She snapped into a salute. “Yes, Comrade.” And then she spun for the door. She would see the purser, get whatever cash they gave her. But her feet itched to run from the building, into the still-snowy street. Straight to the telegraph office.
Her words to Evgeni would be few. Find your brother if you can. I am coming. But he would read affection in the lines, just as he read it in her every kiss.
She’d soon have the Marins in hand.
Lily tucked herself into a corner of the back garden, where she would hopefully go unnoticed while she fiddled with her camera. She didn’t often bring one out at dinner parties, but when Mama had suggested they adjourn to the garden for their pudding, given the unexpected beauty of the evening, Lily had seized the chance to run up to her room and grab her newest camera—the Kodak No. 1 Autographic Special that her parents had given her for Christmas.
Because as she’d watched Zivon Marin over dinner, her fingers had itched for the device as familiar to them as a paintbrush was to her mother’s. Not because he was particularly handsome, but because he was so . . . studied. Something about him struck her as photographic, as if he were already a still life captured on film. What would he look like when actually put to paper? Would the camera see the same thing her eyes did, or would it not translate into a photograph, where everything was caught in a moment devoid of motion?
No. She’d learned to capture motion—or its story, anyway—with her camera. She would just have to see if she could capture its opposite too. A challenge she’d never taken up before, but one she was determined to meet.
“What are you doing?”
Ivy’s whisper slipped easily into Lily’s concentration as her sister slid up beside her amid the green vines trailing over the garden wall. Ivy for Ivy. Lily had taken plenty of photos of that.
She smiled at her sister without taking her focus from her camera. “I wanted to get a snapshot of the Russian.”
Ivy breathed a laugh. “Why? Just for your collection, or did something catch your eye?”
“Mm.” Lily gauged the light and adjusted the shutter from the Clear setting to the Gray and then moved the knob atop the lens to the corresponding stop for exposure. She glanced up again to make sure no deep shadows had found her subject.
Lovely evening light still shone on their guests, soft and hazy. Marin was standing near the brick wall of the house, talking to that Clarke fellow. No, listening to him, it seemed. He was acting as he’d done over dinner, focusing his entire attention on whomever he was in a conversation with. His hands were clasped behind his back.
Clarke gesticulated as he spoke, his face a work of animation. Providing the perfect contrast to the Russian, who looked as though he could have been sculpted from wax. At least until one met his gaze. The few times she’d done that over the course of the evening, she’d been struck by movement instead of stillness. A mind always at work, that was what those eyes betrayed.
Not surprising, if he was one of Admiral Hall’s codebreakers—not that she would have known that’s what he was, were she not a part of OB40 herself.
Perhaps she could convince him to let her take a photograph of him looking at her too. One to capture the stillness. One to capture the motion it hid.
She adjusted the diaphragm lever and then set the shutter in place.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” Ivy’s whisper curled around her.
Lily looked away from the camera to direct arched brows toward her sister. Ivy’s gaze was latched onto their two young guests. “The Russian?” He wasn’t unattractive, but she was surprised at the note of wistfulness in Ivy’s tone.
Her sister glanced back to her, and she laughed. “No, Silly Lily. I mean, not that he isn’t. But I was talking about him. Lieutenant Clarke.”
She blinked at Ivy—at the light in her eyes, the smile on her lips, the way she tilted her head toward their guests. Lily lifted her camera, quickly thumbed the knurled screw all the way to bring the focus in as tight as it would go, and snapped a picture.
Ivy laughed and turned to her again. “What?”
“I had to capture the moment. I do believe this is the first time my sweet baby sister has actually expressed interest in one of the chaps Daddy brought home.”
They’d teased each other plenty over the years, though. About who of the endless parade was the best looking, who had looked overlong at whom. But this time, a pretty blush crept into Ivy’s cheeks, and she looked toward Clarke again. “He is, though, isn’t he? Handsome? And clever. And kind. The way he fussed over Mrs. Goddard when she stumbled . . .”
Lily’s breath had caught when their housekeeper had nearly gone sprawling upon coming in to tell them dinner was ready. But she hadn’t really noticed how Clarke reacted. She’d been more focused on how Marin had managed to move forward seconds before Mrs. Goddard entered, trying to smooth out the bunched rug with his foot, even while he steadied her stumbling form with a quick hand. All while looking as placid as a mountain lake.
How had he known she was about to trip?
A question her sister wouldn’t be able to answer. Lily smiled at Ivy, trying to focus her thoughts on their other guest. “He is all those things. And he was glancing your way quite often over dinner, so I daresay if you give him a bit of encouragement—and let Daddy know of your impressions—he’ll be a regular guest.”
Somehow Ivy’s cheeks went even pinker. “Perhaps. Let’s see how the evening ends, shall we? One never knows when a prince might turn into an ogre.”
With a chuckle, Lily focused on her camera again. If she wanted a shot of Clarke and Marin together, she’d better get it now, before her sister moved away from their quiet corner and stole all the male attention—or the younger men were called over by her parents and the Halls to join their conversation.
She thumbed the knurled screw again to lengthen the focus, checking through the viewfinder to verify that she had it right when she thought it nearly perfect. One more nudge and she was satisfied.
And the light was ideal. Before it—or her subjects—could shift, she trailed her fingers down the cable dangling at the camera’s side and gripped the push-pin. Drew in a deep breath, held her hands steady, and pressed the pin.
The shutter clicked. The film whirred. And a moment was forever captured. It made a smile curl in the corner of her lips.
“Am I allowed to move now?” A grin saturated Ivy’s voice.
Lily grinned back. “Thank you for not getting in the way of the light. Or distracting anyone.”
Her sister gave a mock salute. “Between you and Mama, I have been well trained. But there’s the pudding, so you’d better put the camera away, Lil.”
The back door was indeed opening, a maid laden with a large tray emerging. Their dessert wouldn’t be all that sweet—sugar was all but impossible to come by—but their cook could do wonders with the preserved and canned fruit that her uncle sent from his country estate. Lily folded the camera up and slid the compact rectangle into the pocket of her favorite evening dress . . . which was her favorite because it had pockets large enough to allow her to do that.
“You enjoy photography?”
Lily started at the accented voice, though she was quick to cover it with a smile. It appeared her sister had commandeered Lieutenant Clarke’s attention, which must have left Mr. Marin to wander her way. “I do, yes. My mother taught me how to take good photos, develop them, and retouch them, but she’s never latched on to the medium like I did.”