Free Louise's Gamble by Sarah R Shaber

disgrace.’
    ‘What will you do after the war, then?’
    ‘I don’t know, but I assure you I’m not going home.’
    The oysters arrived. These were not my parents’ oysters. Not cornmeal battered and deep-fried like the ones I was used to cooking at my parents’ fish camp, but slightly steamed, with melted butter and lemon on the side. I slid one succulent oyster down my throat, then another. When we were finished, Melinsky drained his second shot glass of vodka in one gulp.
    ‘The taste of vodka reminds me I’m still Russian,’ he said, beckoning for another.
    ‘How long has it been since you’ve been home?’ I asked.
    ‘Nineteen-eighteen.’
    ‘So many years!’
    ‘Too many. But Stalin won’t live forever, and I hope I can return one day before I die. I’m not a Romanov, and I have a British passport, so perhaps it may be possible.’
    Much as I didn’t want to find myself back in my hometown after the war, I found it hard to comprehend being banished from it forever.
    The waiter returned to bring Melinsky another shot of vodka, clear off our oyster plates, and take our orders.
    ‘Prime rib?’ Melinsky asked me.
    ‘Yes, please!’ I’d never had prime rib before.
    ‘Lobster thermidor for me, and another Martini for the lady,’ Melinsky added.
    After the waiter left Melinsky lowered his voice and leaned toward me. ‘How went the knitting?’
    I drew Alessa’s papers from my knitting bag and handed them to him.
    ‘This is a surprise,’ Melinsky said, unfolding them. He smiled and handed me back the tube sock pattern. ‘This is yours, I think.’
    He opened the envelope and read the letter it contained. It seemed quite short. Pensively, he tucked it into a uniform pocket. I couldn’t read his expression, and just then the waiter brought us our plates.
    The prime rib was wonderful. I ate every bite and all of the asparagus with hollandaise that accompanied it. One more Martini and I would have gnawed on the bone. I ignored the duchesse potatoes. Potatoes I could eat any time.
    ‘That was wonderful, thank you,’ I said.
    ‘You are more than welcome,’ Melinsky answered. I wondered if he was going to tell me anything about the letter’s contents.
    The waiter cleared away our plates and brought us coffee. With cream and sugar!
    ‘I’m sorry to say,’ Melinsky said, after the waiter left, ‘that there were no names in Alessa’s note. Some good information, but no names.’
    I felt a stab of disappointment. When would Alessa deliver us the take, spy lingo for any information gathered by espionage? Before the slow convoys left, please!
    ‘Did the two of you make any plans for the weekend?’ he asked.
    ‘No, she said she had too many chores to do, that she’d see me again at the next knitting circle.’ An entire week from now.
    ‘I think Alessa and her asset are still testing us,’ Melinsky said, stirring his coffee in a slow circle. ‘He’s not going to give his information to her until he is sure he is safe.’
    ‘So what next?’ I asked.
    ‘We must hope that by next week she collects the information we need and delivers it to you. That’s all we can do.’
    I turned my key in the lock of ‘Two Trees’ around eleven and found a reception committee waiting for me. Joe, Phoebe, and Ada erupted from the lounge and circled me.
    ‘Where have you been?’ Phoebe asked. ‘We’ve been worried sick.’
    Of course. I should have been home hours ago.
    ‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to worry you. Some of the girls and I went out for a beer and a sandwich.’ I was learning to lie without batting an eyelash.
    ‘The café didn’t have a telephone?’ Joe asked, quietly taking my coat and hanging it on the coat rack. Joe was upset, I could tell from the tight line of his lips and the creases in his forehead.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said again. ‘I didn’t think.’
    ‘Obviously not,’ Joe said.
    ‘Give us a jingle, honey, the next time you stay out,’ Ada said. ‘Or let us