The New Girl (Gabriel Allon #19)(11)
She looked at Mikhail’s left hand. “Did you misplace it already?”
“What’s that?”
“Your wedding band.”
Mikhail seemed surprised by its absence. “I took it off before I went into the field. We got back late last night.”
“Where were you?”
Mikhail looked at her blankly.
“Come now, darling. We have a past, you and I.”
“The past is the past, Sarah. You’re an outsider now. Besides, you’ll know soon enough.”
“At least tell me where it was.”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Wherever it was, it must have been awful. You look like hell.”
“The ending was messy.”
“Anyone get hurt?”
“Only the bad guys.”
“How many?”
“Lots.”
“But the operation was a success?”
“One for the books,” said Mikhail.
The high-tech office blocks had given way to the affluent northern Tel Aviv suburb of Herzliya. Mikhail was reading something on his mobile phone. He looked bored, his default expression.
“Do give her my best,” said Sarah archly.
Mikhail returned the phone to his jacket pocket.
“Tell me something, Mikhail. Why did you really volunteer to bring me in?”
“I wanted a word with you in private.”
“Why?”
“So I could apologize for the way it turned out between us.”
“Turned out?”
“For the way I treated you in the end. I behaved badly. If you could find it in your heart to—”
“Was Gabriel the one who told you to end it?”
Mikhail seemed genuinely surprised. “Wherever did you get an idea like that?”
“I always wondered, that’s all.”
“Gabriel told me to go to America and spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Why didn’t you take his advice?”
“Because this is my home.” Mikhail gazed at the patchwork quilt of farmland beyond his window. “Israel and the Office. There was no way I could live in America, even if you were there.”
“I could have come here.”
“It’s not such an easy life.”
“Better than the alternative.” She immediately regretted her words. “But the past is the past—isn’t that what you said?”
He nodded slowly.
“Did you ever have any second thoughts?”
“About leaving you?”
“Yes, you idiot.”
“Of course.”
“And are you happy now?”
“Very.”
She was surprised at how badly his answer wounded her.
“Perhaps we should change the subject,” suggested Mikhail.
“Yes, let’s. What shall we talk about?”
“The reason you’re here.”
“Sorry, but I can’t discuss it with anyone but Gabriel. Besides,” said Sarah playfully, “I have a feeling you’ll know soon enough.”
They had reached the southern fringes of Netanya. The tall white apartment houses lining the beach reminded Sarah of Cannes. Mikhail spoke a few words in Hebrew to the driver. A moment later they stopped at the edge of a broad esplanade.
Mikhail pointed toward a dilapidated hotel. “That’s where the Passover Massacre happened back in 2002. Thirty dead, a hundred and forty wounded.”
“Is there any place in this country that hasn’t been bombed?”
“I told you, life isn’t so easy here.” Mikhail nodded toward the esplanade. “Take a walk. We’ll do the rest.”
Sarah climbed out of the car and started across the square. The past is the past . . . For a moment, she almost believed it was true.
8
Netanya
At the center of the esplanade was a blue reflecting pool, around which several young Orthodox boys, payess flying, played a noisy game of tag. They were speaking not in Hebrew but in French. So were their wigged mothers and the two black-shirted hipsters who eyed Sarah approvingly from a table at a brasserie called Chez Claude. Indeed, were it not for the worn-out khaki-colored buildings and the blinding Middle Eastern sunlight, Sarah might have imagined she was crossing a square in the twentieth arrondissement of Paris.
Suddenly, she realized someone was calling her name, with the emphasis on the second syllable rather than the first. Turning, she spotted a petite dark-haired woman waving to her from across the square. The woman approached with a slight limp.
Sarid, Sarid, Sarid . . .
Dina kissed Sarah on both cheeks. “Welcome to the Israeli Riviera.”
“Is everyone here French?”
“Not everyone, but more are coming every day.” Dina pointed toward the far end of the square. “There’s a little place called La Brioche right over there. I recommend the pain au chocolat. They’re the best in Israel. Order enough for two.”
Sarah walked to the café. She made a few moments of small talk in fluent French with the woman behind the counter before ordering an assortment of pastries and two coffees, a café crème and an espresso.