McCall cocked his head and waggled his eyebrows. “A constable followed him and watched him break into a flat. It was one of the ones where no one answered the door earlier.”
“Moron,” Les said. “To let himself be watched. Poor spycraft.”
“More a heavy than a spy, I think. Did you notice his shoulders?”
“And his paunch,” Les said. “Strong man gone to seed.”
“He had a gun on him,” McCall said.
“Where is he now?”
“In the flat. There was no way to take him out quietly, not under the circumstances. The constable was on his own. No telephone in the flat.”
“Can I search it?”
“Yes, after we get Fedor out of there. Come down to the station when you’re done and have a chat with him. We’ll have to release him quickly, due to his diplomatic status.”
Les nodded as the door to the building opened. He turned his back to the door as three men came out, one of them cursing in Russian. When the three had entered a taxicab together and departed, he and McCall went upstairs.
They found a sparely furnished bedsit built in an L shape. The only amenity was that the flat came with its own bathroom. Les took in the sparse furnishings in a glance: a wood table with two chairs, a cot that looked like army issue. “And a chest.”
“A chest,” McCall agreed, beginning a tapping pattern on the wooden floorboards, searching for a cache.
Les went to the windows, which were just a couple of feet away from the next building, and closed the curtains. Then, he checked the chest for booby traps. He didn’t find any, and when he opened the chest, there was nothing but clothing, serviceable, cheap, and handmade. Oversized.
“He sleeps here and works somewhere else,” Les said, defeated after twenty minutes. The floor was solid, as was every other aspect of the flat. Konstantin didn’t appear to eat here, either.
“This may be more of a safe house than a home,” McCall said.
“It’s neither now.” Les shook his head. “The toiletries and the clothing belong to the same man. But he’s careful. I haven’t found so much as a stray hair, even on the blankets.”
“I can’t believe we’ve cost ourselves our only lead,” McCall said, kicking one of the table legs. The cheap wood creaked its protest.
“Not quite yet. Off to New Scotland Yard to see what we can get out of Fedor,” Les said with a yawn. The long day was having its toll on his weakened body.
They went downstairs, nodding to the constable outside keeping watch, and climbed into the waiting car. When they arrived at the Norman Shaw buildings, they were ushered into a passageway outside of an interrogation room.
“He claims to barely speak English,” said a uniformed constable outside. “Other than insisting he must be released, he’s staring at the wall.”
“Turn him around,” Les instructed. “He must not see me.”
“Yes, sir.” At a nod from McCall, the constable returned inside the room to make the arrangements.
Chapter Eight
Sadie stretched her toes to the far end of the bathtub and sighed with pleasure. This was what she needed after two days of intensive chambermaid duty, to start her day with a luxurious bath. She stretched her neck from side to side and fanned her fingers through the warm water. Les’s bedroom door was still closed. She hadn’t heard a peep from him, but it was early yet. After she was done, she’d nip upstairs and make them a nice breakfast and treat him to breakfast in bed. No more bachelor ways for her man. Maybe they’d discuss wedding plans. As far as she was concerned, she’d best be Mrs. Lester Rake by the end of February.
She heard a door opening somewhere on the floor. Les must be up. He’d want the bathroom. She stood in the tub and found a towel, then dressed quickly. Later on today, she’d have to return to the Richmond Inn and get her things. She couldn’t stand to wear the two dresses in her possession any more.
Five minutes later, she was opening the bathroom door. Les was in the entry hall, his hair standing on end. He must have just taken off his hat. His eyes were bloodshot and he had a day’s growth of beard.
“Were you out all night?” she asked in shock.
“Afraid so.”
“Les, your health,” she exclaimed, coming toward him. She rested her hand on his arm. “Let’s get you to bed. Did your boss make you stay out drinking or something?”
She tried not to let him see she had breathed him in as well. At least he didn’t smell of perfume, just old cigarettes, dust, and spirits.
