“Gracie,” he called.
She turned. “Didn’t you hear me when I said no?”
But it was just a paper he was holding out, one of the photographs she had missed on the ground. “You dropped this. Pretty girl,” he commented at the photo.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me,” Grace said, softening. She took the photo and tucked it away.
“It was,” he agreed, and they both chuckled. “You really don’t have time for coffee?” he asked, his expression pleading.
She could use a cup of coffee, Grace realized. And Mark had been nothing but kind. But seeing the consul had made her late. She considered how mad Frankie would be, then decided she could stretch it just once more. “I’ve got fifteen minutes,” she said.
Mark smiled broadly. “I’ll take what I can get.”
She followed him to the Woolworths on the next block. They found two spots at the end of the Formica counter. “There, we don’t even have to sit in a proper booth,” he chided. Ignoring him, she climbed onto one of the stools. On the wall behind the counter, bright posters exhorted them to try Coca-Cola and Chesterfield cigarettes.
“Two coffees, please,” Mark said to the waitress. He turned to Grace. “Something to eat?” She shook her head. Though she could have used breakfast, she didn’t want to stay that long. “How long have you been in New York?” he asked, when the steaming mugs had been set on the counter in front of them.
“Almost a year.” She could feel the anniversary coming around, the sameness of the weather as it had been that day.
“Since Tom died,” he noted.
She tried to take a sip of coffee, but the too-hot liquid scalded her lips so she set it down once more. “More or less. I was here to meet him for a weekend when I got the news.”
“And you stayed.”
She nodded. “Sort of.” Technically, it wasn’t true; she had gone back to Boston for the funeral, then to her family’s house in Westport. But the overly concerned looks had been stifling and the murmurs of sympathy made her want to scream. She left for Marcia’s place in the Hamptons less than a week later.
“You said you were delayed in New York for work?” she asked, purposefully changing the subject.
“Yes, I’m a lawyer. The hearing that we started was continued so I extended my stay at The James.” She blushed, remembering his well-appointed suite.
“So those photographs,” he continued, before she could ask about the type of law and what it was that he actually did. He nodded toward her bag, where she’d tucked the envelope safely away once more. “Do they have to do with your job?”
Grace hesitated. She dearly wanted to speak with someone about the photos, to have help figuring out what to do. And there was something in Mark’s hazel eyes, the inquisitiveness and concern as he studied her face, that made her feel as though she could trust him. She took a breath. “You heard about the woman who was hit by a car near Grand Central?” she asked in a low voice.
He nodded. “I just read about it in the paper.”
“Well, I saw it.”
“You saw her get hit?”
“Not exactly. But I was there after, with the police and an ambulance.”
“That must have been awful.”
“It was. And there’s more.” Grace found herself telling Mark how she had been detoured through Grand Central and found a suitcase. He rested his elbow on the counter and his chin in his hand, listening intently. “When I was looking inside for some identification, I found these,” she added, trying to make her nosiness sound purposeful. She pulled out the photos and showed him. “I tried to put them back, but the suitcase was gone. Then I found out that it belonged to the woman who was killed. She was English. At first I just wanted to find a way to return the photos to their owner. That’s why I went to the British consulate.”
“But you didn’t leave the photos at the consulate, though. Why not?”
Grace faltered. “I don’t know. I wanted to make sure they were getting into the right hands. I did speak to the consul, though. He didn’t know who the girls were, but he said Eleanor worked for the British government during the war. Something called Special Operations Executive.”
“I’ve heard of it, actually. SOE, I think it’s called.”
“That’s what he said.”
“It was a British agency that sent agents into Europe during the war to do secret missions, sabotage and such. What did Eleanor do for SOE?”
“Something clerical, the consul said. He really didn’t know more about it, except that the agency records were sent to the War Department in Washington after the war. That still doesn’t tell me who the girls were—or get me any closer to returning her photos.”
“So what are you going to do now?” Mark asked.
“I’m not sure,” Grace confessed. “Place an ad in the Times, maybe.” As if she had the money. She had seen Frankie do it when one of his clients was looking for her husband, from whom she’d been separated during the war. “Right now, I need to get to work. I’m so very late. Surely you have things to do as well.”
“I’m expected back in Washington this afternoon,” he admitted, leaving some coins on the counter and following her to the door of the coffee shop. “My case settled.”
“Oh,” she said, with an unexpected feeling of disappointment.
Outside, they both stood for several seconds without speaking, neither of them seeming ready to part. “Say, the consul said there are files at the War Department,” Mark said suddenly. “I might have a contact there. I could do some checking for you, if you’d like.”
“No,” she said abruptly. “I mean, thank you. That’s very kind of you. But this is my problem and I’ve taken enough of your time already.”
“Or,” he continued with a smile, “you could come and do the checking yourself.”
“Me?” Grace stared at him, surprised. New York alone after losing Tom had been an adventure. But going all the way to Washington sounded preposterous. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Why not?” he challenged. “You’ve hit a dead end with the consulate. There’s nothing more to be learned here. Otherwise, you’re stuck with the photos. Why not take a chance and see what we can learn?”
We. Grace squirmed. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Maybe I’m curious, too. Or maybe I’m just not ready to say goodbye to you,” he blurted. Grace was surprised. She had liked Mark enough the few times she’d met him previously, mostly because Tom liked him and that was enough for her. That, along with her loneliness and a healthy amount of liquor was what had driven her to sleep with him the other night. But now he was suggesting that for him it had been something more than she had intended.