my life—until last summer.
She shook her head.
Well, dinner together will be the start to finding out.
Chapter Five
David had picked up ingredients for dinner. “Poor Man’s Stroganoff, I’m afraid,” he said in the kitchen in his flat.
“I’m impressed you’re cooking at all,” Maggie replied. “Sounds delicious, especially after what passed for food at Camp Spook. What can I do to help?”
“Set the table, if you don’t mind. You remember where everything is, yes? This shouldn’t take too long.”
David puttered in the kitchen, opening a tin of tomatoes and adding them to the small amount of ground beef he was frying. “Mmmmm …” he said, taking a deep appreciative sniff as the tomatoes sizzled in the hot frying pan.
Maggie, taking out silverware and napkins from the drawers, looked him over. David was a young man, slim and handsome, with fair hair and round, silver-rimmed glasses. It hadn’t been that long since she’d last seen him, but he’d seemed to have filled out and become less boyish, more mature.
“There are candles too, and a bottle of decent Bordeaux in one of the cupboards if you can find it,” he said. “Black-market special.”
As Maggie finished setting the table, David brought in the two plates.
“Smells wonderful,” Maggie said, sitting down and putting a linen napkin in her lap.
“Not bad,” David admitted, pouring the wine and then sitting down.
“Cheers,” she said, and they clinked glasses.
David watched her cut a tomato with her fork in her left hand and knife in her right, then put down the knife at the right-hand edge of the plate and switch the fork from left hand to right. “You still eat like an American,” he said, rolling his eyes in mock horror. “I was hoping maybe they’d drill that out of you at spy camp.”
“I
can
eat the way you do, the British way,” she retorted, “but I choose not to. Why I’d want to hang on to my knife the way you all do is beyond me. You look positively medieval.”
“I think in medieval times they used their hands,” David mused. “And these days it might be smart to hang on to one’s knife. But at any rate, you’re looking good, Magster. Maybe you didn’t love Camp Spook, but the fresh air and sunshine have been good for you. You’re not as pale. Or as skinny.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said dryly. David was like the brother she’d never knew she’d always wanted. “Looks like I’ll be getting more fresh air and sunshine in the future.”
“Really? Where’s Frain sending you?”
“Windsor Castle. I’m going to be tutoring the Princess Elizabeth in maths, of all things.”
“Merciful Minerva, you’re going to be a
governess
? I thought—”
“Me too.” Maggie shrugged. “But apparently there’s chatter about some sort of threat to the Royal Family, including the Princess Elizabeth, who’s next in line to the throne.” She laughed. “Besides, I know I’m a good tutor. After all, I taught those two boys next door maths for more than a year before I came to work at Number Ten.”
“Oh, right,” David said, remembering. “Cheeky boys.”
“Well, they had a lot of energy. Surely the princesses will be more decorous.”
David snorted. “Don’t know about that,” he said, reaching for his wine. “You grew up in America, after all—exactly what do you know about British aristocracy?”
“Not much beyond the historical, I’m afraid,” Maggie said.
“All right, impromptu quiz—what do you say when you meet the King and Queen?”
Maggie gave David a wry look. Frain had forgotten about royal etiquette lessons. “Hello?”
David smacked himself on the head. “Oh, my dear Eliza Doolittle—we have a long night ahead of us.”
After an evening of curtsies, and when to speak, and when to use “Your Majesty,” and when to use “Your Highness,” and how to back out of a room without tripping, Maggie and David collapsed on one of the angular deco sofas in a fit of
She shook her head.
Well, dinner together will be the start to finding out.
Chapter Five
David had picked up ingredients for dinner. “Poor Man’s Stroganoff, I’m afraid,” he said in the kitchen in his flat.
“I’m impressed you’re cooking at all,” Maggie replied. “Sounds delicious, especially after what passed for food at Camp Spook. What can I do to help?”
“Set the table, if you don’t mind. You remember where everything is, yes? This shouldn’t take too long.”
David puttered in the kitchen, opening a tin of tomatoes and adding them to the small amount of ground beef he was frying. “Mmmmm …” he said, taking a deep appreciative sniff as the tomatoes sizzled in the hot frying pan.
Maggie, taking out silverware and napkins from the drawers, looked him over. David was a young man, slim and handsome, with fair hair and round, silver-rimmed glasses. It hadn’t been that long since she’d last seen him, but he’d seemed to have filled out and become less boyish, more mature.
“There are candles too, and a bottle of decent Bordeaux in one of the cupboards if you can find it,” he said. “Black-market special.”
As Maggie finished setting the table, David brought in the two plates.
“Smells wonderful,” Maggie said, sitting down and putting a linen napkin in her lap.
“Not bad,” David admitted, pouring the wine and then sitting down.
“Cheers,” she said, and they clinked glasses.
David watched her cut a tomato with her fork in her left hand and knife in her right, then put down the knife at the right-hand edge of the plate and switch the fork from left hand to right. “You still eat like an American,” he said, rolling his eyes in mock horror. “I was hoping maybe they’d drill that out of you at spy camp.”
“I
can
eat the way you do, the British way,” she retorted, “but I choose not to. Why I’d want to hang on to my knife the way you all do is beyond me. You look positively medieval.”
“I think in medieval times they used their hands,” David mused. “And these days it might be smart to hang on to one’s knife. But at any rate, you’re looking good, Magster. Maybe you didn’t love Camp Spook, but the fresh air and sunshine have been good for you. You’re not as pale. Or as skinny.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said dryly. David was like the brother she’d never knew she’d always wanted. “Looks like I’ll be getting more fresh air and sunshine in the future.”
“Really? Where’s Frain sending you?”
“Windsor Castle. I’m going to be tutoring the Princess Elizabeth in maths, of all things.”
“Merciful Minerva, you’re going to be a
governess
? I thought—”
“Me too.” Maggie shrugged. “But apparently there’s chatter about some sort of threat to the Royal Family, including the Princess Elizabeth, who’s next in line to the throne.” She laughed. “Besides, I know I’m a good tutor. After all, I taught those two boys next door maths for more than a year before I came to work at Number Ten.”
“Oh, right,” David said, remembering. “Cheeky boys.”
“Well, they had a lot of energy. Surely the princesses will be more decorous.”
David snorted. “Don’t know about that,” he said, reaching for his wine. “You grew up in America, after all—exactly what do you know about British aristocracy?”
“Not much beyond the historical, I’m afraid,” Maggie said.
“All right, impromptu quiz—what do you say when you meet the King and Queen?”
Maggie gave David a wry look. Frain had forgotten about royal etiquette lessons. “Hello?”
David smacked himself on the head. “Oh, my dear Eliza Doolittle—we have a long night ahead of us.”
After an evening of curtsies, and when to speak, and when to use “Your Majesty,” and when to use “Your Highness,” and how to back out of a room without tripping, Maggie and David collapsed on one of the angular deco sofas in a fit of
Similar Books
