Free The Key to Rebecca by Ken Follett

them around a little faster than the average housewife.”
    Vandam burst out laughing. Suddenly he looked a different man. He threw back his head, his arms and legs spread sideways, and all the tension went out of his body. When the laugh subsided he was relaxed, just briefly. They grinned at one another. The moment passed, and he crossed his legs again. There was a silence. Elene felt like a schoolgirl who has been giggling in class.
    Vandam was serious again. “My problem is information,” he said. “Nobody tells an Englishman anything. That’s where you come in. Because you’re Egyptian, you hear the kind of gossip and street talk that never comes my way. And because you’re Jewish, you’ll pass it to me. I hope.”
    “What kind of gossip?”
    “I’m interested in anyone who’s curious about the British Army.” He paused. He seemed to be wondering how much to tell her. “In particular ... At the moment I’m looking for a man called Alex Wolff. He used to live in Cairo and he has recently returned. He may be hunting for a place to live, and he probably has a lot of money. He is certainly making inquiries about British forces.”
    Elene shrugged. “After all that buildup I was expecting to be asked to do something much more dramatic.”
    “Such as?”
    “I don’t know. Waltz with Rommel and pick his pockets.”
    Vandam laughed again. Elene thought: I could get fond of that laugh.
    He said: “Well, mundane though it is, will you do it?”
    “I don’t know.” But I do know, she thought. I’m just trying to prolong the interview, because I’m enjoying myself.
    Vandam leaned forward. “I need people like you, Miss Fontana.” Her name sounded silly when he said it so politely. “You’re observant, you have a perfect cover and you’re obviously intelligent; please excuse me for being so direct—”
    “Don’t apologize, I love it,” she said. “Keep talking.”
    “Most of my people are not very reliable. They do it for the money, whereas you have a better motive—”
    “Wait a minute,” she interrupted. “I want money, too. What does the job pay?”
    “That depends on the information you bring in.”
    “What’s the minimum?”
    “Nothing.”
    “That’s a little less than what I was hoping for.”
    “How much do you want?”
    “You might be a gentleman and pay the rent of my flat.” She bit her lip: it sounded so tarty, put like that.
    “How much?”
    “Seventy-five a month.”
    Vandam’s eyebrows rose. “What have you got, a palace?”
    “Prices have gone up. Haven’t you heard? It’s all these English officers desperate for accommodation.”
    “Touché.” He frowned. “You’d have to be awfully useful to justify seventy-five a month.”
    Elene shrugged. “Why don’t we give it a try?”
    “You’re a good negotiator.” He smiled. “All right, a month’s trial.”
    Elene tried not to look triumphant. “How do I contact you?”
    “Send me a message.” He took a pencil and a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and began to write. “I’ll give you my address and phone number, at GHQ and at home. As soon as I hear from you I’ll come to your place.”
    “All right.” She wrote down her address, wondering what the major would think of her flat. “What if you’re seen?”
    “Will it matter?”
    “I might be asked who you are.”
    “Well, you’d better not tell the truth.”
    She grinned. “I’ll say you’re my lover.”
    He looked away. “Very well.”
    “But you’d better act the part.” She kept a straight face. “You must bring armfuls of flowers and boxes of chocolates.”
    “I don’t know—”
    “Don’t Englishmen give their mistresses flowers and chocolates?”
    He looked at her unblinkingly. She noticed that he had gray eyes. “I don’t know,” he said levelly. “I’ve never had a mistress.”
    Elene thought: I stand corrected. She said: “Then you’ve got a lot to learn.”
    “I’m sure. Would you like another drink?”
    And now