Page 72 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)
“She used to leave notes in my coat pocket. Sent postcards from Lyon when she was visiting her sister in the summers. And she smelled like gardenias. Every once in a while I catch the scent in an unexpected place and suddenly she’s there again.
She was quiet, and kind. Maybe I remember her as perfect without any flaws, but that’s what fills my mind today. ”
“You never fell in love again?” I ask, wondering if I’m speaking out of turn.
“Sometimes one person is enough for a lifetime.”
I mask a frown with a nod, but I can’t help but wonder how things would be today if I hadn’t lost William. What if he was my one person?
“I was actually hoping things might work out with William,” he says, as if he’s reading my mind. “I liked him. He seemed like a nice young man. I was sorry to hear he moved away.”
“Me too.”
Mr. Basile had met William a couple of times.
I’d always insisted William was just a friend.
Nothing more. Something that for a long time was true.
But now that he was missing, I couldn’t exactly tell my neighbor that the man I had fallen in love with was a fellow CIA officer who’d vanished and I didn’t know if he was dead or alive.
Letting Mr. Basile assume he’d moved away seemed simpler.
“I was thinking of someone you might want to meet,” he says as we approach our apartment building. “My grandson is coming into town next weekend. I could make introductions.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m honestly not looking for a relationship right now.”
And maybe I never will again. I honestly don’t know.
“You young people don’t know what it’s like to slow down and enjoy life.
Take a chance and do something spontaneous.
When I was your age, I would never have thought about rushing into the city every morning and then rushing home just to go to sleep and then start all over again the next day. It’s a never ending, exhausting cycle.”
“Not when you enjoy what you do,” I say, trying to defend myself.
“When do you rest? When do you take time to sit in the sunshine and chat with friends?”
I can’t help but respond to his concerns by justifying what I do. “Last weekend I went to the Marché Bastille with a friend. And this weekend I’ll probably meet with coworkers over coffee.”
“ Désolé ,” he says, shaking his head as he apologizes. “You don’t need to listen to this old man. It’s none of my business. I’m just feeling a bit sentimental today, I suppose. Missing another time. Missing my Elise. I don’t want you to be lonely like I am at times.”
I squeeze his arm.
He doesn’t know the truth about William.
Doesn’t know that I really work for the government in intelligence, running assets and going through intel.
But he’s right about one thing. There are days when I realize that the double life I’ve chosen will always be a lonely one.
Most days I’m okay with that, but finding someone else to fill the emptiness isn’t easy.
Maybe it’s not even an option. At the very least, I’ll first have to get over the grief of losing William.
“You lost someone too, didn’t you?” he asks, catching me by surprise.
“Why do you say that?” I ask as we start up the stairs to the front door of our apartment building, worried he can somehow read my mind.
The Haussmann I live in is typical of many Parisians homes. Six stories tall with a stone facade exterior and wrought iron balconies—everything that gives it that recognizable classic Parisian charm.
“I know, I shouldn’t press,” he says as we step into the elevator. “You hide it well, but every once in a while I catch a hint of sadness in your eyes. A sadness that mirrors my own.”
I shake my head, refusing to expose the emotion. “I think most people have lost someone.”
We step out of the elevator a moment later and stop in front of his apartment.
“Will you be okay?” I ask.
“Of course.” He holds up the flowers. “My son always tells me I should have found love again instead of wasting all these years, but I know for me there will only—always—be my Elise.”
“That might be true, but if you need company, you can always call me. You have my number.”
“ Absolument .”
I reach up and kiss him on the cheek, then head to my apartment. I’m two floors up, and as usual, I take the stairs.
I set the tulip he gave me on the kitchen counter and then look around the space.
My apartment is nothing more than a one-bedroom and bath that came furnished in a neighborhood where many expats live.
I’ve added a few items, mainly from local flea markets, like several watercolors, a couple of plants and some colorful throw pillows for the couch.
Mr. Basile was right about one thing. My life doesn’t leave room for much of a social life.
William and I discussed how we saw our future together.
We imagined we’d stay working for the government another few years, then eventually go into private security.
Or maybe we’d simply leave the spy world behind.
But I’ve never been able to see myself not working or traveling.
It’s simply who I am. Who William and I were together.
And while loneliness might be a part of the life I’ve chosen, and I have no regrets.
What I do regret is not knowing what happened to William.
Not knowing if I’ll ever find closure. Not knowing if I’ll ever feel totally safe again.
I open the curtain and look down on the street.
A man in a suit is walking in front of the building.
He looks up, and for a brief moment, I’m convinced he’s looking straight at me.
I pull back, knowing I’m overreacting. There’s been no evidence that anyone is searching for me. There’s nothing for me to worry about.
My second phone—a burner I use only for assets—buzzes, and I glance at the text message coming through in French.
It’s Mariam. Please. I must see you.