The Rhinemann Exchange (34 page)

“How did you picture me?”

“Very differently.”

“From what?”

“You.… I thought you’d be terribly short, to begin with. An attaché named David Spaulding who’s some kind of financial whiz and is going to have conferences with the banks and the colonels about money things is short, at least fifty years old and has
very
little hair. He also wears spectacles—not glasses—and has a thin nose. Probably has an allergy as well—he sneezes a lot and blows his nose all the time. And he speaks in short, clipped sentences; very precise and quite disagreeable.”

“He chases secretaries, too; don’t leave that out.”

“My David Spaulding doesn’t chase secretaries. He reads dirty books.”

David felt a twinge. Throw in an unkempt appearance, a soiled handkerchief and replace the spectacles with glasses—worn occasionally—and Jean was describing Walter Kendall.

“Your Spaulding’s an unpleasant fellow.”

“Not the new one,” she said, tightening her grip on his arm.

The taxi drew up to the curb in front of the entrance on Córdoba. Jean Cameron hesitated, staring momentarily at
the apartment house door. David spoke softly, without emphasis.

“Shall I take you to the embassy?”

She turned to him. “No.”

He paid the driver and they went inside.

The field thread was invisibly protruding from the knob; he felt it.

He inserted the key in the lock and instinctively, gently shouldered her aside as he pushed the door open. The apartment was as he had left it that morning; he knew she felt his relief. He held the door for her. Jean entered and looked around.

“It really
isn’t
so bad, is it?” she said.

“Humble but home.” He left the door open and with a smile, a gesture—without words—he asked her to stay where she was. He walked rapidly into the bedroom, returned and went through the double doors onto his miniature, high-walled patio. He looked up, scanning the windows and the roof carefully. He smiled again at her from under the branches of the fruit tree. She understood, closed the door and came out to him.

“You did that very professionally, Mr. Spaulding.”

“In the best traditions of extreme cowardice, Mrs. Cameron.”

He realized his mistake the minute he’d made it. It was not the moment to use the married title. And yet, in some oblique way she seemed grateful that he had. She moved again and stood directly in front of him.

“Mrs. Cameron thanks you.”

He reached out and held her by the waist. Her arms slowly, haltingly, went up to his shoulders; her hands cupped his face and she stared into his eyes.

He did not move. The decision, the first step, had to be hers; he understood that.

She brought her lips to his. The touch was soft and lovely and meant for earthbound angels. And then she trembled with an almost uncontrollable sense of urgency. Her lips parted and she pressed her body with extraordinary strength into his, her arms clutched about his neck.

She pulled her lips away from his and buried her face into his chest, holding him with fierce possession.

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Don’t say anything at all.…
Just take me.
”

He picked her up silently and carried her into the bedroom. She kept her face pressed into his chest, as if she were afraid to see light or even him. He lowered her gently onto the bed and closed the door.

In a few moments they were naked and he pulled the blankets over them. It was a moist and beautiful darkness. A splendid comfort.

“I want to say something,” she said, tracing her finger over his lips, her face above his, her breasts innocently on his chest. And smiling her genuine smile.

“I know. You want the other Spaulding. The thin one with spectacles.” He kissed her fingers.

“He disappeared in an explosion of sorts.”

“You’re positively descriptive, young lady.”

“And not so young.… That’s what I want to talk about.”

“A pension. You’re angling for Social Security. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Be serious, silly boy.”

“And not so silly.…”

“There’s no commitment, David,” she said, interrupting him. “I want you to know that.… I don’t know how else to say it. Everything happened so fast.”

“Everything happened very naturally. Explanations aren’t required.”

“Well, I think some are. I didn’t expect to be here.”

“I didn’t expect that you would be. I suppose I hoped, I’ll admit that.… I didn’t plan; neither of us did.”

“I don’t know; I think I did. I think I saw you yesterday and somewhere in the back of my mind I made a decision. Does that sound brazen of me?”

“If you did, the decision was long overdue.”

“Yes, I imagine it was.” She lay back, pulling the sheet over her. “I’ve been very selfish. Spoiled and selfish and behaving really quite badly.”

