Summer Travel

1976

Four weeks into her trip, Cinnamon was taking a breather.  She had almost forgotten how hectic and stressful travel could be with this job.  Somehow, the idea of flying to various countries without a small child in tow had begun to look easy.  She had forgotten the stress of traveling in another persona.  The countries she had passed through were also not currently candidates for photo shoots. But she had to admit it, exhausting as it was she was happy to be back in the Game where she belonged.

The flight to England with Jim had been only the beginning.  This new project would be world-wide in scope and include operatives from several free-world nations.  Her partner on this fact finding mission would be a counter-part from MI-6 and an expert on Asian affairs from Istanbul to Vladivostok.  That in itself had sounded rather improbable, but as she came to know Ian Blaine she had to change her opinion as often as he changed personae. 

Blaine was ten years her senior.  They first met at Whitehall on a wet and chilly summer day of the kind only found in England.  His features and stature were what you could only describe as average.  His height was around the same as Cinnamon’s.  His receding hairline left a pale gold halo of hair over the crown of his head.  His face was round, but his well-tailored suit covered a fit and energetic body.  His eyes seemed to hide below bushy blond eyebrows in a well-tanned face.  It took her a while to notice that they were a pale blue.  During their first meetings he spoke with a cultured Oxford accent of the kind common to low level Home Office workers.  He was polite, yet distant, a perfect Brit in every fashion. 

This trip was designed to familiarize Cinnamon with the theatre of operations for this very complex and long-term mission.  It was stressed to she and Blaine from the highest level that their part of the assignment would be observation and intelligence gathering only.  Other stings and assignments would result from the information gleaned in this overall project.  Blaine’s expertise in the field would be used to infiltrate various resistance cels whose politics and goals could mesh with those of the Free World.  Cinnamon would be both contact and recruiter for female operatives in various areas.  Jim had evidently been given enough lee-way to time this trip during her daughter’s school break to make her absence more convenient.  Without many details, Cinnamon could still tell that this would be a long term—perhaps decades long—mission.

Her cover for much of their journey would be as Blaine’s wife.  When she was given passport and clothing to suit, the blue collar class clothing surprised her.  There was also a well-worn burqa.  They would be traveling through several countries undergoing intense upheaval and renewed religious fervor.  Her blonde hair and fair skin could most easily be rendered inoffensive simply by hiding it.  In one of their earliest meetings with Blaine he had asked her if she could fit in amongst people of different cultural backgrounds.  The question had taken her by surprise, and Jim had assured him that she could.  It had long been Cinnamon’s experience that the British tended to remain so British at all times that they were incapable of fitting in.  She had frequently played women from behind the Iron Curtain, almost undetectable with her gift for languages.

It surprised her immensely when she met her partner at Heathrow.  His Home Office persona was as much a part as any other he played.  He wore casual clothes and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a warm, “Hello Luv?  ‘Ow’s your Mum, then?  ‘Ave a nice sit down with her?”

Gone was the Oxford accent, and in its place a warm and friendly Aussie guided her to the boarding area.  On the plane she read a short bio that he provided.  They would fly to Istanbul where they would pick up a refrigerator truck and a load of vegetables.  They were Bob and Caroline Roper, a husband and wife traveling with British passports.  Their home was Brisbane, Australia.  Four times a year they would fly to London where she would visit her mother while Bob looked for a long haul trucking job.  He had a good reputation for driving in the Middle East, having been stationed there during his military service.  He had a gift for languages and knew Arabic, Persian and Parsi.  He could also make do in Hindu and Turkish.  Caroline rode along to keep him company.  Four long term trips a year afforded them a modest but comfortable living and left Bob time for his long time passion for surfing.  Caroline was a former dancer whom Bob met on one of his trips five years ago.  She had developed a hobby of fancy embroidery into a small business, and Bob indulgently stopped at small market places throughout the region while she purchased fine threads and swapped patterns with the women in these remote areas.  There was a half-finished piece of counted cross-stitch in her carry-on bag.  Cinnamon hadn’t done any embroidery in years, but could see that this cover would be invaluable.  Blaine informed her that the real Bob and Caroline would be a vital part of the information network and had chosen to sit out this trip in a remote part of Hawaii where the surf was ideal and the light was lovely for sitting on the beach with a new piece of embroidery to stitch.

