Grace hesitated. Part of her wanted to be done with the photos, hand them over and walk away. But she couldn’t abandon them. She had to do more. “On second thought,” she said evenly. “I’ll just hang on to them.” She stood to leave.
“But I really don’t think…” the consul fumbled. “You were so eager to return them. That is why you came to the consulate, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t want them to be a burden.”
“Really, it’s no trouble.” Grace managed a smile through gritted teeth. “I found them. They’re mine.”
“Actually,” the consul replied, his voice steely. “They’re Eleanor’s.” They stared at one another for several seconds, neither wavering. Then Grace turned and walked from the consulate.
Outside, Grace paused to consider the photos once more. She hadn’t left them after all, and she still had no idea what to do with them. But she could figure that out later; right now, it was time to get to work.
Still clutching the photos in her hand, she stepped onto the sidewalk, merging with the current of commuters that surged along Third Avenue. “Grace,” a male voice called. She stopped, certain she was mistaken. No one knew her here. For a second, she wondered if it was Sir Meacham coming after her to insist she leave the photos. But the accent was American, not English. It came again, following and more insistent. “Grace, wait!”
She turned toward the voice and as she did, a passing businessman bumped into her, sending the photos scattering. She knelt to retrieve them.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” The male voice was familiar. “Here, let me help.”
Grace looked up, stunned by the sight of the man she’d been sure she would never see again. “Mark.”
Memories cascaded through her: a crush of crisp white hotel sheets tangled between her limbs, the sensation of floating in midair above the bed. A man’s hands on her that were not Tom’s.
Yet here he was. Mark helped her to her feet, the sleeve of his gray wool overcoat scratchy against her arm. Grace stared at him. He seemed to smile with the whole of his face, hazel eyes dancing. A single lock of his dark curly hair peeked out from beneath the wide brim of his fedora. He kissed her on the cheek like they were old friends, and the scent of his cologne hurled her back to the night before last and all the places she never should have been.
Remembering the photographs, Grace scurried to collect them from the pavement. “Let me help you,” Mark offered again. Did he feel awkward, too, she wondered, about having slept with his dead best friend’s wife?
She waved him off. “I can manage.” She didn’t want him to see the girls and start asking questions. But he raced toward the curb, deftly plucking up one of the photographs before it slipped into the gutter.
When Grace had collected all of the pictures, she straightened. “What are you doing here?” she blurted, feeling her cheeks flush. The other night he had said that it was his last in town. Yet here he was.
“I was delayed on business.” He did not elaborate.
They stood awkwardly for several seconds and her eyes seemed to catch where the collar of his tweed overcoat brushed against the freshly shaved skin of his neck. There wasn’t any more to say. “I have to go.” She took a step away from him, the movement more difficult than she might have imagined.
“Wait.” He reached for her arm, the light touch reminding her all too much of the night they had shared. “I was hoping we could make plans to meet up again. Only when I woke up…”
“Shush!” she scolded, looking over her shoulder. That it had happened was bad enough; she certainly didn’t want anyone else to hear about it.
“Sorry. Anyway, now that we’ve run into one another, I was hoping that I could see you again?” His voice ended on an upward note, making it into a question.
For what, Grace wondered, another night? There could hardly be anything more between them. “I couldn’t possibly…”
“At least let me buy you breakfast,” he pressed.
“I need to get to work.” She tucked the envelope back in her bag.
“You work?” Hearing the surprise in his voice, her irritation rose. Why wouldn’t she have a job? It wasn’t that uncommon, although with men returning from Europe, many women had stopped working, either by choice or because they had been forced from their jobs. But it wasn’t that he underestimated her, she realized. Rather, it was just that they had spoken so little about themselves the night they spent together. That was the comfort of it; they had talked about the war, about Tom. But her actual self and the realities of her world had remained safely out of sight. Mark really didn’t know her at all.
And she would like to keep it that way. “I do work,” she said. “And I’m late. But thank you for your offer.”
“Coffee then?” he persisted.
“I really can’t.” She tried to leave again.
“Gracie,” he called.
She turned. “Didn’t you hear me when I said no?”
But it was just a paper he was holding out, one of the photographs she had missed on the ground. “You dropped this. Pretty girl,” he commented at the photo.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me,” Grace said, softening. She took the photo and tucked it away.
“It was,” he agreed, and they both chuckled. “You really don’t have time for coffee?” he asked, his expression pleading.
She could use a cup of coffee, Grace realized. And Mark had been nothing but kind. But seeing the consul had made her late. She considered how mad Frankie would be, then decided she could stretch it just once more. “I’ve got fifteen minutes,” she said.
Mark smiled broadly. “I’ll take what I can get.”
She followed him to the Woolworths on the next block. They found two spots at the end of the Formica counter. “There, we don’t even have to sit in a proper booth,” he chided. Ignoring him, she climbed onto one of the stools. On the wall behind the counter, bright posters exhorted them to try Coca-Cola and Chesterfield cigarettes.
“Two coffees, please,” Mark said to the waitress. He turned to Grace. “Something to eat?” She shook her head. Though she could have used breakfast, she didn’t want to stay that long. “How long have you been in New York?” he asked, when the steaming mugs had been set on the counter in front of them.
“Almost a year.” She could feel the anniversary coming around, the sameness of the weather as it had been that day.
“Since Tom died,” he noted.
