The Unlikely Spy(77)

She opened the tomatoes, drained off the water, chopped them, and dropped them into a hot pan. The kitchen immediately took on the smell of the tomatoes, and she drank some more wine before cracking and beating the eggs and grating the cheese into a bowl. She had to smile--the domestic routine of making dinner for a man felt so odd to her. Then she thought, Perhaps Kurt Vogel should add a cooking course to his little Abwehr spy school.





Jordan set the table in the dining room while Catherine finished with the omelet. He had changed into cotton khaki trousers and a sweater, and Catherine was again struck by his looks. She wanted to let down her hair--to do something to make herself more attractive to him--but she stayed within the character she had created for herself. The omelet was surprisingly good and they both ate it very quickly before it could go cold, washing it down with the wine, a prewar Bordeaux Jordan had brought to London from New York. By the end of the meal Catherine felt pleasant and relaxed. Jordan seemed that way too. He appeared to suspect nothing--appeared to accept that their meeting was wholly coincidental.

"Have you ever been to the States?" he asked, as they cleared away the dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

"Actually, I lived in Washington for two years when I was a little girl."

"Really?"

"Yes, my father worked at the Foreign Office. He was a diplomat. He was posted in Washington in the early twenties, after the Great War. I liked it very much. Except for the heat, of course. My goodness, but Washington is oppressive in the summer! My father rented a cottage for us on the Chesapeake Bay for the summers. I have very fond memories of that time."

All true, except Catherine's father had worked for the German Foreign Ministry, not the British Foreign Office. Catherine had decided it was best to draw on as many aspects of her own life as possible.

"Is your father still a diplomat?"

"No, he died before the war."

"And your mother?"

"My mother died when I was a very little girl." Catherine stacked the dirty dishes in the sink. "I'll wash if you dry."

"Forget it. I have a woman who comes a couple of times a week. She'll be here in the morning. How about a glass of brandy?"

"That would be nice."

There were photographs in silver frames over the fireplace, and she looked at them while Jordan poured the brandy. He joined her in front of the fire and handed her one of the glasses.

"Your wife was very beautiful."

"Yes, she was. Her death was very hard on me."

"And your son? Who's caring for him now?"

"Margaret's sister, Jane."

She sipped her brandy and smiled at him. "You don't sound terribly thrilled about that."

"My God, is it that obvious?"

"Yes, it is."

"Jane and I never really got along very well. And frankly, I wish Billy wasn't in her care. She's selfish and petty and spoiled rotten, and I'm afraid she's going to make Billy the same way. But I really had no choice. The day after I joined the navy, I was sent to Washington, and two weeks after that I was flown to London."

"Billy is the image of his father," Catherine said. "I'm certain you have nothing to worry about."

Jordan smiled and said, "I hope you're right. Please, sit down."

"Are you sure? I don't want to keep you--"

"I haven't had an evening as pleasant as this in a very long time. Please stay a little longer."

They sat down next to each other on the large leather couch.

Jordan said, "So tell me how it is that an incredibly beautiful woman like you isn't married."

Catherine felt her face flush.

"My goodness, you're actually blushing. Don't tell me no one has ever told you before that you're beautiful."

She smiled and said, "No, it's just been a very long time."

"Well, that makes two of us. It's been a very long time since I've told a woman that she was beautiful. In fact, I can remember the last time. It was when I woke up and saw Margaret's face on the day she died. I never thought I could find another woman beautiful after that. Until I made a fool of myself by crashing into you in the blackout last night. You took my breath away, Catherine."

"Thank you. I can assure you the attraction was mutual."

"Is that why you didn't give me your telephone number?"

"I didn't want you to believe I was a wanton woman."

"Darn, I was hoping you were a wanton woman."

"Peter," she said, and jabbed him in the leg with her finger.

"Are you ever going to answer my question? Why aren't you married?"

Catherine stared into the fire for a moment. "I was married. My husband, Michael, was shot down over the Channel the first week of the Battle of Britain. They never were able to recover his body. I was pregnant at the time, and I lost the baby. The doctors said it was the shock of Michael's death that did it." Catherine's gaze shifted from the fire to Jordan's face. "He was handsome and brave and he was my entire world. For the longest time after his death, I never looked twice at another man. I started dating a short time ago, but nothing at all serious. And then some foolish American who wasn't using his blackout torch smashed into me on a pavement in Kensington. . . ."