the Secret Intelligence Service only as Glass, in a one-bedroom flat in Cosway Street, Marylebone, used for operative meetings. Glass always liked to start with a convivial cup of tea in the small conservatory, saying there was precious enough civility in espionage as it was.
“Well then, on to business, shall we?” he said, setting his china cup down with a tiny clink against the saucer. His large hands made the regular-sized cup look like it belonged to a girl’s play tea set.
Les shifted on his hard decorative iron chair. “Yes, sir. Were you able to read my report about this Richmond business?”
“Indeed.” Glass steepled his long fingers against his chin. “Tell me more about Semyon Kozyrev.”
Les followed suit and set down his half-filled cup. He didn’t like the malty Assam anyway. “I haven’t asked anything of him yet. I’m merely developing the friendship. Honestly, it might be more trouble than it’s worth.”
Glass winced slightly. He didn’t believe in wasting time on anything. Les thought it might be because he’d lost three older brothers in the war. Glass kept his private life very quiet, but Les knew that much. “Why?”
“Semyon invited me out to dinner with his wife and sister about two weeks ago, so I told him I was married to avoid complications.”
“That’s where this Sadie Loudon came in?”
Les glanced out the window. While there was plenty of light coming from the slanting windows, they were only a couple of feet away from another block of flats. “Yes. Typical flapper, up for anything if it comes with a well-dressed man in an expensive car who is willing to pay for dinner.”
Glass smiled. “What do we know about her?”
Les tilted his head back and forth. “She’s a good actress. Threw herself into playacting as my wife.”
I Wanna Be Loved by You Page 3