Mrs. John Doe by Tom Savage Read Free Book Online

guest in the hotel. Whoever she was, whoever they all were, Nora was through with being watched and followed, assaulted and rescued. She wanted to do as her husband wished, but not in the company of others.
    She thought about the note. He’d encoded it for her, and no one else could possibly know what he’d told her, including the woman who’d delivered it. He wanted Nora to go to Paris, to Musée Rodin, and he didn’t want anyone else to know about it, not even Bill Howard. Something was waiting for her there, something important.
    She always taught her students to inhabit the characters they were playing; it was the first rule of acting. Okay, she reasoned, I’m Mrs. John Doe. If I’m going to be a secret agent, I’ll have to start thinking like one.
    Her shoulder bag was on the bed. She turned from the view and went over to it. The manila envelope had something in it, something people wanted. The wallet, the keys, the disposable camera—she didn’t care which object was so vital, but she’d hang on to it until it could be delivered to the right people, whoever they turned out to be. She reached up to touch the gold locket on the chain around her neck.
Always keep me close to your heart
. I will, Jeff, she silently promised him. I will.
    Money. She had six hundred pounds in cash, and she could convert most of that to euros. Three credit cards in her married name, but she wouldn’t use them. They were all probably flagged, or whatever the term was. So, the old Amex, only used now for buying secret gifts she didn’t want Jeff to know about before she gave them to him. This account was in her professional stage name, and now, more than ever, she was onstage. From now on, she would be Noreen Hughes.
    She took off her wedding ring. She’d never done that before, and her left hand immediately felt odd, naked. She’d store the ring in a safe place until she could put it on again. Her trusty Rado watch would be her only adornment. That and the locket.
    The Chunnel train. It would be fastest, and young Lonny Tindall downstairs could help. She had her cell—an iPhone that was essentially a computer—but she’d have to avoid using that too. She’d leave it here with her jewels. She’d ask Lonny to book the train on the hotel computer or—better still—his own computer. Round-trip, open return, in the name of Hughes.
    Passport. That was a gamble. It was in her full name, Noreen Hughes Baron, and she’d need it for France, and to get back into England. Well, it couldn’t be helped, but she’d only use it when necessary and hope for the best. Would the purse snatcher’s people have any reason to look for her in France? Probably not. She certainly
hoped
not.
    She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Her reflection in the mirror showed her the faint bruise on her left temple. No matter, she thought; a little base would conceal it, and the similar bruise on her left knee would be hidden by clothes. The blue streaks under her eyes were another matter. She hadn’t slept much since yesterday, just an hour or so on the plane, and she wouldn’t sleep tonight. She’d book the earliest available train, go before she was missed.
    Oh, Jeff, she thought, what is all this about?
    It was her own fault, and she knew it. Jeff had told her everything twenty-two years ago, before they were married. Before she became pregnant. He’d told her as soon as he knew they were serious about each other that his electronics business was really just for show. A
cover
—he’d actually used that word. She’d made the decision then, and now she would stand by it. She’d knowingly and willingly married an intelligence operative. A spy. She thought of the widow’s walk at the top of her house: In a way, she’d been holding vigil there all this time. She’d kept the secret with him; even their daughter didn’t know.
    Dana!
She’d left her daughter in the crowded Village apartment last night, weeping. Dana had only