Mr.Churchill's Secretary(103)
“Thank you,” Frain said, also rising to his feet. He and Maggie watched Sarah as she made her way gracefully through the bar.
“I don’t know if this is the right time to bring it up,” Frain said, “but the truth is, there’s not always the time that we’d like.”
“What do you mean?”
“When the agents were at your flat picking up your things, they happened to notice your diploma, summa cum laude in mathematics. Your Phi Beta Kappa key. Newton’s Principia Mathematica.” He raised one eyebrow. “Most impressive.”
Goodness gracious, she thought. What else did they see? Did I make the bed? Were there stockings and pants and brassieres hanging in the bath? Although it seemed like several lifetimes ago when such things were important, she suddenly felt mortified. “Guilty as charged,” she said, taking another sip.
“Mr. Snodgrass said you’re a mathematician. Handy with allocation, queuing, trajectories, that sort of thing. He also said that you’re the one who broke the code contained in the newspaper advert.”
Maggie had to smile. Did he, now? I’ll have to have a chat with my new pal Dicky.
“And the agents saw lots of books, too. Books in French and German. Do you just read those languages, or can you speak them as well?”
“Oh, my aunt Edith made sure I learned to read, write, and speak several languages at an early age. German is required for any mathematician, of course. And I’m fluent in French as well.”
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” he asked softly.
“Clar,” she replied without thinking, slipping into German easily. “How else could one discuss the life and work of Johann Carl Friedrich Gauss?”
“Who taught you?” he asked. His accent was perfect.
“One of the German professors at Wellesley,” she replied. “My aunt Edith wanted me to learn, and Frauline Drengenberg missed Berlin and speaking German—so it worked out well.”
Maggie smiled. Mr. Frain—Peter—was right. A hot bath and a drink really did work wonders; she hadn’t felt this relaxed in, well, a long time. She took another sip.
He switched back into English. “The reason I ask is that I’d like you to come work for me.”
This revelation brought her up short, causing her to slosh her drink. “Work for you?”
“Yes. At MI-Five.”
Her mind was working remarkably slowly. “At MI-Five? Me?”
“The Prime Minister can get anyone to type, but we’re always on the lookout for smart recruits.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You proved you can work well under pressure. You’re smart. You speak French and German fluently. And the fact that you’re, well …”
“What?” she asked, eyeing him warily.
“The fact that you’re an attractive young woman is a plus in this line of work,” he said formally.
Maggie arched one eyebrow. “You want me to become a spy?” She found the idea at once ridiculous and strangely appealing.
“Why, yes,” Frain said. “Maggie, we’d like you to join MI-Five and train to be a spy.” He took a sip of his martini, then put down the glass. “Would you consider it?”
An MI-5 agent. A spy.
Was Frain—Peter—playing with her? Did he get some sort of erotic thrill from approaching young women with this offer? Did he do it to make himself look glamorous and powerful? Was he trying to get her to sleep with him?
Maggie took his measure, looking into his flinty gray eyes. Somehow, she didn’t think so.
“Of course, you’ll have a lot of questions,” Frain said.
Do I ever.
“And so I’ll set up a meeting tomorrow morning so we can discuss them.”
“What about Mr. Churchill?”
“While you’ve distinguished yourself in your position as typist, I believe your considerable talents might be put to better use elsewhere. MI-Five might be just the place for you.”
“I’ve led a rather quiet life,” Maggie said. “I’m not sure—”
“The world is turvy-topsy these days, isn’t it? You don’t have to decide tonight,” he said. “But do think about it.”
Sarah returned to the table, and the three finished their cocktails. Frain caught the waiter’s eye, and silently the glasses were cleared and the bill slipped onto the table. He took care of it in a practiced motion.
“And about that offer,” Maggie said. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” he said, rising and holding out one arm to Maggie and one to Sarah. “And now, shall we be off?”
THIRTY-THREE
AT THE BLUE Moon Club, the sound of trumpets and clarinets cut through the clouds of smoke and dim light as Maggie, Sarah, and Frain crowded into a small velvet banquette already occupied by David, John, Edmund, and Snodgrass. The twins were both on the dance floor, cutting the rug with two soldiers on leave. She was gratified to see John raise his eyebrows, just a touch, at the sight of her in the white-satin dress.