“Look, you’ve gone and taken our sweet secretary here and given her a fright. She looks positively sick.” She reached across Trixie and patted Kája’s hand on the tabletop. “Dearest Kája. Don’t worry. Trixie is our worldly one—yes. But she makes herself a trifle on occasion, when she doesn’t know how to keep her yap out of it.”
“I do no such thing.” Trixie lit a cig and with a little added pomp, crossed her arms over her chest. “And Kája’s not a switchboard chatterbox like us. She’s a writer; writers are going to brood. Let’s just leave it alone, then. War talk will edge up under anyone’s skin. If she wants to fret over it, then we let her. Perhaps have a change of subject to something other than mad talk of Nazis and armies marching in the streets.”
“And it couldn’t be better timed,” Mary whispered, and let out a low whistle as she inclined her head to the door. “Doll dizzy alert.”
The rest of the girls followed Mary’s lead and looked in the direction of the bustle past the dance floor. In had walked a group of dapper gentlemen in white dinner jackets, all dressed to the nines. They owned generous smiles and just the right amount of arrogance to turn heads all over the joint. They shook hands with several others in the club, uniformed servicemen and older gentlemen in suits who obviously knew the infamous boys from the war beat. And smack-dab in the center of the group was the ace reporter himself, Liam Marshall, wearing a heart-stopping smile as he greeted several comrades.
Kája had noticed Liam right off. She glanced across the club, only out of curiosity of course, making certain to look away before anyone noticed.
Rumor had it that he frequented the local pubs not far from Fleet Street’s newspaper offices and kept the company of the other rough and tumble boys on the war beat. They were scrubby around the edges; smart London boys with sharp pens and even sharper wits, but often with raucous, pint-influenced judgment that pegged them as notorious even in Park Lane. But Liam seemed to enjoy tangling with the lot of them. Stepping out to a posh club hadn’t seemed part of the persona surrounding him, until now.
“Well, well. The boys from the beat have decided to take a step up in the world.” Trixie blew smoke out in a cloud in front of them and with a wink to the other girls, stood up. She snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the tabletop. “I suppose that’s my cue to grab a gent for the Jitterbug.”
Eleanor smiled. “Which one?”
Trixie tipped her shoulders up into a pronounced shrug. “I’ve an idea which ones to set my sights on. If they can afford to buy me all the champagne I want off ration, then they get a dance. After all, they’ve got more to offer in the long run than overconfident newspapermen.” She flipped her raven curls before trotting off into the crowd.
“She’s a live wire, that one. Doesn’t even wait for a gent to ask her.” Mary smiled and borrowed a cigarette from Trixie’s purse, then lit the end and took a long first drag. “But at least she knows what she wants. How many of us can say the same?”
Eleanor leaned in. “Think the boys will come over here and talk to us?”
“I’m not even sure they’ll notice us,” Kája offered, trying to keep the mood light and her interest marginal.
It seemed as though the boys had noticed their table. Mary’s eyes moved from their place at the door back to the booth and after a brief pause, trained her view on Kája in particular. A sly smile pressed onto her lips.
“Well now. I’d say my question has been effectively answered. There is a good chance they will join us, given the way the ace reporter can’t take his eyes off our molten-haired beauty from Prague.”
The girls reacted.
Mary leaned in and Eleanor audibly gasped, whispering, “What? Kája?”
A wave of embarrassment flooded warmth into Kája’s cheeks when Liam scanned the club and of all the monstrously awkward moments to do so, somehow locked eyes—with her. In being caught in her surveillance of him, she quickly looked away, diverting her attention to the surface of the tabletop instead, hoping to look only mildly curious.
Eleanor shook her head. “Kája, please don’t consider it. That one has more dates thrown at him than the king of England. If you’ve got any smarts about you, you’ll look the other way now.”
“Who says I’ve considered anything?”
