The Spy I Loved

by Dusty Miller

  Fifty bucks bought a lot of consideration and she had already noticed that he was cute.

  “Oh. You might as well bring the car up here, pretty much everybody else does, and they’ve mostly got great big pickup trucks.”

  He nodded absently, not giving an impression of coldness but preoccupation.

  Finally he made his way to the couch. He sat down and let out a big breath.

  He looked like he could use a beer, thought Lindsey. That was a long drive in a very small car.

  Chapter Two

  The next day was very busy. It took some time in dealing with their first guests, a family of two adults and four children between six and ten years old. The Paston’s had never been to The Pines before and the kids in particular had a million questions.

  Mrs. Paston was a worrier with an eye to detail, especially where her precious bunnies were concerned. The husband just looked the patient, or perhaps resigned type would be a better description.

  Mister Paston was resigned to his fate, and had been for quite some time.

  Over the afternoon, another half a dozen parties trickled in, and then there was a veritable flood of late arrivals. This went on far into the night. By the time Lindsey crashed gratefully into her bed at one-thirty a.m., setting her alarm for six a.m. on the dot, she had quite forgotten about Liam Kimball. In addition to dealing directly with customers, she had two new part-time girls to train for the store. Katy seemed intimidated by the cash register although Molly seemed to take to it like a duck takes to water. Katy was going to have to learn it, because sooner or later she was going to be left on her own. Perhaps it was fear of that which was holding her back. She was afraid of being left alone with it. There was a huge spectrum of maturity among girls of that age—a strange and perplexing observation when you were barely a year and a half older.

  Lindsey had grown up working the resort. Neither of the new girls had much experience, worldly or otherwise. They had good marks in school, and they had both done some babysitting. They could type, and had done well in math, English, physics and chemistry. They each had some French. Everyone had to start somewhere, and jobs were scarce in these parts. Considering the wages Dale was offering, they were just plain lucky to get a few resumes and a few calls when they put an ad in the Monitor.

  It was part-time, minimum wage work, and you got what you paid for.

  Essentially.

  If only her head would shut up…she rolled over and tried to sleep as tiny cones and scales rained onto the roof overhead from an unusually strong breeze.

  Argh.

  It was her last conscious thought.

  She awoke stiff and bleary-eyed, but the screech of jays and the glistening dew on the grass outside the kitchen window brightened her mood. Cereal and toast didn’t take much thought and would keep her going for a while.

  Lindsey was supervising the storefront. She had just finished selling candy-bars and chips and pop, all the usual things to a couple of the Rudenko kids, whose first names she was desperately trying to recall. They were a couple of thin and reedy twin girls, cute as buttons in an attenuated way, and very solemn with those big brown eyes.

  “Hello.”

  A little thrill ran through her.

  Shit. And she wasn’t wearing a bra again. Every movement she made seemed to rub her nipples raw. That was quick.

  “Good morning, Mister Kimball.” This early in the day she was still wearing gym pants and a baggy sweater.

  Her face was freshly-scrubbed but not made up. She wondered just how bleary-eyed she might be. Another sign of weakness. She had always despised weakness. Especially when it was her…

  “Good morning, Lindsey. I would like to rent a boat, for the day, or maybe just half a day.” Kimball had a small bag with him and one seven-foot rod disassembled in its two halves. “What the hell. Let’s make it a week. I can always get a bigger boat, right?”

  Busy as they were, he’d better reserve one and have done with it.

  “Sure, no problem.” Lifting the flap at the side of her counter, she took a quick look around and saw her uncle piddling round in the kitchen area behind her. “Most of our guests bring a boat, so we’ll have the pick of the litter.”

  Dale looked up and smiled. One of their attractions was free coffee, and they went through a fair bit of it.

  She led Liam Kimball out to the dock and boat launching area.

  “What sort of fishing were you planning to do, Liam?”

  He laughed.

  “It doesn’t take much to entertain me.” He smacked his lips in culinary speculation. “I’ve been hearing good things about pickerel. A few fat yellow perch would be okay too.”

  She chose a seventeen-foot aluminum boat with a thirty-horse motor on the back. She checked to make sure the tanks were full. His rest of his gear was on the picnic table behind Cabin Seven, fifty metres away. She waited, and watched, as he went up and got it. Not too many men walked like that.

  He loaded his rod and tackle, and put on the life-jacket in an unconscious manner that pleased Lindsey.

  You’re not a fool then, Mister Kimball.

  He would be alone in a small boat. The lakes came in all sizes. The river was long, fast in stretches, and the water was still very cold at this time of year.

  “If you don’t mind…” He sat on the edge of the dock and eased himself in.

  Squatting, she held the boat as he sat crossways on the seat. He bent and looked, finding the fuel cock and turning it on. There was a rubber bulb type priming button and he pushed it three times after opening the throttle slightly.

  “She’ll go.”

  He nodded.

  “All right, here goes.” He gave a good pull on the rope and the thing fired right up, pop-popping away as a small cloud of blue smoke drifted away on the breeze. “Very nice.”

