Debut for a Spy (16 page)

“
I hear you, sir, but I'm not coping with what happened very well. I don't know whether I can continue with our arrangement. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, but it may be for the last time. I hope you understand.”

There was just a hum on the line for nearly half a minute.

“Sir, are you still there?”

He sounded really weary
– about the way I felt.

“
Yes, Minstrel, I'm here, and yes, I do understand. I can only say that I am most terribly, terribly, sorry for what I inadvertently put you through. I wish you good night.”

“
Good night, sir.”

I hung up, sat for a moment, then headed for the kitchen where the others were already drinking chocolate. I sat down, and
Madame
Marique
placed a steaming mug in front of me. She had also prepared a little plate of pate and biscuits, and another of chocolates and truffles.

“
Everything all right, David?” asked House, gently. He must have known who I was calling.

“
Yes, I think so. By tomorrow morning everything should be taken care of. We should have a trouble-free crossing.”

House, Marijke, and Nicki exchanged knowing glances.

“What boat do you intend to catch tomorrow?” queried
Madame
Marique
, to which I replied.

“
Then you must be away from here by 7:45 to give you time to get on board. That means breakfast will be at 7 o'clock. So, away with you to bed, and I will see you in the morning.
Allez
, go! You must get your rest.
Bon
soir
,
bon
soir
!”

And she shooed us up to bed. I was so tired I could hardly climb the stairs. Marijke and I said good night to House and Nicki, then closed the door of our room. As tired as I was, I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Marijke, I can sleep in the chair and give you the bed.”

“
Why you would want that when the bed is big enough for both? Are you afraid I bite, or I pull off the duvet?”

“
No, nothing like that. It's just that this is not exactly a romantic evening, and I am so tired that I can hardly keep my eyes open. It's not the way I wanted to spend a night with you.”

“
Another time comes, David,” she whispered. “Now, go to bed.”

She turned out the light and opened the curtain. I undressed quickly and slid under the duvet. I looked toward the window. Marijke was undressing on that side of the bed, and I could see her in silhouette against the moonlight
– her hair, the line of her body, the curve of her breasts. Then she was beside me, her warmth touching me.

“
Go to sleep, David. Only thing that is important is we are together. We don't even must talk. I hold you until you sleep.”

I did as she suggested, even as I mumbled my protest.

“I want to talk to you about what happened, but I can't.”

“
It doesn't matter.”

I felt her body curve into mine, the softness and warmth. Her arm came around me, enfolding me. I began to relax.

“You can tell me one thing?”

“
I don't know.” I breathed. “What?”

“
What kind of accident does this man have in Paris?”

What the hell, I thought.

“A fall. A very nasty fall.”

“
Good night, David,” she whispered, kissing my shoulder. I thought I heard the word 'love' as I fell into a fitful sleep.

The dreams were confused, fragmented. I was being pursued, and my feet wouldn't move. Nothing had shape. I was being haunted by vague terrors, and I was powerless to escape.

Gradually, there was a change. A feeling of warmth and security began to replace the fear. It grew in intensity, and the anxieties were whisked away. I was being carried on a river of clouds into a pool of softness, and the euphoria was almost too much to bear. Suddenly, the dam burst, and I was swept into peace, tranquility, and darkness. Then I slept soundly.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bikschote
,
Belgium
–
early
the
next
morning

“David… David.”

I barely heard it, and yet it was enough to penetrate to my sub-conscious. I opened my eyes and looked up. Marijke's face came into view. She was smiling. What a wonderful sight in the morning.

“Good morning, David. I am afraid you are sleeping all the day. I am sorry I wake you, but we are to be for breakfast soon, and I know we must get to the boat in
Oostende
.”

She leaned over, kissing me on one cheek, then the other, and then on the forehead.

“How are you feeling today? I hope you are better.”

“
I am better, thanks, but I think I could have slept for a week.” I noticed her attire. “You're dressed? What time is it?”

“
It is nearly 06:30. House, Nicki and I have finished in the bathroom, and we go for a walk before breakfast. We think we let you sleep longest and then the bathroom is free. We see you at breakfast in one half hour.”

She gave me another kiss and then a cheery wave as she went out, shutting the door behind her.

Fine thing, I thought. I spend the night with the girl of my dreams, and I can't remember a thing except sleeping. And yet, I felt strangely relaxed, almost as if… no, that was a ridiculous thought. Surely I would have remembered that! I took my time getting ready, soaking in the old tub, and enjoying the spaciousness of the bathroom. I was even amused by the bidet, a rare sight in North America and Britain.