She tried to take a sip of coffee, but the too-hot liquid scalded her lips so she set it down once more. “More or less. I was here to meet him for a weekend when I got the news.”
“And you stayed.”
She nodded. “Sort of.” Technically, it wasn’t true; she had gone back to Boston for the funeral, then to her family’s house in Westport. But the overly concerned looks had been stifling and the murmurs of sympathy made her want to scream. She left for Marcia’s place in the Hamptons less than a week later.
“You said you were delayed in New York for work?” she asked, purposefully changing the subject.
“Yes, I’m a lawyer. The hearing that we started was continued so I extended my stay at The James.” She blushed, remembering his well-appointed suite.
“So those photographs,” he continued, before she could ask about the type of law and what it was that he actually did. He nodded toward her bag, where she’d tucked the envelope safely away once more. “Do they have to do with your job?”
Grace hesitated. She dearly wanted to speak with someone about the photos, to have help figuring out what to do. And there was something in Mark’s hazel eyes, the inquisitiveness and concern as he studied her face, that made her feel as though she could trust him. She took a breath. “You heard about the woman who was hit by a car near Grand Central?” she asked in a low voice.
He nodded. “I just read about it in the paper.”
“Well, I saw it.”
“You saw her get hit?”
“Not exactly. But I was there after, with the police and an ambulance.”
“That must have been awful.”
“It was. And there’s more.” Grace found herself telling Mark how she had been detoured through Grand Central and found a suitcase. He rested his elbow on the counter and his chin in his hand, listening intently. “When I was looking inside for some identification, I found these,” she added, trying to make her nosiness sound purposeful. She pulled out the photos and showed him. “I tried to put them back, but the suitcase was gone. Then I found out that it belonged to the woman who was killed. She was English. At first I just wanted to find a way to return the photos to their owner. That’s why I went to the British consulate.”
“But you didn’t leave the photos at the consulate, though. Why not?”
Grace faltered. “I don’t know. I wanted to make sure they were getting into the right hands. I did speak to the consul, though. He didn’t know who the girls were, but he said Eleanor worked for the British government during the war. Something called Special Operations Executive.”
“I’ve heard of it, actually. SOE, I think it’s called.”
“That’s what he said.”
“It was a British agency that sent agents into Europe during the war to do secret missions, sabotage and such. What did Eleanor do for SOE?”
“Something clerical, the consul said. He really didn’t know more about it, except that the agency records were sent to the War Department in Washington after the war. That still doesn’t tell me who the girls were—or get me any closer to returning her photos.”
“So what are you going to do now?” Mark asked.
“I’m not sure,” Grace confessed. “Place an ad in the Times, maybe.” As if she had the money. She had seen Frankie do it when one of his clients was looking for her husband, from whom she’d been separated during the war. “Right now, I need to get to work. I’m so very late. Surely you have things to do as well.”
“I’m expected back in Washington this afternoon,” he admitted, leaving some coins on the counter and following her to the door of the coffee shop. “My case settled.”
“Oh,” she said, with an unexpected feeling of disappointment.
Outside, they both stood for several seconds without speaking, neither of them seeming ready to part. “Say, the consul said there are files at the War Department,” Mark said suddenly. “I might have a contact there. I could do some checking for you, if you’d like.”
“No,” she said abruptly. “I mean, thank you. That’s very kind of you. But this is my problem and I’ve taken enough of your time already.”
“Or,” he continued with a smile, “you could come and do the checking yourself.”
“Me?” Grace stared at him, surprised. New York alone after losing Tom had been an adventure. But going all the way to Washington sounded preposterous. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Why not?” he challenged. “You’ve hit a dead end with the consulate. There’s nothing more to be learned here. Otherwise, you’re stuck with the photos. Why not take a chance and see what we can learn?”
We. Grace squirmed. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Maybe I’m curious, too. Or maybe I’m just not ready to say goodbye to you,” he blurted. Grace was surprised. She had liked Mark enough the few times she’d met him previously, mostly because Tom liked him and that was enough for her. That, along with her loneliness and a healthy amount of liquor was what had driven her to sleep with him the other night. But now he was suggesting that for him it had been something more than she had intended.
She pulled her hand away. “You don’t know me that well.”
“That,” he said, “is something I would like to rectify. Come on, one day in Washington. Do you want to know about Eleanor and the girls or not?”
“Yes, of course.” Grace wasn’t supposed to be hopping on a train to Washington on some wild quest, but figuring out her life here, whether to stay in New York or go home and what to do next.
“So are you in?” His eyes locked with hers, deep and cajoling.
Grace wanted to walk away from him, from the girls, from all of it. But even more than that, she wanted to know. “When?”
“Today.”
“I have work.”
“Tomorrow then. Take a day off, if you have one, or call in sick. It’s only a day. What’s that in exchange for all of the answers you want?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “Tell you what—you get things sorted out here and let your boss know. I have to head back on the two o’clock today, but there’s a train first thing tomorrow at seven. Take that one. I’ll be waiting on the platform at Union Station and I hope you’ll be there.” He tipped his hat. “See you then.” He spoke as though she had acquiesced, her meeting him already a foregone conclusion.
Watching him stride away, Grace’s doubts swelled. She should not mind him leaving so much. She should be glad he was gone so she could put the mistake of the other night behind her and get back to sorting out her life here. Seeing him again would be a mistake, and meeting him in Washington an even worse one.
Which was exactly why she had to say yes.