It was 1960 and a cold autumn had settled on Berlin. The four of us decided to visit English friends in Salzburg for a holiday dinner. It was snowing, hard, and Henry’s car, an ancient Lancia, broke down in the middle of Berlin’s Soviet zone.
“Were you frightened?”
“Of course,” I answered. “We all were.” But not for the same reasons.
I pictured Sally and me, waiting in the military police station, flanked by the men. I saw the watchful eyes of the little Soviet private, his AK-47 aimed at us as we sat on the hard wooden benches. I suppose that Sally feared imprisonment or death, and I assume the men did as well. But I dreaded being exposed, my carefully fabricated life destroyed by one stupid blunder.
“Sally was pregnant,” he said hollowly. “I don’t know if you knew that.”
“No.”
“She lost the baby the next day.”
I thought back. Sally had shared no news of her condition. Apparently she had kept secrets as well.
“You went on to have other children.” As if on cue, the voices of Roy’s grandchildren reached us from the backyard. They were returning from a walk to the little beach.
“Yes, but that was her first. It mattered.”
I untied the faded checked apron and hung it on the back of the kitchen door. I’d seen Sally wear it, dozens of times, when baking chocolate chip cookies for the children, or stirring batches of Chex Mix for our bridge games. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well it was a long time ago.” He looked up at me. “Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. I’m grateful for your friendship, you know. Along with the kids, you’ve kept me going.”
I nodded. A shriek from the other room made us both smile.
“You and Henry—you never wanted children.” Stated like a fact, but I knew he was probing. Roy’s interrogation style was nothing if not smooth.
“There were medical issues,” I hinted, pursing my lips together as if the whole subject made me uncomfortable. Let him think Henry had been to blame, when in truth I’d swallowed pills surreptitiously to prevent conception.
“I’m sorry, Rachel—I don’t mean to pry.” He paused, changed the subject. “Sometimes I think you’ve hardly changed from our Vienna days. Those same blue eyes—just like when you came to work for us at the Embassy. What did Henry call them? Danube Blue? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man fall so hard for someone.”
I turned my blue eyes on him and fluttered my lashes. “That’s me—irresistible.”
He chuckled. “Apparently.”
Truthfully, it hadn’t taken much more than a little flirting to get hired by Henry as an errand girl. Once I’d gained his trust, I’d secured a marriage proposal and shown Mutti and my superiors that I was serious about undercover work.
Roy brought us back to the present by brandishing a folder. “Ready to sign that offer?”
I’d come to a decision in the early falclass="underline" I was tired of taking care of my old house. I reserved a spot at the Home and hired Roy to list the property in September. Two months later, we had an offer from a New Jersey nurse. A good offer.
“No time like the present.” I sat down at the kitchen table while Roy pulled papers from his file. The children flicked channels in the other room.
“As we discussed, the buyer is willing to pay cash and meet your price. You sure you can clear out of here in two weeks?”
“I can’t wait.” I took the papers from him and initialed several pages.
“Come on, you’ll miss living on the bay, won’t you?”
“I can walk to the water whenever I want. Where do I sign?”
Roy indicated the last page. “Right here.”
I scrutinized the buyer’s signature, a messy scrawl of unrecognizable letters. “Is this supposed to be her name?”
He nodded.
“But her handwriting… I can’t even read it. Is this legal?”
“Sure. You can sign your name with an X and it’s legit.”
“How insulting,” I continued. Proper penmanship had always been a thing with me, perhaps because my schools had been so strict when it came to writing. “I’ll admit it, I’m offended.”
“Come on, Rachel—who cares? So Miss Julie Lamont from Lyndhurst has a messy signature. All that matters is her bank account, and I assure you, it’s strong.”
I signed and handed him the papers. “I hope I don’t meet her,” I said. “Because if I do, I’m going to say that she ought to be ashamed.”
“Really?” He gave me an odd look.
“It’s rude and disrespectful, that’s all.” I gathered my jacket. “Is that all you need? I’m going home.”
I stomped out of Roy’s house, barely saying goodnight to his children and grandchildren.
The next day I called to apologize. “It’s a strange quirk with me,” I said. “You’re right—getting upset about a signature is ridiculous.”
He was silent for a few seconds.
“I’ll forgive you—if you make goulash with some of this leftover turkey.”
“Yes, but only if you’ll join me to have some.”
Roy brought a plateful of turkey over that afternoon and returned in the evening for supper. His company had gone back to southern Maine, and we were enjoying a glass of wine while our dinner simmered on my stove.
“I was thinking about Vienna,” Roy said, swirling the ruby red liquid in his glass. He was seated at the table, a big man who was comfortable in his skin. “I guess that’s why I craved the goulash, huh?”
I smiled. “Hungarian food always was your favorite—Henry’s too—and it certainly was plentiful there.”
He nodded. “What a fabulous city. I don’t think you’ve ever told me what brought you to Vienna in the first place?”
“Curiosity, I suppose,” I gave a little shrug to add credence to my lie. I had been sent to Vienna: there had been no choice about it. “It was such a lively spot once the war was over.”
“Yes.” He knocked back the rest of his wine. “It was a wonderful listening post, too.”
I stood, reached for the bottle, and refilled his glass. “What are you talking about?”
He chuckled. “Rachel, you know what I mean. Certainly Henry told you the real reason we were stationed in Vienna. It was fertile ground for information… for espionage.”
I moved to the stove and stirred. “Don’t tell me you and Henry were spies?” I kept my voice very light. “I can see my exposé now: I Slept with an Agent.”
“Rachel.” Roy rose from the table and walked to me. Put his hands on my shoulders. “Henry told me that you knew about our cover.”
I turned and regarded him with wide eyes. “I would have been a total dummy not to suspect something, especially once you both got transferred to Berlin. What about Sally? She must have known, too?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Sally had a very trusting nature.”
“And you’re saying I don’t?”
I watched as he walked back to the table and picked up his wine glass and seemed to study it. “We had a mole in the Berlin office,” he said quietly. “Lost several good men because of leaks we couldn’t plug.” He paused. “I always suspected Henry.”
“That’s ridiculous! Henry would never have betrayed his country. He didn’t have the…” I stopped. “He wasn’t like that.”
“What were you going to say? That he didn’t have the nerve? The imagination?”
“No, I—”
“You’re right, you know, Henry didn’t have the guts. He was the type that followed orders to the letter. You, on the other hand—”
“Me? Now you’re making no sense at all.”
“I’ve speculated about you for years.”
“What?” I faked a lilting laugh. “Roy, I think your days of drinking burgundy are over. Of all the crazy things to say! It’s the nonstop stories about the Berlin Wall. It’s put you into some kind of fantasy land.”