“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?”
