Page 3 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)

R at tried to contain his frustration. This was the third time he’d sat in Café Suisse in as many days.

As he’d done previously, he displayed a copy of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina prominently on the table.

He was sipping yet another overly creamy Koffie verkeerd, a milky Dutch coffee, while picking at an apple strudel.

Given that the pastry, as well as the coffee, was part of the agreed-upon signal with the man he was meant to meet, Rat was careful not to do more than occasionally nibble at it.

Two days prior, he occupied this table for two hours. Yesterday, he’d been there for nearly as long. It was only when he began receiving dirty looks from the waitress that he packed up his book and left.

The message had been clear about the date and time: two o’clock. When the man hadn’t turned up, Rat assumed there was some problem and returned the following day. After another wait, Rat resolved to be in the cafe every day at two until contact was made.

Alessandro offered to accompany him that first day, but Rat declined. This was his mission to accomplish. As much as he admired and respected Alessandro, Rat thought he still had something to prove, particularly to himself.

While he could accept credit for uncovering Alister Blackadder’s duplicity and his involvement in Brett Rothnie’s disappearance, and likely Timothy Shandling’s death, Rat couldn’t forget that he had allowed himself to be kidnapped by Blackadder.

Even worse, it took Melody, with Captain Somerset’s assistance, to rescue him.

That what Rat had uncovered was a plan by the British Foreign Office, or at least some elements within it, to influence world events, suggested that its revelation might not reflect well on Rat’s abilities as an operative.

Given the fiasco the missions in Venice and then Morocco had devolved into, Rat believed that, more than ever, Amsterdam might be his last opportunity to prove he was a capable field agent, or risk being sent back to his desk in Whitehall in disgrace.

He had penned a lengthy letter to Lord Langley, expressing his concerns, and received an equally lengthy reply, assuring Rat he bore him no blame for what transpired in Morocco. Yet, Rat couldn’t ignore the fact that Langley hadn’t said that no one blamed him.

On its face, this mission was quite clear-cut: Britain had received intelligence that a German-backed network was attempting to interfere with the Netherlands’ stated neutrality in the event of a continental war and to, at the very least, make the country dependent on and more aligned with Germany’s interests.

Given that the two countries shared a border and that at least some elements of Dutch society might be considered more culturally aligned with conservative Germany than with liberal Britain, there was a genuine concern that if the Dutch were dissuaded from neutrality, then there would be little question where their allegiances would lie.

There had already been what Britain believed were false flag disruptions to Dutch shipping and other events. These had been blamed on anarchists and Jewish Zionists. Yet, the Foreign Office was certain they originated in Germany.

Britain was viewed as being tolerant of both anarchists and Jews, which included providing safe haven for refugees from other European countries fleeing what they saw as political persecution for such beliefs.

It would be quite easy to point the finger of blame.

Even if a link couldn’t be proven to British-based groups, it could be enough to imply that British influence invited instability and thus to rile up Dutch public opinion, causing them to look to their nearest neighbour for protection.

With Alessandro’s assistance, Rat was to do everything possible to preserve Dutch neutrality and ensure the ongoing protection of British shipping and trade routes.

This might involve uncovering, disrupting, and securing evidence of German covert operations.

It would certainly entail doing whatever he could to prevent Germany from framing anarchists, Jews, or Zionists in ways that would justify severe crackdowns and sway Dutch opinion.

As he took a tiny bite of his strudel, Rat considered the task ahead of him.

While he wasn’t the only operative in the Netherlands with this mission – he knew for a fact that someone was stationed in Rotterdam and another in the town of Arnhem, which was on the German border – Rat felt the enormous weight of it all.

Despite their efforts, Germany’s sending of the gunboat to Agadir heightened tensions in Europe.

The very last thing Britain wanted now was to jeopardise Dutch neutrality.

This was an opportunity to redeem himself.

Of course, it was also an opportunity to add the final nail to the coffin of his career.

Finally, Rat could no longer ignore the dirty looks being sent his way by the waiter. The cafe was filling up, and there was only so long he could sit at a table with a partially eaten strudel and a cold cup of coffee. Rat admitted that his contact wasn’t coming, scooped up his book, and left.

