The Diplomat's Wife(37)
“Really?” He cocks his head, appraising me. “You speak with so little accent, I never would have guessed. But if you would like to keep practicing, why don’t we go inside and have tea?” He gestures with his head toward the glass enclosure.
I hesitate. The man is a stranger. And I do not have the money for tea. “Please join me as my guest,” he persists. “It will pass the time until we reach Dover. The other guests are woefully boring,” he adds, his smile small and odd. I cannot help but think of Paul, the way his cheeks lift and eyes crinkle with each grin.
“Come along,” Simon says, starting for the enclosure. I did not, it occurs to me as I follow him, actually accept his invitation. I open my mouth to demur. But as Simon opens the door to the enclosure, the aroma of warm pastries fills the air, making my stomach grumble. I step inside as Simon holds the door for me. Then I stop. The café is so grand. Small tables, covered with white linen cloths and set with real china and silver, dot the room. A man in a tuxedo walks over to us and I half expect him to ask me to leave. But instead he escorts us to a table by one of the windows.
A waiter approaches the table with a pot of tea and plate of scones. As he pours the tea, I study Simon, still wondering if it was proper for me to accept the invitation of a man I do not know, especially now that I am engaged. He is just being friendly, I decide.
“So what brings you to England?” Simon asks after the waiter has left again.
I take a deep breath. “A friend of mine passed away.” I still cannot see Rose’s face in my mind without my eyes burning. “I’m bringing the news and her belongings to her aunt in London.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I nod. Talking about Rose with this stranger feels awkward. “And you?” I ask, eager to change the subject.
“I’m British,” he replies, taking a croissant from the plate of pastries that sits between us.
“I guessed that. I meant, what were you doing in Europe?”
“I’ve been in Europe for several months now for work. I’m a diplomat, you see.” Simon’s English is different from any I have heard before, clipped and precise, not difficult to understand. “I was helping to restore our embassies in the various cities where they were shut down during the war.” He works for the government. I worry again that I should have introduced myself as Rose, in case he sees my papers.
“Now I’m headed back to the Foreign Office. I’ll be going back to the department where I was working before this trip, Eastern European affairs.” He gestures to the plate of croissants. “You should try these, by the way. They’re delicious.”
I choose one of the croissants. “I’m from Poland,” I offer, before taking a bite. The pastry is light and flaky, with delicious bits of chocolate inside. It is not as good, I decide, as the one I had in Paris. I remember the patisserie, my surprise at seeing Paul. Why could it not be him sitting here with me now, instead of this man?
“Really? I thought from your accent that might be the case, but I didn’t want to ask. You know, if you’re looking for work once we reach London, I could use a secretary, one who speaks Polish….”
“Oh, goodness no,” I blurt out, my mouth still full. I finish chewing, swallow. “I mean, that’s very kind of you, but I’ll only be in London for a few weeks.”
“I see.” His brow furrows momentarily. “And then what?”
I hesitate. “I’m meeting up with my fiancé and traveling to America to live. He’s a soldier and he’s coming for me as soon as he’s discharged.”
A strange look crosses Simon’s face. He looks down at my hand. “I didn’t see a ring.”
“It was very last minute,” I explain. “The engagement, that is. We didn’t really have time to formalize things before I left for England.”
“Of course.” His voice is strained. Were his intentions romantic when he invited me to tea? I study his face, wondering if I had given him the wrong impression. He is not unattractive, with his smooth, even features and blue eyes. But when I think of Paul’s rugged good looks, the way he takes my breath away, there is no comparison. “Congratulations,” he adds, without feeling.
“Thank you.”
He clears his throat. “It’s too bad.” My eyes widen. Could he possibly be that blunt? “I mean, I could really use your help at the Foreign Office,” he adds quickly.
“My help? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“The situation in Poland, throughout Eastern Europe right now, demands urgent attention.”
“What do you mean?” I clutch my napkin in my lap. I heard little news during my time in Salzburg and none in Paris other than that the war had ended. “What’s happening?”
Simon wipes a crumb from his mouth. “As you probably know, the Soviets liberated much of Eastern Europe.” I nod. I had learned this much from some of the other Polish refugees at the camp. Simon continues, “The problem is now that the war is over, all indications are that the Soviets won’t keep their word on restoring the sovereign leaders of those countries. Take Poland, for example.” His voice rises slightly, his expression growing more intense. “The Soviets have certain eastern territories like Lwow outright and they’ve recognized the temporary government in Lublin, which is nothing but a puppet regime. It’s the same all over Eastern Europe.”