***
When I arrived at my flat, I pulled out the few supplies I would take with me to Paris: a wad of francs, the enchanted items Brande brought me, and my golden alchemist’s knife. I placed them on my nightstand and then headed into the kitchen to fix myself dinner. I went through the cabinets and refrigerator, but found nothing that piqued my appetite. My friend Jane Lewis usually came home around this time. She cooked enticing meals like lamb stew and meatloaf. Most importantly, she generously shared them with me.
I still hopelessly tried to make an American dish every now and then, but I would only end up frustrated and yearning for home while my belly rumbled. I decided to see what Jane was cooking and went downstairs to her flat on the first floor. I knocked a couple of times, and she answered the door, wearing a dirty apron and wiping flour from her hands. Her freckled face broke into a smile, and she welcomed me in.
“Please, have a seat, Isabella. I was just finishing the liver sandwiches.” She went back into her kitchen and pulled a dish out of the oven.
“Liver sandwiches?” I wanted to grimace, but unless I was cooking for myself, I had no right to object.
“Well, it’s more like a meat-filled pastry.”
“Filled with liver?” As if I were supposed to overlook that fact.
“Not everyone in the world eats loads of fried cows and cheese.”
“This is going to be interesting.”
“I’m trying to follow the ration recipes from Woman’s Weekly.” She gestured toward the magazine on her coffee table.
“Is it that bad?” I went over and grabbed the magazine, flipping through its pages. I took a few moments to scan its housekeeping articles and recipes.
“If you went to buy food more often, you’d know.” She arranged the liver sandwiches on two plates and invited me to come sit with her at the dining table.
“You’re cooking an awful lot lately.” I took a bite and gave silent thanks that she had at least seasoned the meat.
“Well, I’m just honing my housekeeping skills, you know.” She bit into her sandwich and turned her left hand to reveal a diamond engagement ring on her finger. She must have slipped it on in the kitchen.
“Congratulations, Jane.” With a smile I got up and threw my arms around her. “I didn’t know...have I been away that long?”
“It was all so sudden, even I’m still surprised.” Her face simply glowed.
“Garret is a lucky man.” I frowned when she took it upon herself to plop another sliver of sandwich into my mouth. I wondered if she hid some stew or dumplings in the refrigerator and this was all to torture me.
“And it came at the perfect time. I was wondering last week what I was going to do with myself.”
My smile faded. “You were tired, weren’t you?”
She nodded and tears formed in her eyes. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I still believe in what we’re fighting for, but we all have to retire some time, right?”
“Sure we do.”
Jane’s sister, Anna, had been one of three Special Operations Executive agents arrested by Nazis last October in the Netherlands. She was immediately sentenced to death by firing squad. They had no pity on her because she was a woman; the SS shot her down and threw her body into a heaping pile of other victims.
“Besides,” she wiped her face, “I’m getting old and I want babies. All my girlfriends who I grew up with are married off and raising families.”
“Well I’m glad for you, Jane. You deserve a happy life with Garret.”
I asked her to recount the whole proposal from beginning to end. I asked to see her ring again and secretly felt a mixture of excitement and envy. Afterward, I offered to clear the table and wash dishes so she wouldn’t try to feed me anything else. We made small talk the rest of the time, and she reminded me about some letters she held for me. I thanked her and continued cleaning the kitchen, wiping down the counters and saving scraps of leftover food.
I couldn’t help but steal glances of her engagement ring every few minutes and savor the sweet smoothness of the gold it was made of. As an alchemist, I had a natural ability to taste the metallic essence of metals. I eyed the shining round-cut diamond set in the middle and wondered if I would cry or jump with excitement if someone ever proposed to me.
Though my life as a spy did have its share of excitement, I couldn’t deny the mental, physical, and even spiritual drain that this line of work had on me. I remembered days when I would refuse to get out of bed because weariness or distress had dragged me down. Even when Ian had sent a car for me, I wouldn’t answer. At other times I’d return from a mission with a stone cold face and impenetrable heart, and then, as soon as I stepped through my doorway, I would start bawling. I called it being tired, and I understood what Jane felt.
I wasn’t going to lie to myself. I wanted to be married one day, move somewhere close to my brother and his wife, and watch our kids grow up together. I wanted to be able to stroll through my quiet little neighborhood not having to wonder if the friendly neighbor down the street was an enemy operative with a gun behind his back. I wanted to be in control of how I lived, and I couldn’t reconcile this with living and dying by others’ orders.
“I should go back up to my flat. I’m going to Paris tomorrow.” I came back into the living room and leaned over the sofa to give Jane a peck on the cheek.
“Be careful, do you hear me?”
“You know I will, because I want to make it back for your wedding. When will it be?”
“March, of next year.” She got up and walked me over to the door.
“I think I can make it back by then.”
She laughed. “You’d better. And I want to come to yours one day.”
“I’d have to find a guy to stick with me first.”
We said our goodnights and I headed back upstairs, feeling loneliness creep upon me. I quickly changed, got into bed, and began browsing through the letters Jane gave me. Some were bills, others were solicitations for mail order catalogs, and, of course, I received my letter from Jonathan. I tossed the others aside and opened his cryptic letter, written under the pseudonym Sherman Woods.
I told him a long time ago that since I had access to “sensitive information in the ambassador’s office,” that my employer frowned upon casual and steady communication with family and friends. Johnnie took it upon himself to start writing me once a month using a silly code language we used to communicate in when we were children.
I always found his letters, and the effort he put into them, amusing and gratefully welcomed. In fact, I found the elaborate system we came up with quite impressive. The codes would actually work if I wanted to use them for a real mission. As I read his account of his weekly triumphs and worries, as well as how mother was faring, I wistfully thought of the look on his face if I were to just show up on his doorstep.
Well, perhaps I could do that once this mission was over. The sooner I extracted Heilwig and got rid of The Plague, the sooner I could be finished and truly go home. I slowly drifted into a restless sleep, hoping for this outcome, and of course, wondering what my final assignment would be like.
The Tower's Alchemist (The Gray Tower Trilogy, #1) Page 3
