The English Girl: A Novel

the prospect of a lost day, Gabriel walked around the perimeter of the harbor, past the fishmongers at their metal tables, and joined Keller in the Renault. The weather was deteriorating: heavy rain, a cold mistral howling out of the hills. Keller flipped the wipers every few seconds to keep the windshield clear. The defroster panted weakly against the fogged glass.
    “Are you sure he doesn’t keep an apartment in town?” asked Gabriel.
    “He lives on the boat.”
    “What about a woman?”
    “He has several, but none can tolerate his presence for long.” Keller wiped the windshield with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should get a hotel room.”
    “It’s a bit soon for that, don’t you think? After all, we’ve only just met.”
    “Do you always make stupid wisecracks during operations?”
    “It’s a cultural affliction.”
    “Stupid wisecracks or operations?”
    “Both.”
    Keller dug a paper napkin from the glove box and did his best to rectify the mess he had made of the windshield. “My grandmother was Jewish,” he said casually, as though admitting that his grandmother had enjoyed playing bridge.
    “Congratulations.”
    “Another wisecrack?”
    “What am I supposed to say?”
    “You don’t find it interesting that I have a Jewish ancestor?”
    “In my experience, most Europeans have a Jewish relative hidden somewhere in the woodpile.”
    “Mine was hidden in plain sight.”
    “Where was she born?”
    “Germany.”
    “She came to Britain during the war?”
    “Right before,” said Keller. “She was taken in by a distant uncle who no longer considered himself Jewish. He gave her a proper Christian name and sent her to church. My mother didn’t know she had a Jewish past until she was in her mid-thirties.”
    “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Gabriel said, “but in my book, you’re Jewish.”
    “To be honest with you, I’ve always felt a little Jewish.”
    “You have an aversion to shellfish and German opera?”
    “I was speaking in a spiritual sense.”
    “You’re a professional assassin, Keller.”
    “That doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in God,” Keller protested. “In fact, I suspect I know more about your history and scripture than you do.”
    “So why are you hanging around with that crazy mystic?”
    “She isn’t crazy.”
    “Don’t tell me you believe all that nonsense.”
    “How did she know we were looking for the girl?”
    “I suppose the don must have told her.”
    “No,” Keller said, shaking his head. “She saw it. She sees everything.”
    “Like the water and the mountains?”
    “Yes.”
    “We’re in the south of France, Keller. I see water and mountains, too. In fact, I see them almost everywhere I look.”
    “She obviously made you nervous with that talk about an old enemy.”
    “I don’t get nervous,” said Gabriel. “As for old enemies, I can’t seem to walk out my front door without running into one.”
    “Then perhaps you should move your front door.”
    “Is that a Corsican proverb?”
    “Just a friendly piece of advice.”
    “We’re not exactly friends yet.”
    Keller shrugged his square shoulders to convey indifference, injury, or something in between. “What did you do with the talisman she gave you?” he asked after a sulky silence.
    Gabriel patted the front of his shirt to indicate that the talisman, which was identical to Keller’s, was hanging around his neck.
    “If you don’t believe,” asked Keller, “why are you wearing it?”
    “I like the way it accents my outfit.”
    “Whatever you do, don’t ever take it off. It keeps the evil at bay.”
    “I have a few people in my life I’d like to keep at bay.”
    “Like Ari Shamron?”
    Gabriel managed to hide his surprise. “How do you know about Shamron?” he asked.
    “I met him when I came to Israel to train. Besides,” Keller added quickly, “everyone in the trade knows about Shamron. And everyone knows he wanted you to be the chief instead of Uzi Navot.”
    “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers, Keller.”
    “I have good sources,” said Keller. “And they tell me the job was yours for the taking but you turned it down.”
    “You might find this hard to believe,” said Gabriel, staring wearily through the rain-spattered glass, “but I’m really not in the mood to take a stroll down memory lane with you.”
    “I was just trying to help pass the time.”
    “Perhaps we should enjoy a comfortable