After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.
This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach
Chapter 9: 14 Men (5)
After she sat down and Jamie poured everyone a glass of water, Ferdinand Groide began:
"Mrs. Beauchamp, Jamie, Mr. Fraser, told me that your husband is Dr. Frank Randall. Is that correct?"
(...)
"As you may also know, I have left my husband. Our marriage had been on paper only for several years. I intend to ask for a divorce, if that's possible from here. But I still have to care about this man's life. I'm a doctor, I took an oath. If I reveal the secrets I have learned... what will you do to him?"
"What do you mean? What are we going to do with him?"
"Will you hurt him? I mean, will you let someone hurt him?"
Ferdinand Groide and Jamie looked at each other in amazement.
"Mrs. Beauchamp, we're not the Mafia. We don't hire hit men."
"But you're in Intelligence, Mr. Groide."
Claire said that sentence with the same calm and objectivity as if she was saying to Jenny:
"If you put one more egg in the batter, it gets better."
"And intelligence agencies do these things," she added to her statement with the same objectivity.
"Well, maybe the CIA or the KGB. Let me answer you this way: In my opinion, a living Frank Randall is far more interesting and valuable to a secret service than a dead Frank Randall."
"In other words, you guarantee me that the information I give you will not endanger his life."
Groide and Jamie looked at each other again.
"Promise me."
It wasn't a question, it wasn't a request, it was a demand, and the words Claire used to make that demand left none of the men unaware that there was no alternative to this bargain for them.
Groide struck the hand Claire held out to him.
"You have my word, Mrs. Beauchamp. You don't know me yet and you probably mistrust me. That's only natural. But Jamie, Mr. Fraser, can assure you that I'm a man of my word."
Claire looked over at Jamie. He nodded.
"Done."
She reached for the glass of water that Jamie had put in her hand and emptied it in one gulp.
Then she began to talk.
"Microphone" by Florian-Media
"It was in the year 2015, in late November 2015 to be exact."
"Excuse me, Mrs. Beauchamp," Groide objected, "but we ought to do this properly."
He removed from his briefcase a device whose rectangular clunkness was reminiscent of an early mobile phone. After placing it in the center of the table, he inserted two small, round microphones attached to longer cables, one pointing at Claire and one pointing at himself. Groide pressed the record button, then he gave the date, time, place, names of those present and, as the reason for the recording, ‘Statement by Dr. Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp’.
Jamie had to smile. Ferdinand was a friendly person, but he was also a German bureaucrat. Everything had to follow the specific order and everything had to be done 'by the book'. Those Germans. They had rules for everything. They couldn't just have a conversation like that, it had to be a 'statement' and of course it had to be 'recorded'. In this country everything was recorded, either on paper or on tape. And then everything was filed, paginated, numbered and archived. Nothing was lost. They were so damn meticulous, these Germans, but also so damn effective.
"Please begin with your personal life, Mrs. Beauchamp. Name, birthday, place of birth, family, etc."
"My name is Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I was born in London on October 20, 1993, the only child of Julia, née Moriston, and Henry Montmorency Beauchamp. My mother was a primary school teacher, my father worked as a statistician for an insurance company. In the winter of 1998 my parents were killed in a car accident. My uncle, Lambert Quentin Beauchamp, was appointed by the authorities as my foster father and guardian. He was my only living relative, my father's only brother. Due to the activities of my uncle, who was an egyptologist and archaeologist, I grew up in England for only a short time, the rest of the time we spend abroad. When I was 16 years old, my uncle returned to England permanently and accepted a professorship at Oxford University. Shortly afterwards I began training as a nurse. Also in Oxford. At the age of 19, I had just completed my education, I met my future husband Franklin Wolverton Randall through my uncle. He also worked in the history department and specialised in Scottish history. At times he worked as an assistant to a professor. We married the following year. My uncle died only a few months later. His health had unfortunately not been the best at the end of his life. When my husband was called to Harvard University's history department, we moved to Boston.
"Oxford" by MarlonRondal
Groide nodded. Jamie was sure that nothing Claire had told him so far was new to his friend. Guaranteed, they had checked Claire from the day he requested the visa for her passport. And they had certainly not been idle since then. At "In Vino Veritas" there was a small but very effective group of staff who had certainly dug up everything they could find about the young woman in the past few days.
