Part Two, Chapter Eight

Alvi and Donovan settled themselves on thickly upholstered chairs. Alvi picked up a newspaper from the coffee table and Donovan flipped through a book that was mostly color photographs of some country he had never heard of, but it looked like a nice place, full of green hills, glistening lakes, and stone towers. After awhile a woman came in, pushing an antique wooden cart. "Tea? Juice? Water? Scotch whiskey?"

The men gladly accepted the scotch, and Donovan was pleased to find it was the real thing and not cheap home brew. "Did she get this from you?" he asked Alvi.

"No, unfortunately, but we have the same supplier."

"Is that how you know her? A business connection?"

"We do a little business," he said vaguely. "But mostly she is just an old friend. I did her a favor once and we've thought kindly of each other ever since."

"What kind of favor? If that's not too personal a question."

"It's not personal to me, although it might be to her." Alvi sipped his whiskey. "I hid her oldest son on the night he escaped from base. They had picked him up off the street and drafted him, and they would have shot him for desertion if they had caught him, as you know only too well."

"Don't remind me."

"I didn't know who he was, of course. I was simply minding my own business when a boy who looked barely old enough to be allowed across the street came pounding on my door. I hid him in one of my wicker chests underneath some Indian blankets. When the soldiers came looking, I denied having ever seen him. Because of who I knew, they believed me and went away."

"Lucky kid. Where is the boy now?"

"Who knows? I took him to a place where he said someone from the Underground would help him get away and that was the last I saw of him. I took a message from him to his mother, made her acquaintance, and here we are."

"You know," Donovan said, "Your true stories are good enough that it makes a person wonder why you bother making anything up."

"An outlet for my natural creativity, of course," Alvi said with a self-mocking gesture. “Most of life is very dull. I buy things, I sell things. I eat and I sleep...”

“And you report to the Feds on what you see.”

“And sometimes the reports are even true. But I only tell them about the things that don’t really matter. I would never tell tales that would hurt people. Not people I like, anyway.”

The door opened and Della came in, carrying a paper-wrapped bundle under one arm and a cloth tote over the other. She let the door slam shut behind her and went to the back room where Carina’s fitting was going on.

“This is going to be expensive,” Donovan remarked.

“You must allow me to help.”

“We can afford it.” Donovan did a few mental calculations. He wasn’t sure what all these things cost, but he knew that the kind of shop they were in, with its personal services, was far beyond their budget. Well, he had been meaning to scare up a poker game, anyway. He would have to make sure he won big.

Alvi watched him, grinning as if he could read the younger man’s thoughts, but all he said was, “I remain deeply indebted to Miss Carina, so I’m afraid I must insist.”

Donovan toyed with his empty glass, wondering if the maid would be back with more drinks. He hoped she would, and soon. “Does it worry you,” he asked, returning to the thread of their earlier discussion, “That you’re playing both sides of the game?”

“Not much. Our government is a farce and I think my unique situation puts me in a position where I can do a lot of good, don’t you?”

“It doesn't cause a conflict for you?”

“I’m never confused about my loyalties. I have few real friends, but there is nothing I would not do for them, even if it means I must die.” Alvi leaned back in his seat. “You look surprised, but yes, I’m very loyal. Aren’t you the same? Wouldn’t you gladly suffer torture, and even death, if it meant your dearest friends could live in peace and safety?”

Before Donovan could answer, the dressing room door opened and Carina came out, wearing her old dress. She sat on the sofa with a contented sigh.

“Did you find something you liked?” Alvi asked.

“Yes, thank you. Margaret is going to get one dress ready before we leave and will have the rest sent over to our room this evening.” She turned to Donovan and explained. “Everything back there is unfinished. She had me put things on, then she pinned the hems, seams and cuffs and now she’ll sew them to my measurements.”

“But you’re so thin,” Donovan pointed out. “If you ever start eating again, nothing will fit.”

“She says she always leaves room to let the seams out. And I wish you’d stop worrying about what I do and don’t eat.”

“He is right to worry,” Alvi said. “The world is full of starving people and you starve yourself on purpose. That’s why I’m going to take you to a restaurant tonight. You’re going to have a nutritious meal and I’m going to watch you eat every bit of it.”

“Who put you two in charge?” Carina stretched out on the sofa and put her hands over her face. “I’m not a kid.”

“Then we will expect you to stop acting like one," Alvi said. “You’re a brave war widow and need to keep up your strength so you can inspire all the other ones.”

“Oh God, don’t remind me. And to think I've got to deal with that again tomorrow at the stupid homecoming ceremony.” She looked at Alvi. "You're sure there's no way around it?"

"I'm afraid not, amorcita. I spoke to all my connections and they were very clear on the matter. It's policy."

"It's propaganda." She was about to say something else when the kitchen door opened and the maid returned with her cart. “What is this?” Carina asked, sitting up.

“Tea, juice--” the maid began reciting.

“Give her some of the scotch,” Alvi said.

The maid appeared startled and looked to Carina for confirmation. “Would madame—“

“A cup of tea sounds nice,” she said.

The maid poured some tea into a china cup with a pink rosebud pattern. “Cream? Honey?”

“No.”

The maid looked at the men and reached for the bottle of scotch. “Would you like some more?”

“Yes,” Donovan said.

“Two for me.”

The maid looked at Alvi skeptically but did as he asked.

After she had gone, Alvi set his extra glass in front of Carina. “Drink up, love.”

Carina protested but finally allowed herself to be talked into accepting the drink. Then Alvi embarrassed her by offering a toast to her health. By the time Joanne returned from her errands and Margaret called Carina to the fitting room, she had a serious case of the giggles.

Alvi stretched his legs in front of him and folded his hands behind his head. "Very inappropriate behavior for the bereaved widow of one of our heroes."

Carina had started to stand up but collapsed back onto the sofa, laughing, and Donovan had to help her to her feet. "Pull yourself together," he told her. "It shouldn't take long now. We'll go have dinner after."

"We'll order champagne," Alvi said.

"Order you a cup of coffee, more like," Donovan mumbled as he took Carina's arm and guided her toward the back. "Try to be serious for just a few minutes and then we'll get out of here, okay?"

She nodded, drew a deep breath and dabbed at her eyes. She had been laughing so hard she had cried. Or was the laughter just a cover for tears? She settled her features and gave Donovan a strange, serious look that answered his unspoken question. Then she lifted her chin and went into the back room to finish her business with Margaret.

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