It had been a long time since she had played the part of anyone’s wife.  Beyond the embroidery, she found this the most disconcerting.  With Rollin, it had been completely natural.  With Jim it had become as comfortable a fit as a favored pair of shoes.  Neither ever made unwanted advances.  Even Rollin had kept his mind on their mission, affection played with aplomb, passion carefully hidden.  She didn’t know Blaine well enough to know what to expect, so took her lead from him with a bit of trepidation.  

The information he had given her was tucked back into a large plastic envelope that appeared to be lined with some kind of metallic leaf.  She returned it to him with a nod as their plane leveled off over the English Channel.  He gave her a jaunty wink, removed the paper, refolded it with the ink side out and slid it back into the envelope again.  He looked out the window at the clouds, pressing the envelope against his thigh and rubbing slightly.  Then he lifted the flap so that she could see the paper within.  It was now blank.  He tapped the edge of the envelope and a bit of black powder trickled out into his hand.  The envelope was carefully placed in his battered brown leather briefcase and he pulled out a road map.  He settled in to check the route against the instructions given him by the trucking company.

She leaned against him and looked over at the map.  He put his arm around her and began to trace the route for her, telling her it was a bit different from their usual run, and describing what the countryside would be like.  He called her ‘Luv’ and ‘Luvvie’.  She settled into his arm and chose a London accent, not too well educated, and with a bit of the Australian accent that she would have picked up from him during the last five years. 

His hand on her remained polite and he kissed the top of her head once as she called him “Dearie.” 

Ankara, Baghdad, Tehran, Kabul.  None of these capitals had she ever seen, and on this trip, they stayed well off the beaten path.  The truck had included a bunk for sleeping and they parked at various farmer’s markets along their route.  The bunk was large and Blaine treated her with the formal affection one would for a sister.  The area they traveled through was not conducive to public displays of affection.  Their truck was searched thoroughly at every border, and Blaine made certain that she was wearing the burqa at every checkpoint.  They skimmed the outskirts of Tehran, and went through towns with exotic names like Zanjin, Qazvin, Sabzevar.

They were always up before the sun and they shopped in the market places both for their food and the embroidery threads Caroline was always interested in.  By dawn they were under way.  Blaine, or Bob as she began to think of him as she grew more comfortable with her role, would always stop during the hottest part of the day, check over the refrigeration unit, then they would rest for two hours.  He would usually sling a hammock underneath the trailer and doze in whatever breeze was available.  Cinnamon, unused to a naptime would still lie down in the bunk and think over the events of the past day.   It would be a while before she could create a written report and going over her experiences and mentally preparing that report ordered her thoughts and observations.  A good memory was always an asset to an agent.

Before entering Afghanistan, they made a loop to the north through the Turkmen Soviet Socialist Republic to a town called Bacharden.  There were Soviet soldiers everywhere.  Her understanding of Russian was not necessarily an asset here as she hid behind her burqa.  Russian soldiers inspected everything while making crude comments about what was hiding under the burqa.  She sat still in the cab of the truck while Blaine offered the soldiers cigarettes and samples of the vegetables they were carrying.  He spoke to them in a pastiche of English and Turkish, giving them no indication of how much Russian he spoke himself.  She would have had no idea if he hadn’t returned to the truck after one particularly long inspection, drove away and spent twenty minutes condemning three generations of ancestors and descendents in fluent scathing Russian.  By the end she was laughing and enjoying including suggestions of her own.

They came to a crossroads and Blaine stopped, peering up into the mountains to her left.  That way was an old caravan route that would eventually lead to Samarqand.  The name was both exotic and familiar.  They took the left fork, out of Soviet territory back into Iran and from there to Afghanistan. 

She wore the burqa constantly, but in every small village found women who were eager to offer not only their yarns and threads but also their friendship.  She was surprised to find that many spoke English.  Some had been educated abroad or had parents who had been abroad.  In both Iran and Afghanistan she was introduced to several women doctors who were only allowed to practice their profession on other women.  She began to see that the company of women comprised almost a separate culture, removed from the politics and religious fervor that swirled around them but well aware of it and, in their own way, activists for peace and change. 

