My heart was pounding; my hands shaking. I hadn’t realized what a shock to the system it was to see Donald and Adrienne together like that, in secret; how devastating it was to have my worst suspicions confirmed. Seeing them there in the street, by his car, moving as if in slow motion, as if in some underwater pantomime; not knowing what was going to happen next (Would they embrace? Kiss? Would she get into the car? Would they drive off together, never to be heard from again?), I felt the aftermath of a traumatic event: fear and shock subsiding into numbness.

I turned to look at Gayle and, despite the incredible tension of the moment, I could have died laughing. She was still in the emergency slump position, not having moved a muscle since I’d yelled at her to get down. Her eyes were big and round; her skin ashen. She wasn’t even blinking.

“God. That was terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. What would we have done if they’d seen us?”

“I don’t know.”

“It was my first time getting away in a getaway car, you know. And hopefully it will be my last.”

I knew it would not be mine, though.

“You know how I can barely read my international espionage books without my hands shaking. The stress is too much for me.”

I did know. Her longtime fascination with the escapades of Kim Philby, the British double agent, was purely an armchair obsession, not something she wanted to experience firsthand. Which made me even more appreciative suddenly of her sticking by me, crouching in fear, just now, in the car. I knew I’d have to find a way to make it up to her when this was all over.

The light changed, and I inched forward, continuing to drive as if on automatic pilot. Before I knew what I had done, I found myself pulling into the back parking garage of Krupin’s deli, just off Wisconsin Avenue.

Gayle rallied, practically hugged me. It was one of her favorite restaurants, and one of Donald’s favorites, too, since it was the closest thing in Washington to a New York diner.

“A good hot meal will do us both good,” she said, as we walked toward the elevator. “I think I’ll get the brisket sandwich. Or the stuffed cabbage. Or maybe a matzo ball soup with the brisket sandwich and a side order of stuffed cabbage. . . .”