Making matters worse wouldn’t help. Maybe she wasn’t really his wife, but she certainly didn’t want to be his widow. She took the book from her bag and tossed it on top of the blanket on the sofa, then grabbed her hat from its peg in the small entryway. She started to put on her muffler, then realized he’d given it to her. She tossed it on the floor, followed by the gloves he’d also gifted to her on her birthday. Jamming her hat on her head with one hand, she clutched her bag firmly with the other and marched out of the suite.
She saw the lift was down on the third floor. Not able to stand still, she opened the door to the staircase, letting it slam against the wall, and marched downstairs, wishing she hadn’t left her old knitted mittens in a drawer at Les’s flat. Hopefully Alecia would have a spare pair.
Johnnie wasn’t on duty near the taxicab stand. She’d better not spend money on cab fare anyhow. While the air chilled her bare hands, the walk was only half a mile. She hoisted her valise, feeling extremely ill-used, and headed north.
Halfway, the rain started. By the time she trudged up the steps to the boarding house door, water dripped off her hat onto her coat. She wished she hadn’t left her muffler. Her hand was frozen to her carpetbag handles. She used her elbow to push the doorbell, fuming while she waited for it to open.
An ancient-looking man opened the door after a couple of long minutes. He wore three sweaters, layered over a yellowed shirt and food-stained tie. “Yes?”
“I’m Alecia Loudon’s sister. I’d like to see her,” she announced.
“I’m afraid she’s out, miss.”
She wanted to wail. “How can that be?”
“She’s gone for the doctor. Mrs. Plash is in a bad way.”
She forced herself to register that someone else was in crisis. “I’m sorry to hear that. Can I wait for her?”
“She won’t have time to see you today, if ye want my opinion. Best to come back tomorrow.”
Sadie’s upper lip trembled. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
As tears welled up in her eyes, the man looked alarmed. “Now, look here, miss, it’s not so bad. She’ll be here soon enough, it’s just that she has to take the medicine to the old lady, and it’s hard to get it down her. I’ve heard the lady’s daughter complain about it.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Sadie whispered. But she did, of course, her grandfather. Did she have money for the train? She thought frantically. No, she didn’t. When they’d moved into the hotel, she lost her access to Les’s stash of money on the top of his chest of drawers. She’d neglected to retrieve her own pay envelope. The distribution had been Friday afternoon when she’d been upstairs recovering from the man in the basement drama.
Someone came up the steps behind her. Sadie wiped at her eyes.
Olga, dressed in a shabby coat but rather smart hat, frowned at her. “What’s wrong, Sadie?”
“It’s all a lie,” Sadie whispered.
Olga lifted her eyebrows as she saw Sadie’s bag. “Have you left Mr. Rake?”
Sadie nodded and began to cry again.
Olga shook her head. “Can we please come in, Mr. Dadey?”
“Of course, miss,” the old man said, and shuffled backward. “Will you be taking charge of the young lady?”
“Yes, she’s my employee.”
“Why don’t I fetch you both a good cuppa? Beastly day.” He wandered away.
Olga pushed her into the hallway. “Take off your things,” she said briskly. “They can drip on the linoleum.” She set her umbrella into the brass stand and unpinned her hat, then unbuttoned her long wool coat.
Sadie hung up her coat and hat. “My sister is out running an errand and Mr. Dadey said she’d be too busy to see me.”
“Mrs. Plash is dying,” Olga said in her no nonsense fashion. “I’m sure your sister is being run off her feet.”
“Should I call you Your Serene Highness when we are outside the hotel?” Sadie asked. “I know you are a princess.”
“It seems rather silly here in England,” Olga said. “You need not do so unless we are in public. And not during work hours, of course.”
“Thank you,” Sadie said.
Olga led her into a sitting room, dominated by a large gramophone. “Now, what is this business about lies and leaving your husband?”
Sadie sat on the edge of the worn sofa next to a fern, hoping she wasn’t soaking the fabric. It didn’t look like the elderly chintz would need much encouragement to disintegrate. She placed her bag at her feet and opened it, then pulled out the envelope she found.