"When and how did you learn of your husband's secret activities?"
"It was in the year 2015, in late November of that year to be exact. Does the name Jonathan Pollard mean anything to you?"
Jamie listened with new interest. Groide just nodded.
"Then you know that this man has served thirty years in the United States for espionage. In 2015 he was released on parole and in the American media there was a lot of coverage and discussion for days. I had never heard this man's name before and, to be honest, I didn't care about the whole thing. However, I listened up when my husband spoke about it. It was a Sunday, two days after Pollard was released. I remember the whole thing so well because that day was the day of the terrible accident in that jademine in Myanmar, where 90 people were killed and over 100 people were missing. We had had dinner and then Frank turned on the TV. There was a talk show where the case was discussed. My husband had already started drinking in the afternoon. While Frank was watching the talk show, I thought, ‘My goodness, they're talking about an age-old espionage case and people are dying elsewhere without the media even paying attention.’"
Claire reached for her glass, which Jamie had refilled in the meantime, and took a big sip.
"I didn't pay much attention to the discussion on TV. But then suddenly Frank started mumbling loudly:
'Spy! Spy! Spy! Nonsense! The man was an amateur! What real spy leaves secret documents openly on his desk in the office and his wife was stupid enough to leave a suitcase with secret documents with a neighbour who was in the military himself!’”
Claire reached for her glass again and drank.
"What he said made me furious, so I said to him: 'Oh yes, but you know how a real spy behaves!’ I thought his reaction was terribly arrogant. To my surprise, he then turned down the TV. He came over and sat down with me on the sofa. He looked me in the eyes and grinned. Then he said, ‘Yes, my darling, I know that. The MI5 recruited and trained me while I was still studying at Oxford. Right after they heard I was going to specialise in Scottish history. With my family background and the good connections we had in the military and police through my cousin Jonathan, there were no obstacles.’”
"Books" by MichaelGaida
"How did you react to that?"
"Well, at first I was stumped. I thought he was just showing-off again. So I replied, ‘Why would the MI5 need an expert in Scottish history?’ He replied, ‘Well, of course you can't imagine, you little fool. Good God, Claire! The Scots want independence and just because last year's referendum went so well, they will not give up. It's their history they're drawing strength from! What do you think will happen if they really gain their independence? It could set off a chain reaction. You know that Prime Minister Cameron announced two years ago that he would hold a referendum on Britain's withdrawal from the EU if he was re-elected in 2015? So? He has been re-elected! Now there must be a referendum. And what if Britain's withdrawal from the EU is carried out but Scotland becomes independent and is then admitted to the EU as a member? Did you ever think about that? This is going to get us in big trouble! Then the EU will continue to stand with two legs on our island! We can't let that happen.’”
Claire paused for a moment, then she went on:
"I must have looked at him in wonder and disbelief, because suddenly he stormed out of the living room. I heard him looking for something in his study. When he came back he had a newspaper article in his hand which he held in front of my face. ‘Read it,’ he said to me. ‘Our government takes this danger seriously... and so should you!‘
I took the article and read. It was an article in the International Business Times in July 2015. It reported that the Prime Minister had met with the CEOs of a media company. The purpose of the meeting was allegedly to prevent the broadcast of a TV series about the Scottish Rebellion of 1746 before the referendum on Scottish independence. It seems that a request has been made to postpone the broadcast. I later found on his desk a copy of an article from ‘The Scotsman’, which also covered the subject in detail.”
Groide and Jamie looked at each other and smiled. Both men nodded, but said nothing.
"Frankly," Claire continued, "I hadn't given the matter any thought at all. In the five years before, I had been mainly busy finishing my medical studies and gaining experience as a doctor. You don't have much time to worry about other things. Besides, due to my, well, somewhat non-conformist upbringing, I was never so much confined to one country alone ..."
"How is it that despite medical school, your husband still refers to you as..." Groide is looking for words, "intellectually... weaker...?”
"Frank believes that medical school would consist largely of memorizing the contents of textbooks. He thought that people's bodies were somehow all the same and that if you had learned the appropriate forms of treatment, then you could treat them. He never understood the diversity and complexity of the human body and how medical science reacts to it."
"Did your husband explain his duties for the MI5 to you?"