You've come a long way, baby, Cinnamon thought, quoting a popular cigarette commercial that touted women's rights. Coming from a family of intellectuals and independent thinkers raised on stories of her grandmoter's exploits with the WTCU, she was inspired at an early age to strive to make a difference in this world.  As a young woman with a new degree in political science from a prestigious women’s college, she found that professional careers were still dominated by males.  She disliked starving.  Modeling was fun as well as paying the bills, but she still wanted to make a difference.  The IMF offered her that chance. 

Her knack for languages, her organizational skills and her political know-how made her an invaluable agent. There was also the allure of excitement and she loved that too.  But this trip was reminding her that there were plenty of people in the world who wanted the freedom to raise their children in a better world.  That’s what she was in the game for – for Jen, and all the kids around the world—for their future.

Blaine’s talents rose considerably in her estimation while they traveled and she found that she liked this man immensely.  One night she woke to find him gone.  He had warned her that he might go wandering during the night.  She was still awake at his return, and her heart beat quickly as a dark mustachioed Bedouin entered the truck before sunrise.  He changed back into his truck driver persona with the deft assurance that she always associated with Rollin.  She knew Rollin would also like this fellow chameleon.

At Islamabad they delivered the truck and caught a plane for Brisbane.  Blaine informed her that they would have a few days off to rest, report in, and contact their families.  For the first time, she asked about his.  He told her they were waiting for him in Brisbane.  His wife ran a little antique shop there and his two sons and a daughter were all still in school.  She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised.  After all, she had a life outside the Agency, as did her usual teammates.  Somehow she still seemed to consider Blaine something other than a person. 

A hotel room had been reserved for her on the gold coast.  The high rise hotel had a beautiful view of surf and beach.  A letter awaited her with the usual cryptic instructions.  A stroll from her hotel found her in the shopping district and a small book store held her next instructions.  The following day she had a small office of her own in the business district.  It also had a beautiful view, but was small, containing only a desk with an IBM Selectric typewriter and a secure phone line. 

Despite temptation, she called Jim first.  They talked generalities even with the secured line and he told her he was looking forward to her report.  There was a single file in the desk drawer that explained how to get her reports home via diplomatic courier.  Before she could ask, he volunteered that he had seen Rollin and Jennifer and they were doing fine, although Rollin seemed to be quite challenged by being a full-time single parent.  Cinnamon had to laugh, but Jim knew her too well.

“How are you holding out?”

“I didn’t think I’d miss her quite this bad.  I’m doing okay.”

“It’s hard.  I know, and I’m only a dad.”

“He’s really taking good care of her?”

“You know how he feels about her.  He’s being very conscientious about her.  Crystal and Paula are making sure.  As is Maria.”

“You make it sound like I have a spy network going.”

“Consider it a support system.”

Cinnamon laughed again.  “All right.  I will.”

“They went up to Canada for a few days for Rollin to do a part.  Jen was on the phone to as soon as she got home telling everyone what a wonderful time they had.”

Cinnamon felt a stab of jealousy.  She immediately wondered who Rollin was seeing there.  She also immediately dismissed it.  After all, she was seeing Ted.  That thought gave her another unpleasant twinge.

“We’ll all be over at Barney’s day after tomorrow.”

“You will?”

“Yeah, for the Paula’s annual birthday picnic.”

She was startled.  Was it already the end of July? Paula and Barney always planned a big bash for her birthday.  She had lost track of the time as they had settled into the rhythm of the road.  “Give them my love.”

“Call them,” Jim urged.  “It’ll make you feel better.”

“I’m fine.  But, yes.  I’ll call them.  Thanks.”

“Take care, Cinnamon.  I know you’re doing a splendid job.”

“Thank you, Jim.”

Cinnamon hung up the phone and looked at it for a minute.  It would be late afternoon in California.  Late afternoon, yesterday, she realized.  She picked up the phone and dialed her home number. 

