Spy and Spy Again

by Ray Saunders

  “You are, but there’s something for you to do on the way home.”

  “Oh, what is it?”

  “I’ll explain it all when you get back from seeing Christine,” he said.

  He walked with me to the car. I got in, and he looked across at the passenger’s seat.

  “Bloody hell! Look at the state of that upholstery!” he grumbled.

  “Well, she lost a lot of blood,” I said. “I’ve cleaned it up the best I can.”

  “You’re a bloody disaster area when it comes to cars!” he exploded.

  I laughed.

  “There you go again, only seeing the detail, and not the bigger picture,” I said.

  With that I quickly drove off, leaving him standing there.

  ***

  Christine was looking much better and was sitting up in bed.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’m feeling quite well, actually. The doctor has told me that I’ve been incredibly lucky.”

  “Well, you could say that I suppose. They’ve told me that you should make a full recovery,” I said.

  I held her hand, and she smiled at me. “Thanks for what you’ve done for me, Matt. I’ll always be in your debt.”

  “Let’s not go over that again,” I said. “I’ve got some good news for you.”

  “What’s is it?”

  “All your expenses will be taken care of while you’re here, and when you’re well enough there’ll be a job for you at the consulate in Geneva.”

  “Really? What kind of job?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, probably a receptionist or something. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”

  “Will you be there, Matt?”

  “No. I have to go back to England and get back to my normal life again.”

  “Do you think I should accept the offer?” she asked.

  “I do. You need to make a fresh start in life, and this would be a great opportunity.”

  “If you think that I should, then I will, but I wish that you’d be there too.”

  I smiled at her. “You’ll soon meet new friends and forget all about me,” I told her.

  “I’ll never do that, Matt. No one has ever treated me or taken care of me like you have.”

  We chatted for a while, and I hoped that given the chance of a new life she would settle down and find contentment. Shortly afterwards I told her I must leave.

  “Kiss me goodbye, Matt,” she said.

  I leaned over and kissed her. “Goodbye, kid. Make sure you take care of yourself,” I said.

  Then I left her and drove back to the Consulate.

  ***

  Steve had gone to lunch, but I was not hungry, so I hung around till he returned.

  “How was she?” he asked.

  “Doing fine, and she’s accepted your job offer.”

  “Great.”

  “What’s this other job you want me to do?” I asked him.

  “We want you to go to our embassy in Paris and collect a package that has to go to England.”

  “Why me? Can’t it go through the normal channels?”

  “Apparently not. They need it to be delivered by special courier, and as you’re going back anyway, they’ve told us for you to take it.”

  “They must have their own couriers there, so why choose me?”

  “I don’t know their reason, Matt, I only take orders.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “How do I get there?”

  “You’re driving there in the Alpine, then leaving it with them, and continuing by train to London.”

  “I see, when?”

  “Now. The way you drive you will be there by this evening, and someone will be waiting there for you.” He went across to a filing cabinet. “Here’s a map, and the embassy address.” He handed them to me. “Reception will give you some French francs, and anything else you require.”

  I turned to leave.

  “One more thing, Matt. When you go to London, try to leave the train in the same condition that you found it in.”

  “Bollocks!” I replied and left.

  ***

  The drive to Paris was enjoyable. With the top down, and the wind whistling, it gave me a sense of freedom. I stopped for petrol, and a snack, then put the top up, and drove on to the embassy.

  It was a little before nine p.m. when I arrived there.

  It was a large imposing building, set back off the road. I rang the bell and waited. A good-looking woman came to the door.

  “Mr Sands?” she asked me.

  “Yes. Matt Sands.”

  We shook hands, and kissed cheeks French style. Her perfume was fragrant and expensive.

  “The others have left, and I was asked to meet you, Mr Sands,” she said.

  “Call me Matt, it’s less formal.” I smiled as I said it.

  “If you will follow me, Matt, I’ll take you to my office.”

  She led me across the marbled floor to a wide, sweeping staircase, that seemed to curve away into the distance. She walked on in front of me on her high heels, causing her to produce the kind of wiggle that men like me admire. We reached her office and went in.

  She went to her desk.

  “Well, Matt, we’ve booked you a room at a small hotel close by. Your instructions won’t be ready until tomorrow.”

  “Okay, how do I get there?”

  “It’s best that I show you. We can take your car, there’s a small parking space at the hotel.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Did they give you any francs in Geneva?” she asked.

  “Yes, they gave me some before I left.”

  She opened a drawer. “You’d better have some more. Things are pretty expensive here.”

  She handed them to me across the desk.

  “Thanks,” I nodded.

  Smiling at me, she said, “That’s it for now, shall we go?”

  She came around to me, and I followed her out. That walk, and her perfume, made me forget my other problems.

  When we reached the car, I opened the door for her and said, “I apologise for the stained seat, but it’s dry and shouldn’t mark your dress.”

  “It’s all right. If it does, the government will have to pay for a new one.”

  I grinned at the thought of Steve’s face, if Geneva was called upon to cough up.

