Free Charlotte Gray by Sebastian Faulks Page A

Cannerley took her to the Ritz.
    "I hope you don't think it's too corny," he said, his hand lightly on the small of her back as they stepped into the bar.
    "It's about the only place I know where you can still be sure of a reasonable choice on the menu."
    Without consulting Charlotte, he ordered champagne. Their table was at the side and gave a good view across the room, which had a foreign, elderly air. Grey-haired men were accompanied by young women; the waiters spoke accented English. There was an unreal, and in Charlotte's eyes, slightly sinister feeling to the place. She wondered where the people ordering trays loaded with drinks had made their money; to be in this golden mockery of the Belle Epoque while from Chelsea to Poplar the streets were darkened seemed either defiant or dishonest. Perhaps it was always so with big hotels; perhaps the Ritz's ornate Parisian sister had equally camouflaged the indiscretions of Swann or the Baron de Charlus.
    In the dining room Cannerley ordered knowingly from the Bordeaux section of the wine list and settled his attention on Charlotte. She wore a dark emerald brooch at the collar of her blouse and a jacket with green velvet cuffs. She was not intimidated by his show of confidence with the waiters or by his descriptions of the muscular qualities of the wines of St. Julien.
    "How's your doctor? Are you happy with him? Not much of a challenge for a girl like you, surely?" Cannerley gave her a conspiratorial smile. He was a goodlooking man. Charlotte thought, with his clear skin and wide-apart blue eyes, and his fair hair that occasionally disrupted his neatness by flopping on to his forehead. She found him completely unattractive.
    "Shouldn't you be putting that fluent French to more use?"
    "I don't know quite what as."
    "There's always a need for bilingual people, interpreters and so on. Your gift is a rare one."
    "So is yours presumably."
    "I suppose so." Cannerley smiled.
    "I do use mine, as I think I may have mentioned on the train. France and the French colonies are part of my brief. I know there are other organisations which urgently need French speakers. You're concerned about what's happening over there, aren't you?"
    Charlotte looked up from her plate. They were both eating jugged hare and carrots; the menu had not been as full as Cannerley had imagined.
    "Yes, of course I am. I almost feel as strongly about France as about Britain. The thought of Nazi uniforms in French streets and villages makes me feel quite ill."
    "Quite a lot of English people are working there. They drop them in by parachute."
    Charlotte laughed.
    "Is that what you're suggesting I should do?"
    "Not quite." Cannerley smiled and leaned forward.
    "I don't think those pretty ankles are quite sturdy enough for that sort of thing." Charlotte said nothing.
    Cannerley sat back again.
    "All right. It's none of my business. In any case, we hardly ever speak to other organisations. If ever you did think you'd like a change of job, though, I could probably put you in touch with someone."
    Charlotte nodded. She found the idea of herself as some sort of secret agent both alarming and ridiculous. She was not sure of the extent to which Cannerley was playing with her merely to amuse himself: perhaps he found some erotic charge in portraying himself as a dispenser of dangerous assignments to young women; perhaps he thought it would make him seem glamorous.
    "Lots of smart young women are doing their bit, you know," he said.
    "The fanys are as posh as Queen Charlotte's ball. You needn't think it infra dig."
    "That isn't what I thought at all. I'm not a snob. I just thought it didn't seem realistic for someone like me who's had such a quiet life."
    Cannerley poured the last of the wine into her glass.
    "Nothing seems realistic these days, does it? The world's upside down. Anyway, I shan't bully you. There's just one other thing."
    He didn't have time to tell Charlotte what it was, as a couple approached their table. The man