  She was a little impressed herself, but Mark was very good at was motors. With some guests she had little choice but to insist on a bigger boat and an electric starter. She was always a bit shy about upselling them too aggressively. This guy seemed pretty competent.

  Having satisfied himself that he understood the machine, he gave her a cheerful nod. She squatted on the dock, holding her steady, and watched as he moved forward, removed the bow-line and then he was in the seat again. Her assessment complete, she let him go.

  “Thank you.” He lifted a hand.

  Mister Liam Kimball had been released into the wilderness.

  Easing the throttle open, Kimball headed off down their small bay. Once well away from shore, he turned the prow and then opened her up to about two-thirds going by the sound of it. He was heading upriver where there would be a current to bring him home if the engine died.

  Good. The gentleman had operated a small boat before. He’d rented the cabin for two whole weeks, which was unusual for a sole occupant. The option to stay on wasn’t exactly unheard-of.

  No matter how good the fishing was, and it was usually pretty good, very few men could bring themselves to stay on one lake or one river when there were thousands, probably millions of rivers in the world. About half of those rivers were in Canada.

  She turned and headed back up to the lodge. There was a small but colourful family grouping, bellies hanging out, fluorescent flip-flip sandals and crocs on their feet. They were heading for the front door. They would be wanting ice-cream, ice-cream, we all scream for ice-cream.

  ***

  It was the end of another long day. The smell of barbecued steak, hamburgers and hotdogs hung in the air of the small resort. Vehicles came and went, creeping along due to a couple of speed bumps in front of the store and a fifteen-kilometre per hour limit. People were heading to town for a night of drinking and country music or returning on whatever mysterious errands campers created for themselves out of what she had always suspected was sheer boredom on their parts.

  Lindsey had always liked people. She had been sitting by the campfire, set in a steel wheel rim in the ground, chatting and having a po
p with the Chants, a nice old couple who had started off bringing their children to fish for a week every summer. This had evolved into a multi-generational affair with adults, children, grandchildren and teenagers spread over two cabins. All of them were apparently healthy, cheerful and active.

  They had gotten to know each other pretty well over the years.

  She was just walking back to the lodge. Cabin Seven was the last one on her right, then a short beach, then came the docks.

  Mister Kimball came out of the rear door of his cabin and she slowed and turned around to speak to him. It was her way, making everyone feel welcome and ensuring that they enjoyed their stay.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello.”

  He had a string of fairly good sized fish in his hands. He stood there looking a bit sheepish. With a nod, he went to the big wooden block table. The last rays of the sunlit clouds lit his patio, which faced west. The sun was well down, but sunset went on for a long time at this latitude. It was one of the compensations. He snapped on the overhead floodlight.

  He lined them up on the outdoor table provided for all cabins, after taking them off the string.

  “Looks like you’ve had some pretty good luck.”

  Liam was sun and wind-burned about the face, neck and the deep V where his khaki bush shirt was undone on the top three buttons. Her eye lingered at the thatch of hair there then moved on. He nodded, seemingly intent. She watched his long fingers as he expertly began to scale the first fish, which looked to be a couple of pounds. It was a perch, and he’d get a couple of half-decent fillets from it.

  “Yes. I found some good structure, just off the mouth of a little bay. I have to admit, I wasn’t taking it too seriously until I felt that first good tug on the line.” His face took on an engaging, speculative look.

  Those eyes came around and met her frank and open gaze.

  “I guess I really did need a vacation.”

  “What do you do for a living, Liam?”

  “Nothing too glamorous.” He shrugged in deprecation. “I’m a translator. I’m in her Majesty’s diplomatic service, which is to say that I answer emails and phones. I talk to people who aren’t very good at English or other languages, and try to help whoever I’m assigned to, to sort of make sense of it all.”

  So that’s what he did in Montreal. He must be at the embassy, or consulate rather.

  She grinned at the image. It really was like that. Her own electronic world was getting pretty extensive, what with the phone and the computer and the TV and the radio all streaming, and rarely turned off these days. She had virtual friends all over the world. Her own phone never left her, although she did turn it off sometimes.

  “It’s all about bandwidth these days.”

  He laughed outright on hearing that.

  “Anyway, ah. I was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and my physician rather insisted that I take time off. My job, like many in the civil service, has certain benefits. There was some suggestion that with my years of service…I might even consider early retirement.”

  Early retirement. Lindsey’s jaw dropped.

  He nodded soberly, cutting the head and tail off of his second fish. He slit the belly and spread it open to pull out the innards with a quick swipe of a finger.

  “And?” She was genuinely curious.

  They weren’t retiring him on years of service, it had to be health or something serious.

  Liam didn’t fit the usual profile of beer, hockey, golf and fishing, the admittedly stereotyped sort of everyday people she normally saw come and go from the park. After arriving so well-dressed, he had gone totally native, wearing cargo shorts with multiple, capacious pockets. He had nice knees, she decided. His faded brown socks were fashionably loose, half falling down onto the tops of his scuffed suede desert boots. His loose cotton shirt had an oriental collar and Velcro fasteners on a pair of breast pockets. Only the bottom three buttons were done up. His big black watch with all of its bells and whistles looked very capable indeed—it took a certain sort of man to strap something like that on his wrist. It was adventurous, she thought, seeing the car in a whole new light. That’s what the car was, that’s what it represented—adventure. No wonder I find him so compelling. She repressed a slight shudder in the old midriff.

