He waited until she was asleep again before going down to the lobby. Apart from the night porters there was no one about. He placed the telephone call to Southerland from the desk, visualized him half asleep on a cot in his office, surrounded by empty coffee cups and scraps of paper relating to Zelle.

"It's me."

"Yes, where are you?"

"Where do you think?"

He imagined Southerland sitting up now, a thin figure in underwear with sleepless bruises under his eyes.

"How did it go?"

Gray hesitated a moment. "Fine."

"No unforeseen difficulties?"

"Everything went fine."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me now?"

"No."

"Did she discuss her plans for Spain?"

"She intends to go, if that's what you mean."

"And you will be accompanying her?"

Gray hesitated again, and imagined Southerland groping for a light switch with the telephone still pressed to his ear. "Yes. "I'll be going with her."

"Then listen to me, Nicky. We need to see her in Madrid. Do you understand? If she's going to be any use to us at all it's going to be in Madrid. After all, that's where the Germans are so active."

"Yes, I understand. Madrid."

He had to keep reminding himself ... if not him it would be someone else. And of course, it did give him a chance to be next to her.

She was still asleep when he returned to her room: her hair like a shadow on the pillow, one hand dangling off the edge of the mattress. The perspective seemed obvious, but after hours of working with charcoal and a pencil he still couldn't duplicate the perfection.

Damn her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

IT was the winter of 1916. They boarded the Araguya on the first of December, sailing from Liverpool to the coast of Spain. The ship was old, soon to be refitted strictly for cargo. The cabins, however, were reasonably clean, and the porters seemed attentive.

On departure, she and Gray remained below drinking whisky at a zinc bar. Once past the harbor they moved out on deck, where it was cold but deserted.

"We have to put the past behind us now," she told him. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He had been trying to light a cigarette, but the wind kept snuffing out the matches. "I think so."

"We're not the same people we were yesterday, and we'll probably be different again tomorrow. We've only just met, and everyone we once knew has been killed in the war."

As she spoke, she had been prying a ring off her finger, slowly working it past the joint. Finally free of the thing, she pressed it into Gray's palm. "There. Throw it into the water."

He turned it over in his hand. It was a simple gold band with a large diamond. "What is this, Margaretha?"

"A gift from that boy. Now throw it overboard."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But it's got to be worth at least—"

"Do it."