“So, what do you think, Mr. Smith?” Holmes asked.
Smitty took a final drag on his cigarette and smashed it into the ashtray on the desk before him.
“You’ve got the psych evaluation. What does the doc say?”
Holmes leaned forward. “We don’t appreciate your evasive attitude, Mr.—”
Forsythe stalled his British counterpart with a raised hand and then turned to his agent.
“John, with the exception of the security of this country, nothing is more important to us than Kathryn’s safety, and that is bound to her mental health. There’s no room in this business for indecision or divided loyalty. We need to know she’s ready to come back to us and get this job done.”
“Divided loyalty? What are you inferring?”
Holmes leaned back and crossed his arms. “She made some rather scurrilous accusations against this agency.”
Smitty glared at him and then offered a disparaging glance at Forsythe for sharing the information. It didn’t really surprise him though. The SOE and the OSS were like incestuous twins.
“She was upset.”
Forsythe nodded. “As were we all.”
The two colonels stared at him, waiting for his answer.
“So, what … are you asking me if I think she’s going to turn into a Nazi or something?”
Holmes raised his brow. “The mind can be a fragile thing, Mr. Smith. Our Miss Hammond has been through the ringer, as you Americans say. I’ve seen good people broken by less.”
Smitty didn’t like the man’s tone or his implication, and he liked even less his assumption of possession. He may have had questions about what Kathryn still thought about the accident, but her loyalty was not one of them.
“No one hates those Nazi bastards more than she does, and she’ll do anything to bring them down.”
Holmes smirked. “You’re saying she finds us the lesser of two evils?”
He looked at the man and wanted to say, “Aren’t we?,” but merely said, “Yes.”
Forsythe nodded and closed the file on his desk. “Thank you for your honesty, John. You may go.”
The two colonels waited until the agent was gone and then sat in contemplative silence for a moment.
Forsythe exhaled. “Not a very glowing endorsement.”
Holmes smiled. “Miss Hammond needn’t like us, Walter, or necessarily trust us. She need only hate them.” He walked to the window and gazed at the busy streets below. “Shame about the hostility towards us, but I dare say I’ve grown fond of your lovely agent. She seems to have the stuff, don’t you think?” He turned. “Recognizes the larger picture and accepts her place in it. She’ll serve us well.”
Forsythe glared at him as he came to his side and gloated like a puppet master pleased with the performance of his marionettes.
“You’re a cold, ruthless bastard, Holmes, if you don’t mind my saying.”
Holmes grinned. “Not at all. I take it as a personal compliment. And may I say, you are not, nor are most in your employ, and that is why the SOE will always be the superior agency.”
He laughed at Forsythe’s seething disdain and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t trouble yourself about it, old chap. We’ve been at this a bit longer than you Yanks, and we better understand the world view, as it were.”
He pulled a pipe from his pocket and leaned on the intercom lever.
“Send in Miss Hammond, please, and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you be a dear and find me a cup of tea?”
Kathryn smiled from the stage of The Grotto as the audience applauded the final song of her set. She’d been back for a week and had played to an unusually packed house each time. Dominic claimed it was evidence of how much she was missed, but Kathryn dismissed it as the result of the club owner’s extensive ad campaign announcing her return and curious onlookers eager for a glimpse of the hard-luck musician triumphing over near tragedy.
Kathryn didn’t care. She was happy for Dominic and glad to give the local papers a warm and fuzzy human interest story to break up the drudgery of the war headlines. Jenny had written a particularly moving article in her About Town column, and Kathryn treasured it even more when she learned Jenny had written it weeks before Dominic had invited her to return.
She was in the audience tonight, along with Clayton and his family, in honor of Stephanie’s ninth birthday.
Kathryn grinned as she came up behind her niece and kissed her on the cheek. “Say, who let you in here?”
“Hi!” Stephanie beamed with stars in her eyes as she looked up at her glamorous aunt. “Gosh, you were swell!” She ran her small hand across the sequined gold dress, mesmerized. “So pretty.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” Kathryn held out her arms. “Come on, give me a hug.”
Stephanie hopped from her chair and wrapped her arms around her stooping aunt.
Kathryn held her tight. It had been too long since she’d seen her, and she didn’t know when she’d see her again.
“Mmm,” she hummed in her ear as she squeezed. “Happy Birthday, pretty girl. I love you.”
“I love you too, Aunt Kath.”
Kathryn couldn’t bring herself to let go.
