Glass made a note on his clipboard. “She didn’t ask questions?”
“I gave her a couple of gifts.” Les shrugged. “A game girl. Poor, not much family, first job. Just grateful to go dancing, really.”
“She’s twenty?”
“Just had her birthday yesterday,” Les confirmed. “The important thing is that Semyon’s appearance at the Timur Pesin party meant I didn’t get anywhere near my target.”
“If you can run Semyon, you don’t need to be close to the Bolshevik cell,” Glass said, unperturbed. “Keep working on that relationship. He’s important.”
Les shook his head. “I can’t do that without Sadie Loudon. What I am going to do, tell Semyon she died?”
“If she’s game, I don’t see the problem.”
Les pushed his irritatingly floppy hair out of his eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that his late father had had exactly the same kind of hair, he’d have cut it short. As it was, it had become rather a trademark, which meant that if he had to change identities, cutting his hair short would be an easy disguise. “She’s not one of us.”
“She’s a simple, silly, English girl, right? Devoted to her country and all that. It’s not a problem. Just use her in Richmond when you’re dealing with Semyon. You don’t need to reveal anything.”
Les remembered that kiss on top of Primrose Hill. He’d woken up with his toes still curled, not to mention an aching erection. “Very well.”
Glass opened a folder, lips pursed. “Scratch that. I have a new assignment for you. You’ll have to involve Sadie Loudon, I’m afraid.”
“Semyon?”
“He could be there. We need you to go up to Hull. Sell a few magazines, but primarily, you are to look for the flyer printer. The report came in just before I left and I didn’t see it until now. That Bolshie flyer you picked up was printed on paper only available in the Hull area.”
“Bolshevik hotbed, Hull.”
“Exactly. You’ll need to bring Miss Loudon along in case you run across Semyon.”
“Why? My cover is as a commercial traveler. I wouldn’t take my wife along.”
Glass flipped a page. His heavy black eyebrows moved together for a moment, then relaxed again. “Semyon’s wife is Irina Kozyrev, correct?”
He didn’t know where Glass was leading this conversation. “Yes, but I’ve never met her.”
“Assuming you can’t take Mrs. Kozyrev to bed, the next best thing is to have your wife befriend her. If this Miss Loudon is the silly, friendly type, she’s a perfect way to reach Irina Kozyrev.”
“She did get us asked to dinner with a mixed Russian-English couple,” Les admitted, concerned by the path this conversation was taking. Sadie was a green girl. Running her as a source was one thing, but actively having her take part in deception was quite another. She had no spycraft, no experience. “She is personable.”
“I saw that in your report. Too bad it didn’t appear, at first glance, that the Ikanovs were of value.”
Les realized his thoughts were much too focused on Sadie. “You never know who they might be related to, but there was nothing there at first glance. Back to the main point, why is Semyon’s wife important?”
Glass’s already deep-set eyes shadowed. “She is the daughter of Mikhail Lashevich.”
Les schooled his features carefully, but a vein had begun to rat-a-tat at his temple. “You must be joking, sir.”
Chapter Three
Glass drummed his fingers on the iron table, clearly not surprised by Les’s reaction to the stunning news. “Yes, our old enemy, Mikhail Lashevich, the devious pet assassin of Lenin. His daughter Irina is Semyon Kozyrev’s wife.”
“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Les said. His throat felt dry but he didn’t want any more of the loathsome tea his section head favored. Lashevich had killed several British spies working in Russia in the past half-decade. He was a nightmare shared by nervous operatives everywhere.
“Must be five o’clock somewhere,” Glass said, noticing his discomfort. “I think we’ve a bottle of brandy around here.”
Les chuckled, forcing away old, bad memories. “Think I need a restorative for shock, do you?”
Glass grinned and pushed his chair back. The mischievous look lightened his eyes by a decade. He was probably about thirty, but his war experience had matured him beyond his years. Still, Les had seen how Glass’s tall frame and distinguished manner attracted a lady’s eye. “You went pale, my lad. Pale as a virgin bride.”
* * *
Sadie picked up a thin envelope from her sister. Even now, away from home, Sunday was family day. She called her grandfather every Sunday night, and she saved the most recent missive from Alecia so she’d have something to open.
After propping her pillow up against the iron headboard of her bed, Sadie opened the letter and began to read. She couldn’t hold back her whoop of joy. Her gaze unfocused as she took the one-second glance around the tiny room she shared with another chambermaid. The manager of the Grand Russe Hotel in London, on Park Lane no less, was offering her a chambermaid position.
Alecia wrote that it wasn’t bed and board, but they could share her bed in her hotel room for now while Sadie uncovered where the other chambermaids resided. She leaned her head back against the wall. London. It would be lovely to amass a little nest egg before she went, because there were sure to be expenses, but no doubt it would be at least a week before she’d begin. She’d have a couple of weeks pay and she’d be certain not to spend a penny of it between now and then.
Sitting up, she rubbed her tongue between her teeth as she considered how to get up to London. It wasn’t far, but she wouldn’t be able to go until she had time off. Unfortunately, her half day wasn’t until Wednesday. She consoled herself with the thought that Wednesday was only three days away, and the job was hers. She only needed to make arrangements with Mr. Peter Eyre, the Grand Russe Hotel’s manager, for a start date.