"When I told him that Scotland's history, and Scotland's ambitions for independence, were well known, he told me not to think so superficially. He said that historians are not only concerned with the past. They can also make predictions about the future to a certain extent, based on their knowledge. I should think about what the clan system had meant and still means to the Scots. Why did the English central government everything to destroy it after the Jacobite uprising of 1746? England should not allow a united counter-power to be formed again in the north of the country. He was probably particularly concerned about this lobby group, One Banner for all Scots, which had formed the year before."
"Scottish Independence" by Emphyrio
Claire was focused on Ferdinand Groide and the recording equipment in front of her. She didn't see Jamie's face become more and more thoughtful.
"Mrs. Beauchamp, all this is interesting, but... not very specific."
"At first, I too got to know only general things. It only became more specific later when I did... well, my own... research.
"You did your own research?"
Groide suddenly seemed interested again. Jamie tried not to smile. What seemed like a minor revelation to his friend only confirmed what he had been thinking all along. Claire was an intelligent, strong woman. Her strength might have been broken for a time by what her husband had done to her. But Jamie was sure that she would find her way back to that strength. And he vowed to himself that he would do everything he could to help her.
"I thought Frank was a braggart for a long time, but... I can't describe it exactly. Something had caught my interest. Then a colleague asked me if I would trade a weekly shift with her. She would have had a night shift, but her babysitter was unavailable. I agreed and that same afternoon I went to the university library and borrowed books on Scottish history and the independence movement. The department where I was on night duty was not very labour-intensive. I had a lot of time to read and think during the nights of that week."
She paused for a moment.
"After that week, I became aware of the urgency of the issue."
Groide didn't say anything, but his gaze urged her to continue.
"National self-determination. Well, there's no need to explain that further. Scotland's oil. 64% of Europe's oil reserves are on Scottish territory. They're said to be worth 4 trillion pounds. Then there is the issue of renewable energy. I mean Scotland has 25 % of Europe's wind energy potential, 25 % of Europe's tidal energy potential and 10 % of Europe's wave energy potential. I do not have to tell you that these are also enormous financial potentials."
A fine smile appeared on Groide's face.
"And then, of course, there is the question of nuclear disarmament: with control of defence and foreign policy, an independent Scotland could tackle the elimination of Trident nuclear weapons, an issue long associated with the campaign for an independent Scotland. Trident class submarines carrying missiles with 120 nuclear warheads are based at the Clyde naval base near Glasgow. In the event of Scottish independence, England would have to withdraw these weapons and revise its defence strategy. I imagine that would be a thorn in the side of the American allies as well. There will certainly be a lot of diplomatic pressure behind the scenes."
Claire took a deep breath.
"Now you're going to tell me that this is all public information and I would agree with you. But I wasn't aware of it before. These informations woke me up. It took a while but when I had the opportunity to take on another week of night shifts I immediately agreed. In this time I developed a kind of plan. I was eager to find out if Frank's statement was true. At first I tried to track when he was going to conferences or work meetings. Not all of them, but several of them took him to England and Scotland. I can't prove it, but I had the impression that his travels became more frequent at times when 'the Scottish theme' was boiling up. Later, after 2015, and particularly after the brexite, his travels intensified.”
To Jamie's surprise, Claire reached into her handbag, which she had hung on the back of her chair, and pulled out a piece of paper she handed over to Ferdinand Groide.
"Tea" by Pexels
"This is a list of all the trips my husband has taken since 2013. supposedly for reasons of his work as a historian."
Groide skimmed the list, then put it aside.
"Thank you very much. We will try to verify the data."
"In the weeks that followed, I voluntarily took several weeks of night duty. Because there was another advantage to this. I was at home while my husband was at university and could look through his records almost undisturbed."
"Will you share the knowledge you have gained from this?"
"Yes. But perhaps we could have some tea?" Claire replied as she looked at Jamie.
"Certainly."
He got up and left the room. Ferdinand Groide pressed the 'stop' button on the recorder. Then he got up and stretched a bit. Claire did the same.
#14DaysofOutlander Thank you @scotsmanandsassenach for this great idea!
Day 1: 5 Oneshots to Read With a Cup of Tea
Here are some of my favorite feel-good oneshots in no particular order. I hope you enjoy and I can’t wait to read what others pick!