Stephanie giggled as she squirmed to escape. “You’re squishing me.”
“Sorry.” Kathryn held her at arm’s length, hoping in the dimly lit club that no one could see the tears in her eyes. “You look beautiful! Nine agrees with you.”
“Mommy made my dress.”
Kathryn looked up at the politely smiling woman. “It’s beautiful, Nan.” She stood and greeted her sister-in-law with a peck on the cheek, as she did with Jenny, and then she gave a warm hug to her brother.
“Thank you for coming, and thank you for bringing Stephanie.”
Nan grinned. “We couldn’t keep her away. It’s all she wanted for her birthday.”
“It’s all she’s talked about all week,” Clayton added. “Thanks for getting her in.”
“Well, when Dominic gets shut down for serving alcohol to a minor, I’ll send him to your office to complain.” She slid Clayton’s champagne glass away from his daughter’s slowly reaching hand.
Nan scolded her daughter and Clayton laughed.
“You were fantastic, Kath.”
“Thanks,” she said, as everyone sat down.
Kathryn surreptitiously glanced around the room while everyone else got settled. Jenny noticed and questioned her with a subtle tilt of her head. Kathryn nodded discreetly, acknowledging the start of her next assignment. Jenny closed her eyes briefly and gamely put on a smiling mask for the rest of the evening.
It was far past Stephanie’s bedtime by the time the little girl lay sleeping on her father’s shoulder while they waited for the valet to bring the car around.
Kathryn watched him set his sleeping daughter in Nan’s lap in the passenger seat and gently close the car door.
“Nothing wakes her up,” he said, as they rounded the back of the car. “Say, are you coming over next weekend? We’re having some friends over and I’d like to—”
Kathryn put her hand on his arm. “Listen, Clay, I need to talk to you a minute.”
“Out here?” He rubbed his hands together against the chilly winter night.
“It’s important.”
“Okay, well, here—” He took off his overcoat and offered it to her.
“No, I’m all right.”
“Don’t be silly,” he insisted, as he wrapped it around her exposed shoulders.
Nan waited a few minutes and then craned her head around to look out the back window of the car, wondering what was taking so long. Her husband was gesturing in an agitated manner, and her sister-in-law was ineffectually trying to calm him. This mysterious ballet went on for a few more moments, until Clayton got in the car, angrily tossed his overcoat in the backseat, and slammed the door.
“Clay,” Nan said in a whisper, putting her hand over her daughter’s ear. “You’ll wake her up. What’s wrong?”
Clayton shoved the car in gear. “Give me a minute to calm down,” he growled, and then he drove off.
Jenny lay in bed, staring into the darkness above. The cold, empty space beside her was a bitter reminder that Kathryn was sleeping in someone else’s arms tonight instead of hers. That’s what she assumed anyway. It was past three a.m., and she’d heard nothing from Kathryn since they parted with regretful smiles across the table at the club. It was awkward and frightening for Jenny—leaving her love to the unknown—but her promise to handle it carried her gracefully from the club to home, where she promptly allowed herself to fall apart in her foyer.
She supposed she’d better get it out of her system. This would only be the first of many evenings spent wrestling with her revulsion for the situation, and the sooner she got used to it, the better it would be for both of them. She closed her eyes. Who was she kidding? She would never get used to it. The thought of someone else’s hands on her lover, their mouth drinking from her lips, tasting her body, exploring her most intimate places, places meant only for her—God. She imagined Kathryn moaning for them, coming for them, and even though make-believe, it made her sick. Just like Kathryn said it would.
Jenny felt like a daft person, unable to control her torturous imagination. Would Kathryn sound the same with this stranger? Would her cries of ecstasy bring her partner to climax as it did her? Would her playacting arouse her? Would she come in spite of herself, in spite of their love? Was she acting, or did she enjoy it? Jenny swallowed her nausea and sat up, gasping for air.
She despised herself for such thoughts. She reminded herself she had the easy part, and then she remembered Kathryn’s past as a prostitute and wondered if it was true. Maybe Kathryn had the easy part. Sleeping with strangers was as simple as switching pairs of shoes. Revulsion turned to anger, and Jenny welcomed it. She couldn’t say with any certainty the target for her anger—Kathryn, the war, the past, the future—but it caused a relentless ache in her gut that was bursting to free itself from the confines of her body.