Jumping off the bed, she went to the trunk at the base of her bed and began pulling out clothes. Did she have anything smart enough for London?
* * *
The approach to Wednesday seemed to last three weeks instead of three days. The cap on her joy was the hideous, disgusting mess the evil poodles had deposited in room 301 the day before. She’d spent two extra hours cleaning. Mrs. Curtis had promised she’d be paid for the hours, but she’d lost sleep because she’d had to hand wash her filthy uniform, and then she’d had to work in a damp skirt.
When she went upstairs to change after the morning round of tidying the public areas, she was still shaking with cold. Physical labor hadn’t kept her warm. You never should have shortened your skirt, Sadie my girl.
In her room, she pulled on fresh everything in the hopes it would feel warmer. Over her underthings she draped her newest dress. The cream fabric made her hair and eyes brighten a bit. She didn’t neglect the new gloves and muffler. They were so much nicer than her old coat and hat.
She half-wished she could pack up her meager belongings and just start at the Grand Russe tomorrow, but that might not be what Mr. Eyre had in mind, and she ought to give Mrs. Curtis a couple of days to find a replacement. It wouldn’t be hard, with the state of employment as it was.
“You must have sensed me coming,” said a voice from the bottom of the stairs as she reached the lobby.
Her heartrate sped up. “Why it’s Les Rake,” she said, playing coy. How exciting that he’d reappeared.
He wore another of his fancy suits, topped by a coat with a cozy fur collar. She couldn’t begin to calculate the expense of his wardrobe. It put hers to shame, and compared to her sister, she was positively frivolous.
“What are you up to? I remember you said you had a half day on Wednesday and I thought I’d stop by.”
Her gaze went to his lips. She remembered the warmth of them against hers on that cold night. Her knees melted a little, but her voice was composed. “Selling magazines in town again?”
“No, I cam
e just for you.” He looked at her calmly, then smiled. His sharp cheekbones bracketed his mouth.
He was such a sheik. She put a hand to her chest as her heart went pitty-pat. “That’s very kind, Mr. Rake. I was on my way to London.”
“I’ll run you up,” he offered. “But it’s Les, surely.” He tilted his head.
“Les,” she said, unable to suppress her own smile. She tucked her hand around his arm. “How kind of you.”
The lobby was deserted as they walked out. His car was parked right in front. She sighed over the sleek automobile. What would they think of the new chambermaid arriving in such style? Her sister wouldn’t even notice, of course. She never recognized money.
Her grandfather had repeatedly asked both of them to pay more attention to certain members of the parish. Assist certain elderly ladies in and out of their benches and that kind of thing. Sadie had understood it was a matter of the elderly persons’ money, but Alecia had been naïve to the end, even asking why they helped a couple of the women when they were such antidotes, when there were other much more pleasant persons in the parish.
Les helped her into the car. When he entered on the other side, she snuggled up to him.
* * *
Les smiled to himself as the eager girl pressed her shoulder to his arm, her thigh to his.
“How is your family?” he asked politely as he started the car. They were heading to Kings Cross Station. He half-listened to her prattle along about her weekly phone call to her grandfather the night before.
“You didn’t tell him about your date with me?” he asked, amused.
She shrugged. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, what with you traveling.”
He patted her knee. “You must have known how well we got along. Of course I’d come calling for you again.”
She touched her head to his shoulder for a moment. “I hoped, of course.”
He wrapped his arm around the back of the seat. They passed the cemetery and headed toward Chiswick, passing an overburdened lorry. He found life ran more smoothly when he focused on nothing but business, but Sadie Loudon was easy to like.
His attention drifted as she continued to talk, considering his best approach in Hull. A day out with the missus? Why would anyone go to Yorkshire for a day holiday from London? It took hours. No, they had to be going to a rally at the docks there. Glass’s contacts had indicated there might be one. From whom might he have heard of it? He was only beginning to build his contacts. He mentally shuffled through his list, but was distracted by Sadie mentioning the Grand Russe Hotel.
The Secret Intelligence Service had been working to put eyes and ears into the place since it opened late the previous year. Les didn’t know if they’d managed it yet.
“Sorry. What were you saying?” he asked. “I was distracted by that farmer blocking the road with his horse-drawn wagon.”
“So old-fashioned,” Sadie agreed. “What I was saying was, the manager of the Grand Russe has personally offered me a post.”
“You don’t say,” Les said, as they pulled into a free spot on the street near Kings Cross Station. “We’ll catch the train from here.”
“Where did you want to go? To the Aquarium like we mentioned?” she asked.
“No, Yorkshire,” he said absently as he walked around the car. Wind fought him for control of the passenger door. He had to wrestle it open. “I have a meeting in Hull.”
“I can’t go to Yorkshire,” she protested. “I have to go to the Grand Russe!”
He took her arm and helped her onto the pavement. She wobbled as a gust of wind snatched at her. “You said the job is waiting for you. Why do you have to go now?”
“It’s my half day.”