Four rings later, the answering machine picked up.  The tape recorder whirred, then she heard Jen’s voice.  “Hi, we can’t take your call right now, but we’ll call you back when we can.  Leave us a message at the beep!”

The sound of her baby’s voice nearly brought her to tears.  She hung up the phone and leaned back into the executive chair, turning to look out at the sky.  She remembered when Jen recorded that message.  She had been so excited and so determined to do it just right.  They had talked about phone etiquette, what they wanted people to know who called that number, and how they wanted to respond.  Jen had wanted to leave a special message just for her daddy, but Cinnamon had pointed out that other people would call them too.  Jen had reluctantly agreed to leave something more generic, and they had also agreed that giving out their names and their phone number might not be the safest thing to do, or telling people that they were out.  Still, on one of the earlier versions, she had added, “If this is my daddy, I love you.”  Then she had insisted on calling her daddy and having him call her back and listen to it just once.  Then she and Rollin had talked on the phone and laughed about their beautiful, precocious daughter… together.

Would it always hurt this much?  Being apart from him?  Even when she had finally determined to move on?  Would it have been easier if they didn’t have Jen to share and they could have naturally moved on to other interests and other relationships?  Could Jen have been a mistake?  She shuddered at the thought and remembered that beloved voice “Hi we can’t take your call right now…”

One thing she was very certain of.  Jennifer was no mistake.

She wondered what they were doing.  She knew Maria would make sure she ate right, but did he put her to bed on time?  Was she getting enough sleep?  And exercise?  Were they staying up to watch old movies on TV, discussing the script and directing and why each actor moved the way he or she did.  The pair were such a sight watching old movies together.  The first time her six year old had turned to her in the theatre and said, “Mom, I think this film would have been more effective if the editor had taken thirty seconds out of that scene.” Cinnamon thought she would have to leave the theatre to keep from laughing in front of her oh-so-serious child.

She shook her head and turned to the typewriter.  She had reports to write.  For the next two hours she concentrated on the report she needed to send to Jim, and there was a lot to report.  When she finally sat back to take a break she reached for the phone again.  There was still no answer at home.  She hung up without leaving a message again and sat back with a sigh.  She couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so homesick before.  Of course, there had never been someone waiting at home for her before.  Belatedly, she finally realized that there was someone else waiting for her. 

She dialed Ted’s number.  It rang three times before he picked it up.

“Ted?”

“Cinnamon?  Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you honey?  I know you said you’d be out of touch, but it’s been nearly three weeks!” 

“I can’t really say, Ted.  I told you that.”

“Cinnamon.  What nonsense is that?  Why can’t you tell me where you are?”

She sighed.  He hadn’t understood, and she had no idea how to make him understand.  “I signed a non-disclosure statement,” she said patiently.  “Some of the designers get very secretive when you’re dealing with their next season’s wardrobes.”

“Well, it’s not like my phone is tapped by the fashion police!  There isn’t anyone I’m going to talk to who would even care!”

Her stomach flip-flopped.  Before she could think of a reply he added, “I hope you’re not planning any more of these jaunts after we get married.  Especially the ones where you’re away for so long.  How’s the munchkin taking this?”

“Her father is with her,” she explained, thankful for any more neutral topic.  How did Barney handle this?  Or Jim? 

There was a brief silence on the other end.  “With her?  You mean, she’s with him?  Doesn’t he live in New York?”

“He’s working on a movie right now.  It worked out well so he could just stay with Jen.”

“In your house?”

“Of course.  Maria is there to help out, of course, and we didn’t have to disrupt Jen’s routine…”

“Your ex is just living in your house while you’re away?”

Cinnamon had never referred to Rollin, or even thought of him, as her ‘ex’ anything.  She’d never exactly explained to Ted that they hadn’t ever been married.  She had just referred to him as Jen’s father.  The subject had never come up past that.  She could tell, even from thousands of miles away that Ted was upset by this.  “Yes, we both agreed it was best for Jennifer.  That’s what’s important.”  Her memory flashed on Rollin holding Jennifer as she drove away. 

“Well, look, honey.  That’s something we’re going to have to talk about when we get married.  My condo is pretty small for all of us.  Maybe we should start looking around for something new—something that’s ours.  Does your ex still own part of that house?”

