The Prime Minister's Secret Agent(73)
“Nice to meet you, Miss Hope from Boston,” he replied. “Satoshi Nagoka, from California, at your service. Thank you again for teaching the class.”
Maggie nodded. “How did you get here?”
“The train from London, most likely the same way as you.”
She laughed. “No, no—I meant from the U.S. to Britain. To Scotland. To SOE.”
“Oh, that’s a long, long story.” Satoshi smiled. “You keep to yourself, don’t you?”
Maggie blushed. “I suppose.” Then she offered: “I have a cat.”
“In Japan, cats are considered wise spirits. There are many maneki-neko statues, said to bring good luck.”
“How do you know that?” Maggie asked. “Are you Japanese? Or American?”
“My parents are Japanese, and I’ve spent time there. But for the most part, I’ve lived in Northern California.”
Maggie had never been to California. “In San Francisco? Japan Town?” she asked.
“No, Berkeley,” he said, trying not to laugh. “My father is a professor at UC Berkeley.”
“Oh,” Maggie said. She had assumed … I’m an idiot. “I’m sorry for my mistake.”
Satoshi smiled. “It’s a common one—don’t fret.”
They walked to the large windows overlooking what used to be the formal gardens and badminton lawn. “What does your father teach?” she asked.
“Physics. For over twenty years.”
“And what did you major in?”
“Trouble.”
Outside, Maggie could see Riska frolicking in the grass, chasing a squirrel. “Oh, come now.” As a professor’s adopted daughter, Maggie knew opportunities were few and far between. “I’m a faculty brat, too—and so I question how much mischief you really made.”
“It’s true!”
“You made trouble at Berkeley? What did you do—break into a lab and release the mice?”
“I had a little trouble in J Town—or Japan Town, as you called it, in San Francisco.” He winked.
“And is that where you learned jujitsu?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a course offering at the university.” Then, “So, you’re a faculty brat, too?”
“My Aunt Edith, who raised me, is a professor of chemistry at Wellesley College, in Massachusetts.”
“You didn’t get into any trouble back then?”
“Long ago and far away, I was devoted to my studies—mathematics. Now—” Maggie held up her hands. “Well, let’s just say that since I came to Blighty, about four years ago, I’ve been in my share of hot water.” If he only knew … Maggie reached for the hard outline of the bullet in her side. She realized she hadn’t thought about it while she was in Edinburgh.
“Anything you can share?”
“Not really. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do. There are all sorts of rumors about you, you know. And since you don’t actually talk to anyone, they keep growing. Soon you’ll become the stuff of legend.”
“I talk to Mr. Burns,” Maggie said, feeling defensive. “And Mr. Fraser, the gardener. And, as I mentioned, I now have a cat.”
“You’re angry.”
Maggie was surprised. “No. I’m not angry.” But she thought about it. “Yes, I’m angry. But not with anyone here.”
“I was able to see you teach the last part of my class last week. I watched from the dining room windows. You’re hiding anger. That’s not good.”
“When you were trouble, were you hiding your anger?”
“Back then, I was fighting everyone—and everything. Yes, I was very angry. But I’ve learned a lot since.” Satoshi grinned. “Good luck, Miss Hope.”
“And good luck to you, too, Mr. Nagoka.” They both bowed.
Maggie had some time before teaching her class, so she went down to the shore, with its view of the isles of Skye, Mudd, and Rhum, past the stones and broken shells, and rhododendron trees with buds promising pink blooms. On the beach, she was alone, with just the cries of the seabirds and the sound of the surf.
She sat down on a rock and looked over the water. Watching sparked a jumble of thoughts and images: fluid dynamics, Sir Isaac Newton, kinetic energy, stationary action, the Euler-Lagrange equation …
Maggie watched the waves crashing on the shore, then receding to gather strength, then crash once more. A warm breeze tugged at her hair, loosening tendrils from her tight bun. The wave has to fall back in order to gather strength, before it can crash back onto the shore. Maybe that’s what I’m doing here at Arisaig House, in Edinburgh. Receding and gathering up my strength. Maybe it’s time to go back—to the SOE, to London, to where I can be useful again …