When he woke the next morning she was already up, sitting by the window in her slip, putting on red nail polish. A coffeepot and cups sat on the table.
“At last,” she said. “Come and have your coffee. They do have room service, you see. You just have to ask.”
He put on a robe. “What are you doing?”
“You want me to look the part, don’t you?” She spread her nails in front of her. “A girl has to look her best for this sort of thing.”
“It’s pretty red,” he said, pouring the coffee.
“Meaning too red. Darling, a lot you know. On Johanna Weber it’s too red. On me, it’ll be smart. There, see? Now we’ll just wait for it to dry. Let’s hope to God this fan doesn’t give out-it’s been going all night.”
He drank the coffee, shaking his head to wake up. “You always do that undressed?”
“Of course. Until it dries. If it streaks, it’s hell to get out. How many women have you actually been with?” she said, smiling. “Or don’t you usually spend the night?”
He lit a cigarette with the Zippo, then looked at her through the smoke. “Are you always this cheerful, or are you nervous?”
She gave a half-laugh. “Don’t be so knowing. A little of both, I guess. Maybe a lot. I’ll be all right.”
“Do you want to run through it again?”
“No. I know what to say. At least roughly. It’s not exactly a script, is it? I mean, a lot depends on what he says.”
“Okay. Let’s call him.”
“No. Finish your coffee and go take a shower. Then I’ll call. I really don’t think I can do this with an audience.”
He looked at her, surprised. She came over and took his cigarette in one of the nooks of her outstretched fingers, taking a drag, then holding it out for him to take back. “What’s the matter, don’t you think I can?”
“I’ll be at the restaurant.”
“I know. I can’t think why.”
“Just to be around. In case you need me.”
“Hovering, I suppose. All right. But not now, please. I mean it. Hurry up and clear out.”
Connolly looked at his watch. “You think he’s already at work?”
“You don’t know the comrades. Up with the sun, they are.”
“Better watch the jokes. He may not like it.”
She glanced up at him. “You know, I hate to point this out, but he is my husband. I already know what he likes.”
Connolly looked away and put out the cigarette. “Right. I keep forgetting.”
“I don’t mean what you think I mean. Oh, never mind. Come on, move. I’ve got a hair appointment.”
“Does he like that?”
“I like it. I don’t want to go looking like a ranch hand.”
He looked at her, interested. “You want to impress him, don’t you?”
She nodded. “A little. Is that so naughty of me? I suppose it is.”
“You want to see if he’s still attracted to you.”
“I just want to see if he notices.”
He stood under the shower, letting the water sting his face awake, feeling apprehensive. He hadn’t expected to be a bystander. But if he couldn’t trust her, what was the point? When the shower stopped, he heard her talking, low and indistinct, and he had to stop himself from flinging open the door. Instead he went over to the sink and started shaving, his ears straining to make out her voice. It had to be him. What was taking so long? He stood there, his face half covered with soap, listening, then turned on the tap to rinse the razor so that he wouldn’t hear any more.
When he came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, she was still sitting with the phone cradled in her lap, looking out the window.
“Any problems?”
“Twelve, not twelve-thirty,” she said, still looking away. “That all right?”
“Sure,” he said. “Why?”
She looked at him, a wry smile at the corner of her mouth. “He has to be back for a meeting.”
“A meeting?”
“You overrate my charms. Still, he did manage to fit me in.”
Her voice seemed light and wounded at the same time, and he didn’t know how to respond. “How did he sound?”
“Surprised.”
She got up and began putting on her dress.
“Did he know the place?”
“He’ll find it. Third and forty-fourth, right? He did wonder why we couldn’t meet nearer the office, but I said since I’d come halfway across the country he might manage a trip uptown. My God, do you think it’s possible for someone not to change at all?”
“Did he ask why there?”
“Yes. I told him I’d always wanted to see the Thurber murals. You got that wrong, though-never heard of him. Stop worrying, it’s all right.”
“And you?”
“I’m all right too,” she said, going over to the mirror to put on lipstick. “A little funny right now, but I’ll be fine. I’m even beginning to look forward to it.” She blotted her lips. “You needn’t fret. This is going to be easier than I thought.”
“A piece of cake.”
