Free World War II Thriller Collection by Ken Follett Page A

had been mistaken. His reaction was completely predictable, but all the same she felt bitter. She said: “Isn’t that what most women do, when they get married—find a man to pay the bills?”
    â€œYes,” he said gravely.
    She looked at him. The imp of mischief seized her. “I just turn 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.”
    â€œWhat kind of gossip?”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œI 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—”
    â€œDon’t apologize, I love it,” she said. “Keep talking.”
    â€œMost of my people are not very reliable. They do it for the money, whereas you have a better motive—”
    â€œWait a minute,” she interrupted. “I want money, too. What does the job pay?”
    â€œThat depends on the information you bring in.”
    â€œWhat’s the minimum?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œThat’s a little less than what I was hoping for.”
    â€œHow much do you want?”
    â€œYou might be a gentleman and pay the rent of my flat.” She bit her lip: it sounded so tarty, put like that.
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œSeventy-five a month.”
    Vandam’s eyebrows rose. “What have you got, a palace?”
    â€œPrices have gone up. Haven’t you heard? It’s all these English officers desperate for accommodation.”
    â€œTouché” 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?”
    â€œYou’re a good negotiator.” He smiled. “All right, a month’s trial.”
    Elene tried not to look triumphant. “How do I contact you?”
    â€œSend 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.”
    â€œAll right.” She wrote down her address, wondering what the major would think of her flat. “What if you’re seen?”
    â€œWill it matter?”
    â€œI might be asked who you