CHAPTER 1
TWO DAYS EARLIER
The woman following Iris Sparks wasn’t very good at it. Iris, who was trained for this sort of thing, spotted her as soon as she walked out the front door of her building. A flicker of motion off to her left, a glimpse of burgundy ducking hastily into a narrow alley.
That wasn’t the following part. That was the surveillance, which wasn’t necessarily directed at Iris, but did set off her alarms. The internal clanging, muted at first, increased as she realised that the burgundy blur, now resolving into a decent cloth coat belted tightly around a brunette woman in her late thirties, was in lukewarm pursuit.
This shadow was so blatant that Iris was almost ready to discount her. A professional would not have been so obviously hiding behind telephone boxes and kiosks, even lampposts that were miserably unsuited to concealing anyone thicker than—well, than a lamppost, thought Iris.
Iris kept walking south through Marylebone, taking the direct route to The Right Sort for a change. She stopped once to check her makeup, using her compact’s mirror to see if she recognised the woman, but she was a stranger to her.
One of the Brigadier’s new recruits, perhaps? Iris had thought she had made it clear on their last exchange that she was never going to work for him or Special Ops, or whatever they were calling themselves now, again, but she wouldn’t put it past him to send one of his minions on a recruiting mission.
Or was this an operative in training? Sent on an exercise in tailing someone who knew how not to be tailed. They used to do that when Iris was first recruited during the early stages of the war. Start by following a random, unconnected pedestrian, mark everything they do and everyone they encounter, then recount it in detail back at the base, all without notes. Then move to the next level and follow someone who knew you without letting them realise you were doing it. Finally, follow someone who was expecting to be followed. Make sure they didn’t spot you and make sure they didn’t lose you.
It was all great fun, and many wagers were won and lost. Iris was always proud that she graduated from that course very much in the black.
She wondered if there was any money on the line for Miss Burgundy Coat. If so, the woman was going to be out a few bob. She should have turned the other way the moment Iris’s hand went into her bag for the compact, or done some window-shopping or engaged in conversation with a newsboy, or availed herself of any of a half dozen ways to keep her face from being presented full on. And she openly stared when Iris stopped in front of a shop window of her own to straighten a stocking that needed no straightening, allowing her to get another look at the woman’s face.
She wore her hair in a neat bob under a bright red felt slouch fedora with a cluster of yellow feathers on the left that looked like it had come from one of the better hat shops. Another bad choice—wearing something that stood out so easily in a crowd. She regarded Iris with a look of intense uncertainty, as if she was working up her courage.
To do what? thought Iris. To talk to me?
Or could this be an attack?
She resumed her commute, wondering if she should try losing the woman. It would serve her right, thought Iris. Completely amateurish job of it. She almost wanted to turn around and give her some pointers.
In the end, she trusted her circumstances. Whoever the woman was or was working for did not change the fact that Iris hadn’t been involved in any Intelligence work since the war ended. She was no longer a target, no longer a person of interest to any side of whatever games were being played now. She was merely Iris Sparks, co-owner and operator of The Right Sort Marriage Bureau, and it was highly unlikely that anyone was going to attack her in the middle of Mayfair.
And if the woman did make an attempt, Iris had one or two items in her bag next to the compact that she could bring to bear.
Nothing happened. Iris crossed Oxford Street, using the blare of a car horn as an excuse to glance back. The woman stayed on the north side, watching. Iris thought about giving her a wave, but decided against it.
She passed the construction site next to the building that housed the offices of The Right Sort. Normally, she would stop and see what progress had been made. They had finally finished excavating and poured the foundation last week. A small crane had taken up residence at the corner of the lot, which meant that the noise levels for the block were about to increase considerably. She and Gwen, her partner in matchmaking, were grateful for the first time that their windows faced the rear rather than the side. That gave them some insulation from the irregular roaring by the engines next door.
But with her unexpected guest somewhere behind her, Iris didn’t waste time watching the construction, which was a mild pity—some of the workers were worth a glance, one or two worth several. She blew them a kiss as the morning chorus of wolf whistles greeted her arrival, then walked straight to her building’s door, glancing to her right as she opened it.
Sure enough, there was a flash of burgundy slinking around the corner behind her. Iris walked inside the small foyer, then up the steps to the first landing, which had a window overlooking the front door. She stood just out of sight and waited.
The woman came up to the building and approached the front door. From this angle, Iris had an excellent view of the crown of the fedora, its feathers pointing up at her accusingly.
Are you coming in, milady? wondered Iris. With a story of wanting to be matched, but with another purpose in mind?
But the hat rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, then the burgundy coat moved across the street to take up a position by the shoe store on the other side. She looked up at the window, and Iris ducked away.