“Well, a piece of something. Right,” she said, packing her handbag. “I’m off. What do you think?” She flounced her hair. “Something off the shoulders? But not too gorgeous.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said seriously.
She stopped by the door and looked at him, her face soft. “Thanks,” she said. Then, determined to be light, she winked at him. “Next time try saying it with your clothes on. Shall I meet you back here? We’ve still got the morning to get through.”
“No, let’s go for a walk. I’ll meet you at the library. Over on Fifth. Out in front, by the lions. Patience and Fortitude.”
She looked at him blankly.
“That’s what they’re called-the lions.”
“The things you know,” she said.
When she was gone, the room was quiet, and he walked around nervously, at loose ends. Everything was different from the way he had imagined it back on the Hill. The air was close, smelling of her perfume. He went over to the suitcase and took out the envelope with Oppenheimer’s papers. He held it for a minute, staring at it as if the weight of what was inside would ground him, but now it seemed no more serious than a prop. It was a piece of the greatest secret of the war, and all he could think about was how she’d feel when she saw him, the first man she’d loved.
She took hours. He waited at the library, hiding from the sun under the wispy trees on the terrace, then pacing back toward the lions, afraid he would miss her. The day was hot, but not as humid as before, and occasional drafts of baked air would sweep down the avenue, blowing skirts. He stood for a long time watching the traffic, streams of buses and shiny cars and not a military vehicle in sight, shading his eyes against the glare. Everything seemed too bright and buoyant, as if the city had opened up to the sun and even furtive meetings would have to be drenched in light. He smoked, impatient, and then he saw her coming across the street and all the waiting disappeared. He knew as she stepped off the curb that it was one of those moments that becomes a photograph even as it’s happening, flashed into the memory to be taken out later, still sharp. She was wearing a white dress with padded shoulders, spectator pumps, a bag clutched under her arm. Her skirt moved with her as she walked, outlining her legs. Her hair, just grazing the back of her neck, swung as she looked back and forth, eager and expectant, her red lips already parted in a smile when she caught his eye. He felt he had never seen her before.
“How do I look?” she said, bright and pleased with herself.
“A woman only asks that when she already knows the answer.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Like a million dollars. How do you feel?”
“Not quite that rich. These shoes,” she said, grimacing.
They went behind the library to Bryant Park and watched people, pretending not to look at the time. She sat with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling off the end of her foot.
“Hadn’t you better give me the papers?” she said casually.
He reached into his breast pocket for the envelope and then unconsciously held it in front of him, reluctant to let it go.
“What’s the matter? Think I’m going to run off and give it to the Russians or something?”
He handed her the envelope and watched her slip it into her bag.
“None of this seems real, does it?” he said. “I’ve just committed a crime and we’re making jokes.”
“Sorry,” she said coolly. “It’s just nerves.”
“No, not you-everything.”
“What’s it supposed to be like?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Trenchcoats and fog, I guess. Anyway, not a nice, ordinary day in the park.”
“You sound disappointed,” she said, then looked up at the sky. “You might get your rain, though. Would that help?”
“It might.”
“Your trouble is, you’re stuck in some Boy’s Own story. Secret drawers and lemon-juice ink and all the rest of it. But maybe it’s always like this, really. Out here in the sun. Feed the birds, exchange a little information, and go about your business. Maybe they’re all up to something.” She nodded toward the people on the other benches.
“They don’t look it.”
“Well, neither do we. Neither did Professor Eisler. I still can’t quite believe it.”
“He didn’t feel he was doing anything wrong. He was just an altar boy.”
“You always feel something,” she said, looking out at the park. Her voice was darker, as if a cloud had passed over it, and he was quiet for a moment, not sure how to change the subject.
“What about the woman over there, in the straw hat?” he said, a parlor game. “What’s she up to?”
“Her?”
“She doesn’t look like an agent.”
“Perhaps she’s cheating on her husband.”
“Not the same thing.”
“It feels like it,” Emma said. “It’s exciting, all the pretending. And then always something awful underneath.”
He turned to face her. “I won’t cheat.”
“No, don’t,” she said, smiling a little. “I’d know.” She looked down at her watch. “You’d better push off now. I think I’d like a few minutes alone. Get myself in the mood. You know. I can’t concentrate with you around, mooning and getting into a state. What’s it like anyway, the restaurant? Gloomy?”