She leaped from the bed with her hand pressed to her mouth and scrambled to the bathroom door, where she leaned on the doorjamb and waited for her churning stomach to make up its mind. She heard a car swing into the drive and saw its headlights illuminate the bedroom wall like a prison searchlight looking for her AWOL promise to handle it. Jenny had a moment of panicked indecision, knowing she couldn’t let Kathryn see her in such a state. She hurriedly climbed back into bed and pretended to be asleep.
Kathryn carefully eased the front door closed until she heard the dull click of the lock. She gently laid her keys in the porcelain bowl on the side table in the foyer and slipped out of her shoes. Thank goodness the house was dark and quiet. She wasn’t ready to face Jenny. She felt awkward, like an intruder in someone else’s happy home. She’d become someone else to convince Bouchaule she still belonged to him, and to her surprise, falling back into that role was easier than falling back out.
She stood at the bedroom door and gazed at Jenny’s sleeping form. This was her home. Jenny was her home. She closed her eyes and reached inside herself to find the woman who belonged here, the woman who was loved here. She silently exhaled in relief when her alter ego fell away and she felt herself again. She smiled at her triumphant transformation and tiptoed upstairs to use the shower.
Jenny rolled onto her side and listened to the water run down the pipes in the wall. She imagined Kathryn washing the stranger from her body. Then, she would come to bed and expect what? Absolution? Ignorance? Denial? Jenny rolled onto her back and covered her face. She had to give Kathryn all those things. She had to pull it off. She promised she would handle it.
The water stopped and she soon heard the telltale creak of the wooden floorboards, as Kathryn padded across the bedroom and quietly slipped into bed.
Kathryn gently kissed her on the cheek and settled onto her side.
Jenny knew she should respond, but she was paralyzed, caught between proving ownership with a blinding kiss and bursting into tears because she felt personally violated on Kathryn’s behalf. She took the coward’s way out and pretended to be asleep, but at least she was handling it.
“Nothing happened,” Kathryn whispered.
Jenny slowly opened her eyes.
Kathryn took her hand and brought it to her lips, where she kissed it. “Nothing happened.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Jenny whispered, so the lump in her throat wouldn’t betray her inner turmoil.
She heard Kathryn smile and felt her soft breath on her knuckles when she said, “I’d want to know.”
Jenny was silent for a moment, corralling her emotions. The darkness hid a myriad of sins, and she was thankful, as she reached out and caressed Kathryn’s face. Together they would do this. Only through trust would they survive. Kathryn had played her part tonight, and now Jenny had to play hers. She leaned in and tenderly kissed Kathryn on the lips as a thank you.
Apparently, they would both sleep on the things not said and, more than likely, ignore them in the light of the new day. And so it would go.
Jenny let her hand fall away.
“I love you. Nite.”
“Love you too.”
Jenny stared into the awkward silence and shut her eyes against her rapidly forming tears. Kathryn eventually rolled onto her back, and Jenny couldn’t help but feel abandoned. She didn’t know what she expected the woman to do, but they were failing their first test. If they didn’t get it right now, they would never get it right. They would set a precedent that would do nothing but drive a wedge between them. She was doing the very thing she accused Kathryn of doing—shutting her out. They had nothing if not emotional honesty, and Jenny needed to show her love, feel their love.
She leaned over and pulled Kathryn into a kiss. It was tentative at first, but then passionate, as she claimed what was hers. Kathryn gave her what she asked for and offered even more, which was greedily taken.
Their fervent kiss became a vessel of truth, as Jenny lost the tenuous grasp on her emotions and pulled back. She pressed her forehead to Kathryn’s in an attempt to regain control, but she began to cry and then sob. She tried to push away, managing a blubbering, “I’m sorry,” but Kathryn wouldn’t let her go.
“Shh. It’s okay.” She cradled Jenny’s head protectively onto her shoulder and urged her to let it out. “It’s okay.”
Jenny didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she was relieved that nothing happened, appalled at what she had to look forward to, or ashamed for not thinking until too late that Kathryn might be the one in need of support.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“I know, honey. It’s okay.” Kathryn stroked her hair. “It’s okay.” She kissed her head. “I love you. We’re in this together. They don’t win, right?”
Jenny nodded.
Kathryn stared at the ceiling and nodded too, but she doubted the state of their personal war with the enemy. She’d already lost her family. There would be time enough to mourn that, but this was not it. Nor was it the time to take stock in what else she might lose. There was no room for weakness. She had work to do. She comforted Jenny and processed her reintroduction to Bouchaule.