III. Un coin d'appartement (Apartment Interior)
The blare of a car horn on the street below broke Lee's reverie. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut before opening them wide in an attempt to stay awake. That haystack was not the most comfortable place he'd ever spent the night, even if it was wonderful to curl up behind Amanda. The few hours of sleep was able to snatch were not enough, and it looked like he'd have to be awake for quite a while longer. Though Amanda just made the drop outside, they'd be waiting close to an hour before they could verify the package had been picked up, and it was already 9 P.M.
Lee pushed aside the heavy crimson drapes one more time and looked at the postal box three stories down and a block away, where the note Amanda had dropped was waiting to be picked up. After last night's fiasco, he wasn't taking any chances. They worked for much of the afternoon trying to come up with a place from which to watch the drop site. Unfortunately, the Agency's preferred drop site in central Paris was on a quiet residential street, so sitting outside a café or casually strolling past rows of shops was out. Fortunately, he remembered that Marie's apartment overlooked the postal box perfectly.
Even more fortunately, she was out. He had checked the schedule of the Paris Symphony, and since there was a performance tonight, the violinist shouldn't be back to her apartment for a few hours. It was awkward enough having to explain to Amanda how he knew about this place, but having her meet Marie would be even worse. He knew Amanda was well aware of his playboy past, but he didn't know if they were secure enough yet in their new relationship for her to be meeting old lovers. So he asked her to take care of the drop while he let himself into the apartment and started watching the mailbox.
He had met Marie in -- was it '79 or '80? It must have been '80, because the hostages had just been freed from the American embassy, two weeks before he and a joint U.S.-French team were scheduled to leave Paris for Tehran. Lee and his fellow agents went to a nightclub to celebrate not only the end of the hostage crisis, but the fact that they wouldn't be risking their necks on a suicide mission. He saw a woman with long, dark hair across the dance floor, and once their eyes met, he was lost until morning. After that, they had seen each other on and off for a couple of years, whenever Lee happened to be in Paris or whenever the symphony or Marie's chamber group were touring the U.S. Most of their time together, though, had been spent in this apartment.
Lee leaned back against the window, resting one hand on his drawn knee. From the window seat he could see practically the entire apartment, from the small bedroom with its black satin sheets, to the living room in which he sat, to the kitchen table where they'd -- well, where he'd gained an appreciation for the durability of French furniture. Being a world-class violinist gave one a considerable amount of disposable income, and Marie believed in living well. That meant anything from flying to Majorca or a Greek island for the weekend, to surrounding herself with fine furniture and art. The framed paintings on the walls, for example, were high-quality oil reproductions, if not originals. Most were in the Post-Impressionist style, their vivid colors set off by the deep red walls. Many of the furnishings were antique, some old enough to be museum pieces. Lee remembered Marie showing him the secret compartment in the cherry credenza, and then her being disappointed when he was unimpressed. She didn't know what he did for a living, so how could she knew that he'd seen far more ingenious hiding places than that?
He was quite jaded at that point in his life, lonely at work without his partner, and lonely at home despite the fact that he was seldom alone. Marie didn't seem to mind their lack of emotional intimacy, since the physical intimacy had been more than adequate for both of them. He was, however, impressed with the care that Marie took in decorating her place, considering the frequency with which she was away. It was certainly nothing like Amanda's house, decorated with trophies and crafts and other odds and ends from her boys. What he would have scorned a couple of years ago as a boring, bland lifestyle had come to mean a lot to him after peering through the kitchen window so many times.
He craned his head back, looking for one painting in particular. It was a hazy-looking work depicting a train pulling into the main station in Paris, its blue and grey smoke a contrast to the bright colors of the other art on the walls. Sure enough, he could see it in the bedroom, just visible above the well-polished walnut armoire. Marie said it held some sentimental value for her, though the fact that it didn't match the rest of the apartment's interior had banished it from the main room. He remembered running through that same train station in pursuit of a Czech agent with a valuable microdot, the thought incongrously popping into his head that Monet wouldn't have had nearly as much inspiration in the days of electrified trains. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth as he turned again to look out at the postal box. He'd have to get a print of that painting for Amanda. Somehow he thought she'd appreciate the image of a train station, even if it didn't match her decor.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Startled, he rose to his feet, but it was Amanda poking her head into the apartment. "Hi," she said softly.