“Noisy. It’s a news hangout.”
“So much for your atmosphere,” she said, laughing. “No, don’t-you’ll smudge.”
“Okay,” he said, getting up. “You remember where it is?”
“Yes, yes. Come on. Push off.”
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
She looked up at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had lots of practice.”
“You’re not going to get me in any trouble with that, are you?” Tony said, watching Connolly string the wire between the booths.
“Would I do that to you?” He sat in the corner of his booth, cupping the earpiece in his hand so that he appeared to be merely leaning his head against the wall. “Can you see anything?”
“Trouble. That’s all I see.”
“How about a beer?”
“Sure. You want something to eat? You got a whole booth.”
“What’s cold?”
“Fried clams.”
Connolly grinned. “Fried when? Just bring me a tuna sandwich.”
“Tuna sandwich,” Tony said, moving away. “For a whole booth.”
The bar in front was beginning to fill up, but Connolly still had the dining room to himself. He hid the earpiece behind a sugar canister and pretended to read the paper, everything in him alert. The Thurber murals, the pride of the house, were the color of adobe, oversized women and wary men chasing each other around the room in a plaster frieze while no one, except the dogs, paid the slightest attention. There was a burst of laughter in the bar. Connolly had forgotten the sheer energy of New York. He thought of the polite academic murmurs of meals on the Hill. Here everyone seemed to be slapping everyone else on the back.
He had begun the crossword puzzle when Emma appeared, pointed in by Tony, who gave him a look when he saw her go past to the next booth. Connolly lowered his head to the paper, so that all he saw was the streak of red nails at eye level. Her perfume stayed behind her in the thick air. He was tempted to turn around-a last reassuring look-but instead he imagined her sitting in the booth, composed, winning Tony with a smile as he brought her iced tea. She was right, there was excitement in pretending. Absurdly, he thought of her shoes being tight and the fact that no one else knew.
He glanced up as each new arrival entered the room, then walked past to the back tables. Tony brought the sandwich, but Connolly let it sit there; too anxious to eat. How could Lawson be late? But they had been early.
When he did appear, five minutes later, Connolly knew it at once. He was tall, his bony frame covered in rumpled clothes that seemed just thrown on-dark cotton shirt damp at the armpits, plain tie knotted tightly, yanked down from the unbuttoned collar, jacket held by two fingers over his shoulder, a Village look. His pale hair, receding but still full on top, glistened with sweat; his face, the boyish soft face of a perennial teenager, was red, as if he had been running in the heat. He looked around nervously, then broke into a broad smile when he saw her.
“Emma,” he said, coming over to the booth. “My God, you look a treat.” He continued to stand for a second, and Connolly imagined him awkward, staring at her. “What do I do? Do I kiss you?”
Connolly heard no response, but she must have nodded, because there was a rustle of clothing as he bent over, then took a seat in the booth. Connolly leaned into the wall, picking up the receiver and hiding it against his ear, his crossword pencil lifted to write.
“I can’t believe it,” Lawson said, his voice still English and hurried, enthusiastic. “All this time. You turning up like this.”
“The bad penny,” Emma said.
“No, it’s marvelous. But what are you doing here? How long have you been in the States? How did-where to begin? Tell me everything.” His words rushed out, happily infectious, with the guileless wonder of meeting an old school friend.
“It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
“My God, look at you,” he said again, and Connolly felt him lean back against the booth to take her in.
“You’re the same,” she said, an appraisal, but he took it for a compliment.
“Well, the hair,” he said, evidently brushing it back at the temple. “I expect it’ll all go one day. But you-I can’t get over it. How’s your family?”
“My family?” she said, disconcerted. “They’re fine. I haven’t seen them in years. I’m living here now. I’m married.”
“Married?”
“Matthew, I divorced you years ago,” she said smoothly. “Surely you knew?”
“No.”
“You weren’t there to contest it. You wouldn’t have, would you?”
He was silent for a minute. “How could I? Look, I never explained-”
“Darling, don’t. Really. It was all a very long time ago, and it doesn’t matter now. I haven’t come for that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We haven’t much time. I need to talk to you. We can save all those happy days unter den linden for another time.”
