Cherry adjusted her skirt and tucked the front of her blouse into it.
It had to look the perfect amount of haphazard, as though she'd been in a rush, but not as though she was trying too hard to look the part. Her feet were already starting to bother her; she lifted each out of its glossy black pump to tug at the material of her stockings. Highly impractical shoes. It was going to be a long evening.
She stood in front of the floor length mirror in the ladies bathroom, turning left and then right. She looked okay, she thought. The entire look was a bit more fitted than she was used to, the skirt ending a little higher on her thigh than would normally be appropriate for a professional. She knew that tonight, the other women from the embassy would select more modest hems, and it would make her stand out in just the way she needed to.
More lipstick, eyeliner, a touch of mascara. She scooped her hair back into a low bun and pinned it in place. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Tonight's project was one she'd been working on for some time now. A month, to be exact.
Step one was to infiltrate the British embassy. As a woman, it had been almost too easy to establish a cover identity. No one batted an eye at the new secretary to the ambassador, a bright-eyed young thing, Cherry St. Clair. New to the city. A little overeager, but who could fault a hard worker?
Cherry wasn't her real name, of course. She had to admit it made her sound like a hooker, but when she'd said exactly that to her case manager, he'd merely allowed her a small twitch of his lip before disregarding her opinion. So Cherry it was.
Just yesterday, the ambassador had told her she made a decent secretary, if she would only learn to smile a little more. At that, she'd given him a saccharine, glassy-eyed smile and Mr. Lynn had appraised it with 'Very good, then,' before returning to his work.
She prepared that same look now as she stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bustling office space.
Her trainer in the CIA had once told her that her eyes betrayed her intelligence. They were dark, piercing eyes in an otherwise sweet face. But it was a thing that could be learned like any other. Many hours in front of a mirror had mastered the distant, doe-eyed expression that was expected of her.
Sometimes she thought that Mr. Lynn appreciated that expression a little too much. He was an open book, a simple enough man who was a little too pleased to have an attractive young woman in his office. All it had taken was a few weeks of batting her eyelashes at him, and he'd spilled almost everything she needed to know. What remained to parse out was precisely the purpose of tonight's plan.
"Miss St. Clair!" Mr. Lynn called out when he saw her, "My briefcase, please. And my overcoat."
"Of course, sir," she said, her voice light and cheerful. She fetched the requested items from the closet, careful to bend at the hips instead of the knees. "And here you are," she said, handing him the coat and the case.
He smiled at her. When he smiled, he was a handsome enough man. His face was slightly rounded, his eyes a cheery blue beneath ruffled salt and pepper hair. He dressed well, and spoke with a certain authority, which made up for the slight paunch around his midsection. To tell the truth, Cherry wouldn't have minded a bit of a fling with the man, if it were required.
"That's a lovely outfit," Mr. Lynn said, appraising her. She curtsied, then stood and smiled as he continued. "I would hate for it to be soiled in the rain. Ride with me, won't you? I'm having the company car brought around."
"Thank you, sir," she replied, "That's very kind."
"Well, this is an important dinner," he said, rather impressively, "Several very important people will be there. From the House of Lords, the Russian consul..."
"They could not have picked a better person for the task than yourself," she commented.
He looked momentarily quite pleased with himself. "Yes, quite. Quite..."
"I imagine there will be much to keep track of tonight with many moving parts. It amazes me to no end to see you work with such important people."
"It's simply a matter of knowing how the world works," he replied.
"And how is that?" she asked, feigning a rapt interest.
"Oh, it's all about making the right connections. People like to feel like they are being listened to, that their concerns are valid. And most of them have no idea what is truly best for them, anyway. It's a simple matter of helping them along to the solution that is most beneficial for your side. They'll be grateful, even if they don't quite realize why. A lot of ego involved, and that's something else. It's not about who is right, but about who is more persistent."
It sounded quite familiar, actually. A lot of the work Cherry had done had involved exactly this sort of persistence. Plant the seeds, let them grow.
"So it's about manipulation," Cherry said.
Mr. Lynn smiled. "You are a quick study. You've been listening."
"I always listen," she replied.
"Yes," Mr. Lynn said, "It's good to see a woman who knows how to listen. Too many women have forgotten the skill."
She nodded, then looked down, her eyes demure. She was aware that her breasts were practically spilling out of the blouse, which may have ruined the expression somewhat.
"I think I shall keep you around, Miss St. Clair," he said, as he stood.
She smiled at him.
The embassy company car was sleek and black. The driver, a dour-looking man with a thin moustache, opened the door for Mr. Lynn, then for her. She sat on the plush leather seat, crossing her legs and adjusting her skirt so that it rode up. When she caught the ambassador staring at her, she blushed and shifted her legs.