"Hi," Lee echoed, sinking back onto the window seat. He took another peek out the window. Still no one at the mailbox. "I'm not even going to ask how you managed to sneak into a locked apartment building, in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Paris, without anyone noticing. I thought you were going to wait on the street."
"Well, I didn't see anywhere to wait that wasn't conspicuous, and I remembered seeing you type in the code on the keypad at the gate out front, and you seemed to have left the apartment door open." Closing the door behind her and turning the lock, she added, "And *I'm* not going to ask how you knew the code in the first place."
"It's September, so it's nine followed by the address in reverse order," Lee muttered absently. After a second, he looked up to find Amanda's shrewd gaze on him. "What?"
"You must have spent a lot of time here," she mused in that tone she used when she was prying for information but pretending she wasn't. "To know that the code changes every month, and what it is. This doesn't look like a safe house."
Lee sighed, his head thunking against the window. This was the kind of interrogation he'd hoped to avoid. "No, it's not a safe house. I was friends with the person who lives here, that's all."
"What's her name?" Amanda continued in an innocent tone.
"Marie," he automatically replied, then closed his eyes. "You're good."
"Lee, I'm not stupid," she responded, walking across the intricately patterned Persian rug to stand next to him. "Besides, I've got years of experience wrangling secrets out of pre-teen boys. I don't think the Agency trains its people to withstand that."
He smiled and reached out to grab her waist and pull her close. "There's room for two here," he indicated the window seat.
She raised an eyebrow. "Not unless I sit on your lap." He kept his expression blank, and her mouth began to curve into a smile. "Uh-uh, Stetson, we've got a drop site to watch." She pulled away from him. "I'll just pull a chair over and watch with you."
He watched in amusement as she futilely scanned the room for a piece of furniture that was light enough to move and yet looked sturdy enough to sit on. Finally she headed to the kitchen and came back with a black leather stool. Plunking it down next to him, she took a seat, draping an arm over his shoulders and taking the binoculars from his hands. "Anything?"
He shook his head and surreptitiously slipped an arm around her waist, pleased when she shifted a little closer to him. When she put the binoculars down and turned towards him, her face was just a few inches away, and he couldn't resist the temptation to lean forward and press his lips to hers. Her arm tightened around his shoulders, and he felt her body warm and soft against his side. He hoped the pickup from the mailbox would happen fast, so they could leave the apartment and head back to the hotel.
All too soon, Lee forced himself to draw back. They did have work to do here, after all. He could read the same mixture of desire and duty on Amanda's face, and he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "We'll be out of here soon," he promised, looking down at the street again. "Then we'll see about some more comfortable accommodations than last night."
"Oh, I don't know." Amanda laid her head against his shoulder. "Last night had its advantages."
Lee glanced down to see her warm brown eyes looking back up at him with love in their depths. "Maybe we can try it again without the hay in our hair?" he asked hopefully.
Much to his surprise, she answered, "I'd like that."
He grinned. "So would I." He gave her another gentle kiss, then turned his attention back to the street below.
Pulling Amanda a little closer as he resumed his watch, he remembered one of the few conversations he and Marie had about relationships. She had insisted that someday he'd find someone to settle down with, as she believed she would when she was ready. He'd disagreed, insisting that some people just weren't like that, and he was one of them. She'd shaken her head and started in with the art metaphors of which she was so fond. "You're like a symphony where the theme has been introduced, but not the counterpoint. Or a blank canvas, waiting for the artist. My friend Jean," and she had pointed to the Monet reproduction above the armoire, "says that even blank canvases have art deep within them. Like a block of marble that has a piece of sculpture inside, and it is up to the artist to dig it out. Your artist has not found you yet." Maybe that's who Amanda was, he thought, laying his head atop hers where it rested against his shoulder. His own personal artist.