“You’re still angry with me.”
“I’m not really,” she said softly. “I was. Well, I don’t know what I was-not angry. But that was a lifetime ago. Before the war. We were just children, weren’t we? Anyway, never mind. We’d better order.”
Connolly looked up, surprised to see Tony standing at the next booth. They ordered sandwiches.
“It wasn’t all bad, was it?” Matthew said when he’d gone. “We had fun. In the beginning. God, your father-”
His voice was bright again, and Connolly thought he could hear the mischief of those years, the delight in provoking. Is this what she’d liked, the way he thumbed his nose at the world?
“You were the most marvelous girl,” he said.
“I’m still pretty marvelous. What about you?”
“Me?”
“Still working with the comrades?”
“Of course.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“I work on the paper. It’s quite good, actually. There was a falling off after the Pact-reporters jumping ship, you know. But of course the war changed all that. Shoulders together. Now, well, we’ll see.”
“You mean to stay, then?”
“If I can. We’re not exactly Uncle Sam’s favorite publication, but we’re still in business. Browder’s worked miracles. Anyway, this is the place now. Politically, it’s all a bit like your Uncle Arthur, but everything will change after the war. It has to. The pressures will be enormous.”
He stopped as the plates were put in front of them.
“You are the same,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Still on the march.”
“I can’t help that,” he said, catching her tone. “It still needs doing. I grant you, it’s not Spain,” he said, reminiscent again. “It’s a different sort of fight, but as you say, we’re not young anymore.”
“I never said that. I said I was still marvelous.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice lingering. “But married. Who did you marry, by the way? Someone here?”
“A scientist. No one you know. Matthew,” she said, pausing, “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“No, don’t say that till you hear what it is. Something important.”
“Is that why you looked me up?”
“Yes.”
“Funny. I thought it might be-I don’t know, about us.”
“What, after all this time?”
He didn’t answer.
“There’s nothing about us. Do you understand? I want to be quite clear about that.”
“Why, then?”
“I need somebody I can trust. Or maybe it’s the other way around, somebody who’ll trust me. Who knows me.”
Connolly cupped the receiver closer to his ear, feeling literally like a fly on the wall. The approach, smooth and plausible, was all hers.
“I don’t understand. Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, not exactly. We all are, in a way. That’s the point. God, this is complicated. I’m not quite sure where to begin. It’ll seem fantastic to you. It is fantastic. Sometimes I don’t quite believe it myself.”
“Emma, what are you talking about?”
“Right,” she said, verbally sitting up. “Here goes. It won’t make sense, but hear me out. Do you have a cigarette?”
“You smoke now?”
“Oh yes, I’m all grown up.” Connolly heard the match strike. “That’s better. My husband is a scientist.”
“You said.”
“A physicist. Working for the government. We’re at an army base out west.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said, then caught herself with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Force of habit. New Mexico. It’s a secret base, you see. They’re very strict about that. They’re making weapons.”
“What kind of weapons?” he said, his voice lower.
“Bombs. Do you know anything about atomic fission? No, I don’t suppose you do. Nobody does. It doesn’t matter. The point-”
“I know what fission is. There was talk before the war. Nothing since. Do you mean to say they’ve actually gone ahead? I thought it was supposed to be impossible.”
“No, they’ve done it. At least, they think they have. They’re going to test it very soon. That’s why there isn’t any time.”
“Do you know what you’re saying? It’s fantastic.”
“Yes. Funny, you get so used to it, you stop thinking about it that way. But it’s real. Twenty thousand tons of TNT.”
“Jesus.”
Connolly had told her ten. He wondered if she had simply forgotten or had begun to be swept up in her own story. Why not twenty?
“It’s capable of wiping out a whole city,” she said. “Berlin, even.”
“Berlin’s gone.”
“Tokyo, then. They’ll use it somewhere. And there’s something new-it’s not just the explosive power. They can reckon that, but no one knows about the radiation effects. They’re going to use it on people and they don’t even know yet what it will do. And there’s no point now.”
“Slow down.”
“No, let me finish. As long as it’s secret, they will use it. Unless someone makes a stink. The scientists can’t-they’re terrified. But if we don’t get the word out somehow, it’ll be too late. They mustn’t, you see. We’re talking about thousands and thousands of lives, and they’ve already won. Someone’s got to stop them.” Her voice slowed. “Anyway, I thought of you.”
