Mrs. John Doe

Chapter 28

By the time her food arrived, Nora had it all figured out. No more secret messages with encrypted instructions; she was about to take the initiative. She would play an active role in locating Jeff.

She didn’t call Bill Howard or Craig with her plan. They’d only try to stop her, tell her not to interfere in official business. Well, she’d seen just how effective their official business was: two French intelligence agents, one dead and one wounded, and one missing CIA operative, namely her husband. Now Craig had been spotted and shaken off by the man he was tailing. These official people weren’t exactly batting a thousand, so it was her turn.

As she worked on the heaping plate of Mrs. Tindall’s fried eggs, sausage, potatoes, tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast, she thought that perhaps she should have kept Jacques Lanier’s gun instead of handing it over to Craig. Not that she could ever bring herself to actually fire the damned thing, but it might have come in handy today. A prop, if nothing else. It certainly looked scary, and that would have given her courage, reassured her. Oh well, she didn’t have the gun, and it was no use wishing she did. She’d proceed without it.

Phyllis Tindall-Lonny’s aunt, married to his uncle Bruce-was serving Mme. Williams in the rather crowded dining room this morning. Nora had met Phyllis on her last London visit, but the woman clearly didn’t know her now. Nora made it a game, an acting exercise, asking for more crème and complimenting the petit déjeuner in her best French accent, giving Phyllis several reasons to look directly at her, but there was no flicker of recognition. Good. If she could fool someone who actually knew her, she shouldn’t have trouble with people who didn’t.

That was the idea, anyway…

The flowers had been a calculated risk on her part. She’d reasoned that the people looking for her wouldn’t bring a bomb or poison into a busy London hotel; they simply wanted her, or barring that, they wanted access to her room to see if the manila envelope was there. And perishable flowers made it reasonable for them to ask the hotel to inform them when she returned. Brilliant. But she’d had Lonny toss the things, vase and all, outside the building, just to be safe.

She nearly smiled, wondering what Lonny Tindall was making of all this. She and Jeff had known him for most of his life, and he was a very bright young man. She knew he’d long ago intuited that her husband’s “electronics business” was really a cover for something else. But now he thought her husband was dead, and suddenly she was getting him to spirit her to Paris on the sly, ignore her elaborate old-lady disguise, change her room, and help her spy on the florist who wasn’t a florist. Poor Lonny must be full of questions, but he was blithely playing along with her charade as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

She thought of Dana and of her students at Stony Brook, and she remembered herself and her friends in college. Lonny’s behavior was indicative of his age, when the appearance of being cool was much more important than anything else, even satisfying one’s curiosity. It was a good thing too-she wouldn’t know where to begin trying to explain all this to him. She didn’t really understand it herself.

With a little luck and some acting skills, that was about to change. So, on with the show, as Ethel Merman reminded her every time her phone rang. She signed for the breakfast, picked up her bag, and went out to the front desk, where her eager accomplice was checking in a quiet young couple who seemed to be Scandinavian. Nora waited until they’d been taken off to their room, then handed Lonny the little bundle of jewelry and the iPhone from her bag. She debated a moment before deciding to keep her wedding ring; she couldn’t bear the thought of taking it off again. Besides, she was Mme. Williams now.

“Why are you here this morning, Lonny,” she asked him as he came back from the safe. “You were on late last night, and I thought-”

He grinned and winked. “I figured you might need my help with something, so I took Uncle Bruce’s shift today. I haven’t told anyone about your, um, business, even the family.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling a warm rush of gratitude. She wondered how she could ever repay him for all this. “And I do need you now. Where’s the card the man gave you, from Sunshine Flowers?”

He held it up. “Right here-and you can still smell the ink on it!”

That didn’t surprise her; the Pakistani, or whatever he was, had probably thought up the florist ruse this morning and hastily invented false credentials. She explained the plan, then watched as Lonny made the call from his desk phone.

“Hello, Sunshine Flowers?” he said. “I’m calling from the Byron Hotel. You asked me to let you know when Mrs. Baron returned…Yes, that’s right, just a while ago. She loved the flowers and…What’s that?…Oh no, she went out again…Well, I really couldn’t say when she’ll be back. She’s meeting a friend at eleven o’clock…Yes, she called her friend from my phone right here…Where? Um, she said the café in Russell Square Gardens, but…Oh, okay, bye.” He hung up, grinning at Nora. “He says he forgot to include the enclosure card with the flowers, and he’s just frantic about it, so he’ll try to deliver it to you at the café.” Now his grin disappeared. “Mrs. B., is everything all right? I mean, I can get Uncle Bruce to cover the desk, and I can go with you if…”

So, the mask of cool acceptance was slipping. Nora wasn’t surprised, and she was ready for it. She leaned forward and whispered, “Actually, it’s all to do with my husband’s work. He had some-how should I put this?-some unfinished business, and I’m taking care of it for him. But I must do it alone. I can’t really tell you more than that, Lonny, but you’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”

Lonny Tindall grinned again, nodding. Nora could see his obvious conclusion in his eyes: Jeffrey Baron/Jason Bourne. Fine. Whatever. At least he wouldn’t ask any more questions. Besides, Lonny didn’t really know who her husband was. Even the morgue had listed him as John Doe.

It was now 10:30, and Mrs. John Doe-or, rather, Mme. Blanche Williams-had to get to her next appointment. She was heading for the main entrance when Lonny called her back over. He was holding up the hotel phone. “For you. It’s Mrs. Howard. What should I tell her?”

Nora blinked. Vivian-she’d forgotten all about her. She took the receiver from him. “Hello, Viv.”

“There you are, darling! I’ve been trying to reach you, but your phone is off. Is it broken or something? Anyway, I just thought I’d leave a message with the hotel, and here you are! So, you didn’t go home after all?”

“No, Viv, I-”

“Never mind, darling, you can tell me all about it tonight. You are free tonight, aren’t you?”

“Well, I-”

“Oh, darling, you’re coming to the house, and that’s final. Bill just called me. He wants to talk to you about something, and he says this is the best place for him to meet you this evening. And do be prompt, won’t you? If I’m alone here with Bill, we’ll only start fighting again, and that’s such a bore!”

Nora laughed. “Of course I’ll come. Thank you.”

“Splendid! Seven o’clock. Claudia is making her famous spaghetti for dinner, so bring your appetite. I can’t wait to see you again. Oh goodness, I’m late for the salon! Ciao, darling!”

Nora handed the receiver back to Lonny and left the hotel. As she came out into the late morning sunlight, she removed the shawl from her shoulders and stuffed it into her shoulder bag, then unbuttoned her cloth coat. Otherwise, she’d be sweltering. There was only so far she could carry the elderly lady act. She did remember to stoop forward slightly and to move slowly, with careful steps. She walked down to the corner across from the British Museum and turned left, toward the park, retracing her journey of three days ago.

Three days? It seemed like weeks. But no. She’d only been in Europe for three days. Hard to believe…

She smiled, thinking of Vivian Howard. Viv was always so boisterous, so full of joie de vivre. Where on earth did she get all that energy? Then she thought, Seven o’clock. That’ll be fine, unless-

Unless I’m still busy at seven o’clock. What then?

She couldn’t think that far ahead. One thing at a time. Now she would get to the park and see what she would see. After that, she’d play it by ear. Improvise. She was an actor, after all; improvisation was her stock-in-trade.

And she had the perfect disguise for it. She glanced at the other pedestrians as they passed her, noting what she’d always noticed about people’s reactions to the elderly. Nobody looked at her; they simply walked right by her, as though she wasn’t there at all. Normally this would upset her, make her sad, but now it was a blessing.

She needed to be invisible today.