“A new house?”  That hadn’t even occurred to Cinnamon.  Of course, after that convention she had attended with him, she had begun to think that marriage wasn’t the best idea.  But moving?  From her house?  It was her sanctuary, her fortress.  She suddenly realized that she hadn’t thought nearly enough about letting an outsider into her life.  Her house had a number of built in… features… that weren’t at all common.  She couldn’t just abandon them, or even recreate them, especially with an uninitiated person!

The question she had thought up earlier resurfaced more urgently.  How much did she trust Ted?  The thought of trusting him the way she trusted Rollin was absolutely ludicrous. 

The thought of trusting Rollin was somewhat ludicrous itself.  That was the cause of the rift that lay between them, and always had.  On one level, she trusted Rollin unconditionally.  In a life or death situation, she would face it with Rollin with a cool head and a loaded gun. He would go to the grave with her secrets secure, as she would go to hers.  But in their personal lives, she couldn’t trust Rollin out of her sight, and she knew in her heart of hearts that if she couldn’t trust him that way, they would make each other crazy or kill each other if they tried for a more traditional lifestyle.

“Cinnamon?  You still there?”

“Yes, Ted.  I was just thinking about the house.  I’ve lived there a long time.  It’s always been Jennifer’s home.”  She would leave her own feelings out of it.

“Maybe we could find a place with more room.  I bet she’d like having a pony.”

Cinnamon managed a smile.  “What little girl wouldn’t?  It’s something we’ll have to talk about when I get home.”

“Perhaps she’d like a little brother or sister as well,” Ted suggested.

Cinnamon felt her world tilt again.  When she began dating Ted, she had thought only of the companionship and the attraction.  She had thought about growing old with someone who had good taste and similar interests.  Rearranging her life, giving up her career, and adding an additional child had not entered her thoughts.  Nor had she considered what Ted might wish.

“We’ll have to talk about these things when I get home,” was about all she could manage.

“And when will that be?”

“Labor Day weekend.  I’ll be back in time for Jennifer’s first day of school.”  As soon as she said the words she knew it was a mistake.  She should have said something about missing him, not her daughter.

“That’s a long time.  I’ll miss you.”

Had she missed him?  Had she even thought about Ted while traveling across half of Asia?  “I’ll try to call you again.”

“They can’t be keeping you that busy.  Don’t they run out of light at some point?”  His tone sounded petulant even as he tried to joke.

“Ted… please don’t.”

“I’m sorry, honey.  I’m trying to be understanding about this.  I’ve just never dated a supermodel before.”

Cinnamon closed her eyes.  She hadn’t modeled in ages.  Her cover story to a man she was considering marrying sounded pathetic even to her ears.  Maybe she shouldn’t be in this business any more.  But other than Jennifer, it was the thing she was least likely to give up in her life.  Rollin would understand.  But how could she ever explain it to Ted.

“I’ve got to go.  Goodbye Ted.”

“Cinnamon… I… take care of yourself,” he finished reluctantly. 

She replaced the receiver without responding.  The conversation was over.

She leaned back and sighed.  Suddenly the office walls seemed to close in on her.  She needed to get out.  Securing her reports in the desk, she quickly locked the place up and headed for the door.  She needed to take a walk.  She needed to think and sort out her feelings.

She was in the Southern Hemisphere and it was winter, officially.  Brisbane was far enough north that winter wasn’t a significant weather factor.  Her hotel was only a short walk away, and when she got there, she headed through the lobby and down onto the beach.  She slipped off her shoes and let the sand squeak underneath her feet.  Her dress was short enough that she wasn’t worried about it getting it wet as she walked through the edge of the surf.  She wasn’t here to swim, simply to blow off a little steam. 

Rollin and Jen would love this beach. 

The insidious thought worked its way into her conscious mind unbidden.  She didn’t want to think about them, or Ted right now.  She should be back in that office finishing up her report.

The breakers were ‘surfing waves’ and she knew both Rollin and Jennifer would want to be out in the middle of them.  Rollin had already promised to teach Jennifer how to surf.  She wished they could have joined her here for this week before she would be heading out again.