“Why aren’t you at work? It’s gone nine A.M. now.” He unbuttoned his coat, making a face as the smell of it wafted into the air.
“We are engaged. Surely you can’t expect me to work outside the home?”
His look at her was incredulous. “Yes, I can. Go to work.”
“Les!” She protested, outraged. “It’s unseemly.”
“I’ve lost two weeks’ wages and you need a new wardrobe.” He swayed a little. “What about our honeymoon? Don’t you want smart things? You need to bring clothes to our marriage, at least.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist, concerned with his appearance. “I see,” she said, chastened. “But I want to take care of you. You aren’t doing a very good job on your own.”
He smiled wearily at her. “I owe you my life, darling. I know that. But for now, we need to stop speaking. I need to find my bed and you need to go to the Grand Russe.”
She bit her lip. There was no point arguing now. “I didn’t have breakfast yet,” she said in a little girl voice.
“I’ll go down and get a taxicab for you while you butter some bread. It will have to do. Two minutes, Sadie,” he warned.
“Very well,” she sniffed. “But I cannot work for the hotel and take care of your flat, and you, properly. When I come home tonight I am packing my things.”
He said nothing, just held his coat together with one hand while he opened the front door.
Twenty minutes later, resentful, she walked down the stairs to the Grand Russe’s basement and into the staff lounge. She went to her peg and took her uniform into a private bathroom to dress. When she returned to hang her things, she found her supervisor and Mr. Eyre waiting for her.
“Sadie!” Mr. Eyre’s half-closed eyelids and air of utter perfection intimidated her, but his words were kind. “Are you well? We were worried about you.”
Sadie frowned. He seemed to care more than Les did. She sniffed. “I’m sorry, sir. My fiancé is recovering from a head injury and he didn’t come home last night. I was too concerned to leave until he appeared.”
Olga’s full lips compressed. Her supervisor was beautiful and distinguished enough to play a queen in the pictures, someone like Mary, Queen of Scots. “You are unmarried and live with a man?”
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Sadie explained. “I thought I’d live with Alecia, but you know I can’t now. My fiancé has a large flat. Three bedrooms.”
Mr. Eyre patted Olga’s shoulder. “Do not trouble yourself, Miss Novikov. Sadie is a respectable girl. Does your fiancé have a telephone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then please use it to notify us if you have another crisis,” he said. “Would you like me to call our hotel doctor to look in on your fiancé?”
“No, sir. But thank you.”
Olga muttered something in Russian, then turned away and gestured imperiously over her shoulder for Sadie to follow. Definitely Mary, Queen of Scots. Sadie lowered her eyes and trotted behind her supervisor, feeling Mr. Eyre’s gaze follow. He gave her the shivers, despite being young, refined, and handsome.
* * *
Les checked his watch. Sadie should be home any moment. He lit two tapers in the center of the kitchen table, which was carefully laid out with covered dishes from a restaurant across the street. A waiter had arrived with a fine French beef and onion dish, along with a side of creamed turnips and potatoes. They had a lemon tart for dessert, and the waiter had decanted a hal
f bottle of red wine.
He knew Sadie wasn’t a drinker, but he’d need the wine, even if she didn’t. Tonight he needed to finish his proposal and put a ring on this girl’s finger. He’d been left with no choice in the matter.
Glass had personally delivered a very convincing-looking special license to him. His section head had been wearing false hair and a delivery uniform. Les hadn’t recognized him at first. He’d doubted such a tall man with a distinctive way of animating his face could disguise himself completely, but Glass had done it.
Or maybe Les was still not quite on his game. Regardless, Glass had reminded him of the possible importance of Sadie’s position. He’d been horrified to learn Sadie hadn’t gone into work this morning and told Les he had to keep Sadie there for now. For sure, he couldn’t allow her to become pregnant. She was unwilling to work as it was. A baby coming would make her leave work for certain. Some marriage he had to look forward to. What he did for his country.
