"She's in Germany this week."
Francine looked up from her paper in surprise, a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway to her mouth. A set of bright blue eyes peered down at her, the corners crinkled in amusement.
"Maggie," David said.
She set down her fork and reached for her napkin, suddenly certain there'd be a blob of gravy on her chin. How did this man continually find her at her worst? She felt rumpled and worn out, weary from four days sitting in various hotel ballrooms and a flight that had been delayed three times thanks to bad weather. Her makeup, which she'd kept to a minimum that morning, was definitely worn off by now, and she imagined mascara was probably smudged under her eyes.
Still, she found herself smiling at him even as she reached for the napkin on her lap to dab — quickly — at her mouth.
"I haven't been keeping track this week."
David's right eyebrow floated upwards in a silent question.
"I was out of town." She'd come from the airport, in fact. Straight here, desperate for something decent to eat. "Nothing dangerous this time."
Except, maybe, terrible, terrible food. Somehow the conference organizer had chosen the worst caterers possible and a hotel in some kind of culinary wasteland. She'd run out of granola bars on day two and even Freddy Doyle had said she'd eaten the sugar packets in her hotel room. "I'm saving the creamer for tomorrow night," she'd muttered as they sat near the back of a dark ballroom listening to a mid-level bureaucrat quote chapter and verse from a manual nobody ever opened after their first week on the job.
"You have the look of a conference refugee about you," David said, chuckling.
"Do I?"
"Well, the folder was a big tip-off," he admitted, gesturing at the paper she'd been reading. "Though I like to pretend my powers of observation are still as sharp as ever."
Francine laughed. "Oh. I'm sure they are." She paused, studying him. He wasn't dressed for work this time — when she'd seen him twice previously he'd been pin-neat in dress pants, a crisp shirt, and a tie, on his way out in a hurry as she was on her way in. "You have the look of someone on a day off."
David grinned. "I'm heading out of town, actually."
"London?"
"And then Amsterdam. And then London again." He rocked on his feet. "I just stopped in for something to eat before I head to the airport."
"I just stopped in on my way from the airport." Francine moved her folders from the table to her bag, which sat on the bench beside her. "Would you like to…" She gestured to the empty seat across from her.
David hesitated, clearly surprised. He hovered there, looking at the empty seat, for so long Francine began to regret saying anything. In fact, she was about to take the invitation back when he nodded and turned that brilliant gaze on her again.
"That would be nice," he said, and slid into the seat.
She'd expected him to say something about bothering her or how she probably wanted her space, but he didn't. He folded his coat neatly on the seat beside him and flipped over his coffee cup in anticipation of Brenda's approach.
They hadn't had any kind of a conversation since the day he'd borrowed the newspaper, though they'd crossed paths in the vestibule of the diner twice. Once, she'd been with Amanda, coming in as he was leaving, and she'd given him a quick wave hello, which he'd returned on his way to the door. Amanda, a few steps ahead of her, hadn't seen a thing (and thank goodness, Francine thought, because she'd have to offer up an explanation about who this man was and she didn't really have one). The second time she'd stopped in to pick up dessert for a little dinner party a friend was having, and she'd seen him in the parking lot.
That had been weeks ago, but he'd nudged his way into her thoughts every time she saw a story about the British prime minister. She'd half-hoped he'd call her at work, but as the weeks wore on she'd chided herself for it. They were just two strangers who liked to eat at the same place, nothing more. As Francine so often did, she resolved to focus on what was real and in front of her, and took a surprise assignment in Germany for a week, then another in Istanbul, then volunteered to go to the conference in Denver because Billy certainly hadn't wanted to and her apartment had seemed too quiet.
"Well hello," Brenda said, appearing as if by magic. The knowing glance she shot Francine filled Francine with sudden mortification. "My two world travelers have found each other."
"Hello, Brenda," David said mildly. "What's the special today?"