“Me? I don’t understand. Do you want me to put this in the paper?”
“No, of course not. They’d arrest you. It’s a military secret-no paper’s going to be allowed to print it. Otherwise the scientists would just leak it.”
“What, then?”
“We need to get the information out of the country.”
“Out of the country,” he repeated slowly.
“To the Russians. They don’t know.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Yes, it is. There isn’t a single Russian on the project. Brits galore, even Germans, but not one Russian. I know, I live there. Think what that means.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I think they’d make one unholy fuss if they found out-maybe enough to stop all this before it’s too late. They’re the only ones who could now.”
He was quiet for a minute. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Yes, I know, it’s an awful chance. But someone has to take it.”
“You, for instance,” he said skeptically. “Joan of Arc.”
“No, not me. I’m just a messenger. Someone on the project.”
“Your husband.”
“No, someone else. I’m-I’m seeing someone else. You needn’t look that way. I’m all grown up, remember?”
“Were you all grown up in Berlin too?” he said. “I’ve often wondered.”
“No. Were you? Look, don’t let’s start. It’s a little late in the day for that. Will you help?”
“You can’t be serious. Do you think I’m a spy?”
“Do you think I am?”
He paused. “I don’t know what to think. It’s all so extraordinary. You coming here like this. Bloody thirty-nine steps. What’s it to do with you, anyway?”
“I told you, I’m a messenger. I want to help him. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Surely you remember that.”
“That was different. I never asked you to do anything like this. Anyway, why you?”
“Because I know you. I couldn’t think of anyone else. Do you think if I had, I’d have come to you? You’re the last person I’d ask for help. But as it happens, you are the last person. I’m not exactly on speakers with the other comrades. They’d never believe me.”
“But I would.”
“I thought you might,” she said softly. “Maybe I was wrong. Still, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to believe me. I have some papers. Here,” she said. Connolly heard her take out the envelope. “Let someone else decide.”
“You are serious. What is it?”
“Scientific information about the project. A part of it. People only know parts. But Steven has more. Give them to somebody who’ll know what they mean. I wouldn’t have the faintest, and neither would you, so don’t even bother. But they’ll know. And they’ll know he’s real. He just wants to talk to somebody, that’s all. While there’s time.”
“What makes you think I can do this?”
“You know people-you were always good at that. Look, Matthew, I never said you were a spy, whatever that means. Maybe you are-I don’t care, so much the better. All the comrades are a little bit, aren’t they? They all like a bit of intrigue between meetings. Anyway, you don’t have to spy on anybody. Just pass it on and there’s an end to it. Nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me. Let the comrades decide.”
“You haven’t changed. You always hated them.”
“I hated what they did to you.”
“And now you want to help them.”
“Maybe I don’t care what they do to you anymore.”
In the silence, Connolly could hear a coffee spoon clank against the cup. Don’t quarrel, he wanted to shout. Not yet. You haven’t got him yet.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he said.
“If I said I believed you, would it make any difference?”
He sighed. “You’ve become hard, Emma.”
“Well, for Christ’s sake,” a voice boomed next to Connolly. “I thought you were in Washington. How the hell are you, anyway?”
Connolly looked up, startled and annoyed, palming the earpiece and lowering his hand. Not now. “Jerry,” he said.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were back? Been over to the paper yet?”
“I’m not back. Just for the day.”
But Jerry, taking a seat, wasn’t listening. “Oswald’s gone, you know. Keeled over right in the city room. Broad daylight. I almost felt sorry for the bastard. But what the hell are you doing up here?”
“Jerry, I’m waiting for somebody,” he said nervously. Behind him he could hear them talking.
“Oh yeah? What, some skirt? For Christ’s sake, Connolly, when are you going to grow up? Hey, you’re looking good, though. You know they promoted that fuck Levine. If you’re smart, you’ll stay in Washington.”