He stood over the table and breathed in the scent of warm beeswax. If he concentrated, he could isolate it from the flavors of the French cuisine, taking him back to his mother’s dressing table when he was a child. She’d liked to sit with a candle before she’d go to bed in the evenings, saying the light was soothing to her eyes. It hadn’t been until after she died that his father had told him the truth: the entire marriage had been a setup. His father had married her to keep an eye on the inner workings of her family. His grandmother on his mother’s side had been Irish and her brothers were all part of the Irish Home Rule movement.
Now he was marrying Sadie to keep an eye on Russians. Well, not really marrying. She wasn’t important enough to marry for real, like his mother had been.
The front door opened and closed. Show time. Sadie had arrived home. He locked his thoughts away in the mental box he’d created five years before when he started espionage work, and took on the persona of Lester Rake, about to plan a wedding.
He heard clattering, as if Sadie was throwing her shoes around the entry hall. Probably kicking them off in a fit of childish temper since he’d dared to force her to work. Then, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. When she entered the kitchen, he saw she had a wrapped package of something. He moved into place behind the table.
She blinked as she saw the candles and covered dishes. Her eyes narrowed as she held up her package. “I bought sausages.”
He leaned across the table and took the package from her. “Breakfast.”
“Yes.” She stared at the candles again.
“I thought you might like a nice meal. It’s from the restaurant across the street.” He could tell from her unsmiling face that their rather brutal discussion of the morning had not been forgotten.
“Why? It’s expensive.”
“We should celebrate. I was trying to propose to you last night, you know.”
“You did.” She glanced up at him.
He smiled. “But, darling, I never finished.” He came around the table and pulled out a chair. “Here, sit.”
She seated herself and allowed him to pour wine for them both. “Just a sip. It doesn’t agree with me.”
“I understand.” He sat as soon as he had the covers off of the dishes.
“It looks delicious,” she admitted.
“Let’s eat. You must be hungry. I hope you had a decent lunch.”
“I had to work through because of coming in late,” she said, each word forced out reluctantly. “But I didn’t get the sack.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I really can’t believe you don’t think I have enough to do in this flat though. And it’s economical. You won’t have to pay for a cleaner, or for expensive restaurant meals. I can do all that.”
He and Glass had not factored in the idea that Sadie might not want to work. But she had to. “I’m sorry, but you’re a modern girl with a new job and why shouldn’t you work? I travel a lot and you’ll be bored.”
“I’ll go with you,” she insisted. “Look at what happened in Hull. If you’re going to have these foolish impulses, I need to protect you from yourself.”
He grinned. “In that case, we’ll get married tomorrow!”
She smiled for the first time since she had come in. “It takes weeks.”
“Not with a special license.”
“Which is not inexpensive,” she pointed out.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he said, making it up as he went along.
“What’s that?”
“I can’t manage these late nights with my supervisor. Either I stay his drinking companion when he’s on a bender, or I marry. Married men have more opportunity in my company, and aren’t expected to make a circuit of public houses at night. For all his waywardness, my company owner is a family man at heart. He likes to have his men marry. And he very much disapproves of the sort of arrangement we have.”
“Which is?”
He shrugged. “Living in sin.” He leaned forward. “If he found out you were living here, I would be fired.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t support you on a chambermaid wage, Les.”
He pulled the special license from his pocket. “We really can be married tomorrow. No more worries for you, and I won’t risk being sacked. What do you say?”
She took the paper, frowning, her lips moving as she read. “Such applesauce. Was this really necessary?”
He grinned. “Don’t you want to marry me?”
“Of course.” She sounded uncertain.
“It’s all set up for tomorrow night.”
“I thought my grandfather would officiate,” she said, her hand shaking. “I know that is what my sister is planning.”
“Don’t you want to beat your sister to the altar?” he asked, poking at Sadie’s vanity.