"You're looking at it " Brenda said, gesturing to Francine. Then, as if realizing how that sounded, she backpedaled. "I mean, it's roast beef. Francine always skips the Yorkshire pudding."
Francine was prepared for some kind of good-natured ribbing, but David simply nodded. "One for me as well." He paused. "With pudding, if you can do it justice."
"That's subjective," Brenda said.
"It isn't, really." David paused. "Maybe I'll skip the pudding, too."
Francine bit her lip to keep from laughing.
"You don't trust us?" Brenda asked.
"Not especially," David said, and Brenda laughed. She jotted down his order, filled his cup, and said she'd put a rush on things "so they could eat together."
They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Francine was suddenly reluctant to eat her meal. She left her fork on the plate and twisted her napkin between her hands, uncharacteristically nervous.
David gestured to the plate. "Don't wait on me. Roast beef is never as nice cold. Gravy certainly isn't. They won't be long anyway."
"I don't mind," she began.
"I do. Go ahead. They won't be long." He sipped his coffee. "Tell me about the conference."
Francine rolled her eyes. "About what you'd expect."
"I don't know what to expect, actually. I usually find them quite interesting."
He was serious. She paused for a moment to double check and found a complete lack of cynicism. How was this possible, she wondered. Were medical conferences different?
"It wasn't that there were no interesting sessions," she conceded, finally. "There were some fascinating round-table discussions and I learned about new technology. That sort of thing. But the hotel was awful and we were stuck way out on the edge of town and honestly —" She thought about Freddy Doyle, suddenly, and how the one thing she'd thought would be the worst thing about the trip had actually been… the biggest surprise.
David seemed like the kind of person who didn't complain. He probably didn't like complainers, either. And normally Francine wouldn't have cared, but for reasons unclear to her she found herself caring what this man thought.
"Sorry," she said. "That was more than you asked for. I just needed to vent a little."
"That's alright."
"Anyway, on the upside I did sort of make peace with someone I've been at odds with. So that was nice."
"Well there's nothing like a shared travail to bridge a chasm," he said, chuckling as he lifted his coffee cup.
"I suppose that's true." She thought of Amanda, suddenly, and being trapped in a freezer. The start of a friendship, even if neither one of them had really wanted to admit it at the time. Doyle was nothing like Amanda, and Francine fully expected they'd slide back into their usual patterns, albeit with far less acrimony than before.
Brenda swooped in with David's order and a fresh Diet Coke for Francine, and she was spared thinking about her arch-nemesis as she watched the man across from her peer at his food. A Yorkshire pudding balanced on the edge of his plate, gravy pooled in the well at its center.
"I did say no to pudding, didn't I?"
"That's Brenda making a point," Francine said.
"Did she do that when you skipped the pudding?"
"No, because I wasn't skeptical about the quality. I told her I was on a diet and wanted to use my calories on gravy."
His brow wrinkled. He poked at the golden puff on his plate with his fork, then sighed and picked up his knife. He held them British-style, and she found herself watching his hands and imagining them performing intricate surgery, putting bones and ligaments and tendons back into place.
David made a small noise in his throat and she realized he'd caught her staring. "The suspense is killing me," she said, trying to cover and hoping her cheeks weren't bright red. "Come on."
He shot her a look she couldn't quite decipher and cut into the pudding, examining it before taking a reluctant bite. Brenda was back at the table almost as soon as he swallowed.
"Well?" she demanded.
"It's fine," he said. "Not too heavy. Fine."
"Fine? That's it?"
David nodded. A lock of sandy hair flopped over his forehead. Adorably, Francine thought, before she could stop herself.
"I'll pass along your rave review," Brenda said, wryly, topping up his coffee. Before he could respond she gave him a disarming smile, letting them both know there were no hard feelings, and moved to the next table.
"I'm probably on some kind of list now," he muttered, slicing into his roast beef.
"I'm sure you aren't," Francine insisted, even as she was sure he was.
