Diana had just set down her keys and gloves in the rented flat when the telephone rang. She smiled at Simon’s voice on the other end. It called to mind chess and cocoa and late nights when he took her into his confidence. She told him of her current frustration that she hadn’t been of much help at all.
    “I’ve been here for five weeks and you have called in your favor. And now you’re back in London before I am.” She clucked her tongue. “So the next time we talk will be on British soil.”
    “Gabriel Langer is a good man.”
    “He seems so.”
    “I appreciate him much as I do you, Diana. Well, maybe not as much.”
    “I’m touched.” She wound the telephone cord around her finger. “Not sure if it’s helpful, but Fisher always talked about how Mozart’s compositions were catalogued. The Köchel Catalogue.” She listed the piece they had heard that afternoon. “And there was certainly someone who seemed suspicious to Langer there. But we got nothing out of him. If someone was trying to collect a message, could it be in the catalogue choice?”
    “See why I need you?”
    “Because we get along? Because I know everything about church architecture and because I am indebted to you and you know I have no choice?”
    “There’s that. But you also think outside the lines and—”
    “Because you’re following a trail outside of MI6’s jurisdiction?” Diana continued. “It’s not like you to go rogue, Simon.”
    “I’m not going rogue. My team officially has men surveilling the known sympathizers and Soviet supporters in London. But if I can just prove that there’s someone else, that this file exists . . .”
    “You keep mentioning this file.”
    “Langer saw it, Diana. As did a former Special Operations Executive I work with now and then. I just need to prove it. And I need to find the man who is behind the collected information in it.”
    “Off the record,” Diana translated. “With my help.”
    Simon was silent for a moment. “Diana, this file is a link to an ideology that could ruin us. It’s why I am so determined to do my bit to stop it from spreading.”
    “We fought with the Soviets.”
    “I know that. But just because you’re allied in one line of thought doesn’t mean you are aligned in all. Even Hitler hated Communism.”
    “If you truly think I can help . . .”
    “Yes, I do. So let’s have a proper tea, shall we?”
    “When?”
    “The Savoy. Threeish. Day after next.”
    “A proper tea . . . And then will you let me get back to my life? The war is over, as you well know.” But she could still imagine the look of exasperation he would give her. For Simon, there was always another war.
    “Let’s see, shall we?”

Taken from The London Restoration by Rachel McMillan
Copyright © 2020 by Rachel McMillan
Used by permission of http://www.thomasnelson.com/