“Sure it isn’t loud and clear?”
Caitrin leaned forward, crunching a piece of toast, stared hard at him, and said, “You, m’lud, have dangerous eyes.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not telling you. But you can tell me where we’re going.”
“Our first country estate stop is outside Cockleford. My old school friend Roland Ashtonthorpe lives there.”
“Old school. Eton?”
“St. Paul’s. We couldn’t possibly afford Eton. You?”
“Abertillery Grammar School. But only for two years because there was no money after my dad died.”
“Where did you get your education?”
“Mr. Hancock was the landlord of our street. There are only twenty houses, small ones: two up, two down, eight-foot-wide rooms, flagstone floors, gas-lighting, outdoor lavatory. I would take the rent to him every week, and when I had to leave school, he and his wife—they had a marvelous library—took over my education. Never asked for a penny. I think I was the daughter they never had. During the day, I worked in Mr. Preece’s grocery shop on the corner, and I spent my evenings in their library. I learned so much from them.”
“You said you can count to ten in German.”
“I can.”
“And what if you had to warn me in German that twelve Nazis were chasing us?”
“I would shoot zwei and tell you there were zehn.” Her hand darted out and snatched the last piece of bacon from his plate before he could react. “To the victor . . .”
“You have lightning-quick reflexes.”
“Because I grew up with lightning-quick brothers. By the way, I also know what Die Brücke means.”
“Why did you say you didn’t?”
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want the meeting to be all about me.” Caitrin chewed the last of the bacon and brushed the corner of her mouth clean with a fingertip. “I thought you should have your brief moment to shine in the spotlight.”
“How very kind of you.”
“There’s something else. We were supposed to spend time creating a plausible background story, until the Germans bombed the Tower of London and blew up our plans. We should do it now. Where did we first meet? And please not at the Eton Wall game, old chum.”
“Or the Wigan Miners’ Gala. Nay, nay, lass.”
“I know. The Lyons Corner House on the Strand, where—”
“You were serving me afternoon tea and—”
“No. I was having tea with Princess Elizabeth, and you tripped over her foot and called her a ninny. Whatever that is.”
“I did not!”
“Did too! She was not amused and could have had your head chopped off.” Caitrin grinned. “This is not going to be easy.”
“It will if you let me—”
“Let you have it all your way, you being a man and all?”
“Cat!”
“Hecky, we did it. We’re arguing like an authentic married couple. Arguing about nothing.”
“All joking aside, we have to work on this. Our marriage must be convincing.”
“To be serious, I’m not sure how to make it seem authentic. We’re from completely different backgrounds and normally would never have met, unless perhaps if I were a waitress serving little cucumber sandwiches at the village fête, which you were opening as lord of the manor. Then a relationship between us would probably end up not as a love match but more a droit de seigneur behind the GUESS MY WEIGHT booth.”
“Be serious.”
“I am being serious. Our accents place us in a precise location and class the moment we utter more than two words. Listen to more than two words anyone speaks, and I can make a damn good guess what town that person comes from, what their house looks like, and what they do for a living. Morganatic marriages are fine for plays or operas, but in real life they’re a different and unlikely matter.”
“Perhaps so, but what matters is that for us to be successful, we have to be husband and wife. We have to start somewhere.”
“True.” Caitrin paused for the briefest of moments. “So let’s start with the village fête, which you were opening and where I was serving cute little cucumber sandwiches. Those dainty crustless pointless triangles that wouldn’t feed a mouse.”
“All right, good start. And I asked you for one—”
“Not for free, though, even for a lord. Sixpence a piece.”
“That’s expensive, even for a lord. I bit into it and—”
“Complained because it was bland. Was there ever an un-bland cucumber?”
