Page 92 of His Wife, the Spy
“I believe I will.” Annabel stopped short of thanking her for the invitation. This was stillherhome. Instead, she washed her hands in the nearby basin and used a cloth to clean her nails.
She joined Claudette at the table. “How do you prefer it?”
“Two creams and three sugars.” Claudette grinned. “Jasper teases that I like it so my spoon stands up on its own.”
“That sounds like something he would say.” Annabel handed the cup to her guest without tipping it into her stupid French lap. “Did you sleep well?”
“Eventually.” Claudette sipped her coffee. “I can never sleep aboard ship for fear we will sink, but the exhaustion worsens mycauchemars. Sleep is elusive most days.”
“Why not come over land, then? Surely Lord Warwick—”
“Kit says the sea is safer because there are fewer people and narrowed avenues for attack, but I believe he simply likes it.” She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I tease that he and Gareth would have been happier in the navy, though we likely never would have met.”
“They were stationed in Paris?”
“Oh no. My father represented the French government in Egypt. I met them in Cairo during the Ottoman War.”
“It must have been frightening.” Annabel had been in danger only a handful of times. She couldn’t imagine living in a country where death was a constant threat. No wonder the young lady had nightmares.
“At times.” Claudette gave her a sideways glance. “But it also had its thrilling moments.”
Annabel’s fingers tingled with the memory of firing the pistol and the thrill of watching her prey retreat. Nothing had prepared her for that feeling, or for how alive she’d felt when they were out of danger. “Most things in life have two sides.”
“That is true.” Claudette refilled her coffee. “My friends in Paris are always shocked when I tell them Egypt was the happiest time of my life.”
“Because of Gareth?”
The other woman nodded. “I had traveled Europe with Father for several years, so each post had begun to resemble the others. Gareth had never been farther from Wales than London, so he was eager to see everything as his time allowed. In between, he and Kit told me stories of growing up in Cardiff surrounded by his father’s horses and the fun they’d had with Jasper.” She was quiet for several moments, lost in her memories. “En chemin, je suis tombé amoureux.”
Love did happen when it was least expected, for better or worse. “You married after the war?”
“No, during. My father was…livide, but he eventually gave us his blessing. I believe he didn’t want any harshness between us when I followed the regiment to stay near Gareth.”
“You followed him onto the battlefield?”
“As close as I could be. He insisted I stay at the rear, but I wanted to do my part. I volunteered in the hospital, helping with surgeries and praying I would never see Gareth—or Kit—on the surgeon’s table.”
Jasper had said Gareth survived the war. Despite her better judgment, Annabel wanted to know how Claudette had gone from happy bride to widowed mistress. “You came back to Wales after the war ended?”
“We settled in Paris. Gareth’s family was not happy with him for marrying a French girl.” She stared at her folded hands. “For five years, they returned every letter he wrote to them. And so he decided to go to Cardiff and confront them. He never returned.”
Annabel put herself in Claudette’s place. What would she have done if Jasper left and never returned? What if he’d beenattacked while he was alone and bled to death in the street? “You came looking for him.”
Claudette nodded. “Kit met me on the docks in his very solemn way and brought me here to meet Jasper.” A small, quick smile flitted across her face. “He is so like Gareth. He thinks more than he says, and his body races to keep up with his mind.”
A knife pierced Annabel’s heart. That was one characteristic she loved as well. She’d couldn’t bear this story any longer. “I should return to my weeding.”
“You are worried for Jasper? Is he worse again?”
Again?
The word, combined with the concern in Claudette’s eyes, pricked Annabel’s conscience. “He is too stubborn to get worse. He’s likely prowling his room like a tiger in a cage.”
“He does that when he thinks,” Claudette said. “And the faster his feet, the faster his thoughts.Cela me donne le vertige.” She fastened her gaze on Annabel. “We all have our ways. I bake. You garden.”
And yet nothing was solved. Everything was still as confusing, as dizzying, as watching Jasper wear a path in the rug. “Mrs. Hughes, what is your relationship with my husband?”
Claudette inhaled deeply, held the breath for a moment, and then released it. “I am grateful that you asked.” She frowned. “That is the wrong word.Reconnaissante. Do you understand that word?”
