The Librarian Spy(10)
When they finally landed and she uncurled her death grip from the arms of her seat, it was all she could do to keep from kneeling and kissing the earth in gratitude. Knowing her new boss awaited her was a strong incentive to remain upright despite the quiver in her bones after enduring so many spikes of adrenaline throughout the journey. Instead, she ensured the felt pompadour hat with its spray of small white flowers was properly pinned over her rolled-back hair.
The air was warmer than that in Washington, DC, and the odor of jet fuel blotted out any scents of the city she might otherwise pick up. She made her way toward a cluster of people along with the other passengers of her flight.
A man with more salt than pepper in his hair held a sign with “A. Harper” written across it in a hasty, no-nonsense script. His heavy-lidded eyes were bloodshot and spoke of too many hours at work, as did the rumpled jacket of his dove-gray, three-piece suit.
“Bom dia.” She set her heavy suitcases down and smiled as she presented him with her first attempt at Portuguese in Lisbon.
He stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. Surely she hadn’t misspoken. How hard was it to mess up bidding someone good day?
After a moment, he scoffed and shook his head. “I wasn’t allowed to bring my secretary. Why is Harper allowed to bring you?”
She lifted her brows, sure she had heard him incorrectly. But no, he was still staring at her, indignant.
“I am Harper.” Jabbing a finger toward his sign, she said, “Ava Harper.”
He blinked.
She should have suppressed her sigh of irritation, but she was too tired and her nerves too frayed. The exhale blew from her mouth without restraint. “You are Mr. Sims, I presume?”
“I am.” He collected himself as she’d hoped he would, keeping their introductory meeting from growing too awkward. “I was expecting a man.”
Perhaps that explained why he hadn’t bothered to take her luggage. Not that she would let this fluster her as she bent to lift her suitcases in either hand. It was not the first time she was relocating to a new place with her life in only two suitcases. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She had control over what she did and who she was.
Recalling his manners, Mr. Sims reached for her bags. “Let me take that for you.” He grunted at the weight as she let him pull the handles from her grip, his face flushing with the effort. “What do you have in here? Bricks?”
“Books,” she answered truthfully. “Only a few.” There could have been far more, but most had been packed into several boxes and generously stored in the Library of Congress to await her return.
He huffed his disapproval the entire way to a glossy black Renault where he readily deposited the suitcases in the back seat and opened the door for her.
That first drive through Lisbon would be one she would always remember as they unceremoniously sped by statues and the artistically cobbled limestone sidewalks. Too swift to discern any of the lovely detail. There were sharp turns and extreme inclines throughout their journey that took them up and down many of the famed “seven hills” of Lisbon.
It was at the base of a particularly steep slope that they stopped on a street named Rua Santana à Lapa before a large white building. A line of people stretched across the front of the high fence and snaked around the corner. Not only men and women, but children as well.
“This is the American embassy, where we do most of our work.” Sims stopped the car and got out, leaving Ava’s suitcases in the rear seat.
“Who are all these people?” she asked.
“Refugees seeking visas to America,” he answered in a matter-of-fact tone.
As she approached the line, dozens of eyes focused on her, sharp with anticipation, many of their faces incredibly thin.
She recalled the stories she’d read in newspapers in America about how the Nazis were determined to kill all Jews in Europe, how people in several countries were pushed into certain areas of the city where they were left to starvation and disease.
“There’s so many,” she murmured.
“Getting here early won’t mean you avoid them.” Mr. Sims nudged apart the line, leading her from the crowd and through a gate. “They’re here at all hours.”
No doubt they were attempting to flee Europe and get to America where they knew they would be safe. “That’s so terribly sad.”
Mr. Sims gave a hum of acknowledgment. “That’s why we have the US Legation and Consulate General to handle all that. And why you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it.”
Ava bit back her sharp reply lest she come across as pugnacious on her first day. It was strange how women could now attend most colleges and embark on jobs once reserved only for men. Yet in some ways, males were determined to hold “the fairer sex” in the limited and confining roles belonging to the last century.
A woman whose sandy curls were pulled back into a roll pinned with a blue flower smiled broadly as they entered. “You must be our new IDC agent. I’m Peggy, the secretary for the ambassador. You just let me know if you need anything at all, Miss Harper.”
Peggy’s left brow quirked upright as she stressed the “Miss” in her statement and slid a triumphant smirk toward Mr. Sims.
Ava nodded, relieved to have at least one person in her corner.
The US Embassy was surprisingly like any other office space Ava had seen. Desks were laid out in a grid-like pattern and framed art adorned the otherwise bland, neutral-colored walls.