“Six months of German, actually.” Five miles had already been covered in their run, and they were both panting a little.
“Amazing, this talent of yours. You must be a terrific teacher. How do you cope with all that teenage angst?”
She laughed. “Sometimes they make me feel old, they’re so bristling with energy and hormones. Not that my hormones are dead or anything.” Meg grinned at her own gaffe. “Anyway, at times I feel almost like their contemporary. I love teenage humor; it’s always so full of hyperbole. Like, ‘I’m going to simply die if he doesn’t call me!’” She looked at him squarely. “Your cheeks are so rosy, are you blushing?”
Jake felt the side of his face with the back of his hand. “No, just the Scots blood—my mother’s side. She’s a MacDonald.”
“So the Bernstein men marry outside the Jewish faith?”
He smiled. “Any woman they happen to fall in love with, yes. We’re secular. And strong-minded in our choices. My brother David has a shiksa wife.”
“Shiksa?”
“Non-Jewish girl. So you’re learning German fast and your grandmother’s fluent. How’s that? Has she ever lived in Germany?”
“No, not that I know of. We’ve been to Europe several times, but mostly to France, Spain and Italy. Switzerland, once or twice.”
“Did you know she speaks German with a northern German accent?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
Jake gazed at the Norman keep with its crenellated ramparts and pointed toward it. “Want to climb it and see the view?”
Her frown morphed quickly into a smile. “If you can, so can I.” He took her hand and led her across the grassy courtyard to the medieval tower.
“Gran speaks Hochdeutsch, what she learned at Trinity College.”
“Yeah, but with a Niedersachsen accent. That’s Lower Saxony in the north of Germany.”
“Hmm, I think Gran might’ve learned it from her German boyfriend. In Dublin before the war broke out. She never said where he came from, just that he was German. Maybe he was from northern Germany. I told you we’re born mimics. She must’ve picked up his accent.”
Jake nodded, then turned his attention to the stone steps. They climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the open-air tower and looked out at the view of the city. Jake pointed out the distinctive roofline of their modern hotel, the lines of the massive Cardiff Bridge, and the river barges along the Taff River. Meg was breathing softly with her mouth parted and tried to tell him with gestures that she was worn-out. The climb up the keep steps evidently made her hit the wall. Jake waited patiently and scanned the sky. He clasped her bare shoulders and rubbed her cold skin.
“It’s getting dark. Rain clouds, too, coming in. Maybe we should head back. First, let’s walk a bit around the castle, give you a chance to catch your second wind.”
Meg gasped, “Yes,” and nodded. “Let’s check out the dungeon.”
A group of tourists were leaving the dungeon and heading toward the gift shop. Jake breathed with relief. He wanted to be alone with her. When he took her hand for the descent, it felt like they’d been dating for months—his comfort level was so high with this woman. The relaxed bonhomie was mutual, if he read her expression correctly.
Still, questions nagged him.
“So your grandmother’s never been to Germany?”
“Not that I know of. Why do you ask, Jake?”
“No big deal, just curious. So they raised you and your brother—the Sniders? What happened to your parents?”
A cloud passed over Meg’s lovely face. “My father and Jack’s father were no longer married to Mom, who was traveling around the country with her fourth husband by then. Jack and I are half-siblings, you see. My father dropped out of the picture when he remarried and started a new family. Jack’s father stayed in touch, thank goodness for Jack’s sake. Anyway, by husband number four, my mother was in her own Return-to-the-Earth world and lived in a commune that really was a cult. They grew marijuana and God knows what else. The cult leader was a scary guy, so Grandma and Grandpa Snider got custody of us and disowned hippie Mom.”
She sounded a little bitter, but when she looked over at him, a genuine smile lit her face. “I bet you’ve had a more traditional family upbringing.”
“Oh, yeah. Grandparents lived nearby. Grandpa Nate had college funds set up for us—my two brothers and me—by the time we were five years old. When Grandpa died, Oma moved in to help my mother and because she was lonely. Gives Mom more time to paint and give art classes.”