“Write to the manager,” Les said. “Plan your start date by letter. He won’t want you popping in. A letter is more polite.”
A line appeared between her perfectly arched brows. “Do you think so?”
“Absolutely. Much more professional. Take it from me, darling. I have much more experience with the world of business than you do.”
She bit her lip as they entered the busy railway station. “I suppose you are right.”
He pressed his case home, helping her to make the decision he wanted. “If you like, I’ll take you over to the hotel, but the manager might think you impertinent.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t want that.”
“I’ll tell you what. You can write a letter to him on the train and I’ll post it for you. On your next half day, I’ll take you to the hotel if you haven’t had a response.”
“That makes sense. But still. Hull? In January?”
“I have a meeting,” he said. “But we’ll dine on the train. We’ll have a wonderful time. I’ll buy us first-class tickets.”
She brightened immediately as he thought she would. “I’ve never been in first class. Yes, I suppose I would like to have an adventure, rather than chase a position that is, after all, mine for the taking.”
“There you go, then,” he said, leading her to a store so they could buy newspapers and writing paper. When the train arrived, he found an empty compartment and settled them in. She spent the first couple of minutes trying out each of the plush seats, then curled up next to him as the train jerked and pulled out from the station. The excited smile hadn’t left her face since she’d decided.
He stood when they reached the edge of London proper and took off his coat, then helped her with hers. When he sat down again he draped their coats over their legs to keep them warm. He could feel her warmth radiate from her shoulder to his arm. She was staying very close to him, quivering despite her happiness. He reached into a coat pocket and took out his piece de resistance and gave it to the obviously nervous girl.
“This is for you. A late birthday present.”
She took the box, her smile brightening. “Oh, Les, you’ve given me so much already.”
He was pleased to hear her calling him “Les” again. “Just a little something to apologize for my behavior that night.”
She tugged off the ribbon and opened the box, then stared down at the contents.
“It’s a Russian nesting doll. Separate the top from the bottom.”
She pulled out the squat wooden figure. About five inches, it was painted with the face of a wrinkled old woman wearing traditional peasant black.
“Pull the top part off,” he said again.
She tugged them apart, then squealed when she saw another doll inside. “This one looks younger.”
“The matron inside the widow,” he confirmed.
Quickly, she repeated her action, and found a smaller doll. “A girl this time.”
“I think there is one more.”
She separated the girl, wearing a necklace of flowers and a colorful dress, and found a solid baby doll inside. “How adorable. What a lovely gift, Les. Is it Russian?”
“Yes. I wanted you to know a little more about my heritage,” he said, staring out the window as the train moved into open countryside. Smoke blew past the window from the engine.
“Are you Russian?”
“One quarter Russian. My father’s mother,” he confirmed.
“Did your father have a Russian name?”
“Valentin. Yes.”
“That’s where your ring came from.”
In response, he pulled off the signet ring and placed it back on her finger.
She smiled and examined it, the doll still in pieces on her lap. “What is your real accent? The Oxford man or the Russian?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“Who is the real Les?”
That was a question he’d never be able to answer. When a spy looked in the mirror, what face did he really see? He’d been recruited by the Secret Intelligence Service at nineteen, still at Oxford, just as the war ended. After two years of being a courier locally, he was sent to Russia. It was 1921 and he’d spent a couple of months getting there, a couple of months setting up his cover and getting his accent rig
ht, then nine months in the army under fake identification. The worst part had not been gathering intelligence on the state of the Russian army, but trying to get the information he gathered out of the country. By the end of that time, more than a year total, his health had been broken due to the poor food, limited sleep, and harsh conditions, not to mention a tragic love affair. He’d headed back out, a dangerous journey, with most of his intel still trapped in his head. Returning to London in early 1923 had been a disquieting experience after the deprivation of his time out of England. It had been nearly two years since he returned. He’d regained his health but then his grandmother had become ill and died. Les had lost most of a year between his health and his grandmother’s. Glass had put him back to work as a courier a year ago. Then he’d received his new sales cover three months before. There had been a lot of discussion around whether or not he should have ever been to Russia in his cover. He was operating under three identities. His own, Lester Rake, and Valentin. They’d decided Valentin had been a child in Russia and had left after his Russian army service. Lester Rake had no interest in Russia.
Now, he was doing something very dangerous, letting a very young woman in on the secret of his two identities. But Glass had thought it was worth it. Les wasn’t sure he agreed, but Sadie’s potential value had jumped at this notion that she might go to work at the Grand Russe soon. She could be the eyes and ears they needed at a hotel that was attracting all manner of wealthy, scandalous, celebrity, and most important of all, foreign guests.
“Les?” she asked, rather more gently that he might have expected.
“Sorry. Woolgathering.”
She tugged his arm and pulled him down until she could nuzzle her cheek against his. “Did you lose your grandmother recently?”
He nodded. His throat seemed to have closed on him. “A year ago. Her heart. She had a bad attack and was bedridden after that for quite a while before she died.”
“And you were her only family, and now you are quite alone in the world.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Except for a pretend wife.” She grinned at him.
I Wanna Be Loved by You Page 4