  We reached the hotel, and I managed to find a spot to park.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m afraid that they don’t do food here but there is a particularly good restaurant nearby. If you like, we could go there. I haven’t eaten either.”

  “Splendid,” I said. “I’ll book in and dump my gear and meet you back here in a jiffy.”

  She laughed. “I can tell you’re a man of action. I’ve heard a lot about you.,” she said.

  I grinned. “I deny everything,” I told her.

  When I returned, she was standing by the car. “It’s a lovely night, I thought we could walk there,” she said. “It isn’t far.”

  She took my arm and led the way. We reached the restaurant, and the maître d’ greeted her warmly.

  I could tell she was well known, and highly regarded. He led us to a table for two in an alcove. The restaurant was typically French and dripped with class.

  “I’ll fetch some menus and the wine list, madame,” he said.

  “We’d like a bottle of Dom Perignon while we wait, Pierre.”

  “Of course, madame. I’ll have one sent over straight away.”

  If she was trying to impress me, she was succeeding.

  The champagne came, and the waiter blew the cork and poured two glasses.

  “Bon appétit,” she said.

  “Bon appétit,” I repeated.

  “I don’t know your name, we haven’t been formally introduced yet,” I said.

  “It’s Marion Blake.”

  “I see that you’re wearing a wedding ring, so where’s Mr Blake?” I asked.<
br />
  “I’m divorced. My married name was Saxon, but I prefer to use my family name,” she said.

  She sipped some champagne. “What about you, Matt? I’m told you’re unattached.”

  “That’s right. Foot loose and fancy free. But I was intending to settle down.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “It’s a long story, and I’d rather not go into it right now,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Pease don’t apologise. It’s just that things are pretty uncertain at the moment, and I don’t want to bore you with my life story.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t bore me. I find you interesting,” she said.

  “The feeling’s mutual,” I told her. “I find you a fascinating woman.”

  She laughed. “Now you’re living up to your reputation,” she said.

  I took a swig of the bubbly. “So, what about your former husband?”

  “He was with the diplomatic service in London. Then I was offered a position at our embassy here. He spent a lot of time away, and when I came here, we didn’t spend a lot of time together.”

  The waiter came over and refilled our glasses.

  “Do you have any children?” I asked.

  “Yes, a daughter. She’s at school in England.”

  “So, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you divorce?”

  “He was unfaithful.”

  I nodded. “I see.”

  Our meal came, and we chatted about this and that as we ate. Finally, we finished eating, and she called for the bill. “I’ll get this,” she said. “The embassy has an account here.”

  We got up to leave, and as we did, Pierre came over. He handed her the bill and she signed it.

  “Your taxi’s outside, madame,” he said.

  “Thank you, Pierre, the meal was delicious.”

  She handed him a note. “Thank you, madame, it is always a pleasure having you.”

  When we got to the taxi, she turned to me. “I’ll drop you off at your hotel,” she said, as she gave the driver instructions.

  Minutes later the taxi pulled up outside.

  She turned towards me. “Goodnight, Matt. I’ll see you tomorrow about ten o’clock.”

  I took her shoulder, and gently pulled her towards me. She didn’t resist, so I hesitated, then gently kissed her on the lips. I released her shoulder, and she pulled back a little. Then she leaned towards me and kissed me more forcefully this time.

  “Goodnight, Matt. I think you’d better go,” she said softly.

  ***

  The room in my hotel was not luxurious but it was clean and comfortable. I unpacked what I needed and prepared for bed. It had been quite a day.

  One woman had left me, one had thanked me for my help, and the last one had left me thinking, that when one door closes another one opens.

  With that thought I climbed into bed.

  ***

  I woke early. There was no restaurant at the hotel but there was a bar that served coffee. I showered and shaved then went down. I had some coffee, and there was plenty of time, so I looked at the map to see if there was anything of interest nearby. Turning to the page showing Paris in detail, it revealed that I was not far from the Champs-Elysée gardens. I decided to drive there and take a walk to pass the time. The traffic was heavy, and when I reached the gardens, it did not allow much time for a walk.

  I briskly toured a part of the garden to stretch my legs then went back to the car. The traffic had not eased, and it was ten after ten when I arrived at the embassy.

  I was ushered up to Marion’s office, and asked to wait for her there.

  Walking to the large window, I gazed out over the rooftops of the city. The door opened, and she came in.

  “Good morning, Matt.”

  I crossed to her, and we exchanged the cheek kisses.

  “Good morning, Marion. What have you got for me?”

  “I’m afraid it won’t be ready until tomorrow. It means that you will have to stay on for another day.”

  I nodded. I wanted to get home, but the thought of another day here was not that bad.

  “I’ll have to ring my business partner to let him know I’ve be delayed,” I said.

  “Okay, if you give me the number, I’ll get my secretary to get it for you.”

  I wrote it on the notepad, and she spoke to her secretary over the intercom. Moments later a tall, good looking young man, knocked and entered the room. She handed him the note.

  “Will you take Mr Sands to your office and get this number for him, Paul?”