“Because you haven’t slept around?” It was his turn to roll over and touch her face. He kissed both her eyes, now open; the deep speckles of blue made bluer, deeper, by the late afternoon sun streaming through the blinds. She smiled; her perfect white teeth glistening with the moisture of her mouth, her lips curved in that genuine curve of humor.

“That’s funny. I must be unpatriotic. I’ve withheld my charms only to deliver them to a noncombatant.”

“The Visigoths wouldn’t have approved. The warriors came first, I’m told.”

“Let’s not tell them.” She reached up for his face. “Oh, David, David,
David.
”

“I hope I didn’t wake you. I wouldn’t have troubled you but I thought you’d want me to.”

Ambassador Granville’s voice over the telephone was more solicitous than David expected it to be. He looked at his watch as he replied. It was three minutes of ten in the morning.

“Oh?… No, sir. I was just getting up. Sorry I overslept.”

There was a note on the telephone table. It was from Jean.

“Your friend was in contact with us.”

“Friend?” David unfolded the note.
My Darling—You fell into such a beautiful sleep it would have broken my heart to disturb you. Called a taxi. See you in the morning. At the Bastile. Your ex-regimented phoenix.
David smiled, remembering her smile.

“… the details, I’m sure, aren’t warranted.” Granville had said something and he hadn’t been listening.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ambassador. This must be a poor connection; your voice fades in and out.” All telephones beyond the Atlantic, north, middle and south, were temperamental instruments. An unassailable fact.

“Or something else, I’m afraid,” said Granville with irritation, obviously referring to the possibility of a telephone tap. “When you get in, please come to see me.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there directly.”

He picked up Jean’s note and read it again.

She had said last night that he was complicating her life. But there were no commitments; she’d said that, too.

What the hell was a commitment? He didn’t want to speculate. He didn’t want to think about the awful
discovery—the instant, splendid comfort they both recognized. It wasn’t the time for it.…

Yet to deny it would be to reject an extraordinary reality. He was trained to deal with reality.

He didn’t want to think about it.

His “friend” had been in contact with the embassy.

Walter Kendall.

That was another reality. It couldn’t wait.

He crushed out his cigarette angrily, watching his fingers stab the butt into the metal ashtray.

Why was he angry?

He didn’t care to speculate on that, either. He had a job to do. He hoped he had the commitment for it.

“Jean said you barely made it through dinner. You needed a good night’s sleep; I must say you look better.” The ambassador had come from around his desk to greet him as he entered the large, ornate office. David was a little bewildered. The old diplomat was actually being solicitous, displaying a concern that belied his unconcealed disapproval of two days ago. Or was it his use of the name Jean instead of the forbidding Mrs. Cameron.

“She was very kind. I couldn’t have found a decent restaurant without her.”

“I daresay.… I won’t detain you, you’d better get cracking with this Kendall.”

“You said he’s been in contact.…”

“Starting last night; early this morning to be accurate. He’s at the Alvear and apparently quite agitated, according to the switchboard. At two thirty this morning he was shouting, demanding to know where you were. Naturally, we don’t give out that information.”

“I’m grateful. As you said, I needed the sleep; Kendall would have prevented it. Do you have his telephone number? Or shall I get it from the book?”

“No, right here.” Granville walked to his desk and picked up a sheet of notepaper. David followed and took it from the ambassador’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll get on it.” He turned and started for the door, Granville’s voice stopping him.

“Spaulding?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m sure Mrs. Cameron would like to see you. Assess
your recovery, I daresay. Her office is in the south wing. First door from the entrance, on the right. Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll find it, sir.”

“I’m sure you will. See you later in the day.”

David went out the heavy baroque door, closing it behind him. Was it his imagination or was Granville reluctantly giving an approval to his and Jean’s sudden … alliance? The words were approving, the tone of voice reluctant.

He walked down the connecting corridor toward the south wing and reached her door. Her name was stamped on a brass plate to the left of the doorframe. He had not noticed it yesterday.

Mrs. Andrew Cameron.

So his name had been Andrew. Spaulding hadn’t asked his first name; she hadn’t volunteered it.