“I envy you, Jake. It sounds wonderful, that kind of close family life. If it weren’t for Grandma and Grandpa Snider, I don’t know what would’ve happened to Jack and me. We would’ve ended up in foster care, or at the mercy of that crazy, hippie-cult leader.” Meg sighed and shrugged. “Grandma and Grandpa Snider gave us opportunities, stability, affection—all the things kids need to grow and succeed.”
She looked up at the sky, then suddenly whipped her head around. It intrigued Jake, the way her long ponytail swung around to rest on her shoulder.
“I just remembered something Grandma told me, about how she learned German.”
“Oh?” He tried to appear indifferent, and he hated to trick her, but Meg’s information was key.
“This German boyfriend in Dublin while she was at Trinity College. A foreign student, I think. He taught her German and she helped him in English. I think his name was Helmut…or Heinrich. Or Horst. Something like that. He was her first big love. It sounded like they were very serious.”
“What happened to him when the war started?”
“She said he went home, had to leave and, she guessed, joined the military. What’s it called in German?”
“Die Wehrmacht.”
“Yes. Wehrmacht. Anyway, she never heard from him again. She thinks he was killed in the war.”
Jake wondered if this Helmut or Heinrich or Horst might’ve remained in England, gone underground. Or gone home and come back as a spy, himself.
An idea struck him.
Could this Thomas McCoy, who had corresponded with the young, single Mary McCoy while she worked for the War Office, actually have been her German lover? Did he encourage her to apply for the job, knowing her level of French and German made her employable? Or maybe he blackmailed Mary into helping him. Would she have passed on vital information to the enemy? In this case, a German spy she’d once loved as a university student?
Was all this just nonsense? It sounded farfetched, but hell, anything was possible. Especially if Mary McCoy Snider sympathized with the man’s politics but worked for the War Office. Churchill’s England had had plenty of Nazi sympathizers to deal with from within Great Britain. Ireland was a neutral country during the war and a lot of Irish hated the English, but a lot of Irish joined the Allied war effort, too.
Unfortunately, if Mary McCoy aided a Nazi spy during the war, anyway you cut it, it’d still be treason.
****
Minutes passed and Jake said nothing. The sky had darkened from overcast light-gray to ink-blue. No moon or stars were visible in the cloudy sky. Their hands still clasped, he and Meg took the stone steps down to the windowless dungeon. Though dark, dreary, and rat-infested hundreds of years ago, it was now lit for safety but dim enough to maintain the mood of malevolence and horror.
It was cold and damp, too. Meg began to shiver in her tank top and shorts. While they studied the recreated torture chamber, with its rack, iron maiden, and manacles attached to walls and floor, Jake whipped off his sweatshirt. She protested but he insisted, and she leaned into him as he helped her shrug it on. Accidentally, his hand brushed her breast; his groin tightened in automatic response. His head fogged up with lust and longing.
Silently, they took in the torture apparatuses, each one more gruesome than its neighbor. The iron maiden was especially macabre, its sharp spikes aimed inward to tear the flesh of any hapless soul forced to stand inside.
“You’re very quiet,
” she said.
The dungeon’s gloom, despite the electric lights, affected him. It was definitely moody. Like an Edgar Allan Poe story. “Terrible to think how cruel man can be to his fellow man,” he remarked, his hands on her shoulders. He stood close behind her to soak up her warmth, to ward off the deepening cold outside. She moved back into him, letting her rump touch his groin. In spite of his best self-control, his crotch sprang stubbornly to life again.
“You should know, from your Navy SEAL experiences.”
“Yeah.” He dropped his chin to the crown of her head, let it rest there. “Saw firsthand a lot of shit. There’s no animal on earth as cruel or cunning as man. It makes you wonder…”
“Wonder what, Jake?” She let her head roll back onto his chest. Instinctively, his arms encircled her waist. Her hands rested comfortably on his arms. Long nails trailed along his forearms, making his hair arm bristle, his skin prickle. Desire electrified his nerve endings.