  He smiled. “Yes, madame.” Then turning to me, he said, “This way, sir.”

  I spoke to Robert, and everything was fine.

  “Let Flo know, will you,” I told him. “She’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.”

  With that I went back to Marion.

  “What would you like to do today, Matt? There’s nothing for you here.”

  “Can we do something together?” I asked.

  “Well, I could take the day off, I’m not busy now. Have you anything particular in mind?”

  I had thought of something but resisted telling her.

  “I’ll leave it up to you,” I said.

  “I see by the dossier I have on you, that you like clay pigeon shooting. Would you care for that.?”

  “Sounds great,” I said. “Do you shoot?”

  “Yes, I’m a member of the Shooting Club of Paris, we could go there if you like.”

  “You’re full of surprises, I’d love to,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll just tell my secretary where I’ll be, then we can go.”

  We took the embassy car, and she told the driver to pick us up at three o’clock.

  “That will give us time to enjoy lunch afterwards,” she told me.

  The attendant knew her, and brought her the gun, glasses, and ear protectors, that he knew were hers.

  “What is your preferred shotgun, sir?” he asked me politely.

  “I’m left- handed so if you have a twelve bore with a left- handed stock it’ll do fine,” I said.

  “We have several, sir. Any particular make?”

  “Yes, a Perazzi, if you have one.”

  “Yes, we have one that I think will fit you. It’s a good choice.”

  I collected my equipment, and a cartridge bag with our shot, and we walked to the traps. There were several stands of different disciplines, so we shot some skeet to start off. The gun handled quite well but was not as good as my MX8 that I used at home.

  We shot some Olympic Trap, followed by the simulated grouse butts with ‘driven’ birds. These were clays thrown extremely fast overhead.

  Marion outshot me in the grouse butts and afterwards I complimented her.

  “My husband loved game shooting, and I used to go with him to the West Country in England, and the Scottish grouse moors,” she said.

  I knew that was far more expensive than I could have afforded, but then I was never interested in shooting birds for fun.

  “Do you miss that?” I asked.

  “I enjoyed it at the time, but it wasn’t hard to give up,” she said.

  We reached the clubhouse. “Do you go game shooting at home, Matt?” she asked.

  “No. That’s too expensive for my lifestyle, I’m content with shooting clays,” I told her.

  “That’s what I like about you, Matt, you don’t try to be something you’re not.”

  “If you mean not wanting to be wealthy, then money isn’t everything. If you dream small, you can attain you dreams, and that brings happiness,” I replied.

  “You’re quite a philosopher, aren’t you? Do you think that I’m unhappy?” she asked.

  “Frankly, yes. I think you’ve yet to find you dream.”

  She looked at me, and for a moment I could see that she was angry, then her expression changed.

  “They have a good restaurant here. Let’s go to lunch?” she said.

  I
was not very hungry, and she ordered a salad for two, and a bottle of Sancerre.

  We lingered over it, and the time came for the driver to pick us up. He drove us back to the embassy, and I got out. “Shall I see you tonight?” I asked her.

  “We could have dinner again if you like, shall I pick you up at around eight?”

  “Okay, I’ll see you then,” I said.

  I walked to my car, and as there was nothing for me to do at my hotel, I drove to the gardens again and took a longer walk around them. I was unsure what to think about this woman. She was well educated, sophisticated, and obviously used to the high life. I found her attractive, but there was something about her that I could not figure out. Perhaps I was trying to make more of it than there was, and in any case, I would probably never see her again after tomorrow.

  ***

  When the evening came, I dressed for dinner and went down to the foyer to wait for her. At eight sharp she arrived by taxi.

  “I thought you might like to go to a night club,” she said. “There’s a show that you might enjoy.”

  “Suits me, can we eat there?”

  “The food’s not to my liking but there’s an Italian restaurant close by that we can go to afterwards.”

  “Sounds good, let’s try it,” I said.

  I knew that some Paris shows were renowned for their nudity, but this was something else. Censorship rules in England excluded any nudity except in tableaus, and this show would have caused an outcry back home. Groups of dancers, that I could tell were lesbians and gays, danced completely naked. Their antics left nothing to the imagination, and although it was artistic, it was not to my taste. It was accompanied by loud music with flashing lights, and I turned to Marion.

  “Can we get out of here — I’ve had enough of this,” I shouted.

  “Of course,” she answered.

  Once outside she turned to me.

  “I’m sorry, Matt, I thought you’d enjoy it. Paris is renowned for its off-beat shows.”

  “Well, it’s too off beat for my taste,” I said. “I prefer having sex, rather than watching others miming it.”

  She laughed. “You’re an unusual character, Matt but I like your frankness. It’s not often that I find that in men,” she said.

  We walked to the Italian restaurant through the jostling people, and the noisy traffic, typical of the Paris night life. Inside the restaurant, it was busy but not noisy. The head waiter found us a table, and we settled down for the meal. We chatted about my life in England, and she knew from her files about me that I had been involved in some things in Switzerland for the government.