Mary, ever pragmatic, spoke up with a hopeful voice, saying, “Just give her a breath, Eleanor. She hasn’t said anything yet.” She paused. “Kája’s got a head on her shoulders. She’d never be interested in him. Right, Kája?”
“Of course not. I barely know him. We pass each other in the newsroom here and there, but he only speaks to me when he needs more paper or a replacement ribbon for his typewriter. He’s gone most of the time anyway. And in case you can’t tell by his rumored company, a prim secretary from Prague is not at all his type. How do you know he’s not looking at one of you?”
Kája’s hand was fused around the tumbler in her hand, though Mary still managed to reach over and gently pat her wrist in a motherly fashion.
“You’re right, of course. We’ve all noticed the smile on that one,” Eleanor said, rolling her eyes. “We know you’re smarter than to tangle with that mess of a chap, no matter how handsome he thinks he is. He’s all newspaper—always will be. He doesn’t have time for any date more than once, I’m afraid. And I heard he’s been called up anyway.”
“Called up?” Mary asked, voice lifted on the question.
Eleanor nodded. “The RAF. He’s reporting at the end of the month.”
Kája didn’t know why, but something about what her friends said didn’t sit well with her. It was as if the man they all saw wasn’t who he appeared. She couldn’t say why exactly, but something wasn’t right.
She glanced over at Liam again. He didn’t notice her this time and continued in his jolly smiles and handshakes.
“Come on, Eleanor. Let’s abdicate.” Mary winked. “To test our theory? If we’re all off dancing, maybe we’ll see who asks our dear Kája to dance first. Then we’ll know for sure.”
Mary leaned forward, looking with an unveiled glare as Eleanor slid from the booth.
“It’s well-meaning, you know—our worry. And since you’re still new and Trixie’s not here to say it, I will. Steer clear, Kája. If that one’s noticed you at all, you’d be better off going back home to the Nazis. There’s far less heartbreak to be found there.”
Kája wasn’t sure, though there was little time to care.
A couple of the boys from the beat were already threading their way through the crowd, heading for their table. Kája found that her friends, while well-meaning in their cautions, were less inclined to form a protective barrier around her than they were to see if they were correct in Liam’s notice of her. They were quick to jump up, claim a gentleman nearby, and waltz off to the band’s jazzy tunes.
Abandoned or not, Kája couldn’t blame them.
The mood was light all around; she actually would have liked to dance, too, even if just to forget her troubles for one night. She’d borrowed an evening dress and Trixie had finger-waved her hair in a long cascade about her shoulders just for the occasion. She’d been primped and plucked like a princess that night. Why shouldn’t she want to join them?
Aloof though the glances had been, Kája could feel each time Liam’s eyes had settled upon the booth in which she sat. And now that she was alone, he seemed a bit freer with his liberties. He excused himself from the group of revelers and in less time than she had to think of what she’d say, he was in front of her, standing tall with hands in his pockets and a casual grin on his face.
“Why, Miss Makovský. Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this.”
“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Marshall.” Kája lifted her voice over the lilting music, wondering exactly what he meant, but bit her tongue over the remark.
“And where have your friends gone off to?”
She pointed to the flashes of glittering dresses and easy smiles that permeated the dance floor. “
I believe they’re already dancing.”
“Yes, I saw them leave you alone here.” He nodded, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he slid into the booth without invitation. She scooted over a shade on principle.
“Do you dance?”
She looked up, fighting the inclination for her eyes to widen at his question.
She hadn’t expected this. Her friends would never approve. What’s more, alarm bells were ringing in her head.
Kája tilted her chin toward the dance floor. “I’m afraid I don’t know this one.”
His eyebrow arched up.
“It’s a waltz,” he noted, clearly speculative. “You mean to tell me you don’t know the waltz? With your proper Prague upbringing?” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down his nose to her. “I’d never believe it in a hundred years.”
