Daniel Silva - The Unlikely Spy

Vicary thought, And you're not answering my question.

He rose to his feet. "Good night, Sir Basil."

Boothby remained silent as Vicary walked toward the door.

"There's one more thing," Boothby finally said. "I shouldn't think I need to tell you this, but I shall in any case. We don't have an unlimited amount of time. If there isn't progress soon we may have to make-well, changes. You understand, don't you, Alfred?"

As they walked into the Savoy Grill, the band began playing "And a Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square." It was a rather poor rendition-choppy and a bit rushed-but it was pretty, regardless. Jordan took her hand without speaking and they walked onto the dance floor. He was an excellent dancer, smooth and confident, and he held her very closely. He had come directly from his office and was wearing his uniform. He had brought his briefcase with him. Obviously it contained nothing important because he had left it behind at the table. Still, he never seemed to take his eyes off it for very long.

After a moment Catherine noticed something: everyone in the room seemed to be staring at them. It was terribly unnerving. For six years she had done everything in her power not to be noticed. Now she was dancing with a dazzling American naval officer at the most glamorous hotel in London. She felt exposed and vulnerable, yet at the same time she derived a strange satisfaction from doing something completely normal for a change.

Her own appearance certainly had something to do with the attention they were drawing. She had seen it in Jordan's eyes a few minutes earlier when she walked into the bar. She looked stunning tonight. She wore a dress of black crepe material with a deep plunge in the back and a neckline that showed off the shape of her breasts. She wore her hair down, held back by a smart jeweled clasp, and a double strand of pearls at her throat. She had taken care with her makeup. The wartime cosmetics were of extremely poor quality but she didn't require much-a little lipstick to accentuate the shape of her generous mouth, a little rouge to bring out her prominent cheekbones, a bit of liner around her eyes. She derived no special satisfaction from her appearance. She had always thought of her own beauty in dispassionate terms, the way a woman might evaluate her favorite china or a cherished antique rug. Still, it had been a very long time since she had walked through a room and watched heads turn her way. She was the kind of woman that both sexes noticed. The men could hardly keep their mouths closed, the women frowned with envy.

Jordan said, "Have you noticed that everyone in this room is staring at us?"

"I've noticed that, yes. Do you mind?"

"Of course not." He drew away a few inches so he could look at her face. "It's been a very long time since I've felt this way, Catherine. And to think I had to come all the way to London to find you."

"I'm glad you did."

"Can I make a confession?"

"Of course you can."

"I didn't get much sleep after you left last night."

She smiled and drew him near, so her mouth was next to his ear. "I'll make a confession too. I didn't sleep at all."

"What were you thinking about?"

"You tell me first."

"I was thinking how much I wished you hadn't left."

"I was having very similar thoughts."

"I was thinking about kissing you."

"I think I was kissing you."

"I don't want you to leave tonight."

"I think you would have to throw me out bodily if you wanted me to leave."

"I don't think you need to worry about that."

"I think I'd like you to kiss me again right now, Peter."

"What about all these people staring at us? What do you think they'll do if I kiss you?"

"I'm not sure. But it's 1944 in London. Anything can happen."

"Compliments of the gentleman at the bar," the waiter said, opening a bottle of champagne as they came back to the table.

"Does the gentleman have a name?" Jordan asked.

"None that he gave, sir."

"What did he look like?"

"Rather like a sunburned rugby player, sir."

"American naval officer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Shepherd Ramsey."

"The gentleman wishes to join you for a glass."

"Tell the gentleman thank you for the champagne, but forget it."

"Of course, sir."

"Who's Shepherd Ramsey?" Catherine asked when the waiter left.

"Shepherd Ramsey is my oldest and dearest friend in the world. I love him like a brother."

"So why don't you let him come over for a drink?"

"Because for once in my adult life I'd like to do something without him. Besides, I don't want to share you."

"Good, because I don't want to share you either." Catherine raised her champagne glass. "To the absence of Shepherd."

Jordan laughed. "To the absence of Shepherd."

They touched glasses.

Catherine added, "And to the blackout, without which I would never have bumped into you."

"To the blackout." Jordan hesitated. "I know this probably sounds like a terrible cliche, but I can't take my eyes off of you."

Catherine smiled and leaned across the table.

"I don't want you to take your eyes off me, Peter. Why do you think I wore this dress?"

"I'm a little nervous."

"I am too, Peter."

"You look so beautiful, lying there in the moonlight."

"You look beautiful too."

"Don't. My wife-"

"I'm sorry. It's just that I've never seen a man who looked quite like you. Try not to think about your wife for just a few minutes."

"It's very hard, but you're making it a little easier."

"You look like a statue, kneeling there like that."

"A very old, crumbling statue."

"A beautiful statue."

"I can't stop touching you-touching them. They're so beautiful. I've been dreaming of touching them like this since the first moment I saw you."

"You can touch them harder. It won't hurt."

"Like this?"

"Oh, God! Yes, Peter, just like that. But I want to touch you too."

"That feels so nice when you do that."

"It does?"

"Ahh, yes, it does."

"It's so hard. It feels wonderful. There's something else I want to do to it."

"What?"

"I can't say it out loud. Just come closer."

"Catherine-"

"Just do it, darling. I promise you won't regret it."

"Oh, my God, that feels so incredible."

"Then I shouldn't stop?"

"You look so beautiful doing that."

"I want to make you feel good."

"I want to make you feel good."

"I can show you how."

"I think I know how."

"Ahh, Peter, your tongue feels so wonderful. Oh, please, touch my breasts while you do that."

"I want to be inside you."

"Hurry, Peter."

"Ohh, you're so soft, so wonderful. Oh, God, Catherine, I'm going to-"

"Wait! Not yet, darling. Do me a favor and lie down on your back. Let me do the rest."

He did as she asked. She took him in her hand and guided him inside her body. She could have just lain there and let him finish but she wanted it this way. She always knew Vogel would do this to her. Why else would he want a female agent except to seduce Allied officers and steal their secrets? She always thought the man would be fat and hairy and old and ugly, not like Peter. If she was going to be Kurt Vogel's whore, she might as well enjoy it. Oh, God, Catherine, you shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be losing control like this. But she couldn't help it. She was enjoying it. And she was losing control. Her head rolled back and her hands went to her breasts and she stroked her nipples with her fingers and after a moment she felt his warm release within her and it washed over her in wave after wonderful wave.

It was late, at least four o'clock, though Catherine couldn't be sure because it was too dark to see the clock on the bedstand. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Peter Jordan was sleeping soundly next to her. His breathing was deep and regular. They had eaten a large meal, had a lot to drink, and made love twice. Unless he was a very light sleeper, he would probably sleep through a Luftwaffe night raid right now. She slipped out of bed, put on the silk dressing robe he had given her, and padded quietly across the room. The bedroom door was closed halfway. Catherine opened it a few inches, slipped through the doorway, and closed it behind her.