Les felt a frisson of fear. He clenched his stomach muscles, hoping he was strong enough to sit up. He wasn’t. What did the Kozyrevs want with him now? Had they somehow learned he was a spy?
Chapter Five
“There you are. Stay strong, dearest.” Sadie hovered next to Les, though Semyon Kozyrev was doing most of the helping as her fake-husband climbed the first step onto the train at the station in Hull. He coughed as heavy smoke wafted through the chilly air.
They were finally going back to London, more than a week after having gone north for one day. He’d steadily improved since he’d woken up, although he’d said little in the past few days. She understood this. What were they to say to one another? She wasn’t really his wife and everything they said was heard by others.
Les coughed again as he took in another lungful of coal-laden smoke. She pressed herself against his back so he wouldn’t fall out of the train. Agonizingly slowly, he climbed another step. When he reached the top, Semyon jumped back down and his wife handed up Les’s sample case. Her handbag and his wallet had never reappeared, but at least the Kozyrevs had found the expensive leather case. She didn’t want Les to lose his position.
“Thank you.” She waved down to the Kozyrevs, who lived in Hull.
“Here is some reading material for you.” Semyon handed up some newspapers.
“Thank you again.” She glanced down and saw the top newspaper was folded to an article detailing the mass protests in Russia in the honor of Vladimir Lenin’s first death anniversary.
Semyon nodded at her and stepped back from the train. She and Les moved into the passage and made it into the third-class compartment just as the train began to chug out of the station. He was pale and out of breath and as much collapsed onto the bench as sat.
She stared at her beautiful leather gloves, the birthday gift from Les a little less than two weeks before. They clashed with the orange and blue knitted handbag she’d found discarded in the charity clothing box. The nurses had been kindness personified during their stay at the hospital. On her second day there, she’d agreed to clean the ward every morning in return for sleeping in a trundle bed next to Les at night, but it was easy work.
Finally, when the doctor said Les was well enough to attempt the journey home, the nurses had taken up a collection for their train fare. The Kozyrevs had paid the part of Les’s hospital bill not covered by her cleaning.
She’d had a weak moment where she’d whispered in Les’s ear, asking if he had any relatives they could apply to for help, but he’d shaken his head no. So he had no living relatives, and she had only one she could contact and was too embarrassed to do so. The truth was, cleaning here was no more disgusting than cleaning up after those poodles at the Richmond Inn, and she hoped a letter from the Grand Russe Hotel was waiting for her, since she’d no doubt lost the Richmond Inn position.
When she opened the newspaper, two small rectangles of paper dropped out. She lifted one and saw it appeared to be a membership card for the League of British Workers. Mr. Lester Valentin Rake was typed onto the member line on one card. Mrs. Sadie Rake was typed onto the other. A box was checked on each for January dues.
She handed them to Les. “What’s this?”
He perused the card, then took the other one from her unresisting hand. “Congratulations, you’ve been accepted.”
“What do you mean?”
“These are basically an invitation. As you can see, they’ve paid for, or given us credit for, the first month’s dues.”
“It’s already the twenty-second.”
He nodded, then closed his eyes as if his head movement nauseated him. “Yes, we really join if we pay the next month’s dues.”
“What is the League of British Workers? Is that the group that held the rally?”
“No.” He licked his lower lip.
She remembered that mouth so hungry against hers, but it seemed like forever ago. Ironically, she had been so intimate with his body. She knew every nook and cranny, had washed its unresisting angles and curves. He was a beautiful man, despite the hidden scars, evidence of a harder past than she could have imagined. Yes, she knew his body, but not his mind.
“What is this League, then? Some pet project of the Kozyrevs?”
He smiled. “I assume it is exactly that. I’ll ask around.”
“It doesn’t make any sense, you know. A League of British Workers should have English members, not Russian.”
“Words can be very deceptive, Mrs. Rake,” he said. “Sometimes organizations are named the opposite of what they really are.”
