ELEVEN

DECEMBER 30

I pulled up the garage door and the Jag smiled at me with its big chrome grill. I smiled back. It was going to be wonderful to drive it one more time. I stepped inside and ran my hand along the hood. “Hello, my darling,” I said.

Charlie grabbed the door and swung it down, sealing us inside. I gave her a questioning look.

“I thought the two of you might want to be alone.”

“Then shouldn’t you be outside the door?” I asked.

“I am leaving, and you’re coming with me.” She took me by the hand, and an instant rush of heat surged through my body. She led me through the little side door and out into a small alley beside the garage.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“We’re not taking the Jag,” she said, leading me down the alley.

“Why not?”

“I was followed here today by two men on motorcycles…paparazzi.”

I skidded to a stop. “So you think somebody might take your picture, and I might be in it. That’s why I can’t take the Jag?”

She looked embarrassed.

“So what are we going to do instead—walk across the city?”

“I was thinking a cab or the underground. Those are both genuine English experiences.”

“As is driving a Jag,” I said.

“Please. I’ll even pay for the alternate transportation.”

She looked at me with big blue, pleading eyes. She was using me against myself in this argument. And I was losing. “Okay. Let’s go.”

She dragged me, still holding my hand, between the garages, through a little gate and then over a small fence that we just stepped over. We came up to the side of another house. She peeked out and then retreated back behind the house. She released my hand—my very sweaty hand—and pulled something out of her bag.

“Put this on,” she said, handing me a baseball cap.

“Gee, and I didn’t get you anything.”

“Just put it on. It’s a disguise.”

I removed my beret, carefully folded it and put it in my pocket, replacing it with the cap. She pulled out a brown wig, put it on and tucked all her hair underneath it. Next, she put on a big floppy hat.

“How does that look?” she asked.

“It looks like you’re more paranoid than you think I am. What now?”

“I’m going to walk down to the main intersection, and you’re going to wait for a minute or two and then follow. Hopefully, by the time you get there I will have hailed a cab, and we’ll be off.”

“Should we synchronize our watches?” I asked. “Or maybe we should have a password if we suspect danger. How about I say ‘Tower of London’? Would that work?”

“I don’t have a watch, but you can say anything you want. You know, you really do wear that beret better than the baseball cap. See you in a minute.”

She trotted off, and I stood there watching. I wanted to drive that Jag, but I wanted to be with her more. I looked at my watch. It had been long enough. I ran after her. She had already climbed into a big black cab, leaving the door open. I jumped in after her and closed the door behind me.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said to the driver. She was slumped down in the seat, with only the top of her head—the part covered by the hat and wig—showing.

“The address is—”

“Just drive for a while,” Charlie said, cutting me off. “I want to show my friend a little bit of London. Head toward the East End.”

Without being asked, I slumped down in my seat as well. It was a big old cab, the sort you see in movies set in London. As we started to travel, I inched up in my seat. If I wasn’t going to drive, at least I could take advantage of being a passenger. Coincidentally, we headed along a route almost identical to the one I’d walked the previous night. The Houses of Parliament were on one side, the Eye on the other. Despite its height, and the pushy “Canuck,” I’d enjoyed the Eye—the ride and the view. It was a beautiful city. After this little adventure came to its inevitable dead end, I’d have a couple of days to enjoy the sights before I headed back. I might even take in New Year’s Eve in Trafalgar Square. I wouldn’t be with Charlie, of course, but it was a free country, and I could still enjoy the evening with thousands and thousands of other people.

“You can give him the address now,” Charlie said.

“To 4030 Coventry Lane, please.”

“Oh, that’s a classy part of town. Very old-money,” the cabdriver said.

“Could you drive by the house first, please?” Charlie asked when we got to Coventry Lane.

That sounded like a good idea. I’d felt increasingly nervous as we got closer. What exactly was I supposed to say? I eyed the house, which was similar to all the homes along this street. It was large, brick, partially covered by ivy, set back from the road by a lawn and marked off by a stone wall. One difference was that 4030 had a higher wall than the others and a grated metal gate.

“Pull over here, please, just around this corner.”

The driver pulled into a narrow alley, and the house was lost from view behind another house’s perimeter wall.

“Here’s the fare and another fiver,” Charlie said, passing the money over the seat. “I want you to wait five minutes or so. We might be right back.”

