Wilhelmina blinked, raised her glass to her nose, but did not take a sip. Through the crowd of guests on the opposite side of Dr. Gasztold’s living room, she could see Agent Serret – or rather, the back of his head, his back in a white shirt and suspenders, his narrow waist, his firm ass in tight black pants. In his hands was a tray of glasses, on his face was a toothy smile.
Wilhelmina blinked again.
As Serret turned around to allow a passing couple to take their drinks, Miss Gustavsson had already changed her position, leaving her half-finished drink on the refreshment table, moving smoothly along the wall of dark-framed paintings, the wing of a grand piano lid, violinists, a viola player, and a cellist performing Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 3.
Faces changed one another like in a kaleidoscope, through the hubbub of voices and music it was impossible to discern anything unless one got very close. The waiter’s lot was unenviable – he had to constantly move around the halls … A thin-fingered hand in sparkling bracelets reached for the tray and took the glass, Allex nodded automatically and smiled, his gaze met the gaze of a golden-haired young woman.
Agent Serret’s smile grew broader, his dark eyes widened in surprise. The same artiste, Dr. Gasztold’s patient, recognized him too – and looked at him attentively and directly.
For some reason, Allex got excited, his bow tie constricting his throat.
“Good evening!” he said.
“Good evening,” Miss Gustavsson responded and fluttered her long eyelashes.
Agent Serret’s hair was neatly combed, wavy locks slightly shiny from styling product, falling on a high forehead, his face with a scattering of freckles was clean-shaven, on the left cheek closer to the ear there was a barely noticeable stripe from a fresh cut. Without the shapeless jacket and baggy jeans he looked different, only his bold look and former restlessness gave him away.
“I thought, with your profession, there was no free time for part-time work in catering,” Wilhelmina said.
She understood everything perfectly well – Agent Serret was undercover here. It was unlikely that anyone would recognize him in the guise of a well-groomed waiter … This time the shoes were different, black, shining from wax and brush.
“I can combine both,” the young man smiled. “But I won’t get paid for today’s shift.”
Miss Gustavsson took a sip, stepped aside as guests floated past, but made no move to leave. Allex scanned the crowd, but then returned his gaze to the artiste, who only occasionally glanced at him, standing half-turned.
They were both spies: Serret in the guise of service personnel, and Wilhelmina in her uncharacteristic curiosity and desire to hide it. Phoebus was extremely jealous of any informal communication of hers, even the exchange of remarks at a party; in public he remained polite and courteous, but at home he expressed complaints.
When de Lavender learned that Wilhelmina had been talking to an FBI agent in his absence, he literally lost his temper.
‘Next time, consult me first, my dear Wilhelmina,’ Phoebus pursed his lips in disapproval. ‘You know that every word that comes out of that wonderful mouth of yours can be used against you …’
He meant ‘against us.’ Phoebus always thought only of himself.
How to remain an attractive attribute of a narcissist, a luxury item that he brags about to everyone, and at the same time not to arouse anger and suspicion? Wilhelmina took advantage of Phoebus’s absence during business trips, felt comfortable and free at work without supervision, learned all the ways to fulfill the obligations required of her, and at the same time save time for something personal.
There wasn’t much time … But still there was. The therapy was finally bearing fruit – and Wilhelmina was becoming bolder and more confident.
“Any news on the case of the terrible villain?”
No, she definitely doesn’t want to leave … Allex smiled, dimples appeared on his cheeks, he nodded to the next guest, there were only a few glasses left on the tray.
“Unfortunately,” he shook his head with a theatrical sigh, “I can’t tell you that.”
“I see,” Miss Gustavsson replied.
“But I can tell you something else,” Agent Serret suddenly recollected. “For example,” his lips formed a smile again, and he shook his hair, “about what’s in your glass.”
Wilhelmina knew what was in her glass – she was drinking an Alsatian Riesling – but her natural curiosity got the better of her. She emptied the glass in front of Serret, twirling it around by the stem like a conductor with a baton.
“Yes, please.”
Phoebus was not around, so far as it was possible to continue … Wilhelmina took another glass, but did not drink it. It seemed that she was looking at her interlocutor too much, too openly, she could not help but notice the clear lines of the cheekbones, the outline of the auricle, the soft chestnut curls, bending in elastic half-rings at the neck.
“It’s a Riesling from Alsace, a German style from a French Grand Cru vineyard,” Allex was saying, while Miss Gustavsson was looking at him intently over the top of her glass, her gray-blue eyes unblinking, like an alien cat’s. “It’s funny that the producer doesn’t acknowledge the vineyard classification and doesn’t even put that honorable fact on the label …”
Wilhelmina didn’t smell the wine, but the perfume of the cheap shower gel Agent Serret was using. The deodorant was unscented, as it had been the last time they met, and what she had first taken for styling product was simply the water he had used to wet his hair, causing it to curl into waves.
“Is knowledge about wine also essential for an agent?”
Miss Gustavsson narrowed her eyes slightly and smiled slyly. Allex shrugged his shoulders, the tray tilted, he immediately caught himself and deftly straightened it out, charmingly feigning surprise and fear.
“No, it’s not. I just worked as a bartender while I was studying at the Academy, I had to know.”
So that’s why unscented deodorant – it’s a habit! In bars and restaurants, waiters and other staff are not allowed to use perfume or other strongly scented products.
Wilhelmina nodded. Agent Serret was not so simple! While she was trying to think of something else to ask to fill the silence, de Lavender’s silhouette flashed on the horizon.
“I won’t disturb you any longer, Agent Serret,” Miss Gustavsson said, stepping back, skirting the young man’s periphery. “It was a pleasure talking to you. Goodbye.”
“For me too,” Allex responded, “I was happy to, goodbye, Miss Gustavsson.”
The golden-haired artiste, like a mysterious siren, soon disappeared into the crowd, Agent Serret exhaled, blowing the hair off his forehead, frozen in thought for a few seconds.
When he went to the kitchen for a new batch of glasses, he saw Miss Gustavsson in the company of a golden-haired man, very similar in appearance to her, only with more regular features. A proud posture, a downwards glance, an ironic but cold smile on his lips …
The man’s hand slid across Miss Gustavsson’s shoulder blades in an elusive movement – in the deep neckline of her dress – and if Allex had not been staring at them at that moment, even he would