"For someone who's using this place as a cover she's certainly become invested in her patrons," he said, then his eyes widened a little at the potential indiscretion. He set down his fork. "I mean…."
"Don't worry, I know all about her many hats," Francine reassured him, and he let out his breath in a whoosh of relief. She studied him, curious. "But how do you know?"
"She broke her arm a few years ago," he said. "Before she started here. I did the surgery. And then about a year later I came in here for breakfast and she served me."
"Whoops."
"I knew enough to be discreet."
"Of course you did. That wasn't what I meant." She had, in fact, been referring to Brenda. Then again, she wondered if she'd remember her orthopedic surgeon a year later. If he had been the man in front of her, she thought, definitely. Her cheeks flushed and she turned her attention to her lunch. The silence swelled between them and she focused on her mashed potatoes, which were always the same — light and fluffy, perfectly seasoned, no lumps. Like Moline's, she realized.
"I didn't mean to sound defensive," he said after a minute.
"Oh." Francine speared a round of carrot. "You didn't. Sorry if I was a bit short. I just meant it must have been a surprise to her when you recognized her."
"It was," David admitted. "I wasn't thinking at first and I made a comment about her arm having healed well."
"Well that wouldn't have given her away," Francine reasoned, thinking of the scar she'd seen on Brenda's elbow. Brenda had said she'd done it skiing and she might well have, if by 'skiing' she'd meant some kind of high-speed pursuit involving an enemy agent or ten.
"No, but I suppose she was worried I might not be able to keep a secret."
"Lucky thing you are."
"Lucky thing." He nodded, then chuckled. "What shall I do if I run into you somewhere else? Pretend I don't recognize you?"
Francine pursed her lips. "Of course not."
"What if you're…" He leaned in, his eyes twinkling as his voice dropped to a whisper. "On a case?"
Francine was reminded of Amanda, suddenly, in her early days with the Agency, asking a similar question. So earnest. Her eyes used to get so round when she learned something new about the business. Francine laughed. "Well, that almost never happens."
"It does. You'd been on one the first time we met."
Well, he had her there. "So I was," she admitted.
"Perhaps we need a code of some sort."
Francine smirked and ate a piece of roast beef. He was obviously enjoying this, teasing her about her job. Normally she'd take offense but she knew he understood — in fact, he only ever saw when things went awry, never the agents who went home whole and healthy at the end of the day.
"I know." She straightened in her seat as inspiration struck. "You can tell me what Maggie's up to."
"Maggie," he said, laughing. "Let's hope there are no electoral upsets, then."
"If there are you can tell me how she's taking it."
This was silly, she thought. They could just call each other if they wanted to see each other again. She had a pen in her purse and a piece of paper in that conference folder, and she could give him her phone number and he could call her and they could go out for dinner somewhere without paper napkins.
But he hadn't asked, and she felt odd about offering. He was on his way out of town, she reminded herself. He didn't have time to think about phone numbers.
"How long are you away?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
"Eight weeks altogether, I think, unless something keeps me there."
There it was, she thought. A girlfriend. A wife. "Something?" she prodded, not caring if she sounded nosy.
"I sometimes stay a bit longer if I'm needed. Clinics, follow-up appointments, that sort of thing."
"Oh, I see."
He set down his knife and fork. "You thought I meant something else."
She blinked. "Well you were pretty vague just then. You could have a wife and six kids waiting for you for all I know."
He snorted softly. "Hardly," he said.
"No?"
"It's hard to meet anyone when you spend all your days in the hospital, traveling to the hospital, traveling home from the hospital. I don't get out much, even in London. The closest I get to having a wife and kids waiting for me is my brother's."
Francine laughed, softly. She lined up her knife and fork neatly on her plate and slid it towards the edge of the table. "I see."
"I stay at theirs while I'm in town," he confessed suddenly, though he didn't look embarrassed. "It makes more sense than keeping an empty apartment for half the year. They have a granny flat in the garden."