“Sometimes I wonder if there’s any good in the world. Grandpa Nate used to say after a few glasses of schnapps that mankind one day would get its just desserts. It used to make us sad to hear him talk like that. Then he’d look at us and his whole expression would change. Like he was reminding himself how lucky he was, how things had turned out for him and Oma. I think he had a lot of survivor’s guilt…”
Jake felt something inside him break, his eyes fill with unshed tears, a sorrow he’d never shared with anyone, not even his brothers. He grew still. Strange, he’d never told anyone about his grandfather’s demons and how they’d affected him.
Some surface control broke between them. In one fluid and sudden motion, they were facing each other, clinging to each other, crushing each other’s mouths open, their tongues hotly searching. Passion erupted like a geyser, flowing through him, igniting his loins. His senses tunneled as the blood roared through his head, coursed up and down the length of his overheated body.
Meg moaned his name. Her name caught in the back of his throat and came out a hushed groan. He reveled in the feel of her, the plump breasts, the flat stomach and sinewy thighs. The whole length of her fired up his imagination. What he could do with such a body, such a woman—
Then voices intruded. Visitors wending their way down the stone steps to the dungeon. They were no longer alone.
They pulled apart, initial embarrassment dissolving into awkward humor as Meg covered her mouth and smiled and then, grabbing his hand, pulled him to the steps. Outside, they threw furtive glances at each other, grinning like teenagers caught breaking curfew.
“Not a good place to make love, was it?” he joked.
Nothing more was said but a line had been crossed and they both knew it. There was no going back, Jake realized; he was too far gone.
They held hands in companionable silence as they walked back across town in the direction of their hotel. Jake wondered if she’d come back to his room so they could finish what they’d started. From the look on Meg’s face, it appeared she was contemplating the same thing.
His heart felt like a helium balloon, about to take off. Why then, was there a queasiness settling heavy in his stomach?
He knew why. He was crossing a line he shouldn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
“Meg, do you cook? Grandpa Nate used to say it’s the first question I should ask any woman I meet and like.” Jake shot her a mischievous smile.
Surprised by his question, Meg temporized. They’d known each other a mere four days and she was drawn to him like no other man she’d ever met. Nothing he said could ever bother her. Surprise her, yeah.
They were strolling through town, hands locked securely together, passing blocks of specialty stores, pubs and restaurants, reluctant to end their time together. Meg had to smile in return. Why would he ask such a domestic question, unless passing aromas made him think of food?
“A practical man, your grandfather. Funny you should ask. It’s my hobby. After my breakup, I moved back in with Grandma—I know how that looks, but she has an enormous home and a beautifully stocked kitchen. I try out my recipes on a very appreciative fan and Grandma has me to look after her. We were both lonely, too, so it works out well for us.”
“Ah, the perfect woman—she can cook!” He gave a short laugh. “Hey, I’d like to be one of your culinary guinea pigs…uh, you know what I mean.” She punched his arm playfully. “Your breakup? What was that about?”
She laughed. “I said all that, and that’s all you heard?” When he shot her a wry smile, she went on. “A mistake. I got engaged to what I thought was the perfect man. Turned out, he was a lying scumbag.”
He made a face and looked away. “On behalf of my gender, I apologize. Men have a way of disappointing the very women they should adore.” He looked back at her. “I can’t tell you how sick and tired I am of my grocery store’s deli. Peas and bacon, potato salad and meatloaf are their standbys. Or macaroni salad and roast chicken.”
“What about restaurants?”
“We have some of the best in the D.C. area. I eat with my friend, Eric, once or twice a week. Or, with a couple of pals from work. Like me, they don’t like to eat alone. We shoot the bull about our jobs, sports, cars. With women, you have to be on your guard, talk about what they want to talk about, pretend to be interested. Guess I just haven’t found many women I’d rather eat with and talk to…” He smiled at her. “Wish you lived in Alexandria.”