The blare of a car horn on the street below broke Lee's reverie. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut before opening them wide in an attempt to stay awake. That haystack was not the most comfortable place he'd ever spent the night, even if it was wonderful to curl up behind Amanda. The few hours of sleep was able to snatch were not enough, and it looked like he'd have to be awake for quite a while longer. Though Amanda just made the drop outside, they'd be waiting close to an hour before they could verify the package had been picked up, and it was already 9 P.M.
Lee pushed aside the heavy crimson drapes one more time and looked at the postal box three stories down and a block away, where the note Amanda had dropped was waiting to be picked up. After last night's fiasco, he wasn't taking any chances. They worked for much of the afternoon trying to come up with a place from which to watch the drop site. Unfortunately, the Agency's preferred drop site in central Paris was on a quiet residential street, so sitting outside a café or casually strolling past rows of shops was out. Fortunately, he remembered that Marie's apartment overlooked the postal box perfectly.
Even more fortunately, she was out. He had checked the schedule of the Paris Symphony, and since there was a performance tonight, the violinist shouldn't be back to her apartment for a few hours. It was awkward enough having to explain to Amanda how he knew about this place, but having her meet Marie would be even worse. He knew Amanda was well aware of his playboy past, but he didn't know if they were secure enough yet in their new relationship for her to be meeting old lovers. So he asked her to take care of the drop while he let himself into the apartment and started watching the mailbox.
He had met Marie in -- was it '79 or '80? It must have been '80, because the hostages had just been freed from the American embassy, two weeks before he and a joint U.S.-French team were scheduled to leave Paris for Tehran. Lee and his fellow agents went to a nightclub to celebrate not only the end of the hostage crisis, but the fact that they wouldn't be risking their necks on a suicide mission. He saw a woman with long, dark hair across the dance floor, and once their eyes met, he was lost until morning. After that, they had seen each other on and off for a couple of years, whenever Lee happened to be in Paris or whenever the symphony or Marie's chamber group were touring the U.S. Most of their time together, though, had been spent in this apartment.
Lee leaned back against the window, resting one hand on his drawn knee. From the window seat he could see practically the entire apartment, from the small bedroom with its black satin sheets, to the living room in which he sat, to the kitchen table where they'd -- well, where he'd gained an appreciation for the durability of French furniture. Being a world-class violinist gave one a considerable amount of disposable income, and Marie believed in living well. That meant anything from flying to Majorca or a Greek island for the weekend, to surrounding herself with fine furniture and art. The framed paintings on the walls, for example, were high-quality oil reproductions, if not originals. Most were in the Post-Impressionist style, their vivid colors set off by the deep red walls. Many of the furnishings were antique, some old enough to be museum pieces. Lee remembered Marie showing him the secret compartment in the cherry credenza, and then her being disappointed when he was unimpressed. She didn't know what he did for a living, so how could she knew that he'd seen far more ingenious hiding places than that?
He was quite jaded at that point in his life, lonely at work without his partner, and lonely at home despite the fact that he was seldom alone. Marie didn't seem to mind their lack of emotional intimacy, since the physical intimacy had been more than adequate for both of them. He was, however, impressed with the care that Marie took in decorating her place, considering the frequency with which she was away. It was certainly nothing like Amanda's house, decorated with trophies and crafts and other odds and ends from her boys. What he would have scorned a couple of years ago as a boring, bland lifestyle had come to mean a lot to him after peering through the kitchen window so many times.
He craned his head back, looking for one painting in particular. It was a hazy-looking work depicting a train pulling into the main station in Paris, its blue and grey smoke a contrast to the bright colors of the other art on the walls. Sure enough, he could see it in the bedroom, just visible above the well-polished walnut armoire. Marie said it held some sentimental value for her, though the fact that it didn't match the rest of the apartment's interior had banished it from the main room. He remembered running through that same train station in pursuit of a Czech agent with a valuable microdot, the thought incongrously popping into his head that Monet wouldn't have had nearly as much inspiration in the days of electrified trains. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth as he turned again to look out at the postal box. He'd have to get a print of that painting for Amanda. Somehow he thought she'd appreciate the image of a train station, even if it didn't match her decor.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Startled, he rose to his feet, but it was Amanda poking her head into the apartment. "Hi," she said softly.