Kája’s response wouldn’t have been impressive, she knew. But she had little time to think on it. Without warning, the magic fizzled. Conversation faded and the band’s instruments screeched to an off-key halt. The revelers on the dance floor froze, as did everyone else, then turned and looked about as soon as the searing call of air-raid sirens began blasting through the air.
The dance floor turned into a chaotic jumble of rushing bodies as men and women darted for the doors. The girls, having forgotten their reproach over Kája’s budding interest in the office playboy, faded from view and were eaten up by the crowd. The overhead lights flickered, then went out altogether, leaving only the candlelight from individual tables, setting tiny dots aglow like stationary fireflies across the space.
Kája’s heart was set to racing and she bolted a split second later, hoping to flee outside with the rest of the crowd.
She never made it to the door.
Liam was behind her, his hand authoritatively latched on to hers. He edged her back from the door gently, but with clear intention.
“Kája, this club is an air-raid shelter,” he said, pulling her back. “It’s just a drill, I assure you.”
“You don’t know that. How can you know it’s just a drill?”
“Because we’ve had no reports of German activity anywhere near the Channel. If we had, all of London would already be in our shelters by now. If it were real, the street would be the worst possible place you could be during a raid.”
“But my friends. Everyone is leaving . . .”
She looked around, searching the chaotic scene for a flash of Trixie’s dress or Eleanor and Mary’s bouncy curls in the mass of people rushing for the exits.
Liam halted and with a tenderness she hadn’t expected, stared back in her eyes.
“And I’m sure that they’ll be looked after. The boys on the beat are good chaps. They won’t let anything happen to them, okay? I promise. They’ll be fine.”
He seemed sure of himself, like always. But this time, something different flickered in his eyes. There was no jesting. Instead, it had been replaced by a depth of care that Kája wouldn’t have suspected he possessed. Their interactions had been few and she’d formed an opinion that didn’t quite match the man before her. This man was noble. Almost fearless in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
He made her want to trust him.
Liam gripped her hand, softly but surely, guiding her to the back of the club. He shrugged out of his dinner jacket and spread it upon the floor beneath a nearby table. He then helped her under the tabletop and placed one of the flickering sconces on the floor by her feet.
“Here. Stay put until they signal the all clear.”
Suddenly afraid that she’d be alone in the middle of a bombing raid, Kája pulled at his sleeve. “But where are you going?”
“I have to help, in case it’s real. I’ve been to bombing sites before and I’ve been trained in what to do. I won’t go far,” he promised. “I’ll come back for you.”
He whisked away in the dark then, melting into the throngs of the crowd.
Kája huddled on the floor, scared out of her mind, trembling like a wilted flower as the sirens cried. And though she knew Liam would return to ensure her safety, Kája was just as certain that she couldn’t be there under that table when he got back. Not when he’d noticed her and made a point to pick her out above all others.
When the lights came on and it was announced as a drill, Kája slid out from under the table. With care, she folded Liam’s dinner jacket and laid it in the booth, then slipped out into the night alone.
“You left the club.”
Kája looked up from the pages of her book to find Liam standing at the foot of the archive library stairs, dinner jacket casually tossed over his shoulder and the bow tie dangling against his white tuxedo shirt. He leaned against the open door.
“It was just another drill, you know. You’ll get used to them eventually.”
She nodded, feeling exposed, hoping he couldn’t guess she was fearful of spending another night in a bomb shelter surrounded by terrified people but still alone. Noticing a chill in the basement air, she pulled her black dinner coat closed around her shoulders.
“The sirens managed to sour the mood. The girls went home and I had work to do, so I came back here.”
“On a Friday night, no less. I’m quite sure you are the most dedicated employee Edmunton has ever had. He’ll be ecstatic when he hears of it.”
Liam walked over to the table and tossed his jacket upon it, then pulled out a chair across from her. The wooden chair legs scraped against the floor as he sat down.
