“There’s no such thing. The enemy never sleeps. Or so they say.” But her voice had lost its bite.

“That’s just something we put around to keep you on your toes. Your secret’s safe with me. I don’t know Bethe and I can’t stand Little Theater either. I don’t even know your name. You keep not telling it to me, remember?”

“Oh God, he’s going to be nice. Please don’t do that. I particularly wanted not to be nice tonight. Emma Pawlowski.” She noted his surprise. “Nee Harris, as they say in the Tatler.”

“Why particularly tonight?”

“I don’t know. Bad day or something. Let’s just leave it at that. Oh, the hell with it,” she said, picking up the drink and tossing it back.

“Do you really dislike it here so much?”

“Actually, I love it here. The place, I mean. I just hate all the Andy Hardy business,” she said, pointing to the party.

“Why come, then?”

“Daniel wouldn’t miss it. I can’t think why. Maybe he thinks it’s part of the citizenship course. Like the bloody Founding Fathers.”

He smiled at her. “You’re feeling better again.”

“Actually, I feel like hell.” And in fact she looked pale, her skin shining with sweat. “Let me have a cigarette, will you, and I’ll just toddle along home before I say anything indiscreet. We’ll save that for next time.”

“I hope so,” he said, lighting her cigarette.

She coughed a little as she blew the smoke out. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” she said.

“I know.”

“I mean, it’s been swell, but as far as I’m concerned, if we never-” She stopped, looking shaky.

“You all right?”

“Oh God,” she said, stubbing out the cigarette and searching the room for the door. “I hate to drink and run. Do give my apologies to the rest of the guests.” She moved unsteadily away from the table.

“Are you all right?” he said, following her. But now she bolted for the door, and by the time he caught up with her, they were outside and she was doubled over by the side of the building, retching.

“Don’t watch, for God’s sake,” she said sharply, choking. He looked away, up toward the wonderful night sky, not knowing what to do. It seemed wrong to stay and impolite to walk away. He took out a handkerchief as he heard her heave. Finally, when it was quiet again, he turned and held the handkerchief out to her. She took it without looking up.

“God, how embarrassing,” she said, gulping now for air. “I’ve never been sick before. You didn’t have to stay.”

“Sorry,” he said, moving away. “Sure you’re all right now?”

“Of course I’m not all right. Oh,” she said, clutching her stomach.

“It’s the altitude.”

“It’s not the altitude. It’s the bloody drink.” She held up her head and took in a deep breath. “Well, this is awfully intimate, isn’t it?” she said, laughing at herself. “Or is it just part of the security service?”

“Do you want me to find your husband?”

“No, let him dance. Wot larks. I’m perfectly capable of-” She started to move unsteadily, then stopped, swaying. “Christ. Look, as long as you’re here, do you have an arm that goes with that handkerchief? I’m just down that way.”

He took her arm and felt her lean against him as they walked slowly down the dirt road. Her body was warm, and it trembled slightly, either from the chill or from the aftereffects of being sick. She said nothing, as if she had to use all her concentration just to walk, and in the quiet he felt more aware of her than he had before. But why was everything confused up here? As she leaned into him, holding on to his arm, they might have been a couple walking home from a dance, eager to touch each other, slightly tipsy from drink and the promise of sex. But they weren’t that. She was someone else’s wife, and in the morning, with her headache, she wouldn’t even remember who he was.

“This is it. My Sundt palace. Thanks. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.”

She smiled wryly. “I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be even sorrier. Well. You’ve been a gentleman. Now if you’re really a gentleman, you’ll forget all about this. Mum’s the word, just like the loose-lips posters.” She was trying to rally, but her earlier high spirits had wilted with the evening. “Just forget you ever met me.”

“No, I don’t want to do that.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks. Do it, though, will you?”

“Do you have your key?”

“What?” she said, looking puzzled, then remembered the walking-home ritual. “Oh. No, it’s not locked. We never lock doors here.” She gestured around her to the isolated dark, implying the fences, the guards. “It’s the safest place in the world.”

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