Joseph Kanon - The Prodigal Spy

“It was the same,” Nick said, suddenly claustrophobic in the dark room, the air itself swallowed up in her longing.

“He must have known. To want to see you before. It’s terrible, knowing like that.” As if his father had been lying in a hospital bed, waiting for the end, not being hurled over a balcony. The only way she would imagine it now, her dying lover.

Nick stood up and turned on the light. “It’s getting dark.”

She looked up, surprised, then nodded into the handkerchief. “And here I am wallowing. There’s not much point, is there? Going on like this. There,” she said, wiping her eyes again, “all gone. Now. How about taking an old lady out to dinner? We’ll go somewhere nice.” She stood up and glanced at him. “I suppose you’re dressed. It doesn’t seem to matter these days. I’ll just go put on my face.” She stopped. “I’ll be all right. Really. Somewhere nice. Lutece.”

Nick checked his watch. “Can we get in? I mean-”

“Darling. Use Larry’s name.” She started to move away, then turned. “Nick, all this about Larry-I shouldn’t have told you that. You mustn’t mind. He cares about you. All this other-it doesn’t matter, really. It’s just life. My life, not yours.” She tried a smile. “Well, I won’t be a minute. We’ll have dinner. You can tell me everything that happened. How he lived. All that. Was he still funny?”

“Not as funny.”

“Oh,” she said, a catch in her throat, then dismissed it. “Well, everything. Even the bad parts.”

“Are you sure you want to know? Maybe it’s better if-”

“Yes,” she said, looking at him seriously. “It’s important. Everything about him. I have to know. All these years, nobody would talk about him. I was supposed to be-I don’t know, ashamed, I guess. Larry wouldn’t. I think it embarrassed him. Maybe he thought it would hurt me. But it can’t now. I want to talk about him.” She paused, looking down, her voice faltering. “You see, I didn’t know before. There isn’t going to be anyone else. I’m not ashamed. He was the love of my life.” Then she turned and left.

Nick stood for a minute looking at the rich, soft room, the dull sheen of silver boxes and picture frames in the half-light, their old ormolu clock on the mantel, then went over to the window. Across the park, the familiar apartment towers had begun to light up: Majestic. Beresford. El Dorado. Movie castles, not the grim Hradcany, looming over a dark city. None of it had to happen. All their happiness. To protect somebody else.

“I won’t be a minute,” she called from her dressing room, her voice almost an echo.

She took ten. But when she appeared she was ready to go out, hair brushed back, lips red, fixed in a smile, the prettiest girl at Sacred Heart.

“How do I look?” she said.

“You look beautiful.”

Her face softened, a real smile. “You always say that.”

Molly was late.

“Remind me never to complain about Czech trains again,” she said, flinging her bag on the hotel bed, full of energy. “At least they run. I had to wait an hour and then we got stuck. And of course she had to wait with me. Good old Kathleen. Made me realize why I left home in the first place. Still, it was worth it. Wait till you see what I’ve got.” She looked over at him, noticing his distant expression. “How was your mother?”

“Sad,” he said quietly, not wanting to discuss it. “What have you got?”

“What they call evidence.” Molly sat, poking in her bag. “Take a look. Rosemary’s last letter. My mother had it all these years-not a word. She said she never showed it to anyone because it was too shameful. Despairing. Anyway, I wheedled it out of her.”

“A suicide note?” The letter was written on old correspondence paper, one sheet folded over to make four sides, the writing thick and hard, almost pressed through so that the ink had barely faded.

“I don’t think so. Look.” No margins, the girlish handwriting running from side to side in a solid block.

Dear Kathy,

Thanks so much for the $. I know things aren’t easy for you either and I wouldn’t have asked but I’m almost flat. I’ll pay you back when I’m on my feet again. I wish I knew when that will be. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do and when all this business is going to end. I could tell from your letter, Kathy, that you think it’s all my fault but honestly it’s not, please don’t think that. I don’t know how it started, it’s like a bad dream, and I just wish it would end. The newspapers don’t bother me much now but I guess they’ll start up again and then I don’t know what. At least now I’ll have some $ for a new dress.

You ask me if I’m sorry I got involved with the ‘Reds’ in the first place. I suppose you want me to say yes, so yes. But I still think what they say makes a lot of sense. I guess all I can say is that it sounded like a good idea at the time. I am sorry that I got talked into doing what I did. You know I would never do anything against this country. I didn’t think it was ’treason‘ the way they say in the papers. I was just helping out, for a good cause. Well, I know better now but that doesn’t help much. I thought one confession was enough. At least it wouldn’t be on my conscience. But I guess Washington isn’t like the church. They always want more-no absolution. I thought I was finished with it but I guess I wasn’t.

So I don’t know what I’m going to do. Pray for me, if you think God is still listening. Thanks again for the $. Give my love to Molly and don’t be angry with me.

Love, Rosemary

P.S. You’ll be happy to hear I haven’t been seeing my ‘friend’. I wish I was, in spite of everything. Since this business started, it’s been hard. “Good,” I can hear you say, but he’s not what you think. He’s not even married like the other one so don’t worry about that. Just scared, like everybody else here. I’m sort of a famous character here (!). I guess I should leave Washington when all this is over but where would I go? Well, maybe God will forgive this too. Got to run. Thanks again. I’ll pay you back. Promise.

Nick read it twice, trying to connect the simple schoolgirl scrawl to the twisted figure on the car roof. Everybody wanted to be in love then.

“What’s the evidence?” he said finally.

“Well, it has to be some kind of evidence. It’s the last thing she ever wrote. What was on her mind.”

“A new dress,” Nick said quietly.

“Which you don’t buy if you’re going to- Not if you have to borrow money for it.”

“We knew that. You don’t take your nightgown either. Who’s the man? Did your mother say?”

“She didn’t know. Just that Rosemary was seeing somebody. The married one was in New York, before she went to Washington. She and my mother had a big fight about him-you know, how wrong it was-so she was probably a little gun-shy after that about her love life. Especially if she was borrowing money from Mother Kathleen. Anyway, it sounds like he ditched her.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Nick said thoughtfully. “Just scared.”

“Maybe just careful. Of a famous character. Well, that’s one piece of evidence, anyway. It wasn’t my father. He was married at the time.”

“Unless he lied to her.” She caught his look. “Well, people do. All right, I don’t think he did it either.”

She took the letter back and looked down at it. “Maybe I’ll try confession too. Look what it did for Aunt Rosemary. You notice how nothing’s her fault? Her conscience is clear. Pretty crazy, the whole thing, the more you look at it.” She glanced up. “I don’t think she was sorry about anything. She just wanted my mother to think so. The guy’s not so bad. Even the Communists still make a lot of sense. She was just helping out. I love the exclamation mark-little innocent me. Just a bad dream. ‘I don’t know how it started.’ How hard would it be to figure that one out? ‘I don’t know how it started.’ ”