When I arrived in the kitchen the others were back and seated. I entered to a chorus of
“Good morning.”

“
Did you sleep well?” asked Madame Marique.

“
Yes, thank you, surprisingly well.”

“
Good. Well, I hope you all like eggs for breakfast. I have made them perhaps a little different for you.”

Different was right. They were fantastic. Lightly scrambled, flavoured with herbs and spices, they were served in toast shells, and looked and smelled absolutely wonderful.

“I have also some sauce, if you would care to try it over the eggs. Some people prefer it, some do not.”

It was like a Hollandaise sauce, but creamier, and with a delicate lemon flavour. We were all enthusiastic in our praise.

“What do you call this,
madame
?” asked Nicki.

“
Oh, the egg dish is just
'Oeufs
Brouilles
aux
Herbes'
, and the sauce is my version of
'Sauce
Supreme'
with black pepper and lemon. I am happy you enjoy it. There are croissants with fresh cream cheese and strawberry jam as well. Please, do not leave my table hungry. And there is more coffee when you are ready.”

When we pulled ourselves away, we were stuffed. It took no time at all to pack the car, say our farewells to
Madame
Marique
, and head for the main road. I was driving, and in a couple of minutes we were back on N369 heading toward
Diksmuide
.

The questions all came at once.

“Who did you call last night?”

“
What happened with the police in France?”

“
Are they still looking for us?”

I had my answers ready.

“Hold it! One at a time. I called a friend who is quite high up in the Foreign Office. He informed me that the Paris police had now realized that this whole thing was an internal problem with the Paris underworld, and that by morning the alert to detain a Canadian and a Briton for questioning would be called off. I can only hope he's right.”

There were cheers in the car. The mood of the other three was almost as bright as it had been the day before on our drive to Paris. I recognized that I was unable to rationalize the events, ergo: I felt that I was not cut out for this kind of work. I was still resolved that I would see Hammond and withdraw from any future involvement. That determination alone was giving me some of the feeling of relief that the others were sharing.

In what seemed to be a very short time we were near Ostend. The sights of the Belgian countryside had shortened the trip – the villages and hamlets, copses of trees, glimpses of castles and cathedrals, all contributing to an orderly beauty which was part nature and part loving care.

Without any difficulty we followed the signs for the cross-channel ferries, and I took the option of purchasing the tickets on board Sealink's Princess Josephine Carlotta, or as everyone called it, the 'PJC'.

House, Nicki, and Marijke went to find seats on the promenade deck, and I proceeded to the purser's office to pay for our passage. There were only a few people in the queue, so I didn't have to wait long to step up to the wicket. I was being served by the purser himself, as the three rings on his sleeve indicated.

“
I'd like to pay for my car and passengers, please.”

“
How many people are traveling?”

“
Four, including the driver.”

“
What is the make of the car?”

“
It's a 1962 Mark II Jaguar 4-door saloon.”

“
Is this your car, sir, or one on hire?”

“
It's mine. Do you need the registration papers?”

There was a pause as we looked at each other. A faint smile appeared at the corners of his mouth as he repeated his question.

“Is this your car, sir, or one on hire?”

“
I've already told you, it's m… oh!”

I stopped in embarrassment, flushing.

“I beg your pardon. I didn't… I mean…!”

He just kept looking at me as I floundered. Then I came out of my funk.

“I would never dream of hiring one.”

“
Then,” he smiled broadly, “You are indeed a fortunate man.”

I passed over an envelope which I had obtained from
Madame
Marique
that morning. In it were the Fodor's guide, complete with bookmark, and the Union Jack pin.

We completed this and the ticket transaction, and I left as he wished me a good crossing. He was still smiling, and I was annoyed that he must have thought I was a bumbling fool. Well, what could I expect – I was a rank amateur in the spy business.

I found the other three on deck. They had secured seats for us all, and they were busily munching on a small box of
Bruyerre
chocolates, one of the best
choclatiers
in Belgium.

“
I’ve managed to save you a few, David,” said Marijke, “but House said we shouldn't in case you weren't feeling well and that they might make you ill. He said it was for your own good.”

“
Of course, Little Neddie,” said he as Grytpype-Thynne, “we wouldn't want you heaving to into the English Channel. Think of the bottlers, lad. I'm told that '62 is going to be a wonderful year. Why, you can already savor the bouquet.”

“Which only confirms,” I stated, sniffing the air, “that there is definitely something fishy about this. I think I can manage a couple of these without feeding the seagulls. Where did you get them?”