  “I talked my way into a sabbatical. I get a year off to discover my self—whatever the hell that means. In the meantime, this is my nervous breakdown and I am determined to get the most out of it…” He trailed off. “I don’t know if I like trout better than perch, but I got a few of them too.”

  He bathed them in a bit of cold water from the plastic hose attachment. They gleamed and glimmered, rosy and speckled, all iridescent on the sides. He picked one up and showed her, as it coruscated in the light.

  He gave her a look. Liam was a very nice man, it sort of beamed out of him at times.

  “I had forgotten what quiet was. For one thing.”

  She bit her lip, and reaching over, touched him on the elbow. She kept surprising herself, and that probably meant something.

  “Is there anything else you need, Mister Kimball?”

  “Please call me Liam.” His eyes clouded. “Oh. There is one thing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  He sighed.

  “I kind of hate to bring this up. But I was sort of wondering. Did you by any chance see anyone, most likely one of the younger ones, maybe sneaking a look or possibly even getting into my car?”

  ***

  Dale had been drinking more. It was getting worse. At one time she could have denied it, and he probably still would. At one time, if he had a beer with lunch, it didn’t mean much because it didn’t seem to affect his performance. Now, he seemed more furtive and yet more defiant about it. Now it was the three-beer lunch, every day, with food being an afterthought and surprise naps a common element of his routine. His absences threw the whole lot onto her and Mark, the perpetual hired man— a man with no power and no opinion, and no real initiative of his own. Her uncle was trying to run a business and make his living, even trying to protect his investment if one thought of it that way. He was also getting older, becoming more set in his ways. She had her worries about Uncle Dale, and yet she had her own plan. It’s not like she hadn’t seen all of this coming. Drink had always been his solace, his answer to boredom and the tedium of winter. Booze had become his wife, his girlfriend and his dog, all rolled into one.

  Surely Lindsey had the right.

  She would go out into the world and eventually she would have her own place—a home, a man, a baby…she had the right to be her own person.

  Anything less than that was unfair, and yes, everyone knew that life was unfair a lot of the time. She wasn’t asking for anything else that anyone else didn’t seem to have and take for granted.

  It seemed the natural way of things and she didn’t see why she could not or would not have all of that herself someday. She was sort of carefully trying to avoid responsibility for Uncle Dale.

  This was a horribly honest thought, one which stirred some dark and turbid inner waters.

  Dale called it the nesting syndrome and she supposed he wasn’t far wrong either, for human beings were just a slightly more evolved animal.

  “Uncle Dale?”

  “Yesh?”

  Beer was one thing. Dale had a big glass with ice and probably rye whiskey, Wiser’s sloshing around in it.

  At one time he would have been going from cabin to cabin, campfire to campfire, socializing and just making himself available. The way he was now, it was perhaps better if he sat in his own living room and stayed there.

  He sat up, reaching for the TV remote control. He had the sound up way too high for her liking, but he refused to see a hearing specialist. Dale didn’t like hearing aids. The worst part about it was that Dale was a really decent man.

  “Sorry, honey, what’s up?”

  “Mister Kimball was asking if we had seen anyone poking around in his car.”


  Uncle Dale eyed up his glass, its pale colour and diminishing ice cubes indicative of the need for a refill. He looked up at her.

  “Oh, God. Yeah, I suppose so—” Not that he could name anyone in particular or describe which kid had left which nose print. “Anyway, he should have expected as much. That’s half the fun of driving something like that.”

  He yanked the lever on the side of his chair, lowering the footrest and bringing himself to the near-vertical. The Weather Network droned on.

  Lindsey picked up the remote and turned it down low.

  He stared at it as if mystified by yet another twenty-four degree day with an overnight low near zero Celsius. It was nothing they hadn’t seen a million times and yet the people still marveled.

  “He didn’t seem all that upset. He said he never leaves it locked, as it saves the thief from the trouble of slashing the roof and just reaching an arm in anyways.”

  Dale snorted and grinned at that.

  “Well. Was there anything taken?” At lot of those old British convertibles didn’t even have door locks.

  She shook her head.

  “No. It was probably just kids—or teenagers.” There were quite a few boys about the right age staying at The Pines.

  They might have climbed in just to see what it was like to sit behind the wheel. The fact that they might leave it out of gear, or take off the parking brake was of some concern. The land was hilly and the grounds sloped every which way. It would be easy enough for the car to roll right down the bank and into the river.

  “Yeah. No harm done, anyways.” He eyed his drink.

  What was interesting about the booze was that it didn’t seem to cheer him up, neither did Dale cry into his glass. It was an anaesthetic as much as anything, or an aid for sleeping.

  “Why don’t you go to bed?” Lindsey was ready for sleep herself, the last refuge of the truly unhappy.

  She was trying not to think too much about Mister Liam Kimball, and he kept popping up in her thoughts. What would those strong hands feel like, touching her all over, as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear.