Cleopatra�s Perfume (40 page)

I told him he’d best remove his hands and that I was
not
his sister. That elicited a round of guffaws from his friends. In spite of the awkward situation, I smiled. I was well aware of the RAF crews’ well-earned reputation for scrambling to the closest pub to get drunk after completing a mission. Not that I blamed them. Brave men, all of them. A Yank had joined their ranks, I was pleased to see, from the accent of the pilot who held me firmly in his grip. Why that thought went through my mind at that moment, I can only guess. I didn’t perceive aligning my affections with any man, even a gallant RAF officer. I had given up my wild ways regarding sex and drugs and hadn’t made any attempt to socialize or attend dinner parties since my return to London from the country.

Such actions wouldn’t seem unnatural to anyone observing me, Sir_____ assured me, considering what I had experienced the first night of the Blitz. I still had nightmares about Flavia and the others (I never mentioned it before, but that nice gentleman from Canada I was speaking to at the restaurant also died in the blast), and though I made it a point to visit Lady Palmer on numerous occasions since my return to London, nothing I could say to her would bring back her daughter. But I could
do
something for her. And for Britain.

Which is why I bought that ridiculous hat at Dickins & Jones. Who would ever believe I was a spy wearing a hat like that? Certainly not the RAF crew pleading and begging me to join them for a drink. I was tempted to accept their offer, to “blow off steam,” as the American flier said, making me curious and asking him ques
tions about why he joined up. To fight them over here, he said, so he wouldn’t have to fight them back home. I wanted to tell him I was fighting for America, too, though the United States had not budged from her isolationist stance. I prayed she would get into this war as this brave lad had done. From New Jersey, he told me. I laughed, wishing I could tell him I was from Brooklyn, but my guise as an Englishwoman stayed firmly in place, though I admit I flirted with the men, relaxed now, remembering these men had faced death that morning and would soon do so again. I joined in with their youthful spirit, laughing and insisting I had more shopping to do, when another man emerged from the pub to see what mischief his friends were engaged in, stopped, then stared at me with a most disapproving look.

I stared back. Disbelieving.

It was Chuck Dawn.

Or should I say,
Captain
Chuck Dawn of the RAF.

We were like strangers. I wanted to fall into his arms, but I couldn’t. I had a mission to do. I couldn’t take the chance of compromising it, all the work I’d put into it, the lives I could save.

“Are my men bothering you, Lady Marlowe?” Chuck asked, eyeing the young soldiers one by one.

“No,” I answered quickly. “I slipped on the pavement and they—”

“Aw, c’mon, Captain, she’s swell,” said my newfound friend from New Jersey. “Not like those other English dames we met who ain’t got no sense of humor.”

“Yeah, she a swell, all right,” Chuck said, “down to her pretty, pink…” He looked me up and down, leaving his thought unsaid but
the meaning clear. His men were too drunk and too busy fighting over who was going to carry my packages to notice his sensual innuendo.

“I think it best we put those times behind us, Captain Dawn. We’re at war.” Why I said that, I don’t know, but I couldn’t weaken, let him know I
wanted
him to take me in his arms, kiss me. The harsh words helped me control myself, helped me remember I had a job to do, for to bring back what we had was too painful.

“You
know
this lady, Captain?” another man asked, nudging his buddy in the ribs.

Chuck smiled, enjoying our game. “Yes, we met in Cairo at the—”

“The Gezira Sporting Club, wasn’t it?” I interrupted, not eager to bring up my past in front of these soldiers.

“Whatever you say, Lady Marlowe.” He tipped his cap. “I see you can handle the situation without me. I’ll be seeing you.”

In angry silence he turned and walked in rapid strides down Regent Street and out of my life.

“Chuck…Chuck!” I called out, but he kept going. He did not turn around or speak.

I discovered a truth in that moment. I had buried it, but it never went away. In the end, I still wanted Chuck Dawn.

Darkness hovered over the city like a net waiting to drop, its icy fingers sending a cold chill inching up my spine when I heard someone following me. I had taken cover in a doorway when the air-raid siren went off and the German raiders started up their barrage. The docks again, I assumed, though we hadn’t had a major raid in weeks. Sometimes when I thought it was the onset of the siren it was only a motor bus starting up. But not tonight. The planes in
their arrow formations filled the sky, roaring overhead, rolling, throbbing like continuous thunder. I panicked. I was nowhere near a shelter, which filled me with dread. The very real fear of being caught in the dark and exposed outweighed the fear of being trapped inside, so I had ducked under the overhang of a deserted building with boarded-up windows, holding myself in check. I refused to cower in fear.