As he looked at the brass plate he found himself experiencing a very strange reaction. He resented Andrew Cameron; resented his life, his death.

The door was open and he entered. Jean’s secretary was obviously an Argentine. A
porteña.
The black Spanish hair was pulled back into a bun, her features Latin.

“Mrs. Cameron, please. David Spaulding.”

“Please go in. She’s expecting you.” David approached the door and turned the knob.

She was taken by surprise, he thought. She was at the window looking out at the south lawn, a page of paper in her hand, glasses pushed above her forehead, resting on top of her light brown hair.

Startled, she removed her glasses from their perch and stood immobile. Slowly, as if studying him first, she smiled.

He found himself afraid. More than afraid, for a moment. And then she spoke and the sudden anguish left him, replaced by a deeply felt relief.

“I woke up this morning and reached for you. You weren’t there and I thought I might cry.”

He walked rapidly to her and they held each other. Neither spoke. The silence, the embrace, the splendid comfort returning.

“Granville acted like a procurer a little while ago,” he said finally, holding her by the shoulders, looking at her blue speckled eyes that held such intelligent humor.

“I told you he was lovable. You wouldn’t believe me.”

“You didn’t
tell
me we had dinner, though. Or that I could barely get through it.”

“I was hoping you’d slip; give him more to think about.”

“I don’t understand him. Or you, maybe.”

“Henderson has a problem.… Me. He’s not sure how to handle it—me. He’s overprotective because I’ve led him to believe I wanted that protection. I did; it was easier. But a man who’s had three wives and at least twice that many mistresses over the years is no Victorian.… And he knows you’re not going to be here long. As he would put it: do I sketch a reasonable picture?”

“I daresay,” answered David in Granville’s Anglicized manner.

“That’s unkind.” Jean laughed. “He probably doesn’t approve of you, which makes his unspoken acceptance very difficult for him.”

David released her. “I know damned well he doesn’t approve.… Look, I have to make some calls; go out and meet someone.…”

“Just someone?”

“A ravishing beauty who’ll introduce me to lots of other ravishing beauties. And between the two of us, I can’t stand him. But I have to see him.… Will you have dinner with me?”

“Yes, I’ll have dinner with you. I’d planned to. You didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re right; you’re brazen.”

“I made that clear. You broke down the regimens; I’m flying up out of my own personal ash heap.… The air feels good.”

“It was going to happen.… I was here.” He wasn’t sure why he said it but he had to.

Walter Kendall paced the hotel room as though it were a cage. Spaulding sat on the couch watching him, trying to decide which animal Kendall reminded him of; there were several that came to mind, none pets.

“You listen to
me
,” Kendall said. “This is no military operation. You
take
orders, you don’t give them.”

“I’m sorry; I think you’re misreading me.” David was tempted to answer Kendall’s anger in kind, but he decided not to.

“I misread, bullshit! You told Swanson you were in some trouble in New York. That’s
your
problem, not
ours.
”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“Oh yes I can! You tried to sell that to Swanson and he bought it. You could have involved
us
!”

“Now just a minute.” Spaulding felt he could object legitimately—within the boundaries he had mentally staked off for Kendall. “I told Swanson that in my opinion the ‘trouble’ in New York might have been related to Buenos Aires. I didn’t say it
was
, I said it might have been.”

“That’s not possible!”

“How the hell can you be so sure?”

“Because I am.” Kendall was not only agitated, thought David, he was impatient. “This is a business proposition. The deal’s been made. There’s no one trying to stop it. Stop
us.
”

“Hostilities don’t cease because a deal’s been made. If the German command got wind of it they’d blow up Buenos Aires to stop it.”

“Yeah … well, that’s not possible.”

“You
know
that?”

“We know it.… So don’t go confusing that stupid bastard Swanson. I’ll level with you. This is strictly a money-line negotiation. We could have completed it without any help from Washington, but they insisted—Swanson insisted—that they have a man here. O.K., you’re him. You can be helpful; you can get the papers out and you speak the languages. But that’s
all
you’ve got to do. Don’t call attention to yourself. We don’t want anyone upset.”