Olga took the envelope and opened it. “Your marriage license. The special license. What of it?”
Sadie froze. She didn’t want to tell Olga the truth but she needed someone to confide in. “My marriage is invalid.”
Olga stared at first the marriage license, then the special license. “Yes, I see what you mean. The Archbishop’s seal is an obvious fake.”
“W-what?” Sadie said, shocked. “It is?”
“Yes, that’s not the seal. The real one has lettering around the outside and this one doesn’t. Terribly inept job. If your special license wasn’t issued by the Archbishop’s office, you are a concubine, not a wife.”
Sadie’s mouth dropped open. “I am?”
Olga shook her head in disgust. “Was your husband sold this on the black market? Too eager to wait to call the banns?”
“I-I don’t really know.”
“You’ll have to remarry. You’re right to leave him until it’s sorted. After all, what if he changes his mind now? You could end up with an illegitimate child.”
Sadie closed her eyes. “I thought he loved me.”
“Did he explain how he came to have a false special license?”
She could imagine, but she couldn’t tell Olga. “No. I haven’t seen him. I found the papers and then I packed and left.”
“Did you leave him a note?”
Sadie’s eyes filled with tears again as she shook her head. She fished for a handkerchief and held it to her nose, letting the tears drip down her cheeks.
“He can’t fix anything if he doesn’t know what is wrong,” Olga stated.
“I’m certain he knew the license was a fake,” Sadie whispered.
Olga frowned. She did that a lot. Sadie wondered if the princess would give herself premature wrinkles as a result. Olga’s life couldn’t have been easy. A shabby boarding house when she should be living in a grace-and-favor apartment at Kensington Palace or somewhere like that. She wondered what the story was.
“You must think the best of Mr. Rake,” Olga said, as if instructing her. “I am sure you do not want to be unmarried now that you did marry him. You do not want to start over, right?”
Sadie balled the handkerchief in her hands, not answering.
“Think about it. He has a good position and a nice flat. Very handsome and charming, and he has Mr. Eyre’s ear.”
“Mr. Eyre’s ear?”
“Yes, I’ve seen him come out of the office. And Mr. Eyre does not suffer fools.”
“Are you sweet on Mr. Eyre?” Sadie asked.
Olga lifted one brow. “Don’t be daft, Sadie. The man is a roué of the first order. My father was also such a man.”
“But you respect him, surely.”
“Yes, I do. Definitely, but I do not desire him. I’ve seen how you look at Mr. Rake. I told you I do not trust him, and my fears were warranted, but you are in love with him.”
“Am I?”
Olga nodded soberly. “It is a misfortune to fall in love, is it not?”
Sadie stared at the silent gramophone, wishing music soothed her the way it did Alecia. She shook her head. “Sometimes, certainly. Only time will tell what the truth is for me.”
* * *
Les felt the tender skin under his eyes as he waited for the lift. He’d seen the Secret Intelligence Service doctor and he’d cleaned away the work of the hotel doctor. His nose felt better without the packing and it had stoppe
d bleeding. He’d even avoided the double black eyes, though his head would be aching without the doctor’s magic pills. Nothing appealed to him but a nap, cradled in Sadie’s arms. Could he teach her to make love with her on top? That sounded marvelous, since their sex life had been going so well.
Fedor Verenich stood in the hallway outside of the Piano Suite. Usually the Russians were not obvious enough to keep a guard outside of the suite. In fact, they often left the corridor completely empty. Something had increased their paranoia. Les considered the possibility that they’d discovered the microphone, but if that were the case, Verenich probably would have already shot him where he stood.
In fact, the Russian nodded at him politely. He had no idea that Les had interrogated him after he’d been caught near the Russian Tea Rooms. Les had been careful to use a tough Cockney accent that he’d perfected for just such occasions, and of course Verenich hadn’t seen him, since the police had ordered him to turn around while they spoke.