Within a quarter of an hour everything was quiet again, so quiet the sound of footsteps striking the pavement behind me was quite loud. I walked faster, a nervous skittishness about me, listening, wondering, hoping I’d make no misstep. The deepening of the night dissolving to what would soon be pitch-black intensified the sensation laying claim to my nerves. Not much farther to go. I was but a block from my town home, tired, arms aching from carrying my packages, toes pinched in my shoes. I had decided against going to Walpoles after seeing Chuck, my resolve as well as my confidence shattered. As soon as I heard the alert, I came straight back to Mayfair, the siren signaling the advancing bombers with its consistent wail.

I picked up my pace, hoping to hear the all clear presently, but such was not my luck. The guns became lively again and within seconds the sky burst into fireworks with spotlights chasing the bombers with sabers of light. I couldn’t hear the footsteps over the din, but I
knew
someone was there. I sensed it. I was breathing heavily. I was certain whoever was following me thought I was losing my nerve, disintegrating, and that would make me easy prey for looters roaming the city. I would have to dissuade him of that. And quickly. I had nothing to fear, I assured myself. I wore Cleopatra’s perfume as a precaution, its intoxicating fragrance arousing my
courage as it had so often aroused my desire. I held my breath, trying so desperately to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps. Whether it was foolishness or courage that made turn around and confront the man stalking me, dear reader, I don’t know. I acted before I had time to think.

“What do you want?” I demanded, my voice steady.

“I had to see you again, Eve,” he said, his tone quiet, even. “Hold you.”

“Chuck…” I let my breath out quickly, relief sweeping over me. For the first time in months, a surging joy at hearing a man call me
Eve
came over me. How long it would last, I didn’t know, but for the moment a different kind of sanity found me. Hope. “Why were you following me?”

“I had a feeling Jerry was coming to visit us tonight.” He paused. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Is that all?” I had to ask, waiting for a different answer, an answer that would assuage the emotional charges wracking my nerves, not to mention my libido.

Finally, he said, “I saw how you treated my crew back there, the way you made them feel special. It reminded me of—”

A loud sound came over our heads, an unmistakable rumbling, and he slammed me against the building, his hard body crushed on top of mine, his lips brushing my cheek, his hot breath in my ear. I dropped my packages and my hat fell off, but I made no move to pick them up. We didn’t speak, didn’t kiss, but in my mind the moment tasted of sin and desire, of need and heat. I knew if he reached under my coat, thrust his hand down my skirt, my knickers, he would be rewarded with a pleasing flow of my sexual juices
already oozing between my legs. I
wanted
him to touch me, I wanted to touch him, our hands roaming, exploring. In spite of the fear racing through me, I closed my eyes and allowed the heat from his body to warm me, savoring his touch, wanting more.

“Are they ours?” I asked in a hushed voice that spoke more of my surprise at finding myself crushed beneath him than my curiosity about the planes overhead.

“Wait. Don’t say anything…” He listened as we heard the planes going over us. I could hear his heart beating madly. “Yes, they’re ours.”

“Are you sure?” I whispered, my cheek brushing his shoulder, the buttons on his uniform scraping against my breasts and sending tiny shivers of pleasure through me.

“Yes. Their engines have a distinctive sound.” He leaned down and before I could ask another question, he kissed me, parting my lips with his tongue, then diving inside my mouth, sucking the breath out of me then making me vibrate with pleasure when he grabbed the cheeks of my buttocks and squeezed them. “I tried to stay away, Eve, but I couldn’t,” he whispered. “After I busted out of that prison in Cairo—”

I forced myself to pull away from him, act surprised. “You escaped?”

He laughed. “You could call it that. I met up with another prisoner, a fast-talking thief from Czechoslovakia who convinced me we could break out through an old abandoned tunnel others had used to escape during the last war. He had the plans smuggled into the prison, but it took us weeks to clear the tunnel. Still, it was too easy. I don’t think he was on the level.”

I avoided looking at him, keeping my voice low. “What do you mean?”

