“Oh God, it’s you,” she said. “Now I don’t even have time to think what to say. I just hoped-you know, a few days and you’d forget.” He looked at her, not saying anything, and she took off her sunglasses, as if he needed to complete the identification. “Don’t tell me you have forgotten. Hard to think which would be worse. Emma.”
He smiled. “Yes, I know. How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad, considering. Look, I am sorry. I don’t know what got into me. You must think-well, I don’t know what you must think. Quite an introduction, being sick all over you.”
“No, you kept your distance. Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s something, anyway. How does one apologize? Do I send round flowers or something? Believe it or not, I’ve never done that before.”
“You could have lunch with me.”
“A bit early. Or is that a line?”
“No, it’s an invitation. I hate eating alone.”
She looked at him for a minute. “All right. I could do with some eggs. Been to La Fonda yet? Oh, I forgot, you’ve just arrived. Better see it, then. Come on,” she said, turning to her left, “it’s just up the street. They say it’s the best hotel in town. Which wouldn’t be hard. They also say the barman’s a spy-you know, one of your lot. FBI or whatever you’re calling yourselves these days.”
“Is he a good bartender, at least?”
“I suppose so. Actually, he’s probably just some nice little man. Everybody looking and pointing and putting their hands over their mouths-probably doesn’t have the faintest idea. Almost worth it to stick around after the war to see if he does go back to Washington or just keeps wiping down the bar.”
They had huevos rancheros at a table near the window, flooded with sun.
“Where will you go after the war?” Connolly said.
“You mean, where’s home? London, I suppose. It really depends on Daniel-my husband. Maybe he’ll stay here, assuming there’s anything to stay for. I don’t know. He could go back to the Cavendish, but perish that.”
“Why? It’s the best lab in England.”
“Yes, and think of all those lovely Sunday lunches on the Maddingly Road. Dreary old dons and watery sprouts and one glass of bad sherry. Sounds like I’m obsessed with drink, doesn’t it?”
“Sounds like you’d need it there.”
“You’re right. Not Blighty, then. Where?”
“But your husband’s not English.”
“He is now. By marriage, anyway. You mean the name. He was Polish. A Polish Jew. That’s twice nothing now, so he’ll have to be English, won’t he?”
“Where did you meet?”
“In Berlin. He was at the KWI.” She answered his unspoken question. “Sorry. I forgot you’re not an ‘engineer.’ Kaiser Wilhelm Institute. He worked with Lise Meitner.”
Connolly raised his eyebrows appreciatively.
“Yes, he’s quite a boy,” she said. “Look, did you ask me to lunch to talk about my husband? I’m not fishing, but I could think of a hundred more flattering things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, you could say you wish I didn’t have one, for a start.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” she said evenly.
He looked back at her. “At least we have that established.”
“Deftly, too, I hope you noticed.”
“I don’t miss much.”
“Then don’t miss that.”
“I suppose that’s by way of letting me down gently?”
She smiled. “Is there such a thing? Look, I’m a hopeless flirt. I can’t help it, I was brought up that way. We all were, in my set. Here I am now, being blinded by this light and still hung over, and I wouldn’t dream of picking up these sunglasses. It wouldn’t be polite to the man, you see. But you’ll have to settle for the charm. It doesn’t go any further.”
“Got it. It’s just eggs, you know,” he said, gesturing to the plate.
“It’s never just eggs. Now, tell me about you.”
“That’s not even subtle,” he said, smiling.
“Tell me anyway. What did you do before the war?”
“Newspaperman. In New York.”
“Real news or agony aunt or what?”
“I guess you could call it real news. City desk. Police blotter. Nothing very special.”
“And after the war? You just take up where you left off?”
Finished with the eggs, he lit a cigarette. “Sure. But where’s that? You spend most of the war wanting to get back before you realize it won’t be there anymore. It’ll be something else. But you don’t know what, so you just wait it out.”
She looked at him thoughtfully, lighting her own cigarette. “They don’t think that on the Hill,” she said finally. “They’re having the time of their lives up there.”
“And that bothers you?”
“No, I envy them. They’re not filling in time and wondering what’s next. You’ve got that right. They’ve no idea how boring it is for the rest of us while they beaver away.” Then she brightened. “Still, they’re happy. Daniel’s happy.”
“So you’re jealous of the project?”
“Bloody stupid, isn’t it? No, I’m glad for him-it’s what he was meant to do. They’re making history. Oppie keeps saying so, anyway. You can’t ask more than that. I just wish I knew what I was meant to do.” She stubbed out the cigarette with some of her old fierceness.
“So what do you do, while you’re waiting for the call?”