“
From
Madame
Marique
,” said Nicki. “They were a little gift, she said. Evidently she represents
Bruyerre
to supplement her Bed and Breakfast. Such a generous, charming lady.”

House and Nicki decided to have a stroll around the deck, leaving Marijke and me sitting to hold on to the places. It was very pleasant in the sun, surrounded by the blue of the North Sea, but I sensed we both had things to say which were difficult to put into words.

“I think you are much better today, David, but I also think that in Paris something happens which is very bad for you. I think it makes much problems for you. If you want, I will listen. I like to help you, if I can.”

I hesitated, trying to find the words.

“I want to tell you, Marijke, but I am afraid. It's not you – It's who you work for. I feel I can trust you – I want to trust you, and yet there are some things which, if I told you, might put you in a terrible position. I don't want to compromise you, and I don't want you in a position which might make you choose between either protecting me or saving yourself. I won't do that to either of us. Do you understand?”

“
Yes… yes… I understand. But it is important that you know you can trust me with anything. Now, we say no more about it.”

I put my arm around her and held her close. Even with all of the people about us, it was as if we were alone. We caressed each other with our eyes, and occasionally with our lips, and I felt at the same time the greatest happiness and the deepest despair. On the one hand I was so close to Marijke, and yet, on the other, there was a gulf between us which might never be bridged. I wondered if I were losing my mind.

We docked in Dover after the 2-hour crossing, the time change making it 10:00am in the UK. I had some formalities concerning the car, as I was, in a sense, re-importing it. I had to produce proof of length of ownership, and sign forms indicating that I would export it from Britain within the year, or pay all duties and taxes from which I had been exempt. Everything went smoothly, and, much to my surprise, there was an unexpected bonus: I was presented a road tax disc for three months at no charge. At least some things went as well or better than anticipated.

The
uniformed people at the terminal made me nervous, although no one had looked askance at us when we had gone through customs and immigration. There were several police officers about, but they didn't seem to be looking for anyone. Still, I was relieved when we drove away and got outside Dover.

Both House and Nicki wanted to go into London, so we drove back a different way, this time using the A2 through Canterbury. We had intended driving without a stop, but breakfast had been early, and as we were leaving Canterbury we decided to find a pub and have a sandwich. This was accomplished at the Drover's Arms in Hambledown, and then we pushed on, slowing only for the traffic in the Chatham-Rochester area.

Nicki directed me to her place in East London.

“
When you get to Mile End Road just turn left and stop, please, David. I just live on the other side in Trinity Green.”

“
Do you share, Nicki, or is it your place?” asked Marijke.

“
No, it's not mine,” she laughed. “I share with three other girls who work in the City or on Fleet Street. We live in a converted almshouse. The owner did a smashing job of fixing it up, but he's away in the Far East for the BBC. He won't be back for at least three years. It's great being this close to work.”

I stopped the car, and Nicki and House got out. I did, too, to help get their cases out of the boot. As I handed Nicki hers, I decided to ask for her co-operation.

“Is it too much to ask that you forget about what happened in Paris, Nicki? I know you work for a newspaper, but I'm afraid that this could come back to haunt me someday if there were any publicity about it.”

She gave me a smile.
“I'm not a reporter, David, and my guess is that it won't even make the London papers. Most local crime stories stay in the city of origin, unless there are national or international implications. From what you've told me, this one will be for Parisians only. Consider it forgotten.”

“
Thanks,” I mumbled, giving her a peck on the cheek. If she only knew, I thought.

“
Enough of that, you rotten swine,” said Bluebottle's voice, House patted me on the shoulder. “Call me, old son, won't you? Let me know what's going on?”

Marijke and I waved as we pulled away.

“Where to?”

“
I must go home to my flat on Kensington Square, David.”

“
Are you free later? Do you want to go out this evening, or perhaps just be together?”

“
That would be nice, but tonight it's not possible. I am on duty at the embassy for twelve hours from 6:00pm.”

“
What kind of duty? Or are you allowed to tell me?”

“
It's just to have an embassy official present. We know where all the important people can be reached, and in an emergency we can contact them. Some routine things we can take care of without disturbing the senior officials. We all take our turn at weekend duty. It's not so bad. I write letters and read, and there is a cot for us so we can sleep some.”

“
Are you alone in the building?”

She laughed.
“Why, do you want to visit me? Unfortunately, there are two security people on duty at all times, and even at night some people come in to work. The minister counselor is often there, and Mr. Nalishkin spends much time there at night.”