The ambassador was an easy man to manage. The things she needed to know seemed to practically fall out of his mouth. She knew enough to guess the general outline of tonight's plan. Beneath the facade of a diplomatic dinner was an arms deal of some sort. She knew that the British and the Russians were working together, and that Mr. Lynn would have his hands full trying to keep them all on track.
What she did not know was who would be there, or the details of the deal. She had been given only enough information from the agency to recognize key words, which she would need when she searched the hotel room of the Russian consul.
The car rolled through the city. They had left the embassy compound, merging into the evening traffic of people headed home from work. The city was just beginning to light up for the night, the buildings glittering, their lights reflected in the rain.
Cherry could sense Mr. Lynn's nervousness. He fidgeted with the papers in his briefcase. He adjusted his cufflinks, his tie, his shirt collar. He was not looking at her, but instead out the window, at the rain.
"You seem distracted," Cherry commented.
He jumped, then smiled and waved a hand in the air, as though shooing away the thought.
"Not at all," he said.
She raised her eyebrows. "Anything I can help with?"
He gave her a look. Then he looked back out the window, drumming his fingers on his thigh.
"I suppose the situation is delicate, Miss St. Clair. This evening must be handled just right."
"How so?"
"The Russians have something we need. We have something they need. It's a delicate negotiation, you see. Both parties must be happy. If one side feels like they have given more than the other, the entire thing falls apart."
She didn't press him. She already had a pretty good idea of what tonight's dinner entailed for him, or at least the significance of it. Instead, she let him stew in his own anxiety, while she looked out the window. Rain was streaming down now and it was hard to make out much outside the car.
She stared into the blurring drops as they raced down the window, her mind surprisingly quiet, for the five minutes left in their drive.
The driver left them at the doors of the hotel, protected from the rain by a tasteful overhang. The brightly lit interior of the hotel's restaurant, The Gilt, was visible through the frosted windows. Cherry shivered, eager for the warmth inside. Mr. Lynn offered his arm and she allowed it, giving him a small smile as he tucked her hand against his body.
"It's a lovely place," she commented as they stepped inside.
It really was. The front doors of the hotel gave way to a large atrium, bisected by a marble staircase curving up to a mezzanine. Soft golden light from three separate chandeliers cast the room in a warm glow. How many chandeliers was too many, really?
As the doors shut behind them, Cherry was hit with the scent of rich leather and faint cologne, not unpleasant. Behind the front desk was a low wall separating the lobby from the restaurant, and she could hear the soft hum of background chatter and the clink of glasses from beyond it.
"The owner is a personal friend of mine," Mr. Lynn said, letting go of Cherry's arm, "He's an interesting fellow. French. Hasn't got a lick of English. But a very fine businessman. And an even better host."
"How wonderful," she commented, still taking in the room as they walked towards the restaurant.
The maitre d' appeared before them. "Mr. Lynn," he said, bowing his head, "Right this way, please."
Cherry raised her eyebrows slightly. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that they recognized Mr. Lynn, but sometimes seeing him bumble around at the embassy made her forget that he was a rather important man.
She allowed herself to be led along, following Lynn as the maitre d' escorted them through the dining room. The smell of delicious food, of roasted meat and rich sauces, made her stomach growl. At the very back of the restaurant was a set of doors opening to a private dining room. The maitre d' held the door open for them, and Cherry stepped inside.
Before all else, she assessed her exits. She didn't expect to make a dramatic exit tonight, but old habits died hard. Two other doors, one on either side, were closed. The main entrance was behind her, and two large, rectangular tables were situated in the middle of the room, blocking any easy aisles.
White tile floors gleamed in the glow of yet another chandelier, and the walls were covered in dark wood panels outlined in gold. The tables were covered with white linen tablecloths, and each place setting had been set with crystal and gold-rimmed plates.
As they walked towards one of the tables, Cherry spotted several faces she recognized from various diplomatic functions. Lynn hadn't lied - some very important people were here tonight. She made mental notes of who was seated where.
There were three empty seats at the end of one of the tables, two on one side and one on the other. Mr. Lynn led them over to it, stopping briefly to greet several political figures with a brief handshake as he went. Beside the empty seat, a man stood to meet them. Cherry recognized the Russian ambassador at once. She smiled at him.
"Evan, my good man," he said in a jovial voice, speaking accented English, "It's nice to see you."
"You've met, of course," Mr. Lynn said, motioning between them, "Mr. Vachenko. This is Miss Cherry St. Clair, my secretary."
"A pleasure, as always," said Mr. Vachenko, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. She was happy to see him here, and not only because she was planning to sneak into his room as soon as she could slip away. He was a short stout man with a balding head, and an altogether charming temperament.
"Likewise," she replied.