“Are you a Bolshevik?” she asked in a low voice. “I found that flyer from the day we met in your sample case. I remember you were chasing that Russian man.”
Les’s mouth twisted. “I owed him money.”
She didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t well enough to confront. “You looked like you were having fun, but he didn’t.”
“Russians aren’t very good at having fun,” he said. “And I’d had a look at you.”
She blushed, remembering the way he’d charmed her, the way she’d followed him anywhere. “Why do you want to be friends with the Kozyrevs? I gave Irina my nesting doll because it seemed like you really wanted me to befriend her.”
“Where did you get that idea?”
“The way you looked from her to me and back again. You had a plan. Maybe it’s joining this League. But I don’t understand why it’s so important for you to be Russian. You have only one Russian grandparent. Shouldn’t you simply try to be British?”
“It’s not that simple,” Les said softly. “Think of this. Semyon knew me as Valentin, but now he has the rest of my name. He must have found my wallet, and kept it.”
“You are as afraid of him as I was of his wife,” Sadie said.
“Agreed,” he said. “I have to protect you, now.”
You’re telling me. Sadie shook her head. She and her sister had spent hours dissecting every little detail of their small lives in Bagshot. This man lived life on a larger scale, but he rarely spoke at all. She’d spent more than a week at his bedside, even seen his man parts numerous times, and yet she knew no more about him than she’d known on her birthday. Could she trust him? What kind of mess had he pulled her in to?
Les fell asleep against her shoulder before she could pull herself out of her thoughts. He slept all the hours the train moved through the center of England. She read the papers Semyon had provided, forcing herself to pay attention to everything Russian-related. There was a trade mission in London, for instance.
When she tired of reading, she schemed. After twelve days at Les’s bedside, the least she should receive out of the experience was a marriage proposal. She deserved to be his wife after all of this, and it would be good for him too, since he’d fallen in love with her by the time they arrived in Hull, based on what he’d said to her then. She’d lost her position because of him and the Lord only knew how disappointed her grandfather would be by her behavior. She needed to vanish off the face of the earth until she had a proper ring on her finger, her marriage listed in the books of some parish. Finally, she fell asleep too, thinking about spending her life with Lester Rake, and woke up with a mouth of cotton wool and fuzzy vision as the train pulled into the station. She recognized the tall stone and glass edifice of Kings Cross.
Touching Les’s shoulder, she said, “We’re home. You need to gather your strength now.”
He sighed. “I’ll get it back, darling. I’ve been in worse shape than this. We should have taken the time to find my car.”
She waited until they were in the taxicab moving toward Primrose Hill before she followed up on his remark. “Worse shape than this? How is that possible? You nearly died. And your car can wait for another day. I wouldn’t want you driving and I don’t know how.”
He patted her hand on the seat between them. His movements were disjointed, not the actions of a man with energy. “I was in the army. We weren’t fed well. I’ve tr
aveled to Russia and back.”
With Les’s wallet missing, she’d made up most of his biographical details at the hospital. He’d told her he was twenty-five. “You were in the Great War?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m twenty-five. I just missed the fight, went to University instead.”
She frowned. “And then you joined the army?”
He grinned tiredly. “The Russian Army, darling.”
She glanced away, trying to control her emotions. He’d gone to University, then moved to Russia and joined the army there? What kind of man was he? If the story were even true.
Light had fled the sky by the time they reached Primrose Hill. She paid the driver she could scarcely see with the last of the nurse collection money when they reached the converted Edwardian house where Les had his flat. Les accepted her help to exit the taxicab, then walked arm-in-arm with her to the front door of his building.
“I really hope the keys in your pocket went to this flat,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes. We were lucky there.”
She opened the case for him and pulled out the keys. The door swung part way open then stuck. Mail had piled up in a white snow-like drift around the door. She knelt down and gathered everything, then set it on a marble-topped half table to the side of the door. It had a mail sorter but there was too much mail to fit in the slots.
