Shadows over Stonewycke by Michael Phillips

Author:Michael Phillips [Phillips, Michael and Judith Pella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042030, FIC042000, FIC026000
ISBN: 9781441229793
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2016-02-03T16:00:00+00:00

39

Luncheon at the Rectory

Logan jerked up in his bed, drenched with perspiration. He swung his feet out of bed, then sat there on the edge with his head resting in his trembling hands, trying to catch his breath.

It had only been a nightmare . . . nothing but a dream. But he couldn’t help feeling foolish for the fright it gave him.

It had been so real! He was still breathing hard, like the man running through the city streets. He hadn’t had a dream like that since he was a child.

Glancing at the bedside clock he saw it was seven a.m. He stood, walked slowly to the window, and pulled open the blackout shade. No wonder it seemed so much earlier than seven. Outside the sky was dark and brooding. The clouds were heavy laden with winter storms, and the icy blasts they held were almost palpable, even as Logan stood there in his warm hotel room.

Wakefulness gradually coming to him, he threw on the bathrobe von Graff had provided him, then called down to the front desk and asked for a pot of coffee to be brought up. The activity helped to steady him, and before long he nearly succeeded in forgetting about the unsettling interruption to his sleep.

In a few minutes the waiter came with the coffee. For the first time since arriving late last night, Logan began to consider his surroundings. The waiter, dressed in a trim hotel uniform, pushed a cart covered in white linen bearing a silver coffee service, fine china, and a silver vase containing a red rose bud. This was no cheap hotel, Logan thought to himself. He had pulled scams in places like this, but never stayed in one! The waiter bowed politely, and when Logan attempted to give him a tip, he shook his head.

“Ne vous dérangez pas,” he said. “It is already taken care of.”

Logan raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “Merci,” he replied as the fellow left.

Logan had figured von Graff knew how to live. But this was too much. He poured out a cup of the steaming brew and unconsciously raised it to his lips for a sip.

The first taste nearly choked him. It was the real thing! He had not tasted coffee like this in months!

He sat down and gazed about him. The windows were covered with velvet drapes, the floor with a thick Persian carpet. He sat on a satin-covered Chippendale chair. It had been so late when he came in last night that he had been too tired to notice. But now he could see that von Graff had spared nothing for his British double agent. What was that insidious Nazi up to, anyway?

Logan finished his coffee. No sense letting it go to waste. He poured himself another cup.

For the moment von Graff was the least of his problems. He still had to get in touch with London, and it seemed that his only avenue, Jean Pierre, had suddenly grown hostile toward him, or at least suspicious.

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