“I’m afraid that would require a very ambitious woman,” said Thorpe. We had reached the front porch. He climbed the steps, a bit stiff-legged, the knee not quite bending so well as it should. I followed without a word, through the door he opened with a flourish of his cane, directly into a single, spacious room, no entry hall of any kind.
“My goodness,” I said. I stared up at the distant ceiling—there was no second story, just empty space, four electric fans hanging from the central beam, all still. The smell of wood, of trapped sunshine, of green things, of something else. Something chemical.
“As I said.” He picked his way around a few stacks of wooden crates. “I don’t entertain much.”
“Let’s be frank, Thorpe. You don’t entertain at all.”
“I have been away for half a year, remember, while my colleagues continued to ship me specimens and so on.”
I trailed my index finger through the layer of dust covering the lid of a pine crate. fragile—specimens—do not open. “And so on?”
“Mmm.” Thorpe had set the picnic basket on a table and opened it. “Let’s see. Apples. Sandwiches . . . what, ham?”
“Ham and cheese.”
“Lemonade, excellent. And is this . . . ?” He drew out a plate, wrapped in cheesecloth.
“Veryl’s rum cake.”
“You’re a goddess. On the beach, do you think? There’s a shady spot, at the edge of the dunes.”
I brushed my hands against my dress and turned in a slow circle to gaze around the room. I took my time. Such a utilitarian house, no paintings at all, no pictures, no mirrors, no decorative knickknacks. A rectangle, of which the front and back walls formed the short sides. On each of the two longer walls, a pair of doors stood snug. There was another door on the back wall, the swinging kind of door, leading presumably to the kitchen.
“Do you like it?” Thorpe said dryly.
I turned to face him. He was closer than I thought, had laid his cane on a crate and stepped right next to me. I reached up with both hands and drew the spectacles from his face. He didn’t say a word. I held the glasses to the meager light and squinted through them. “Just as I thought,” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
I tossed the spectacles on the crate. “Tell me something. Do you work for the Allies or the Germans?”
If Thorpe was startled by the question, he didn’t show it. He had these thick, straight eyebrows, a few shades darker than his hair, and they hardly budged. A line or two appeared between them, as if he were more puzzled than shocked.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you. Work for whom? I work for myself.”
“My dear fellow. Are you one of those Englishmen who thinks all Americans are stupid? Or just me?” I waved my hand at the crates. “Kind of reminds me of a film set. All these nice wooden boxes with their nice labels. specimens—fragile. Also untouched.”
“I beg your pardon. You’re suggesting I’m some kind of . . . of agent? A traitor?”
“I didn’t say that, exactly. I asked which side you were working for. That’s not the same as saying you’re a stinking Nazi, is it?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Can’t I?”
“On what possible grounds?”
I held up my hand and ticked off the fingers. “One, you’ve taken up residence on a patch of ground that’s strategically placed for Atlantic communication, to say the least, and hidden nicely from prying eyes in Nassau. Two, that patch of ground happens to be owned by a man blacklisted by the U.S. government for possible Nazi ties, among other sins—”
“Not true. Wenner-Gren’s a meddling businessman, but he’s not a Nazi.”
“Three, you have a habit of disappearing for weeks on end, and then reappearing without warning—”
“Because I was attacked, Mrs. Randolph—”
“Lulu.”
“I’ll call you Lulu again when you cease hurling ridiculous accusations at my head—”
“Four, your eyesight is perfect.”
He opened his mouth and closed it again.
“Look at you,” I said. “You’re all pink.”
“You’re damned right I’m all pink.”
I stepped forward and clasped his chin, which was just beginning to stubble and had the delicious texture of a cat’s tongue. I turned his head to the left, so I could make out the short, thick scar there, still red. “And why were you attacked, hmm? Tell Lulu the truth, now.”
“I don’t know. Chap wanted my cash, I suppose.”
“And this thief. They never did catch him, did they?”