The entryway was a separate room of its own, very modern, with a narrow flight of steps to one side and passages leading off in two directions. A grand mirror opposite the door made the room appear larger than it was, but still, she could have fit most of her bedroom at the Richmond Inn into it.
“The garden is to the left and the bedrooms are to the right,” Les said with a yawn.
“Let’s go right to your bed,” she said, wrapping her arm around him.
“My bedroom is the last one, the fourth door,” he said sleepily. “Sheets will be stale, I’m afraid.”
She patted his back. “I don’t think you’ll mind. We’ll find you some pajamas and you’ll be asleep as soon as your head touches the pillow.” They took their first steps. She remembered finding it hard to keep up with him when they’d gone up Primrose Hill. Now, she had to slow to match him.
He found a reservoir of that rakish charm. “What about you? Are you going to lay your head down next to mine?”
She blushed. “I’ll stay here for now. You need me to care for you and I’m out of a job after what happened. I assume there is more than one bedroom?”
“There are three total, but I use one as a study.”
“I’ll take the other so you don’t have to share your pillow. But while you sleep, I’m going to take your keys and go over to the Grand Russe Hotel. Maybe they will take pity on me even though I don’t have the response to my letter. Plus, my sister lives there. I can borrow clothes.”
He pointed. “This is my bedroom door. We just passed the bathroom and before that were the other two bedrooms. What about the Richmond Inn, or even your grandfather?”
“I don’t want to leave you for that long. I need to get food for us somehow. Maybe I should stop in at your office for you and explain?” There was no way she was going to speak to her grandfather until she had a resolved story about her relationship with Les.
She helped him move into his bedroom. His steps had slowed measurably by the time he reached the bed.
“I can sleep in my clothing.” He sat on the bed.
“No. You rode the train in those clothes. They’re filthy. Can you take your coat off?” She went to a highboy dresser that was part of a matched bedroom set constructed from a dark, masculine wood. Expecting him to tell her which drawer to focus on, she opened one drawer, then another, not really looking, but he didn’t say anything. The third drawer from the bottom held striped pajama sets in Indian cotton. She pulled out a set and then went back up the drawers and found socks. The flat was decidedly chilly.
“I need to turn on the heat.” She turned back to him. His eyes were half-mast, but they snapped open when she took off his tie then unbuttoned his coat.
“Turn on the radiator. It’s just outside the loo door.” He yawned. “I should take off my own clothing.”
“Think of me as your nurse. I’ve done this sort of thing often enough for you in the last couple of weeks.”
He looked more alert. “You did?”
“Yes. I had nowhere to go, so I took care of you like a wife would.”
He clasped her hand, his fingers cold. “I’m so sorry, Sadie. This is not the kind of time I wanted to give a pretty girl.”
“You didn’t plan to be hit over the head while trying to help me rescue a pregnant woman,” she said tartly, getting his waistcoat unbuttoned.
“What happened to her, I wonder? You know, I really don’t remember much of what happened. Just scattered images.”
“I don’t know. She wasn’t injured, just frightened, I think. Or maybe she was having labor pains. I don’t have any medical training.”
“But you are an expert in me now.” He regarded her, a little dreamy-eyed.
She smiled tenderly. “Yes.”
He yawned. “You have the keys. You see that little monkeywood box on the top of the dresser?”
She looked over and saw a mid-sized reddish box. “Yes.” She wrapped the pajama shirt around his shoulders then helped him put his arms in.
“Take all the money in it. Taxicabs, grocery. I don’t know if it will extend to fresh clothing for you, but a pair of stockings, at least. Spend it all.”
“What if you’ve lost your position, Les? Is that all the money you have?”
“No.” He yawned. “Bank account. Don’t worry, darling. I can sell anything. I won’t be sacked.”
She helped him with his trousers and pajama bottoms, reflecting that he could indeed sell anything. How had she come to this, helping a man with his clothes?
