entirely what I’d expected. Having seen the opulence of his house in town, I wasn’t prepared for the sight of the quaint cottage that sat not too distant from the edge of the cliff. The property was covered with shady trees, like the ones in which we were concealed, and overgrown flower gardens.
All told, it was unassuming, cozy even, not the sort of place that would call much attention. Which, I supposed, made it the perfect place to meet a German spy if one was so inclined.
We were well concealed in our hiding place and stood for a long time watching the house. I had to believe that we had beat our quarry here. If not, everything would have been in vain.
We watched and waited. There was no sign that Matthew Winthrop had arrived. Everything was still and quiet. It was also hot. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck, and I wondered how Major Ramsey was faring in his suit jacket. Of course, he’d no doubt faced much worse wearing a uniform in North Africa.
I glanced at him. He didn’t seem to be sweating. As a light breeze passed, however, I could smell the faint scent of his shaving soap, and I hoped I smelled half as good when warm.
Despite my discomfort, I was very good at sussing out a target. Uncle Mick and I had done it dozens of times. I knew how to let my mind wander while my eyes watched and my body remained perfectly still. I was sure not even Major Ramsey could find fault with my technique.
It must have been an hour before he turned to me and spoke in a low voice, barely audible above the rustle of leaves in the breeze. “I’m going to move closer. Wait here until I signal you.”
I nodded.
He moved out of the trees and across the lawn with that catlike grace of his that was so uncommon in such a tall and well-built man. I appreciated it in a professional sort of way as he approached the house and then disappeared around the side.
I was fairly certain the house was empty, but I was a bit tense as I waited nonetheless. After all, if Major Ramsey were to get shot or something, it would leave me in quite a bind.
At last, however, he appeared around the opposite corner and motioned me forward.
I moved out from among the trees, brushing away a few stray leaves that clung to my skirt. My legs were scratched and bleeding in a few places, but it was nothing too severe. And, after all, growing up roughhousing with the boys I’d gotten much worse.
“All clear?” I asked, as I reached the major’s side.
He reached up and plucked a leaf from my hair, tossing it to the ground. “It seems so. Can you get us inside?”
“Of course.”
I took the small tool kit Uncle Mick had given me from my pocket and moved toward the back of the house, the side facing the sea. Here there was a small, poorly tended flower garden and an arrangement of wooden chairs. A sandy path ran toward the cliff and then over the edge, presumably leading down to the beach.
But it was the house we were interested in at the moment. Removing a slim pick from the kit, I moved to the door. It was a simple enough thing to open a standard door, much easier than getting into a safe. I inserted the pin and moved it at varying angles while my other hand gently twisted the knob. It was a matter of a few moments before the lock gave, and I pushed the door open.
“Well done,” the major said, as he stepped in front of me. He stood in the doorway for a moment, listening. When it seemed all was clear, he stepped inside, motioning me to follow. I did so, closing the door behind me.
The house, though simple on the outside, had clearly been outfitted to Sir Nigel’s exacting standards. The kitchen gleamed with modern appliances and sleek table and chairs, none of your standard old-fashioned beach cottage décor.
Major Ramsey moved on to the next room, and I followed. This was the living room area. It, too, was decorated in the modern style. There were white sofas and pale blue rugs and a lot of art on the walls. There were also several shelves displaying a good deal of pottery. I didn’t consider myself an expert on the subject by any