"Hi," Lee echoed, sinking back onto the window seat. He took another peek out the window. Still no one at the mailbox. "I'm not even going to ask how you managed to sneak into a locked apartment building, in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Paris, without anyone noticing. I thought you were going to wait on the street."
"Well, I didn't see anywhere to wait that wasn't conspicuous, and I remembered seeing you type in the code on the keypad at the gate out front, and you seemed to have left the apartment door open." Closing the door behind her and turning the lock, she added, "And *I'm* not going to ask how you knew the code in the first place."
"It's September, so it's nine followed by the address in reverse order," Lee muttered absently. After a second, he looked up to find Amanda's shrewd gaze on him. "What?"
"You must have spent a lot of time here," she mused in that tone she used when she was prying for information but pretending she wasn't. "To know that the code changes every month, and what it is. This doesn't look like a safe house."
Lee sighed, his head thunking against the window. This was the kind of interrogation he'd hoped to avoid. "No, it's not a safe house. I was friends with the person who lives here, that's all."
"What's her name?" Amanda continued in an innocent tone.
"Marie," he automatically replied, then closed his eyes. "You're good."
"Lee, I'm not stupid," she responded, walking across the intricately patterned Persian rug to stand next to him. "Besides, I've got years of experience wrangling secrets out of pre-teen boys. I don't think the Agency trains its people to withstand that."
He smiled and reached out to grab her waist and pull her close. "There's room for two here," he indicated the window seat.
She raised an eyebrow. "Not unless I sit on your lap." He kept his expression blank, and her mouth began to curve into a smile. "Uh-uh, Stetson, we've got a drop site to watch." She pulled away from him. "I'll just pull a chair over and watch with you."
He watched in amusement as she futilely scanned the room for a piece of furniture that was light enough to move and yet looked sturdy enough to sit on. Finally she headed to the kitchen and came back with a black leather stool. Plunking it down next to him, she took a seat, draping an arm over his shoulders and taking the binoculars from his hands. "Anything?"
He shook his head and surreptitiously slipped an arm around her waist, pleased when she shifted a little closer to him. When she put the binoculars down and turned towards him, her face was just a few inches away, and he couldn't resist the temptation to lean forward and press his lips to hers. Her arm tightened around his shoulders, and he felt her body warm and soft against his side. He hoped the pickup from the mailbox would happen fast, so they could leave the apartment and head back to the hotel.
All too soon, Lee forced himself to draw back. They did have work to do here, after all. He could read the same mixture of desire and duty on Amanda's face, and he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "We'll be out of here soon," he promised, looking down at the street again. "Then we'll see about some more comfortable accommodations than last night."
"Oh, I don't know." Amanda laid her head against his shoulder. "Last night had its advantages."
Lee glanced down to see her warm brown eyes looking back up at him with love in their depths. "Maybe we can try it again without the hay in our hair?" he asked hopefully.
Much to his surprise, she answered, "I'd like that."
He grinned. "So would I." He gave her another gentle kiss, then turned his attention back to the street below.
Pulling Amanda a little closer as he resumed his watch, he remembered one of the few conversations he and Marie had about relationships. She had insisted that someday he'd find someone to settle down with, as she believed she would when she was ready. He'd disagreed, insisting that some people just weren't like that, and he was one of them. She'd shaken her head and started in with the art metaphors of which she was so fond. "You're like a symphony where the theme has been introduced, but not the counterpoint. Or a blank canvas, waiting for the artist. My friend Jean," and she had pointed to the Monet reproduction above the armoire, "says that even blank canvases have art deep within them. Like a block of marble that has a piece of sculpture inside, and it is up to the artist to dig it out. Your artist has not found you yet." Maybe that's who Amanda was, he thought, laying his head atop hers where it rested against his shoulder. His own personal artist.
