And he hoped she was as interested in him as he was in her. He was smitten. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot.
For her part, it was much the same. She had dated some but not a lot. She was always the serious one, no time for men or relationships. Maybe when I’m forty, she thought. For now, I have school, a thesis and work to consider. Publish or perish. She had a life, and a career in front of her, and no distractions, male or otherwise, would be allowed to intrude.
But this guy was different. He was interesting. He was cute, and he was smart. He could laugh, even when he was trying not to “get it” when he clearly did. And he made her laugh. He made silly jokes and laughed at all of hers. She could be a rustic, and a bit of a Southern hick. Richard found her charming.
To him she was real, unaffected, and unpretentious. Just Tawney Thierry, not trying to be anyone or anything else. After all, it was all she knew how to be.
She wasn’t sophisticated, she thought, not from some rich and snooty private school or high society background. She was a middle-class kid from New Orleans who sang in the church choir.
Still.
Her Dad was a cop, and her Mom was a school teacher. The world of London was very, very far away.
In every respect.
***
“So how was your date, young lady?” Marcus could see the gleam in his daughter’s eyes. She was the smart one, the serious one. There hadn’t been enough romance in her young life, he thought, and he could see that she was infatuated.
“He’s nice Daddy. I like him. We’re going to have breakfast tomorrow then go to some of the lectures, and panels together.”
Tawney was quiet, always a sign she had something important on her mind. Marcus could guess what it was this time, something not always clear to him. But right now, he had news, bad news for her. There would be no breakfast, no lectures. He had made reservations for the next morning, the first flight out of Dulles back to New Orleans. Tawney’s mother was in the hospital; she had been in an automobile accident. No flight tonight would get them to New Orleans any faster. Marcus said nothing. Until now.
“I’m really sorry, sugar. But we must leave tomorrow. Mama’s in the hospital. We have to go home.”
***
She left him a note; she was so sorry to have to leave, but a family emergency has suddenly come up. Would he write? Call, email, or fax? She left her digits.
When she and her Dad arrived in New Orleans, there was already a voicemail on her cell.
“Can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m nothing if not persistent, and I never did get to tell you why we Brits sound so smart. And I must explain that in person. I hope that won’t be too long. I miss your smile already.”
Chapter 31
The budding romance between Dr. Richard Detwiler of MI-6 and Tawney Thierry of LSU had just barely begun, and hardly even that, before they were swept apart, and returned to their respective homes. True to his word, Richard vigorously pursued his hoped-for girlfriend, although time, distance and circumstances continued to keep them separate. Richard vowed to take time off to return to America to continue his courtship, but Tawney seemed less than enthusiastic. She was infatuated, she knew that but, really, what did she know about this guy with the cute accent, and the compelling resume? Nothing, she told herself. Nothing that should push her towards some rendezvous somewhere.
Tawney was busy and was reasonably certain Richard wasn’t going to move to New Orleans, given his position with the British Intelligence services, and she had to remain in New Orleans to finish her doctorate. Anything else was either simply premature romantic nonsense or simply not affordable for a Ph.D. candidate from a middle-class family in New Orleans.
Her Mom was a schoolteacher, and her Dad was a cop. Romantic weekends away from home were nonsense. And very likely improper.
“I can’t Richard, I simply can’t.”
“But why? I know you want to see me, so just tell what I’ve done to put you off. It can’t be anything important. If I’ve said or done something wrong, please tell me what it is. I know we can work this out.”
“I’m sorry but, I don’t think we can. We’re from polar-opposite worlds, and maybe it’s best that we stop this … whatever we seem to be doing now before the fantasy, and the romance goes too far. We both know this has no chance of working out, so why can’t you accept that. It’s better this way.”
“I’m sorry Tawney, but I don’t accept it, and I have no idea why you’re saying that. I truly don’t. And this is not me being dense; this is you being cryptic. If you don’t want to talk to me, to tell me what this is really all about, OK. But be honest, and just say so. At least that’s much kinder than what you’re doing now.”
The silence, probably not more than fifteen seconds, seemed like a week to Richard. He didn’t know if this was just his infatuation with a woman he had met only once. But for once in his life he wasn’t going to let someone else, even if it was Tawney, have all the power in a relationship that had barely had a chance to germinate. Richard had heard all the objective reasons of one sort or another, a litany from Tawney, but none that made any sense. She still replied to his emails, and still took his calls. Whatever the rest of this nonsense was, it had nothing to do with her interest in him.
“OK, if that’s what you want, then I guess there’s nothing more to say. But I think this is cowardly, and I would’ve expected many things from you, Tawney Thierry, but not this.”
There was silence again, and obviously neither wanted to hang up. Richard waited for the click of goodbye, and maybe a parting consoling gesture.
“I’m black; you’re white. I’m from the Deep South; you’re from London. I’m middle class, barely; you’re rich and sophisticated. I’m a student; you’re accomplished in your field. My work hardly matters; yours actually does. I’m sorry, but everything I just said is true, and you know it.”