He went into his suite to find it empty. His novel had been moved, as if Sadie had been reading it. Maybe she’d finished all the magazines. She liked to read them in the bath. He checked the bath: empty. Then, he went into the bedroom. The bed was made, but slightly mussed as if heavy objects had been strewn across it and removed.
He still wore his coat. After pulling it off, he went to place it on the entryway peg and found Sadie’s coat missing. However, her scarf and gloves were still there. How odd.
A light tap came on the door. He checked himself in the mirror. While he could run his hands down his hair, that was the only improvement he could make.
“Darling!” said Miss Page when he answered. “Whatever happened?”
Les blinked. Even that hurt a bit. “I defended my wife’s honor and took a fist to the face for my troubles.”
“Who hit you?” she gasped.
“One of the Russians. Stay away from them, Miss Page. They don’t appear to respect matrimony.”
“I will.” The beautiful film actress gave him a little pout and stroked the fox stole lying across one shoulder. “You’re giving me tea today. Did you remember?”
“Yes, of course,” he forced a smile. “I’m so sorry that Sadie isn’t here. Some kind of emergency with her sister.”
“I understand her sister is very beautiful,” Miss Page said. “I don’t remember her, myself.”
“She lived on the fifth floor for a month or so,” Les said. “Give me a moment to order us a tray.”
“Oh, you naughty thing,” she said playfully. “Won’t your wife mind if we are alone?”
“I promised you both a Russian lesson. I won’t deny you,” he said. Sadie would kill him for canceling with the star when she returned, so he didn’t. “Please come in.”
He led Miss Page to the white sofa in the center of the room. She sat, gracefully. Then, he wrote a note ordering tea for three, in hope of Sadie’s return, and reopened the door, then slid it into the box by the lift. The floor butler checked the box every few minutes.
“Now, what should we do?” Miss Page asked, allowing her stole to slide down her arm. Underneath she wore a white silk dress with a spear point brass necklace. Her shoes had very high heels. She was much more petite than she seemed. The shoes disguised her height and the fur accessories hid the fragility of her shoulders. The makeup disguised her youth. He’d thought her in her late twenties, but now, up close, he revised her down to twenty-two.
“Let us begin,” he said briskly, seating himself in the closest armchair. “How much education do you have?”
“Why?” She stroked her stole.
“Do you understand how to diagram a sentence? I wonder if I should teach you simple phrases, like polite conversation, or if you want to understand how Russian is constructed?”
“Oh, phrases, definitely. I need the accent, you know, for my role. I want to know how my mouth should look.” She pursed her lips.
“Generally, I would take a firm and negative approach. No flattery, no batting of the eyes.”
Miss Page followed his instructions, sitting up straight and dropping her hands into her lap. Her heavily mascaraed eyes centered on his.
“Yes, delete coyness from your vocabulary. The Russians like to say no. They enjoy drama, so use those facial expressions you do so well. But take a stand, be definite. No fluttering.”
“Act like a woman, not a young girl?” she suggested.
He nodded. Unexpectedly, she stood, and began to pace the room. After three turns, she stood before him, shoulders thrown back, head at an arrogant angle.
“Say ‘love me’ in Russian,” she demanded.
“To say ‘I love you’ to a man, you would say, ‘Ty mne ne bezrazlichen, ’” he said.
She dropped to her knees in front of him, a move that displayed her youth as nothing else could, and held her hands out to him. A tear ran down her cheek, but throughout, she kept the proud angle in her body. “Ty mne ne bezrazlichen,” she said, then repeated it.
He smiled and clapped. “Very nice, Miss Page.”
She bounced up, wobbling a bit on her heels, then sat next to him on the armrest. “Let me tell you the scenario of the film.”
An hour later, Les was exhausted as he escorted the actress from the suite. Sadie had never arrived, and while Miss Page had not attempted to make love to him, he’d much rather have spent the hour napping instead of playacting her movie scenario. He’d better go downstairs and speak to the front desk staff about his wife. To miss this she had to be doing something important. He’d had to cancel their dinner plans with the film stars, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have been a huge disappointment to Sadie.