Her conscience asked her why she wasn’t wishing for Ted to be here. 

The answer to that was easy.  Ted would be asking too many questions that she couldn’t answer.

Wouldn’t Jennifer be asking similar questions?

Yes, but that would be different… somehow.

She spotted two surfers in the water ahead of her.  They sat on their boards, waiting expectantly for that perfect wave.  One picked out an incoming wave, moved to his knees and began to paddle.  The board caught the wave and he stood, flying over the surface of the water just ahead of the foaming curl.  The wave was breaking toward her.  As she stood and watched, it dissolved into a ripple of foam and the man in the short wetsuit jumped expertly from the board, carried almost to the shore by the wave. 

They stared at each other for a moment.  Then Ian Blaine smiled at her.

“Hello, Cinnamon.”

“Hello, Ian.”  Cinnamon had to work to keep from calling him ‘Bob’. 

“I thought you planned to spend the day working.  I would have asked you to join us.”

“I worked part of the morning.  Then I needed a break.”  She shrugged and smiled.  “And here I am.  But I’m content just to watch you surf.  You’re quite good.”

“A mis-spent youth,” he answered with a smile.  “And lots of practice.”

The other person was riding a wave now, every bit as expertly as Ian had. 

“We were just coming in.  Since you’re taking a break anyway, how about joining us for lunch?”

Cinnamon considered politely turning him down, but she had just spend three weeks with this man and knew he wouldn’t invite her if he didn’t truly want her to join them.  Besides, she wasn’t particularly good company for herself right now.  A young man with long blond hair rode his surfboard up to them, jumped off and gave a small flip with his foot which spun the board up into his hands, looking like levitation.

“My son, Scott.”  Ian made the introductions.  “Scott, this is Miss Carter.”

The young man looked to be in his late teens.  He was about an inch taller than his father and both radiated a fitness and health that only comes with plenty of fresh air and exercise.  “How do you do, Miss Carter?”  Scott Blaine said with a cultured British accent, offering her a damp hand over his board. 

“You sure it’s all right to bring a stranger home for dinner at short notice?”  Cinnamon asked Ian.

Scott answered for him.  “Mum made a beef stew.  And she had a row with Bea just before we left because Bea didn’t tell her that she and her mates were heading out to be gone all day.”

“Bea is our youngest, our only daughter, and our most headstrong child,” Ian explained.  “Really, compared with this beast,” Ian shoved at his son with affection.  “I doubt you eat enough for it to matter. Olivia is use to cooking for an army.”

“Then I accept, gratefully,” Cinnamon said with a smile.

“Come then,” Ian urged.  “We’ll collect our towels and head home.”

The towels were less than a hundred yards away and they headed across the dunes, then crossed the main road, and down a side street for no more than a hundred yards.  A small house of natural cypress with yellow trim sat just off the road, its small front yard held native plants and plenty of sand.  A rack against the unpainted boards of the side of the house waited for the two surf boards.  Scott handled both boards as Ian led Cinnamon into the house.

“I’ll let Olivia know you’re here,” Ian said as he opened the front door.  “But it’ll be my death if she catches me using the front door dripping wet. Make yourself at home and I’ll pop ‘round back.”

Cinnamon entered the front room which was a spacious open living room.  The walls were covered with book cases and wide windows.  An easel was set up in a corner where the light was best.  The canvas was an unfinished oil painting, a landscape of a windswept beach.  The furniture was mismatched and well used.  There was a patchwork throw over the sofa and a crocheted afghan on the back of an easy chair positioned close to the easel.  The book shelves were filled with books on every imaginable topic from poetry to government.  There was a large basket next to the easy chair with magazines and newspapers.  More books, text books, were stacked on an antique desk in another corner of the room.  The floors were polished hardwood and covered with different sized oriental carpets of every pattern and hue.  This was not a room decorated for style, but it was comfortable and homey. 

In short order a woman bustled into the room.  Her dark hair was cut in a short serviceable bob that required very little maintenance.  She wore a cotton apron over stretch pants and a red and white striped t-shirt. 

“Miss Carter,” she said in a comfortable pleasing contralto with a lyrical hint of the Irish in her voice.  “My husband’s manners leave much to be desired, just dumping you off in here.”