She bit her lip. “We can’t risk your career. It would break my heart to lose this lovely flat.”
“Very well,” he said solemnly, ignoring that his fake fiancée had just put his flat over his person. “Meet me at the Peace Chapel in Marylebone as soon as you are done for the day, tomorrow. We’ll marry then.”
“Can’t we wait until Saturday night? That way we’d at least have a quiet twenty-four hours or so when we don’t have to work.”
He pulled the ring box from his pocket and took her unresisting hand. Her eyes widened as he opened the ring box to show her the diamond solitaire on a gold band. She sighed with happiness as he slid it on her finger. “No. I can’t wait another day.”
“I knew you were in love with me,” she sighed, staring at her ring. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Les. Is it a family heirloom?”
“Of course,” he lied. “My mother’s.”
“You haven’t told me about her,” she said absently.
“She was lovely. Died much too young.”
“My mother too,” she said, holding her hand this way and that, admiring how the candlelight sparkled off the stone.
Les wondered how much Glass had invested in this ring, and how many fingers it would eventually adorn during its life as a Secret Intelligence Service marital weapon. For that matter, had his mother’s engagement ring been the same? It was probably in a bank vault along with the rest of his family’s valuables. He’d never cared much about jewelry.
“We’ll have our own family soon enough. Perhaps Alecia and I will have babies right about the same time and they can grow up together. That would be nice.” Her gaze had gone soft and dreamy.
Not if he could help it.
* * *
The next evening, Sadie’s taxicab pulled up in front of the tiny Peace Chapel in Marylebone. It was nothing more than a storefront. She’d given Olga a note for Alecia, to tell her about the wedding tonight, but her sister would never be able to come here in time, even if she could leave the elderly woman she was caring for.
She opened the front door, which was unlocked, and found a small anteroom. Through a cheap door, she found a small, Spartan chapel, with an altar toward the back and folding chairs
in the rest of the room. Four men were present. Les, Robbie O’Donnell, a slightly older tall fellow in an expensive suit, and a stoop-backed man with a clerical collar. Les had supplied himself and his witnesses. She had no one. For a moment, she even wished for her friends from the Richmond Inn, Mrs. Curtis and Old Ben, to be present, but she had burned those bridges by taking off for Hull so precipitously. She’d made her bed with Lester Rake and now she needed to lie in it.
At least he was a handsome fellow who dressed well. If she occasionally felt like he was looking through her rather than at her, well, that was just her insecurities talking. He obviously had fallen in love with her. Just like she had with him. That fluttering sensation in her belly was happy nerves, excitement. Tonight she’d be a wife, his wife, Mrs. Lester Rake.
The ceremony only took five minutes. He put a slim gold ring on her finger, and Robbie solemnly gave her a thicker band for Les’s finger. He must have chosen it himself when he’d bought her ring. The other man, Lord Walling, a proper aristocrat, shook her hand solemnly when the ceremony was through. They all signed the paperwork and then went for dinner at an Italian restaurant near Soho Square. The men shared two bottles of wine and became very merry, teasing Les mercilessly. She was confused and scarcely touched her pasta. Robbie was a friend, but who was Lord Walling? His supervisor? The owner of his company? He was well-dressed enough to be wealthy, but didn’t have the looks of a heavy drinker. They were too busy trading quips to ever make the relationships clear. Meanwhile, Sadie was fawned over by the waiters, who brought her so many different desserts to celebrate her bridal status that she felt sleepy from so much heavy, alcohol-soaked cake.
They shared a taxicab back to Primrose Hill, and let the new Rake couple off alone in front of his building. Robbie and Lord Walling shook both of their hands very enthusiastically, then the taxicab drove off, wheels grinding against old leaves and water on the street, leaving them alone in the rain.
Sadie held onto Les’s arm lightly as they entered his flat. Hers too, now. She actually had a London home, a proper husband. If only her sister had been at her wedding. She pulled off her gloves so she could check on her rings.
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