The Diplomat's Wife(47)

“Thank you.” I take one of the cups from him.

“Let’s sit for a minute.” I follow him to the bench where I had been sitting minutes ago, balancing the tea carefully so as not to spill. “I must say, I’m surprised to find you still here. I thought you’d be long on your way to America by now with your fiancé.”

I take a deep breath. “He was killed.” It is the first time I have said this aloud since the morning I learned of the crash.

Simon’s mouth opens slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“The plane crash in the Channel.” I dig my fingernails into the bench, willing myself not to cry.

He presses his lips together. “I read about that in the papers. Dreadful. All those brave soldiers lost. Again, I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” I look away. We drink our tea in silence. Across the grass, a group of children kick a football. Their shrieks of laughter ring out.

“So what are you going to do now?” he asks a few minutes later.

I take another sip of tea. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Stay in London, most likely. I don’t have any family back in Poland, or anywhere else. At least here, I have a place to stay with my friend Rose’s aunt. But I need to find a job.”

“You know, I’m still looking for an assistant.”

I remember then Simon offering me a job when we were on the ship. “Oh, my goodness, I certainly wasn’t hinting.”

“I know. But I told you on the boat that I would like for you to come work for me. My offer still stands.”

“Really?” He nods. I stare at him, surprised. I thought the offer was just talk, idle conversation. It had not occurred to me that he might have been serious. “But I haven’t any skills or office training.”

“All of that can be learned. You speak Polish, which is a huge asset in my work. And you can make out the other Slavic languages, too, I take it?”

“Yes. Czech and such. And a bit of Russian.”

He waves his hand. “We have loads of Russian translators. I’m really more interested in your Polish. We have translators for that, too, of course, but it’s so time-consuming to rely upon them for day-today matters. Having an assistant who can understand it directly would save a great deal of time.”

“I can understand German, too,” I add.

“And your English has improved a great deal. So what do you say?”

I hesitate. I had almost forgotten Simon’s offer on the ship and I wasn’t been prepared to consider it now. “I don’t know.”

“Look, Marta…” Simon leans in and lowers his voice. “The truth is you would be doing me an enormous favor. When we spoke on the ship I told you about the work we are doing to fight communism in Eastern Europe. I really can’t say any more until you’ve been hired and received a security clearance. But I can tell you that the situation has become much more serious in recent weeks.” His eyes burn with the same intensity I saw on the ship. “We desperately need good people, people like you, to help us. So you wouldn’t just be earning a living, you’d be helping Britain and your homeland. How can you pass up an offer like that?”

I bite my lip. “Can I think about it?”

A surprised look crosses Simon’s face, as if he is unaccustomed to people not immediately acquiescing to his requests. “Certainly.” He starts to hand me a business card.

“I have one already,” I say. “From the ship, remember?”

He puts the card back in his pocket. “Of course. I just didn’t want to presume that you had kept it. Call me either way and let me know what you decide. And don’t wait too long,” he adds. “I really need to fill this position.”

Then why hadn’t he filled it? I wonder, in the weeks since we last spoke. There had to be plenty of Polish immigrants in London looking for work. I stand, brushing off my skirt. “I really should be going.”

Simon rises and takes my hand. “It was good to see you again.”

I take a step backward before he can kiss my hand. “Good day.”

I walk quickly from the park, eager to get away. I am flustered by seeing Simon so unexpectedly and by his job offer. Walking up Whitehall past the imposing gray government buildings, I am flooded with doubt. Me, come to work each day, here? The idea of getting a job in London was frightening enough. I had imagined something simple, working in a store close to Delia’s house. A few weeks ago I did not even know if I could get into Britain. The notion of coming into central London and working at the Foreign Office every day seems incomprehensible. My English is not good enough. I do not have any office skills. Simon said that these things don’t matter. But in truth, my hesitation is more than that. It just feels too soon. I’m not ready to wake up from my memories of Paul, from my grieving.

Retracing my steps through Trafalgar Square, I make my way back to Piccadilly Circus and board a bus that is going toward South Kensington. I pay the driver, then sink into a seat, not bothering to climb to the upper deck. As the bus lurches forward, I think about Simon’s offer once more. A chance to help, he said. I think guiltily of Emma, left behind in Eastern Europe. What was her life like now? Working with Simon, I might be able to make a difference. A shiver runs through me and I remember like a faint dream the feeling I used to have when working for the resistance of fighting for something that mattered. Maybe losing myself in the challenge is just what I need. And it will surely pay more than a job in the shops. I will ask Delia’s opinion when I get back to the house, I decide.