And on. Connolly watched his mouth open and close, the eager sounds a blur of distraction from the low voices on the other side of the booth. Why didn’t he go? Connolly didn’t have to talk, just nod from time to time, but he couldn’t hear the others either, so he sat there in an anxious limbo, trapped while Emma carried on alone. What if they were fighting, picking at old scabs while the envelope sat there, ignored? Still, what could he have done in any case? She had always been alone here. Was she even aware of him? Was she explaining the earnest Corporal Waters? What were they saying? But she didn’t need him any more than Jerry did.
“Come on, Jerry, blow,” he said finally. “I’m waiting for somebody.” He smiled, a kind of leer. “She’s the nervous type.”
“All right, all right,” Jerry said, getting up. “Hey, Ken’s in the bar too. Come and say hello.”
“On the way out, okay? Have one on me.”
“Nah, I’ve got to go,” he said, looking at his watch. “Looks to me like she stood you up.” He grinned.
“Not a chance.”
Connolly lit a cigarette, waving to Jerry at the door, and tried to calm himself. What if Jerry had seen the wire? Made a scene? He picked it up anyway and cradled it against his ear.
“There is one condition,” Emma was saying. What was this? They hadn’t talked about this. Had he agreed, then? “You know I wouldn’t lift a finger for your friends. They’re as bad as the rest.”
“They’re not, but go on,” he said.
“This,” she said, referring to the envelope. “It’s not for them to keep. Not another secret. They’ve got to talk about it, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“People have to know what it is. Otherwise there’s no point. Steven isn’t-political. They have to know that. I won’t have him tricked. Will you promise me that?” she asked, an impossible request.
“People do things for different reasons. We respect that,” he said, oddly formal, on duty.
“No, you have to tell them. It’s not some windfall for your bloody army. He won’t do that.”
“Then why this?” he said, fingering the envelope.
“There’s not enough there to make a bomb, you know. He’s not completely bonkers. Just enough to go public. That’s all he wants. It’s not for him. He’s-he’s a good man.”
“Unlike the rest of us.”
“No,” she said thoughtfully, “in some ways he’s very like the way you used to be. I was always a fool for the good-of-humanity line, wasn’t I? I thought you meant it.”
“I did.”
“Yes. It was caring for one person that was difficult.”
“Emma-”
“Never mind. We haven’t time. I’m supposed to be shopping or something. This is important-thousands of people, not just two. Promise me you’ll explain about Steven.”
“They’ll want to know more, if this is really what you say it is.”
“Yes, he’s prepared for that. But they have to know the why of it. That’s the bargain.”
“They don’t like to bargain.”
“No one’s ever given them something like this before. You’ll see. They won’t believe their luck. God knows they don’t deserve it.”
“Then why hand it to them?”
“Well, it’s a funny old world, isn’t it? They’re all we’ve got. Anyway, it’s not me. I’m just the postman. But promise me, about Steven. No tricks.”
Connolly waited for his answer, the sensible evasion, the obvious impossibility of taking any kind of responsibility for what would happen.
“Yes, I promise,” he said. It was as easy and expedient as a vow, and it was then that Connolly knew she’d wanted him to lie to her, a personal proof.
“That’s that, then,” she said. “I’d better go. Do put that away now, will you? Not the sort of thing one leaves lying about. I can’t tell you the relief, getting rid of it.”
“Emma,” he said, “is it true, all this?”
“Why?” she said, disarming him. “Don’t you think I’d have the guts?”
“I don’t know what you’d do anymore. You’re different.”
“No, still marvelous,” she said, her voice bitter. “But I tell you what. If you have second thoughts, just chuck it in the bin and no one’s the wiser. But I’d have someone give it a look, I really would. Who knows? There might be a promotion in it for you. Just keep my name out of the thank-you speech. Come to think of it, you don’t know my name now, do you? Maybe that’s best.”
“You never used to be like this,” he said, not really answering her. “How do I contact you?”
“You don’t. I’m finished with it now. Steven’s address is inside. A box number. They read the post, by the way, so tell whoever it is to be careful-well, that sounds silly, doesn’t it? Of course they would. Just tell them to give him a time and a place and he’ll know. Somewhere in Santa Fe-he’s not allowed to travel. If he doesn’t hear, well, then he’ll assume the comrades aren’t interested and we’ll have to think of something else.”
“Emma,” he said, his voice low. “In Berlin, when I–I was under orders.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“No, don’t go. You have to know what happened when I left. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anybody. They said lives might depend on it.”