Richard said, “None of that matters even one iota. You can recite atomic weights on the Periodic Chart, and names in the New Orleans telephone book too. Those are facts, and all true too. But they aren’t relevant. Not to you and me. And you would certainly know that if you cared about me at all. Or thought you might one day. Your reasons are superficial, even if they’re all true. You don’t know me. Why not give that a chance?”
“Sure, Richard, sounds easy. Like an implausible plot in a cheesy novel or a tearjerker script for a movie. But come down to see me in black New Orleans, meet all my Black friends and family, come to my Black church, and sing gospels with my Black congregation. My family already has one token white boy; it would just be too painful for me to see you so unhappy, and out of your element. Different worlds, Richard. The magnitude is just too great. I’m sorry but reflect on what I’ve said. In time, you’ll know I’m right.”
“You don’t know me at all, Tawney Thierry, and I have my doubts that you really know yourself that well either. You say all these things and, yes, I’m certain they’re all quite real. But you still write, and take my calls, and you’ve never said you don’t care for me. The rest of this is just your fears, and projections on what I might think and what every other person in your life may think. But you don’t know, and you never will because you’re too afraid to even try. This is just the easy way out; no responsibility for you. I may be a bust, and I may break your heart. But that’s all this is.”
Silence.
“As you wish.” Richard clicked off.
This isn’t over, not by a long shot he thought. Maybe just infatuation, but that was enough for him for now. But the phone calls and emails had to stop. He would do something and see if she really did believe all this nonsense she had just spewed. If she did, OK. He could live with that.
***
Tawney heard the phone click off, put down her cell, and buried her face in the pillows on her bed at home she shared with her parents and twin sisters. Then, she cried. Cried for what she had said, cried for the deep, and unrelenting sadness she fe
lt and cried for the relationship she knew would never be. She had said those things, easy to understand, and good excuses that everyone would easily accept.
Her friends would tell her that a relationship with a white boy was never a good idea. Chances are it would’ve no chance of ever working out. And a white boy from England, and a rich white boy at that. What was he up to anyway? Dump him now, finish your doctorate and move on.
Good advice. But she couldn’t put the white boy out of her mind. If this guy was a player, then the term needed to be redefined. Maybe she didn’t understand romance all that well, but sincerity, at least the sincerity she saw in his eyes, couldn’t be faked. If it was, then wow, this boy had a good career ahead of him in show biz. Maybe he was willing to give it a try, but she doubted he had any idea what he was getting himself into.
There would be whispers. There would be insults, there might even be some anger, she thought. And, she had no idea what his people would think about her. Probably more of the same.
Maybe what she had just done was best for everyone after all. But if that were true, she thought, why was she still crying?
She barely knew the boy.
***
Three days later he knocked at the door of the nicely restored two story houses in a nice middle-class neighborhood in a part of New Orleans not dreadfully affected by Katrina years earlier. The man had peppered the Black taxi driver he engaged at the airport about all things New Orleans; especially about the part of town to which he wanted the cabbie to drive him. He asked the cabbie to stay while he knocked on the door, just in case things went badly; he could leave the meter running. The cabbie was happy to do so; it meant the fare would mount up no matter what happened; otherwise the trip back to the airport would be long, and without likelihood of a return fare. He hoped whatever the man was up to worked out, but if it didn’t, that could only be good for him, the cabbie. The tip was likely to be good; these Brits were particularly generous.
The door opened to the imposing figure of Marcus Thierry who Richard had met just once at the Conference in DC. Marcus wasn’t surprised to see Richard for several reasons. His wife Athena had been updating him on the pain, and anguish that Tawney had been suffering since her return from DC a year ago. Plus, her daughter seemed so sad, and preoccupied; even occasionally curt with him even when kibitzing about math or cryptology. She frequently shut herself up in her room, and seldom went out anymore. It broke his heart to see her in such pain.
Athena knew her daughter and knew that she was smitten and seemed happy when she first got home from the DC Conference. Sad to have to leave so soon, but hopeful. And, though Tawney didn’t share all her feelings with her Mom, Athena still knew her daughter to be sensible, thoughtful, and careful in all essential matters. Just like her Dad. But this was different; a cold, indifferent mathematics-like thinking was the rational daughter she, and Marcus had raised. Athena wished her daughter would just occasionally let go and have some fun. Maybe get in a little trouble or break a rule. Or a heart.
But that wasn’t Tawney Thierry, daughter of Marcus Aurelius Thierry, mathematician and Special Agent for the FBI. She held herself to a higher standard, the one she set for herself. Such strictness was never demanded by Athena or her husband. Sometimes Athena thought her daughter had been born at the ripe old age twenty and was already prematurely middle-aged.
“I’m sorry to bother you so late, Mr. Thierry. But I’ve come a long way and, well, I’ve come here specially to see your daughter. Tawney. I mean I know you know, your daughter’s name; I just mean I would like to see her. If she is home tonight. And if she wants to talk to me.”
“You better come inside young man, before you hurt yourself explaining everything crammed in that brilliant mind of yours.”
Richard stepped inside the tastefully appointed home, walls filled with family photos, awards and pictures of Marcus and Tawney with various people at various times in their lives. There were pictures of Tawney, and the twins playing soccer, playing basketball, and running track. Athletes like their Dad and Mom.