“No, please,” Cinnamon said with a smile.  “He didn’t want to drip on your carpets.  I’m the one who is intruding.”

“Nonsense.  You’re quite welcome.  I told him when he returned home yesterday that he should have made sure you knew to come for dinner while you were here.  No need for you to be eating hotel food.”

“Thank you.  It’s nice of you to have me.  Please, call me Cinnamon.”

“And I’m Ollie to my friends.”  She took Cinnamon’s hand and then drew her into the kitchen.

The kitchen took up all remaining room on the first floor of the house.  A stair well and bath stood between living room and kitchen.  The kitchen had almost as many windows as the living room and looked out across an area of windswept dunes.  There was a large table in one corner, already set for dinner.  The kitchen equipment looked ancient by Cinnamon’s standards and the refrigerator much too small, but the smells emanating from a bubbling pot on the stove indicated that superior cooking skills offset inferior technology.

Coffee was poured for her and Scott, Ian and the Blaine’s middle child, Fergus, quickly joined her at the table.  Fresh rolls accompanied a thick rich beef stew and there was a rice pudding for desert.  Fergus was fair skinned with dark hair like his mother.  He wore small round glasses that made him look owl-like.  He was working on an assignment for school which was why he had not been at the beach with his father and brother.  His father questioned him in detail on the progress of the project, and the boy seemed to have ready answers on the Greek history he was studying.  Talk turned to surfing weather and an upcoming community project that Scott was working on with some mates from school.  Both boys seemed to be eager to tell their father about the activities they had been involved with while their father was away.  Neither asked any questions about their father’s whereabouts.  Cinnamon added little to the family conversation.  She simply enjoyed the food and the warm affectionate atmosphere around her, trying to savor it and not miss her own child so much.

After the meal, Ollie assigned Ian and each boy a task in cleaning the kitchen and invited Cinnamon to accompany her for a walk on the beach. 

“I hope we didn’t overwhelm you at lunchtime,” Ollie said as they left the house behind them.

“Oh, no.  It was quite pleasant.  I’m afraid I’ve been more homesick than I anticipated,” Cinnamon admitted.  “It was nice to be around a family.”

“Ian said you had a little girl.  It’s always hard to be away from them when they’re little.”

“She’s six.”  Cinnamon wasn’t sure how much she could discuss with this woman, but Ollie seemed to inspire trust.  “Her father is with her, but this is the first time I’ve been away for any amount of time.”

Ollie nodded.  “I’ll tell you, it doesn’t get any easier.  It’s one of the reasons we came here and put down some roots.  Ian limits his travels and I try to stay close by the shop.  I still go on the occasional buying trip, it’s necessary to keep the business going.  But even now that they’re teens, I worry.  Sometimes I think I worry more, now that they’re teens.”

Cinnamon looked out at the surf, finding the wave pattern soothing.  “I didn’t expect it to change my life so much.  Motherhood, I mean.”

“We never do.  I was Ian’s secretary.”  She smiled as Cinnamon gave her an appraising look.  “I had quite a high clearance.  So that does make it easier on him.  But when Scott was born, we quickly found out how much it changed our life.  I rather enjoy my life now, and we’re both happy here in Brisbane.  But it’s really not what I had expected out of life.”

“Do you have other family here?”

She shook her head.  “My elderly mother in Belfast is all the family we have.  She refuses to come out here.  I worry about her, but she insists on staying.  I won’t even take the children to visit her any more and she resents that.  But I don’t want to risk them.  So,” she sighed.  “We run up exorbitant phone bills.”

Cinnamon nodded.

“So, have you called home?  Spoken to your daughter?”

“Not yet.  The time difference.  I hope to call later this afternoon and get them.”

Ollie nodded. 

They continued to stroll down the beach, talking about motherhood, the guilt they felt no matter what choices they made.  That was another thing Cinnamon hadn’t been prepared for.  It wasn’t just getting back into the game.  It seemed that every choice left her feeling guilty about how it would affect her child and their future. 

