“What’s that?” asked Scott anxiously.
“The Ambassador’s term of office comes to an end early next month. He may well be asked to stay in Paris, but the Chief Administrator is telling everyone that he’s going to be called back to Baghdad and promoted to Deputy Foreign Minister.”
Scott still didn’t offer an opinion.
“What’s the matter, Simon? Are you incapable of making a decision at this time in the morning?” Scott still said nothing. “You’re just as pathetic on your feet as you are in bed,” she teased.
Scott decided the time had come to tell her everything. He wasn’t going to wait another minute. He walked out of the kitchen, took her in his arms and stroked her hair. “Hannah, I need to—” he began, when the phone rang. He broke away to answer it.
He listened for a few moments before saying to Dexter Hutchins, “Yes, sure. I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve had time to think about it.” What was the man doing up in the middle of the night, wondered Scott as he replaced the receiver.
“Another lover, lover?” Hannah asked with a smile.
“My publishers wanting to know when the manuscript will be finished. It’s already overdue.”
“And what will your answer be?”
“I’m currently distracted.”
“Only currently?” she said, pressing her finger on his nose.
“Well, perhaps permanently,” he admitted.
She kissed him gently on the cheek and whispered, “I must get back to the embassy, Simon. Don’t come down with me, it’s too risky.”
He held her in his arms and wanted to protest but settled for “When will I see you again?”
“Whenever the Ambassador’s wife feels in need of a swim,” Hannah said. She broke away. “But I’ll keep on reminding her how good it is for her figure, and that perhaps she ought to be taking even more exercise.” She laughed and left without another word.
Scott stood by the window, waiting for her to reappear. He hated the fact that he couldn’t just phone, write or make contact with her whenever he felt like it. He longed to send her flowers, letters, cards and notes to let her know how much he loved her.
Hannah ran out onto the sidewalk, a smile on her face. She looked up and blew Scott a kiss before she vanished around the corner.
Another man, who was cold and tired from hours of waiting, also watched her, not from a window in a warm room but from a doorway on the opposite side of the road.
The moment Scott disappeared from sight, the man stepped out of the shadows and followed the Ambassador’s second secretary back to the embassy compound.
Chapter Seventeen
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“I fear that the truth of the matter is you don’t want to believe me,” said Kratz, who had flown from London that morning.
“But he can’t be working for any enemy of Israel.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps you can explain why he passed himself off as a Mossad agent?”
For the last two hours Hannah had tried to think of a logical reason why Simon would have deceived her, but had to admit that she had been unable to come up with a convincing answer.
“Have you told us everything you passed on to him?” Kratz demanded.
“Yes,” she said, suddenly feeling ashamed. “But have you checked with all the friendly agencies?”
“Of course we have,” said Kratz. “No one in Paris has ever heard of the man. Not the French, not the British and certainly not the CIA. Their Head of Station told me personally that they have never had anyone on their books called Simon Rosenthal.”
“So what will happen to me now?” asked Hannah.
“Do you wish to continue working for your country?”
“You know I do,” she said, glaring back at him.
“And are you still hoping to be included in the team for Baghdad?”
“Yes, of course I am. Why would I have put myself through all this in the first place if I didn’t want to be part of the final operation?”
“Then you will also want to abide by the oath you swore in the presence of your colleagues in Herzliyah.”
“Nothing would make me break that oath. You know that. Just tell me what you expect me to do.”
“I expect you to kill Rosenthal.”
Scott was delighted when Hannah confirmed on Thursday afternoon that she would be able to slip away for dinner on Friday evening, and might even find it possible to stay overnight. It seemed that the Ambassador had been called away to Geneva again. Something big was happening, but she still couldn’t find out exactly what.
Scott had already decided that three things were going to take place when they next met. First, he would cook the meal himself, despite Hannah’s comments about his inadequate kitchen. Second, he was going to tell her the truth about himself, whatever interruptions occurred. And third...
Scott felt more relaxed than he had in weeks once he had decided to “come clean,” as his mother had described it whenever he’d tried to get away with something. He knew that he would be recalled to the States once he had informed Dexter of what had happened, and that a few weeks later he would be quietly discharged. But that was no longer of any significance, because third, and most important of all, he was going to ask Hannah to come back to America with him as his wife.
Scott spent the afternoon shopping in the market for freshly baked bread, the finest wild mushrooms, succulent lamb chops and tiny ripe oranges. He returned home to prepare a feast he hoped she would never forget. He had also prepared a speech he believed she would, in time, find possible to forgive.
During the evening, Scott found himself looking up at the kitchen clock every few moments. He felt robbed if she was ever more than a few minutes late. She had failed to turn up for their previous meeting, though he accepted that she had no way of letting him know when something unexpected came up. He was relieved to see her walk through the door soon after the clock had struck eight.
Scott smiled when Hannah removed her coat, and he saw she was wearing the dress he had chosen for her when they’d gone shopping together for the first time. A long blue dress that hung loosely off the shoulders, and made her appear both elegant and sexy.
He immediately took her in his arms, and was surprised by her response. She seemed distant, almost cold. Or was he being oversensitive? Hannah broke away and stared at the table laid for two with its red-and-white check tablecloth and two sets of unmatching cutlery.
Scott poured her a glass of the white wine he had selected to go with the first course before he disappeared into the kitchen to put the final touches to his culinary efforts, aware that he and Hannah always had so little time together.
“What are you cooking?” she asked, in a dull, flat voice.
“Wait and see,” he replied. “But I can tell you the starter is something I learned when—” He stopped himself. “Many years ago,” he added rather lamely.
He didn’t see her grimace at his failure to finish the original sentence.
Scott returned to join her a few moments later, carrying two plates of piping-hot wild mushrooms, with a small slice of garlic bread. “But not too much garlic,” he promised her, “for obvious reasons.” No witty or sharp response came flying back, and he wondered if she was unable to stay overnight. He might have questioned her more closely had he not been concentrating on the dinner as well as wanting to get his speech over with.
“I wish we could get out of Paris and see Versailles, like normal people,” said Scott as he dug his fork into a mushroom.
“That would be nice,” she said.
“And even better...” She looked up and stared at him.