"Hey. Hey!"
Footsteps behind me, and automatically, mine sped up, or tried to. Wincing, I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. Better to just carry on and hope the other person was calling on someone else.
"You. With the long coat on."
Definitely me. Given that there was hardly anyone else about, it was inevitable. Hardly anyone that I could see, anyway.
"What?" I spoke as sharply as I could, stopping and spinning round on my heels just to add to my impatience. I was a soldier, a bloody good one too, aside from the hole in my leg---no reason to be scared of a civvie. And I wasn't. Just annoyed at the interruption. I liked to be left alone with my thoughts on the short walk back to Mrs. Hudson's boarding house.
The other man stopped short; I could only see his outline, not much of his features at all. I only knew he was slightly shorter than I, with a slender build. Dressed in dark clothing, as most people were.
"Good God." He gave a low, quick laugh.
"No need to be so aggressive, old chap."
"When accosted in the street by a complete stranger? And I'm far from old."
"No." Another brief laugh, which irritated me for some reason. I felt like I was being mocked.
"At least, not as old as me," he went on.
"How do you know?"
"How do I know what?"
"That you're older than me."
"Huh." I wouldn't have called the noise he made a laugh, but there was definitely a mocking tone to the sound. "I'm older than a lot of people."
"That's as may be," I said, throwing off his--- so I thought---clumsy attempt to be mysterious.
There was no need for such drama. We stood in the dark on a deserted London street; the sirens could go off at any moment. "But would you mind telling me what this is all about?"
"Nathan, isn't it?"
I startled, breath catching in my throat.
Cocking my head, I fought the night-blindness and tried to study him, not coming up with much. "How did you...?"
"Oh, I'm---" he pointed behind him at nothing in particular. Just the direction from which we'd come "---acquainted with one of your work colleagues. Stuart. Stuart Henley?"
"Major Henley?" It surprised me that first of all, this...this upstart knew my name and used it, and that he knew Major Henley, whose first name I couldn't bring myself to use, even under these circumstances.
Especially under these circumstances. This man could be anyone, and given the nature of my work...I could have kicked myself at confessing I knew the man to whom he referred. Not only that, but I'd casually confirmed his rank too.
Nothing a self-respecting spy wouldn't already have worked out, anyway, I said to myself, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, hoping I didn't look too uncomfortable.
"Yes. Yes, I suppose he is. Major Stuart Henley indeed. We knew each other way back."
I'd heard rumours about the Major. Talk.
Nothing confirmed, everything kept very hush- hush. But what I had heard was enough to make me wonder exactly how this man knew him.
"I don't care how you know---"
"You've no idea how I know---knew---him," the man pointed out, and if it hadn't been so dark, he probably would have seen me blush.
"I mean who. Who you know. Who you associate with is no concern of mine, but---"
"There's---"
"But," I said firmly, taking one step closer in the hopes I'd come off as assertive and not to be messed with, "neither do I know how the hell you know my name."
"I heard someone mention it when you left work. Look, I..."
I wasn't sure if that was true. In those days, things were more formal. Even equals used titles rather than names, and that was something I found reassuring. Rules and regulations were why I got on so well in the army. Even though I was no longer in the thick of it. The structure, the routine, all of it. I knew what would happen and when and why.
This, here, now, was an unknown quantity.
"I don't even know your name," I blurted out.
That was how it started. I said I didn't know his name, and he told me. Adam Locke. He was there the next night too. Ostensibly to apologise for alarming me the first time around, but I had to wonder, especially after that possibly-coded mention of Major Henley.
Even if he was that way inclined, that didn't mean he was interested in me. Hell, he didn't even know me, perhaps had just seen me leave work once or twice. None of it made sense.
That was always the way with Adam. Nothing about him made sense.
He had food. He had a talent for acquiring things I hadn't seen in years, even as a man with connections. Naturally, the words "black market" had risen to my lips, and he'd had the good grace to at least try to look offended. He'd taken a big risk in letting me see the cakes made with real eggs, the alcohol, certain fruits.
"Where do you get all this?" I'd ask then answer myself with a quiet, "Don't tell me. It's better I don't know, right?" And he'd simply smile, leaving me wondering exactly what he wanted from me.
"There are some things it's better you don't know," he'd say.
I didn't force the issue. Maybe I should have.
But the nineteen forties were a time of secrecy, after all. Saying the wrong thing to the wrong person could mean one's life.
I inhale and exhale sharply, something like a gasp, but not. It's as if