“Lives did,” she said sharply.
Connolly heard her get up. Flustered, he turned and looked up to see her standing there, her padded shoulders pulled back, rigid with anger. He wanted to signal her, but her eyes were fixed on Matthew, oblivious to the room around them.
“I don’t mean ours,” Lawson was saying. “We were just kids. The others-they had a list, the whole network. I had to disappear. I couldn’t tell anybody. They ordered me not to, do you understand? It was important. There were people involved. It wasn’t my decision.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No. Do you think I’d run away? Just like that? They had something for me to do. I couldn’t say no. It’s the discipline-every link. I had to do what they told me. Then, after-”
“Why are you telling me this?” she said, her voice cold. Connolly had dropped the wire and was staring at her.
“I don’t want you to think-I couldn’t help it, do you see?”
“Do you want me to forgive you? What a bastard you are.”
“I just wanted you to know what happened,” he said, hesitant now under her glare.
“That’s not all that happened in Berlin, Matthew,” she said, her voice so low and intense that the noise of the room seemed to step away from it, afraid. “You left a child. I cut it out.”
Connolly stared, helpless, as her eyes filled with tears.
She leaned in. “I saw it in a pan. Like a blood clot. But they cut out all my children. Didn’t mean to, but they did. You think I’m hard? I’m barren, Matthew. That’s what happened in Berlin. Here,” she said, picking up the envelope and throwing it at his chest. “Go save the world. Save it for your children.”
For a minute, no one moved. Then Emma picked up her bag and walked quickly out of the restaurant, her shoes clacking hard on the wood floor. Connolly watched her go, expecting Lawson to follow her, but there wasn’t a sound in the booth. He waited another minute, catching his own breath, then got up to go.
When he looked over the partition, he saw Lawson sitting, his face as red as if it had been slapped, staring at the brown envelope. Then suddenly he got up, bumping into Connolly.
For a split second Connolly met his eyes, wide and frantic. “Sorry,” he said automatically, but Lawson was already running out of the room.
Connolly followed through the noisy bar and pushed the door out into the hot air. Lawson was halfway down the block, walking quickly. He stopped and shouted something-her name? — but it was lost in the roar of the overhead train. At the corner, he had to stop for a light, and Connolly could see Emma across Third, already far along the side street, her white dress darting in and out of the crowd. They crossed together, Connolly hanging back a little, waiting for him to sprint, but there were too many people now and he couldn’t break through. Instead he sidestepped them, jumping into the street, then back again, trying to keep her in sight. When she turned right on Lexington, he quickened his pace, pushing against the crowd.
Emma hadn’t noticed any of it. When she reached the hotel she went straight in, not looking around. Lawson followed her to the door, dodging a car against the light, and then, finally there, stopped unexpectedly. Connolly turned at the window of a deli, watching to his left. Lawson stood for a second, rooted in indecision, then took a step toward the entrance and stopped again. A soldier and a girl came out of the hotel, carrying suitcases. Lawson took a handkerchief to wipe his face, then, his whole body slumping in some final resignation, turned and started walking slowly away. When he passed Connolly in the deli window he was looking at the sidewalk, glum and confused, as if he had just missed a train. Then Connolly lost him in the crowd.
Emma was sitting on the bed, breathing deliberately to calm herself. She glanced up when he came in, then looked away again, obviously not wanting to talk. He touched her shoulder, then went into the bathroom and started putting things in his Dopp Kit.
“Did you hear?” she said finally from the bedroom. “I’m afraid I muffed it.”
“No,” he said, coming out, “it was fine. Perfect.” His voice went low. “Emma, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No, you didn’t.” She shrugged, shaking the hair off her neck. “Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
“Like a message in a bottle.” She stood up and went over to the window. “Anyway, it’s done now. Good luck to him.”
“You all right?”
She nodded. “Funny how voices don’t change. Everything else, but not voices. It gave me quite a turn at first. ‘We respect that.’ My God.” She lit a cigarette, still looking out the window. “Promise me something, will you? When this is over, all this Karl business, no more, all right? You see what it’s done to him. Always some war to fight, whether there is one or not. He’s stuck in the trenches for good now.”