First though, he needed to change his shirt. It was sweat-stained and crumpled from his painful adventure with the doctor. He went into the bedroom closet. Half of the contents were missing.
“Hell and the devil.” He realized the importance of Sadie’s coat being gone while her gloves and scarf remained. She’d left the presents he’d given her behind and taken everything else.
His fake wife had deserted him. A woman who knew what he was. A spy.
* * *
Lionel Dew, the night manager, was already on duty at the front desk. A stout woman in a tweed suit and pearls turned away with a handful of envelopes as Les approached him. She inclined her head and marched away.
“Did my wife hand her key in?” Les asked the impassive manager.
“One minute, sir, I will check.” Dew turned around and ran his finger down the row of keys, then turned back. “Yes, sir, it is here.”
Les stared at the desk. The swirled pattern of the marble top entranced him. “Then she meant to leave. Is Ivan Salter on duty yet?”
“At seven, sir. I came in early today.”
“Have you heard anything about Mrs. Plash’s condition?” Les asked.
“We have not seen Miss Plash as often as usual, so I expect that is a bad sign for her mother,” Dew said.
Meaning it was a good sign for the hotel, not to have Emmeline Plash and her drama distracting Peter Eyre. “Very well. Is Mr. Eyre about?”
“I will see.” Dew disappeared into the back for a couple of minutes, then returned and nodded at Les.
Les found Peter Eyre poking through a filing cabinet behind his massive desk, his usual cigarette wafting a thin trail of smoke through the air from its perch on the edge of the battered ashtray on his desk. Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” played on a gramophone in the other corner. It was the kind of music that sped a man’s heart rate, and Les wished he could turn it off.
“What?” Peter asked, frowning as he caught sight of his visitor.
“Sadie’s missing.”
“Meaning what?”
“She’s taken some of her things. We had tea planned with Miss Page, and I can’t imagine Sadie giving up time with a film star.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. Women are a mercurial bunch.”
“That’s all you have to say? You know what�
��s going on.”
“You think the Russians took her and her clothing? More likely, she took clothes over to her sister. Mrs. Plash is at her end, and I doubt Alecia has time to do her wash.”
Les gritted his teeth as the tempo of the song increased. A tinny horn blast rattled his bones. No, Sadie wasn’t being helpful in the way he had hoped, bringing him hotel news. The one thing she’d seen, the Russian in the basement bathroom, hadn’t come to him until it had gone through hotel management. But, damn it, he wanted her back, his headstrong, caring, fake wife. What had happened after she tended him and his broken nose? Would she have skipped her film star tea to sit with a dying woman?
He realized he hadn’t spoken in a bit when the piano part of the song started up again. Before the horns could resound, he walked behind the desk and pulled the needle off the record.
“Pardon me?” Peter said. “I was listening to that.”
“I can’t think with it on.”
“It does settle into one’s bones,” Eyre said, closing his file drawer and setting some papers on his desk.
Les couldn’t help glancing at them sideways. Some kind of construction company bills. “Planning to wall off the tunnels?”
Eyre snarled and shoved the papers into a desk drawer and slammed it shut. “Bloody spy. Why don’t you let Sadie go? She deserves better.”
“I’m better off with her than without,” Les said without thinking.
Eyre picked up his cigarette. “But what about her? She can’t be better off with you. Let her have a divorce if that’s what she wants.”
“I thought you were so certain she was merely bringing her sister a change of clothing.”
He shrugged. “What do I know? I’d never even met a Loudon girl until December.”
“I know you don’t know Sadie terribly well. What about Alecia?”
Eyre stared at the cigarette burning down between his fingers. “I flirted with her a bit, but she hadn’t flowered yet. Didn’t know what to do with me, and of course, part of the reason Emmeline stays in my life is because she scares off others who might attempt to make love to me.”
“You’re hardly a victim.” His nose had started to throb again. He wondered if it was time for another one of those magic pills.
I Wanna Be Loved by You Page 24