How long is she going to wait? she wondered. Well, I’m not going to spend any more time watching her watching me. I have a job.
She trotted up the rest of the stairs to the fourth storey, poked her head into the reception room, and greeted Mrs. Billington, their secretary/receptionist, then went into her own office where Gwen was already at her desk, of course.
“Have you got a moment to look out the window with me?” asked Iris.
“I think I could squeeze you in,” said Gwen. “Which window?”
“Front stairwell,” said Iris. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning to you,” returned Gwen as she came out from behind her desk.
She followed Iris to the landing. Iris took up position by the side of the window. Gwen towered behind her, peering quizzically over her partner’s head.
“In front of the shoe shop,” whispered Iris. “Tell me what you see.”
“Do you wish me to remain unobserved, or does that matter?” asked Gwen. “And why are you whispering?”
“Just look,” Iris said.
Gwen stepped to the window and gazed down at the sidewalk opposite.
“Was there something in particular you wanted me to look at?” she asked. “They have the new Waukeezis in, if you’re in the market for a men’s semi-brogue.”
“There’s nobody standing in front, keeping an eye on us?”
“Not currently. Was there such a person before?”
Iris stepped to the window, then looked as far as she could in both directions.
“She’s gone,” she said in chagrin. “I wanted to see if you recognised her.”
“Recognised who?”
“The woman who followed me here this morning.”
“Really? From where?”
“She was waiting outside my flat when I came to work this morning.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“This was the first time.”
“And she followed you all the way here?”
“She did.”
“How very odd. What do you make of it?”
“Several different theories. It spurred my paranoia to new creative heights.”
“Your paranoia can be spurred by the fall of a single leaf,” said Gwen. “Are we going to spend the day here, or shall we go back to our real lives?”
“Reality is overrated.”
“Which is why we are in the romance business,” said Gwen. “Let’s go match some people.”
They returned to their office.
“Thank you, by the way,” said Iris as she picked up the letters Mrs. Billington had left for her.
“For what?”
“For coming to look without questioning. I appreciate the faith you have in me despite my odd demands.”
“Oh, I have questions,” said Gwen. “But being your friend and business partner has subjected me to so many oddities that this was fairly run-of-the-mill. Something to do with your old job and your boss who must not be named?”
“That’s my guess, or my main category of guesses, which contains a series of sub-guesses, indexed neatly in order of likelihood.”
“You are a very organised paranoid,” observed Gwen. “It speaks well of you. And you’ve never seen her before?”
“I don’t think so. She certainly acted as if she knew me.”
“Any read on her emotional state?”
“She seemed—” Iris hesitated.
“Yes?” prompted Gwen.
“I thought at one point that she was going to approach me. Then she changed her mind.”
“Approach to do what?”
“Two subcategories: Speak or attack. Maybe both. Neither appeared friendly.”
“That’s disturbing,” said Gwen. “Maybe you should give your old boss a call.”
“I don’t want to waste his time on anything this insubstantial.”
“Could it be something other than espionage at play?”
“For example?”
“Something to do with Archie.”
“Goodness, you’ve opened up an entirely new category,” said Iris. “See under Gangster, hazards related to the dating of. The subheadings are multiplying like rabbits!”
“And, like espionage, they potentially involve danger.”
“Hooray!” said Iris. “Something to keep me enthused.”
“The work isn’t doing that?” asked Gwen.
“No, no, the work continues to be great fun,” said Iris. “More and more remunerative now that the summer is over. The leaves begin to turn and people start thinking, No, not another winter huddling alone in my sad little bed. I need someone with whom to share it. I know! I’ll get married!”
“You are not in the proper frame of mind to match people today,” said Gwen.
“How many have you done?”
Gwen picked up three pairs of file cards and passed them across.
“I wanted your opinion on these.”
“Hmm,” said Iris, perusing them. “Mr. Callum with Miss Eversham. Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought of pairing them, but I can see it. Miss Conyers with Mr. Potts—not sure about that one. I’ll have to let it simmer.”
“You’re just annoyed that Miss Conyers didn’t hit it off with Mr. Trower, and there’s tuppence at stake.”
“You won’t win the bet unless Miss Donnelly reels him in,” said Iris. “Now as to the third, Miss Sedgewick with—oh! Mr. Daile!”
“Yes,” said Gwen. “What do you think?”
“How much does she know about him?” asked Iris.
“She knows about his international background and that he’s at Royal Ag,” said Gwen. “She doesn’t know about his connection to my father-in-law. We’ve been able to keep that under wraps.”
Copyright © 2022 by Allison Montclair