“You didn’t miss much; most of the crowd thinned soon after. I’d say the more dedicated revelers found solace in an after-siren cocktail. At least the band still managed to keep a beat through it all.”
With a sideways glance, Kája noticed that Liam looked up at the clock on the wall. She knew how late it was—nearly midnight, the last time she’d checked. She wasn’t fooling him. It was ridiculous to be there at that hour.
She attempted to hide her work, edging a few sheets of paper up under the book she was reading.
“It’s quiet as a tomb around here.”
Kája nodded. “Yes, it is. I’ll wager that doesn’t happen often.”
He was right, though some reporters moved about upstairs, watching the wire for news of the war. It still didn’t change the fact that it was late and certainly not appropriate for them to be there alone—sitting inches apart.
Vulnerability wasn’t a game she wanted to play with him, not now. Not ever. And certainly not after he’d set his sights on her at the club. Instead of giving Liam the upper hand, which she would surely have done had she chosen to look him in the eyes, Kája ignored his statement and centered her nose back in the research book beneath her fingertips.
“Found yourself on the receiving end of a late-breaking assignment, I see?”
Before she could stop him, Liam leaned forward and edged the corner of the papers out from under her book. She slid her hand over the top of the page seconds late.
“My crossword puzzle from yesterday’s edition.”
Kája shifted uncomfortably and pulled her work in closer.
“You really are interested in them, aren’t you?”
He waited. She said nothing.
“What’s the matter? You seemed a bit aloof back there at the club. And then I came back and you’d left without a word.”
She offered a polite smile. “It wasn’t my intention to appear that way.”
He tapped his index finger on the tabletop, in what one might have judged as nonchalance. But she knew better. Liam wasn’t one for mincing words—or for hiding feelings unless it suited him.
“And when I was sitting right next to you. Since you were alone at the table, I figured—what could it hurt to take a spin around the floor?”
“That was kind of you.” Kája turned back to her book. “It’s a shame the drill ruined the mood of the night.”
“Is it?”
Despite the distance between them, Liam crossed the table and reached over quite carefully and
placed his hand over hers. He left it there as the seconds ticked by on the clock behind them.
“Kája.”
When she lowered her pencil so that it dropped down to the tabletop, he slid his hand away, just grazing her skin with his fingertips. Kája looked up, keenly aware that the warmth in his eyes would be the first thing she’d see.
She wasn’t disappointed.
He might have been baiting her for evading his offer to dance. Or teasing, as was his general way about things. Regardless, the look he offered now was too open. Too sincere. And he’d never said her name in that way before, not without a “Miss Makovský” tacked on. To hear it now pricked her heart in the most unexpected way.
“As your co-worker, it would have been polite to stop by out of obligation. But as a friend, which I hope to be considered,” he said, his gaze warm and unmoving, “I wanted to offer an honest hello. I’m sorry if I fumbled it, but I asked you to dance because I wanted to. No one made me. I’d think up a more clever explanation now if I thought it would fool you.”
“You didn’t fumble,” Kája answered, tearing her eyes away to catch her breath.
“And that back there, the bashing around clubs—that persona troubles you. That’s why you left?”
Kája shook her head. “No. Despite the fact that the other girls in the office tried to warn me off from being friends with the office playboy, I don’t believe it’s who you really are.”
He paused, looking as though he wanted to say something, but thought against it and asked a more direct question.
“And who do you think I am?”
Kája thought about it for a moment, the risk of opening up to him. Had she still lived in Prague, she wouldn’t even be sitting there with a gentleman alone. But Kája had changed in the last year. Leaving home had opened her eyes. Moving to London had widened them further. And now, because of how her view of things had changed, she wasn’t frightened to confront him directly.
She closed her book and laid her hands upon it, giving him her full attention.
“Fine,” she breathed out. She leaned in slightly and lowering her voice to a whisper, asked, “Are you a spy?”
A Sparrow in Terezin Page 8