“Athena!” Marcus shouted. “We have a guest. Could you come into the living room please?”
“Who is it?” Athena Thierry came in quickly, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was wearing an old-fashioned cooking apron and smiled as she extended her hand in greeting. “Oh, I see. You must be Dr. Detwiler.”
“I am to colleagues who don’t know me, and in Conference itineraries, but I’m just plain Richard to the rest of the world.”
“Not Rich, or Richie?”
“Oh heavens no. British you know. Frightfully formal. But Richie it is, if you’d like. Never had a nickname.”
Just then two adorable twin teens came bounding in the room, fully, they thought, entitled to know who the stranger was, and what he was doing in their living room.
Cinna, the older twin by minutes, said, “Are you the British boy? Tawney’s new boyfriend? The one she cries about all day long?”
“Shush,” said Athena. “That’s enough from you girls for the moment.”
Richard said, “Well I’m not sure I’m anyone’s boyfriend presently. But I have come all the way from London to ask your sister out on a date. Not had much luck so far though.”
Macey, her younger twin, said, “I think it’s romantic.”
Her sister said, “And I think you should, you should keep asking her out. I know she’ll say yes. She thinks she’s so tough, but she’s really not. You’ll see.”
Athena said to Macey, “I think you should go get your sister, and ask her to come down. Now, Richard, why don’t we all sit in the living room, and chat while we wait for Tawney come down. Let’s give her a minute to … freshen up.”
They repaired to the living room, Marcus and Athena sitting on one sofa, Richard seated in an overstuffed recliner. He wasn’t reclined.
“I understand that you are with the FBI, Mr. Thierry. And that you teach school, Mrs. Thierry.”
“And our names are Marcus and Athena, and we’re all adults in the room.”
“Funny,” said Richard. “But I feel like I’m back in Middle School going to my first dance. Nervous.”
“Don’t be. At least not on our account, anyway,” said Marcus. “You might be interested to know that I had you checked out.”
“Oh? How did I do? Anything in your FBI files I should be aware of?”
“Nope. All good. Seems you’re quite highly thought of in top circles. Academic and government. No vices, apparently and quite a normal life from all accounts.”
“Doesn’t sound like the FBI.”
“Actually, it wasn’t. A far better source for what I wanted to know was my friend in Canada, Dr. Edward St. James. His son Adam is an occasional guest in our home. Might want to keep that to ourselves, though. Tawney has little use for Adam although she does like Edward. The FBI said you were clean as a whistle, but they would dearly love to know what you’re working on these days.”
“I dare say they would, but you might have your chaps at the NSA talk to my chaps at MI-6 first. Then we can all have a chat, that being OK with our minders, of course.”
“Fair enough. Looks like your date has arrived.”
Tawney entered the room. “Richard, what are you doing here?”
“It’s Friday night. You’re single, I’m single. Thought we might have dinner.”
Tawney looked around the room, feeling a little closed in by the gallery of her smiling, but nosey parents and sisters. “All right you four. Clear out. I need to speak to Richard. Alone.”
“Finally,” said Richard.
“Not so fast, Richard. I haven’t said yes yet.”
“You’re a tough girl.”
“Not as much as I’d like you to think. And as soon as they’re all gone, you can kiss me.”
“Things are looking up already.”
Chapter 32
Richard stayed for a month in New Orleans, and spent some time w
orking out of a small office at the British Consulate in New Orleans. He made one trip with Tawney, to DC for a meet, and greet at the British Embassy. The NSA was there by invitation, so everyone got on swimmingly. Tawney enjoyed being out with Richard and quickly stopped thinking about themselves as a ‘Black and white’ couple and began thinking of them as just a young couple dating.
The NSA, already familiar with Marcus, was impressed with his daughter sufficiently to begin their recruitment efforts immediately. Would she like a tour of their complex in Fort Meade, Maryland?
Richard did meet the extended Thierry family, did meet Tawney’s friends, and did attend church on Sunday at the all Black Baptist AME Church in which Tawney still sang in the choir. There were some eyebrows raised and seeing a second white boy in tow with the Thierry family attracted some attention. The St. James boy was known to them and well-known by the married ladies to be a devout Christian man. He was OK in their book, even if he was a Catholic. And a Papist.
The men liked Adam too, and had heard his stories before from Marcus; some had even read Edward’s book. A few of the young guys wanted to have a go at him in the gym, and Adam was always willing to throw down. And since they also liked him they thought something might be up between him and Tawney. Adam dispelled that notion right away. Tawney was horrified even by the hint, the merest suggestion of interest.
As for Richard, the ladies all liked him, and his amazing politeness, willingness to compliment, and exceptional manners. He had even less rhythm in Church than the other white boy, although truth be told, it was pretty close to a tie for dead last. The younger ladies thought he was adorable, and Tawney hovered close when the other girls were around.
The men and the younger guys thought Richard was a bit of a stiff. That Tawney, who was smart and beautiful, was attracted to this prig, and not someone else manlier, just proved how mysterious, and baffling women could be. Marcus had told them he was some sort of important egghead who worked for spies, but that was either not believed or not believed sufficiently to make any difference.
Probe Page 52