By the time she had the covers tucked under his arms, he was asleep, snoring softly. She returned to the highboy and took all the money she found, about five pounds, and the keys. Tossing them into her orange and blue knitted handbag, she returned to the entryway and tucked everything into her coat pockets.
“Oh, I feel grubby,” she muttered to herself. She’d made a parcel of her original clothing, but in the end, she’d taken nothing from Mrs. Kozyrev but the dress she wore. She needed to wash her original clothes and indeed, what she wore. In the bathroom, she did the best she could to tidy herself and make sure she didn’t smell. An iron would have helped. Les’s flat was a maisonette with the parlor and kitchen upstairs. She didn’t want to be gone too long though, knowing he would wake up hungry since he hadn’t eaten since Hull.
No lipstick, no powder. She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror over the mail table. At least she had a nice muffler and gloves. Maybe she could find her sister and borrow her makeup before she went to the hotel manager’s office.
Once outside, she had no trouble finding a taxicab, and received directions to the closest greengrocer’s shop for when she returned.
The Grand Russe Hotel was on Park Lane, a very prestigious part of London with many fine hotels. The taxicab pulled up under an awning and the door was opened by a dark-skinned man in a resplendent Russian red coat and matching hat.
“Welcome to the Grande Russe Hotel,” he said in an American accent, large white teeth flashing in his face.
“Hello.” She paid the driver as the doorman shut the door.
“No luggage?”
“No. I’m here to see my sister, Alecia Loudon. Do you have any idea how I can reach her?”
“Ask at the reception desk. If she’s on the main floor, the hall porter will be able to locate her for you.”
“Do you know her? My sister?” Sadie’s attention was distracted by the sight of two constables disappearing through the front door.
“I know who she is, miss. Works for those Marvins, the theatrical couple.”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s her.�
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The doorman touched his cap. “Pretty girl. Doesn’t leave the hotel much.”
“I think the Marvins keep her very busy.”
He opened the hotel door for two ladies in fur coats and turbans. They ignored him, walking right past him then toward the street. “I expect so, with the command performance taking place a couple of hours from now.”
“Oh. I’ve come at exactly the wrong time, haven’t I? She’ll be run off her feet.” Sadie bit her lip. “I was hoping to borrow some clothes.”
“Expect so, miss. Tomorrow might be better.” He straightened his collar.
“What about Mr. Peter Eyre? Do you think I could speak to him?”
The man bent slightly, to bring his mouth closer to Sadie’s ear. “I’m not sure what’s been going on around here, miss, but this is not a normal day. We’ve got government folks comin’ in, lots of Russians movin’ around.”
“Russians?”
“Trade delegation staying here. I tell you, film stars are less work.”
“Good to know.” She nodded solemnly. “Well, thank you, mister.”
He inclined his head. “It’s John, Miss. Johnnie Miles.”
“You must be a long way from home.”
“We all are, if we ain’t with our mommas.” He grinned at her.
“Wish me luck,” she said breezily. “I might be working here myself soon.”
“Good luck then, Miss Loudon.”
“Sadie Loudon,” she said and offered Johnnie her hand. He looked at her, confusion pleating his brow, but took it. She smiled and walked toward the double doors. A constable opened it for her and she stepped into the famed hotel.
While she didn’t consider herself a superstitious person, the hotel’s energy felt off from the moment she entered. She knew it had only reopened at the end of the previous year, due to a complete refurbishment after the mysterious multiple murders of young film actresses some two and a half years ago. The Grand Hall was magnificent, reminding her of a train station in its breadth and grandeur. Busy, too, with bellboys rushing around, well-dressed folks walking in and out of the famously opulent Coffee Room. The walls seemed to echo with conversations, some of which might have taken place minutes ago, or even days. She was pretty sure she recognized the sharply coiffed woman who walked out of the hair Salon holding a tiny black dog. Honor Page, the film actress. If the chambermaid position was still available, she might be cleaning the room of someone as famous as that very soon.
I Wanna Be Loved by You Page 7