"That's very frugal of you," she said, popping her last bite of roast beef into her mouth.
"I'm slowly ruining my image as an international jet-setting surgeon to the spies, aren't I?"
"It wasn't slow at all," Francine said, sipping her drink. Those blue eyes crinkled at the corners again and she had to smother a smile. "You should eat your roast beef. You might miss your flight."
"I have time," he said, but he picked up his knife and fork again and dug into the potatoes. "I could say the same of you," he said, when he'd swallowed.
"What, that I have a wife and six kids waiting at home?"
"Do you?"
"No. My cleaning lady is probably there right now, but she's definitely not waiting for me."
"Is she any good?"
"She's extremely thorough." Almost too thorough at times, Francine thought. Thorough enough that she'd run a background check just to be certain she hadn't hired an enemy agent by mistake. "I'm not much of a domestic."
"Well, we can't all be, can we? Some of us are busy as guardians of national security, and that doesn't leave much time for hoovering the hall carpet."
Francine pressed her lips together, trying to decide if he was teasing now. She didn't think so. "I suppose," she said. "And some of us have to put those guardians back together again."
"Oh, I still have time for hoovering." She gave a soft snort, and he grinned. "It's a very short hall."
"Well, my cleaning lady is fabulous, if you ever get tired of hauling out the… hoover," she said, sipping the last of her drink. That was the closest she was going to get to offering anyone's digits — Bertha Wilson's cleaning service.
"I'll let you know when I'm back," he said. He had finished his food, and he lifted his cup to drain the last drops of coffee. Their lunch was coming to an end, she realized, with a stab of disappointment. Well, this was ridiculous. He was going away for eight weeks but he'd be back. She had plenty to keep her busy in the meantime — an absolute stack of work waiting on her desk, never mind whatever else Lee and Amanda cooked up to use up her time.
David was looking at his watch. "I suppose I'd better get a move on," he said.
"Oh," Francine nodded. "Right. Uh, me too." He slid out of the booth, and she followed suit, collecting her bag and coat. They walked across the dining room, side by side, towards Brenda, who had popped up again, on that magical way of hers, at the cash counter.
"I've got it," David said, as Francine was hunting through her bag for her wallet.
"Don't be silly," Francine said. "I've got it."
Brenda rolled her eyes and took the bills David handed her. "You're slow off the mark, Desmond," she said, laughing. "You'll have to get the next one."
David chuckled. "That's right. You can get the next one."
Francine sighed, then frowned, and shoved her wallet back into the depths of her bag.
"You're offended," David said, as he put his wallet back in his pocket.
"No." Francine settled her bag on her shoulder. "You just didn't have to buy me lunch, is all. Not when we just happened to run into each other."
"No, I didn't. You're right. But I just have, so you'll have to deal with it." He rocked on his feet. He was tall, she realized now. A little taller than Lee, she supposed, and more… wiry? The last time she'd seen him he'd been wearing a nice cashmere v-neck sweater over his shirt but now he was in a polo shirt and jeans, his jacket slung over one arm. He looked strong and lean.
Francine rolled her eyes before she could stop herself, and moved toward the door. He fell into step beside her and reached to push it open before she could, standing aside so she could step through first. The afternoon was crisp and bright, and her eyes watered as they stood in the sunshine.
"Well," she said, watching as he shrugged on his coat. "Safe travels."
"Thank you."
"Enjoy Amsterdam."
"I will," he said. "I'm going to a conference."
She laughed, and so did he. She wanted to say he could tell her all about it when he got back, but she didn't. Instead, she settled her bag on her shoulder and tucked her hair behind one ear.
"See you around," she said, and he nodded, fishing his keys out of his pocket and turning toward a row of cars parked on the opposite side of the lot.
"Oh, and David," she called out. He turned, curious. "If you see Maggie, say hi."
He flashed that brilliant smile again. "It's a long shot," he said, "but you never know."