“Sure thing,” the driver replied.

This was the first time I’d noticed the driver; his accent made it obvious he wasn’t English.

We got out, and I started toward the front of the house. But Charlie headed down the lane, and I went after her. She pulled off her hat and wig, and I pulled off my baseball cap as well. She stuffed everything into her big purse.

“I thought we’d walk around the grounds first, just to have a look,” she explained.

That made sense. Anything to delay having to knock on the front door made sense. What was I going to say? Hello, I’m David McLean. Do you know my grandfather? And by the way, was he a spy or a traitor or a sleeper agent? Yeah, that was a good opening line.

The wall surrounding the property was slightly taller than me, so while I could see the house, I couldn’t see the yard at all. When we passed by a metal gate, we saw an old man puttering in the garden. We stopped.

“Hello!” Charlie called out.

He looked up from his work, peered around in a confused manner and then saw us. He waved back, smiled and gave a little tip of his hat. Still holding the shovel, he slowly limped toward us. As he got closer, I saw that he was of my grandfather’s vintage. He could have known him.

“Good morning. Your garden looks lovely,” Charlie said.

“Thank you very much.”

“And this is your house?” she asked.

“I hope so, or I’m tending somebody else’s garden… although I’m afraid this spring weather has been so unpredictable that it’s made for a bit of a hodgepodge.”

He must have meant springlike; compared to home, this was spring. It certainly wasn’t like the winter where I came from.

“I’m Charlie and this is my friend DJ.”

“I’m Bernard,” he said.

“I’m afraid my mother would be very angry at me for addressing somebody who is my elder by their first name,” Charlie said.

“Your mother is obviously a person of breeding. My name is Mr. March.”

He reached out through the grating, and we each shook his hand.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. March, sir,” I said.

“We’re just out for a stroll. Would you like to join us?” Charlie asked.

“I have so much work to do, but it would be nice,” he said.

I went to open the gate, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Locked,” he said, “but I do believe I have the key right here.” He searched his pockets and finally produced a full ring of keys. His hand was shaking.

“Besides, it would give me a chance to see how much damage was done last night,” he said as he fumbled with the keys, trying to find the right one.

“Damage?” I asked.

“From the bombers. They must have been close, because it felt as if they were going to shake me out of my bed.”

Charlie and I exchanged confused looks.

“I hope there weren’t too many casualties. It’s hard enough when soldiers are killed in war, but the Blitz targets civilians. Terrible.”

“But the Blitz—” I began.

“Is a terrible thing, a tragedy,” Charlie said. “But there were only a few bombers last night, and they dropped their bombs wide of any target. There’s not much to see.”

“There’s not anything to see,” I said to her.

“Well, there might be something to hear,” Charlie said as an aside. “I bet Mr. March has many stories he could tell us. Right, sir?”

“Oh, so many stories to tell and…” There was a click, and the gate opened slightly.

I moved in close to Charlie so I could speak quietly to her. “Look, there really isn’t a point in doing this…he’s obviously senile…what is he really going to be able to tell us?”

“You’ll never know until you find out.”

There was no way to argue that logic. I pulled my beret out and put it on my head.

“David?” Mr. March said.

“Yes,” I said.

His eyes were wide open. And then I remembered that Charlie had introduced me as DJ. He was looking at me but seeing my grandpa.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said. “What if somebody is watching? This could destroy years of effort, blow your cover and—”

“Hey, what are you doing?” a voice yelled.

I looked past Mr. March. Coming out of the house was a large man in a suit and tie.

“Stop right there!” he yelled as he ran toward us. He looked angry.

“Go!” Mr. March yelled. “Get away, and I’ll hold him off!” He tossed the keys to me and I caught them. He slammed the gate shut with a loud thud.

“But, but—”

“Come on!” Charlie yelled. She grabbed me by the hand and dragged me away, and then we both started to run.

“We have to get away,” she yelled.

We raced down the alley and made the turn. Thank goodness the cab was still waiting. We jumped in, and Charlie yelled at the driver to take off. He squealed away before I’d even settled in, and I was practically flung on top of Charlie. I struggled to disentangle myself without putting my hands anywhere I shouldn’t, then looked out the back window at the receding view of the wall and the house. We’d gotten away; we were safe. And then a big white car—a Mercedes—turned onto the street behind us.