Ollie also spoke about life with her husband, whom she obviously adored.  She said it was worth living with his odd schedule and his ‘adventuring’ as she called it, just to be with him when she could.  He was the only one for her and she had known it since she first laid eyes on him.  “Of course,” she confided to Cinnamon.  “I didn’t let on to him for a long time.  It might have scared him off!”

They both laughed at that and Cinnamon knew she had made a new friend.

The week flew by.  She spent mornings working on her report and took her noon meal every day with the Blaine family.  The children walked home from their private school on weekdays for lunch.  Then she spent the afternoons exploring Brisbane.  She visited Ollie’s antique shop.  Called The Occident Orient, it was really two shops in one.  One side contained magnificent pieces of furniture as well as lamps, silver and china from Europe.  Through an ornate door the shop changed character and equally fine pieces from China, Tibet and other parts of Asia were arranged. 

Cinnamon called home three times and spoke to Jen and Rollin all three times.  The first time she called Jen was bursting with questions, but the next two times Rollin must have talked to her, because Jen refrained from asking questions and chattered on about her reading goal at the library and the birthday parties she had attended, as well as the trip to Canada with Daddy.

The night before she left she dreamed of Rollin and home.  It was nothing exciting, just a quiet Sunday waking up beside him with a smile, being joined by Jennifer, breakfast with the two of them, a trip to the zoo, then dinner in town.  They shared smiles at their precocious daughter and she was very aware of his hand holding hers, or touching her elbow as they strolled through the zoo.  They tucked Jen in bed together and spent a quiet evening on the sofa.  Although the dream was not erotic, she woke up very aware of how lonely her bed was.

Bangkok, Malaysia, Singapore, Manila.  On this part of the journey she traveled as Gerald Harrison’s executive secretary, Sara Belling.  Blaine picked up a Harvard veneer over his accent as well as all the credentials of an MBA from that prestigious institution.  In these nations of emerging business and manufacturing concerns, Harrison was a representative of an accounting firm specializing in international law.  He met with executives at numerous corporations in each city.  His secretary remained in the background, attending to his needs, and meeting various workers in break rooms and powder rooms at each company. 

They stayed in the best hotels in two bedroom suites.  Their public relationship was very formal.  The Gerald Harrison persona had very definite views about a woman’s place, and it was not a particularly liberated view.  Sara was a bright young Midwesterner with her own degree from Harvard and was overqualified for her position.  Sara Belling usually had plenty of reasons to complain about her boss and share sympathy with her counterparts.

In private they remained in character most of the time.  She missed her relationship with Bob Roper, but had plenty of work to keep her busy.  While Gerald was setting up contacts for the accounting firm that was a front for the Company, she was meeting prospects for future contact.  It was likely that she would be returning here as would Ian as Gerald. 

Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing and Seoul.  The two Chinese cities surprised her, but she didn’t let it show.  Their minds stayed on their cover story.  They didn’t play tourist, but kept everything business-like.  They didn’t have time for more.  While she had been writing reports in Brisbane, it was obvious that Blaine had been setting up these meetings.  As Sara Belling, she kept the schedule and the list of official contacts at each company.  She also made personal friendships and her own business contacts.  There would be parallel contacts through her acquaintances and eventually the network of contacts would widen.

The time passed quickly.  They returned to Hong Kong by way of Tokyo.  In Hong Kong they met with handlers from MI6 and the Company, including Jim.  The debriefing took two days.  There would also be reports to write after returning home.  This Game was just getting started.

Once the debriefing was over she and Ian had dinner together on the eve of her departure.  They would continue to work closely.  She would need to return again in a few months to discuss things with the Ropers.  Ian also secured her promise that she would return to Brisbane for a visit.  She liked Ian Blaine and his family.  Jen and Rollin would undoubtedly like them too.

As she waited with Jim at the airport she considered that.  She naturally and easily thought of Rollin and Jen as her family.  Somehow she had to learn how to piece her family back together again.  They might not be perfect, but they were what she had.  Like Olivia Blaine, she had long ago realized that Rollin was the man she loved.  If she couldn’t control his actions, she would have to find a way to allow him into her life on terms acceptable to both of them. They had a lot to talk about.  It had been a very productive business trip.

Diana Rutledge

March, 2003

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