By the time he returned to the hotel, Rat was in a foul mood that was only worsened by the weather.

Initially, he considered going to Alessandro’s townhouse, but quickly dismissed the idea.

What was the point? Alessandro couldn’t magically conjure the informant.

Moreover, Rat had little desire to run into Fatima or confront the undeniable truth that she and Alessandro were sharing the house.

When they first arrived in Amsterdam, Alessandro nonchalantly mentioned to Rat that he and Fatima would be staying together.

His sole explanation was the greater simplicity of the arrangement compared to splitting their group across three different locations.

Under normal circumstances, Rat would have agreed.

However, he couldn’t shake off the insidious grip of jealousy.

He had always suspected that Alessandro and Fatima shared a romantic past, and their cohabitation implied that it might also be a present.

Thoughts of Alessandro and Fatima so consumed Rat that he hardly knew how he got back to the hotel. He walked into the lobby, paying no attention to where he was going .

“Excuse me!” a voice exclaimed.

Shaking himself free from his preoccupied state, he realised he’d collided with a young woman. Not only had he collided with her, but he’d also knocked a pile of books from her arms.

“I am so sorry. I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going,” Rat apologised.

“No! You were not,” the young woman replied irritably. She was already stooping to retrieve her books.

“Please, let me carry them for you. It’s the very least I can do,” Rat stammered as she collected them.

“Well, that’s true enough. But you don’t know where I’m going with them. If I’m about to walk across Amsterdam, are you going to accompany me?” While this was said tartly, Rat sensed an underlying teasing tone.

For the first time, he took notice of the woman he’d jostled.

She was perhaps Melody’s age and very pretty.

Unlike Melody, who was almost as tall as Rat, given his short height of five feet seven, this young woman was petite in stature.

She had red-gold hair, with a few ringlets framing her face, and deep brown eyes.

Rat’s first thought was that it was unusual to see someone so fair with such dark eyes.

His second thought was how soulful yet intelligent those eyes appeared.

“Are you about to walk across Amsterdam?” he asked.

“No. In fact, I have just come from the Anglo-Continental Lending Library and am taking these books up to my room.” Then, in an unmistakably teasing tone, she asked, “Do you not think it would be quite scandalous for a young man I have just met, and whose name I have not been given, to come up to my room?”

Rat blushed and stammered, “I didn’t mean… Of course I wouldn’t... Please excuse me.” He lifted his hat off his head as if this were some kind of gentlemanly apologetic act, then promptly dropped it onto the marble floor.

“Perhaps a better answer would be to introduce yourself so that we might at least deal pre-emptively with one aspect of the likely scandal”

After picking up his hat and then fidgeting with it nervously, Rat extended a hand and said, “I am Matthew Sandworth, of Mayfair, London. ”

The young woman’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Mayfair? That is a very nice address, Mr Sandworth. And what are you doing in Amsterdam? Your grand tour?”

Rat was very conscious of being judged both as an interloper in the upper classes and as a man of means who didn’t need to work for a living. Although he couldn’t admit what his actual employment was, he’d honed his answer ever since Venice.

Now, he gave the explanation he was most comfortable with, both for its proximity to the truth and its modesty. “I am accompanying my sister, Melody, on her tour of Europe, while also doing some research for my guardian and mentor who is a member of the House of Lords.”

Rat was uncomfortable disclosing that his guardian was a peer of the realm, but as it was indeed the truth, he was compelled to acknowledge it.

“Well, it is nice to meet you, Mr Matthew Sandworth of Mayfair. I am Jemima Edwards of Hampshire.” She shook his outstretched hand and gave Rat a smile of such sweetness that he almost dropped his hat again.

Jemima continued, “I am a modern young woman and will allow you to escort me to my room while carrying my books. And if the fussy old biddies who sit in the lobby ready to judge anyone who passes by see fit to gossip about me, I shall rise above it.”

Were there old biddies sitting in the lobby? Rat hadn’t noticed. Now he glanced around him, only to find Jemima laughing at him.