“I’d bet a month’s pay he was working for somebody on the outside, somebody who wanted me out of there. The British, I suspect.” He held me closer to him, his hands squeezing into my arms as if he feared letting me go. “I thought you might know something about it.”

“Me?” I said, the deft, innocent manner in which I answered him surprising me.

He grinned. “No, I guess that was a crazy idea. What would you have to do with the British Secret Intelligence Services?” He ran his hands up and down my body, massaging my breasts, fumbling to find my nipples under my coat. “That doesn’t matter now. I have you in my arms again and I can smell your perfume…”

“How did you get to London?” I asked, trying to think, decide what to do. If he knew I was involved in his escape, it could jeopardize my mission.

“I couldn’t go back to my old job with Imperial, so I went back to the States, hanging around airports, trying to get work, hauling cargo, but I couldn’t get you out of my mind. When I heard the British government was secretly hiring American pilots to fight this war, I jumped at the chance. Sure, I want to fight those damn Nazis, I’d like nothing better than to knock off Hitler in his Berlin Reichstag, but I also wanted to see you again. Thinking I was wrong about you. All these months, I’ve been waiting, hoping…”

The all clear sounded, but we didn’t move out of the doorway. Chuck reached under my coat and cupped my breasts, squeezing my nipples through my silk blouse, making my pubic muscles twitch, but I forced myself to ignore it. Another siren was going off in my head. He had come so close to guessing the truth about my involve
ment with British Secret Intelligence Services, it put me off balance. I could hear the training instructor saying,
You must tell no one about your mission. Lives are at stake.
I had to make Chuck believe I hadn’t changed, that I was the same selfish Englishwoman he knew in Cairo.

“Please, Chuck, not here.”

“Let’s go back to your place.”

I sighed, then gave him a coy look, wishing there was moonlight so he could see my face. I was beginning to gain confidence in my ability to lie. “I wish we could, but I’m expecting a gentleman visitor later.”

He thought about what I said, then: “Tomorrow morning. I have a twenty-four-hour leave—”

“No, Chuck. It—it wouldn’t work. You and me. You see—”

“I see all right. I’m not good enough for you.” He released me but didn’t move, as if he was examining his thoughts, experiencing neither disappointment nor anger. More an understanding, as if everything became clear to him. “I was a fool to think that you and I—”

“Chuck, you don’t understand. Things are different here in London.” Why was I saying these things?
Why?

He shook his head, his cheek so close to mine I could feel the sweat from the heat of our bodies touching rolling down his face. “You haven’t changed, Eve. You’re just as beautiful…and just as cunning.” He picked up my hat off the ground and dusted it off before handing it back to me. “You’re safe now. You don’t need me.”

“Chuck—”

“I’ll see you around, Lady Marlowe.”

I stood there in the darkness, clutching the damn hat in my hand, ripping the veiling and pulling off the ribbons one by one. I felt the
need to use returning; seeing Chuck was a trigger I hadn’t counted on having to face. A fierce headache, then tightness in my chest and a craving to find refuge in the drug overwhelmed my senses. Crying out, begging for it, my body shuddered, but I wouldn’t relapse. I
couldn’t.
I tossed the damn hat onto the pavement and stomped on it. I had to be strong, forget Chuck Dawn. I had to complete my mission.

I suppressed the urge for cocaine by taking in deep breaths then letting them out in rapid succession. I had to regain my courage, I had to function. I glanced apprehensively at the sky. I couldn’t remain standing here in the darkness lest the bombers return. I had to pass through this moment and find my courage, my will to do my job.

It was all I had left.

Berlin

April 28, 1941

I
t seemed only days ago since I had seen Maxi instead of nearly two years.

We embraced as old friends do, hugging, kissing on both cheeks, though a coldness in her hands made me wonder if her heart also tempered a chill toward me. I could see she had not changed when we sat down at a table in Horcher’s restaurant on Martin Luther-strasse. She still wore mannish clothes reflecting the drabness extolled by official declaration of the Third Reich, except I noticed she had carefully applied bright red lipstick to her lips. A change, most notably not because Maxi preferred a fashion style so unlike mine, but because Hitler didn’t like makeup. Was she showing her distaste for his military tactics or ignoring his edict as Nazi officers’ wives often did, all in the name of feminine allure?