“Wish you lived in Dallas,” she countered, feeling him squeeze her hand. “I’m very selective, y’know. I don’t feed just anyone. But you, I’d have you over a lot—to test my new recipes on.” They beamed at each other, both knowing she wasn’t just referring to culinary delights.
Jake pointed to the nearest pub, alight and welcoming with noise and people. “Care for a nightcap away from the prying eyes at our hotel?”
“Oh, yes.” Avoiding their hotel bar, where several members of their motor coach group were holding court, met with her hearty approval. For her part, she was happy to have him all to herself for another hour or two, away from the fun-loving but raucous New Jersey sisters who obviously adored him to High Heaven. It was time to learn a good deal more about Jake Bernstein.
And so she did over the next hour. Over two pints of draft Guinness, they shared biographical facts, exchanged anecdotes about their best pals, places they’d visited, places to avoid. Two topics they steered clear of were his failed marriage—or, as he called it, his failure to make the right choice—and her failed engagement.
“I think luck plays some role in making good choices, don’t you think, Jake? Finding the right person at the right time.”
He downed the last of his beer. “Or maybe finding the right person but at the wrong time…wondering if that can still work out.”
They were sitting side by side in a padded booth, their upper arms and thighs occasionally brushing each other’s. Every casual touch sent hot currents through her. The pleasure was so intense, she let it happen often. She could imagine what it would be like, to lie next to him or on top of him or under him, completely naked. It was going to happen some day, she decided, but now was too soon.
“If it’s the right person, how can it be the wrong time?” she asked. Jake was six years her senior; maybe he had more insight into relationships than she had.
He shrugged. “Oh, maybe there’re complications beyond their control.”
“Like being involved with someone else. Is that what you are, Jake? Are you involved with someone else? If you are, you must tell me…now.”
“No, I’m not. I swear”—he held up the gold Star of David he wore around his neck—“on the faith of my fathers, and all the way back to Abraham.” Although he smiled, she knew he was serious. She sensed his faith wasn’t something he’d joke about.
Meg smiled with relief. “You had me scared. I’m so hoping you’re not like the other men I’ve known.”
His expression sobered. “Timing, Meg, is important. I was too young at twenty-four. Wasn
’t ready for marriage, for that kind of commitment. Couldn’t even commit to the Navy more than six years. It took me until now, at thirty-two, to figure out what I wanted with the rest of my life.”
The waitress appeared. When Jake raised his glass and shot her a questioning look, followed by her nod, he ordered two more of the same.
“What do you want, Jake?” Meg asked him.
His dark eyes slid away and he seemed to tense up a bit. Maybe she was probing too much and overstepping her boundaries. Like most people, Jake appeared to relish his privacy. Tonight, though, was different. He was opening up to her. Mostly, he was serious, thoughtful and considerate; underneath, she detected a warm sense of humor and playfulness that he was keeping in check. With her, that was, not with the New Jersey sisters. Why, Meg had no idea. Maybe he was worried they’d carry things too far too quickly.
Meg felt no urge to hold back. If he didn’t like her personality or character, it was too bad. A bitter lesson she’d learned over the years. Her looks always attracted men, but she’d learned to never pretend to be something she wasn’t. She’d never walk on eggshells around any man. Her motto: Never hide your true self, like it or not. Or, as Shakespeare put it, To thine own self be true. No matter what!
She nudged his arm. “C’mon, ’fess up. What do you want?”
Jake repeated her frank question, then gave a short laugh, his eyes glinting over her playfully.
“From you? From myself? From life? Ah, Meg, me darlin’, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
She joined him with a soft giggle at his attempts to sound Irish, and waited for his reply as the pub’s waitress returned with another round of Guinness.
“Well, to try and answer your question. Sure, I want to be proud of my work, humble though it is.” His gaze shifted from hers, then returned to her face. “And I’m ready to make a good choice this time. Fall in love, get married, have a family…have a grand adventure with someone special. Isn’t that what life is all about, having a grand adventure with people you love and who love you?”
A Bodyguard of Lies Page 11