Excerpt from An Unlikely Spy by Rebecca Starford, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Who was that woman?" he asked finally. His voice was gentle, but rounded with curiosity.

Evelyn stared at him across the pavement. "I told you. An old friend. Not even a friend, really. An acquaintance."

"But why were you so ..." He blew out his cheeks. "I don't know—peculiar. I've never seen you like that."

Evelyn glanced toward her flat, where the orange light of the lamp glowed at the window.

"It was a surprise, that's all. I've not seen her in such a long time. Years!"

"Years?"

"Just don't ask me how many."

She tried to smile, but Stephen took off his hat and said, "She thought you worked at the War Office."

"Did she?"

"Yes." He frowned. "You heard her, didn't you?"

"She must have been thinking of someone else. It was a long time ago."

"But you worked at the hospital."

"Yes, I did. She was confused, Stephen, that's all."

Stephen folded his arms, giving her a hard look. Evelyn began searching through her bag for her key. She couldn't stand him watching her like that, incredulity in his eyes, demanding something of her that she couldn't give.

"I'm sorry about tonight," she said. "I'm not myself, you're right. But I'm tired—that's all. So very tired."

Immediately his face softened. "Why didn't you say?"

"Because I wanted to see you, that's why."

It had taken Evelyn some time to acknowledge the depth of these feelings to herself. That come Monday morning she would already have started counting down the clock to when she would next see him.

Stephen blew out his cheeks again.

"Can I at least fix you something upstairs? You've had no supper."

"No, I ..." Evelyn pressed her lips together, afraid she might cry. "I think I'll just turn in for the night. But will you telephone tomorrow? We can make new plans."

"All right."

Evelyn could hear the disappointment in his voice, but she was desperate to get inside; she needed to be on her own to think. From the main road came the trill of the bus, the sound of a man shouting nearer to King's Cross station, the drift of a saxophone from the jazz club down the street. London was only now waking up for the night, but giving Stephen's arm a squeeze Evelyn headed to the front door without looking back.

* * *

Later, Evelyn sat on the edge of her windowsill and smoked. From here she had a good view of the narrow street pocketed behind Euston Road. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for. She finished her cigarette and pulled down the window, trying as always to close the gap where the frame didn't quite meet the ledge. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she slumped into the armchair next to the fireplace, which was a grim thing with a low mantelpiece and a blackened grate smelling of old coke. She glanced at her watch. It was late, nearly midnight, but she knew he'd still be awake.

She went to the bureau by her bed and pulled out the small leather address book from the drawer. Then she crept downstairs to the telephone in the hall and dialed. The call rang for so long she thought he wasn't home until she heard the faint click of connection and that low, scratchy voice.

"Stepney Green 1484."

"I'm telephoning for the weather report."

There was a pause and a muffled sound on the other end of the line, like a sigh.

"What have you observed?"

"I believe summer has arrived."

"And the seed?"

Evelyn screwed her eyes shut. "It's growing."

The line went silent. Evelyn gripped the receiver. She didn't know what she would do if he couldn't help. But after several excruciating moments she heard his breathing resume.

"Well, well. If it isn't Chameleon." He let out a low whistle. "Bugger me."

She slumped against the cool wall, almost faint with relief.

"Hello, Vincent. I'm sorry to call so late."

"It's no bother. I don't sleep much these days, anyway." There was more clatter and another deep, puckered inhale—he must still be smoking those awful cigars. "You're not in trouble, are you?"

Excerpted from An Unlikely Spy by Rebecca Starford. Copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Starford. Excerpted by permission of Ecco. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.