“It’s a promise. You can count on this one.”
She turned, smiling a little. “He couldn’t help himself, could he? What are you doing?” she said, noticing the Dopp Kit. “Going somewhere?”
“I thought we might change hotels. Our last night. Change of scene.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to do that. I’m all right, really.”
“Actually, I think we’d better,” he said. “He followed you.”
“Followed me?”
“Not like that. I think he probably wanted to make up.”
“But he didn’t come in,” she said quietly.
“No,” he said, closing the kit. “But he knows you’re here. Which means they’ll know I’m here too, if anyone’s interested. And they might be, once they get a look at his mail. We can’t afford to take that chance.”
She folded her arms, holding herself. “You think he’d have us watched?”
“It wouldn’t be up to him.”
She took that in. “I thought this was over.”
“Almost. It’s just a precaution.”
“Still on the job,” she said, putting out her cigarette. “Right. And here I thought you were being romantic.”
“I can still be that.”
“Where now?” she said brightly. “Do you think you could manage something a bit grander? The Waldorf?”
He grinned. “No. I was thinking of the Pennsylvania. It’s the one place we’re sure to be alone.”
“Unless that man’s still there.”
“He won’t be. Anywhere but there.”
He was there, however. After dinner, a little tight, they went to the Cafe Rouge to hear the music, and it was Emma who spotted him, sitting not far from the band.
“It’s him,” she said. “He must be off duty-he’s checked his hat.”
“And picked up a girl,” Connolly said. “What do you know.”
“I don’t think he’s seen us.”
“Come on, let’s dance.”
Emma giggled as Connolly maneuvered her toward the other table. “You’re torturing him,” she said, watching the man pretend not to recognize them. The girl, all bright lipstick, was drinking a highball.
“Just a little.”
“He’ll be furious.”
“Because we ruined his little night on the town? I doubt he’ll want to go into that. Looks bad on the report.”
She giggled again. “But what will he think?”
“That we’ve been here all along and he should have kept his mouth shut. Now he’s going to have to explain it.”
“Who do you think she is?”
He grinned. “There’s a question.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Now he’ll be on the train.”
“Paying very close attention this time. Just think of him as your personal bodyguard. Look, he’s getting up to dance. I didn’t think there was anybody in G-2 who could do that.”
“Stop. He’ll see you laughing. We shouldn’t be doing this, you know. It’s not supposed to be funny. Why is it?”
“He doesn’t think he’s funny. And he’s going to write a report and it’s going to sit in a file until it’s useful to someone who isn’t funny either. And there won’t be a thing in it about his pumping his way across a dance floor and trying to get some girl into bed. That’s the way it works.”
“Not funny at all.”
“No. How do you feel?”
“I don’t know. From one minute to the next. Today-”
“Don’t think about it.”
“I did something I never thought I’d do. Deliberately harm someone.”
“That depends on how you look at it.”
“I’m not even sure it was wrong. How is that possible? Not to know what’s wrong. And I didn’t mind. I wanted it to work. And now we’re laughing at that man and dancing, as if nothing had happened. What sort of person does that make me?”
He looked at her. “I don’t care. Like the rest of us, I suppose. Everybody has his reasons.”
“Even Matthew.”
“I don’t know the answer to that, Emma. Some are better than others, maybe.”
“So maybe you can be wrong for the right reasons.”
“I don’t know that one either. We’re not going to solve it here, you know. Let’s take a little time out. You’re still all keyed up.”
She smiled weakly at him. “The wine, no doubt. At least you didn’t say that. I have to sort it out sometime, though.” She looked up at him, studying his face. “What about you? What were you thinking about today?”
“In the restaurant? That I wasn’t helping you at all.”
“But you did. You made it easy.”
His eyes asked a question.
“I didn’t know how I would feel. And then it was easy-I knew I could do it. It’s easy when you don’t love somebody anymore.”
“He was a fool to let you go.”
“We let each other go. Anyway, he’s gone.”
“Pretty quick divorce, by the way.”
She smiled. “I couldn’t resist. I wanted to hear what he’d say. I must say, he might have protested a little,” she said lightly. “Anyway, there’s our answer. Free. Aren’t you pleased?”
He looked at her. “He’s not the one I’m worried about.”