The Doctor Dines in Prague by Robin Hathaway

Author:Robin Hathaway
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

They were on the subway when they both realized they were starved. All they had eaten since noon was a sandwich. Escapades like theirs tended to increase the appetite.

“We could go back to the Café Slavia. It stays open until three A.M.,” she suggested. “Or we could go to your place,” she said casually. “It’s not far from here.”

Suddenly the thought of being alone was unbearable. “Come back to my place,” he said quickly, as if it were his idea. “I have a nice bottle of wine and I make a mean scrambled egg,” he added.

She smiled. “All right.”

Fenimore wrestled with the eggs while Ilsa set the table. He would have been happy to eat in the kitchen, but she had insisted on the dining room. After he showed her where things were, she set out two plates, two forks, and two wineglasses. She was lighting the candles and Fenimore was vigorously stirring the eggs, when the apartment buzzer buzzed.

“Who could that be?” Fenimore checked his watch. After midnight. He started for the door.

“Be careful,” Ilsa cautioned.

It’s probably the super, he thought, after me for more money. “Who is it?” he called out.

“Jen.”

He looked around wildly. The wineglasses glittered in the candlelight. So did Ilsa’s lipgloss. He felt his open shirt. “Just a minute.” He started to button his shirt but, feeling Ilsa’s eyes on him, left it, and opened the door.

“Surprise!” Jennifer handed him the shoebox full of letters and stepped inside. “You said to send these as fast as possible and cost was no object. I caught a red-eye flight and came straight from the airport.” She scanned the room, her eyes pausing at the entrance to the dining room.

“I’d like you to meet Ilsa Tanaek. She’s helping me find my cousins,” he mumbled.

Jennifer took in the candles, the wineglasses, and Ilsa.

“Let me have your coat.” Fenimore set the shoebox on the coffee table.

“No,” Jennifer said quickly, “I have to get to my hotel or they won’t hold the room for me.”

“But …”

“And my cab is waiting,” she lied.

“Where are you staying? I’ll call you in the morning.”

“The Cloister Inn. But don’t bother. I’ll be leaving early. I just wanted you to have the letters. I thought they might be important.” She disappeared through the still-open door.

“Jen … .” He started after her.

Ilsa coughed.

He turned.

“I’m still hungry,” she said.

Slowly, he closed the door and went back to the kitchen.

Fenimore burnt the eggs. While he was making a second batch, Ilsa opened the wine and offered him some. He refused. She poured herself a glass and took it into the living room. When the eggs were ready, they ate quickly. As soon as Ilsa departed, Fenimore tried to call Jen at her hotel. She wasn’t answering her phone. Finally, to take his mind off his troubles, he attacked the shoebox full of letters.

Sifting through them, he read snatches from each year. The batch Jennifer had brought began in the early 1980s. Anna had always written to his mother in Czech.

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