down. You must have some of my fresh apple strudel. It will revive you.”
While Etzel busied himself with the strudel, Mina donned a crisp, clean apron and began preparing coffee. Kit watched the efficient operation with interest verging on admiration; he could not get over the transformation he saw in Wilhelmina as she directed her staff and took charge of the kitchen, displaying an easy authority he had never before seen in her. Nor was that all: her hair was longer, more luxuriant somehow; her long, lithe form had filled out a little, giving her a trim figure. The dark circles, a perennial part of her appearance, were gone; she radiated a vitality and energy Kit had never witnessed. She was, he decided, a woman who had come into her own, and he liked what he saw.
Shortly, Etzel called for one of his helpers to bring plates and directed his guests to sit down. “Setzen Sie sich, bitte.”
“Just find a table,” Mina told them, “and I will bring the coffee.”
Kit and Giles returned to the dining room; evening was drawing in, but there were still a few people in the house. They chose a table in a far corner so they could talk without disturbing the others. In a moment Etzel appeared, humming to himself as he placed thick slices of warm strudel on plates before them and daintily laying a small spoon beside each plate. Satisfied that all was in order, the big baker urged them on, saying, “Mahlzeit! Guten Appetit!”
Kit and Giles took up their spoons and simultaneously took an exploratory bite. “Sehr gut!” Kit said, making a pantomime expression of pleasure.
“Very good,” said Giles, descending to his plate. He began spooning up strudel like the hungry man he was.
Kit’s polite restraint lasted another two bites, and then he, too, began scooping for all he was worth and murmuring heartfelt appreciation between mouthfuls. Etzel beamed at them and chuckled, his hands folded across his stomach.
Wilhelmina returned with a tray full of small pots of coffee and cups. “Well, that’s going down a treat,” she observed. To Etzel, she said, “Your strudel will be world famous.”
“It is that spice you have brought us,” he replied knowingly.
“The cinnamon,” she said, pleased that he was using this unfamiliar spice. “Do you think so?”
“Ja, that makes the difference.” Seeing that the men had all but finished their portions, he said, “I will bring some more.”
“I didn’t know I was so hungry,” Kit remarked. Giles nodded in full-mouthed agreement.
“We’ll have a nice dinner after we’ve closed the shop—if you two can hold out that long.” Wilhelmina set down the tray and took up a pot. She was pouring the first cups when she glanced towards the shop’s front door at some customers just entering. “It looks like closing time will have to wait a little while. I’ll seat these last customers and put up the shutters.”
“Don’t mind us,” said Kit, taking up his coffee. “We’re happy as clams in clover,” he said expansively, sipping the rich dark bitter liquid. “Well, Giles, old buddy, it looks like we landed on our feet this time. Who’d have thought it, eh?”
As the newcomers passed behind Kit, he saw Giles’ eyes flick their way. The young man’s features froze in an odd expression—something halfway between disbelief and horror.
“What?” asked Kit.
“What is she doing here?” hissed Giles.
“She?” wondered Kit, swivelling in his chair.
“Don’t turn around!”
He sensed a presence behind him, and then the last voice he expected to hear spoke his name: “Kit? Giles? Upon my soul—it is you!”
And then she was at their table, standing over them.
Kit looked up into the face he thought never to see again—as lovely as ever, but now contorted in anguish and fear.
“Hello, Haven,” said Kit, voice husky, his skin tingling with instant revulsion. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“You must leave at once!” she urged. Eyes wide, she stole a swift glance towards the shop entrance where another party of customers was just entering. “Quick!” Her manner became frantic. She clutched at Kit’s arm as if to pull him bodily from his chair. “Flee! You must not let him see you. He thinks you dead.”
“Who?”
Across the table, Giles, watching the entrance, let out a low growl of contempt as he spat out the name. “Burleigh!”
CHAPTER 26
In Which the Question of What to Do Is Asked and Answered—Twice
Is there a problem here?” asked Wilhelmina. She put down the plates she was holding and turned to confront the russet-haired beauty standing over Kit.