1. i can almost believe i'm almost enough
by: tosca1390
Takes place in Outlander, through Jamie and Claire's wedding.
Jamie Fraser shuts the door behind him, leans against its cool wood, and curses.
“Damn,” he mutters, with no heed to the pain in his shoulder.
2. He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
by: abreathofsnowandashes
A quiet moment between Jamie and Claire as their dream of Fraser's Ridge begins to take shape.
3. A Woman Of Balnain
by: @diversemediums
A one shot inspired by one of gotham-ruaidh’s many insightful and intelligent tumblr posts. Takes place in the brothel the night/early morning after Claire’s return. NSFW.
4. STOP ! IT'S HER TURN TO GO OVER
by: tayrn24
From the book, the wedding, when Claire passes out, then wakes up laying in Jamie's lap. Imagine that whole scene from Jamie's perspective.
After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.
This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach
Chapter 11: 14 Men (7)
"I hope you know that you are very welcome, not only because you are giving us this information or as a medical professional, but as a human being. And I hope you'll be able to settle in."
Claire nodded. Then she reached out her hand and put it on the old man's right hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Groide. I appreciate it."
"You can call me Ferdinand, if you like."
"Sure, Ferdinand, I'm Claire."
"Thanks, Claire."
"Well, after that eventful work meeting, let's have a nice drink, shall we? How about a whisky?"
Jamie looked at them expectantly.
Claire nodded.
"I'd love one."
Groide shook his head.
"Jamie, you know I don't drink that stuff. I'll have a vodka, please."
"You see Claire," said Jamie with an ironic undertone, "you might as well learn something about the Germans here. When it comes to alcohol, they have no taste."
He handed her a glass of whisky.
"He's right, Claire. And remember one more thing: We have absolutely no sense of humor either."
The men began to giggle and Jamie had to stop for a moment before he handed the glass of vodka to Groide.
"You may say what you usually say about my taste in alcohol, Jamie," Groide then said jokingly.
Jamie looked at Claire with a grin.
"He spent too much time with Russians, they spoiled his taste."
"Sa sdarovje!" was all Groide would answer. Then he turned to Claire again:
"You said earlier that you intend to ask for a divorce from your husband?"
"Yes, I do. I hope it's also possible from here."
Groide looked at her thoughtfully.
"Do you object to Claire's request, Ferdinand?"
"No, I understand the request very well. I'm just worried it might put MI5 on to you, Jamie."
A mild shock drove Claire through and she nearly choked on the whisky she'd just taken.
“Whisky” by PublicDomainPictures
"I think there's a way we can avoid this. Ever since Claire spoke of filing for divorce, I've been thinking about who could help her."
"Well? Who did you have in mind?" Groide asked.
"I have come to the conclusion that I would recommend the service of Stephanie Svart to her," Jamie replied and turned to Claire.
"She is an excellent specialist family law attorney and the law firm she works for has offices in several Western European countries. I don't know 100%, but I would be very much mistaken if they didn't also have cooperation with American law firms. They could try to do it through their Amsterdam office ... That would move the focus away from Berlin and into one of the countries that is currently in a very tense relationship with the UK ... I don't think they would send anyone there because of the marital disputes of an MI5 employee like Randall. If you add to that the fact that Claire fears repression from her violent husband, you don't even have to give a home address. You can use the address at the law firm."
Groide nodded smiling and held his empty glass out to Jamie.
"Well thought out."
"Who is this lawyer?" Claire asked.
"We've known her a long time. My Uncle Jared had a girlfriend here in Berlin, or rather, a fiancée. Her name is Violetta Chambeau. They were supposed to get married, but then my uncle's illness came along and his death ... But 'Aunt Vio' is still family. She's the one trough whom my uncle met Stephanie Svart. They both studied at the same university. Mrs. Svart is a specialist in family and inheritance law. We trust her, and if you don't mind, then..."
"Well, I don't know any lawyers here, and if she's trustworthy... no, I don't mind if you make contact."
"I've already made an appointment with her, just in case. We could meet her tomorrow morning."
Claire nodded.
"The sooner I get this over with, the better."
She reached for her whisky and took a big sip.
"What do you think, Ferdinand?"
"I think it's a good idea."
Suddenly, there was a knock at the library door. Jamie shouted, "Come in!" and Helene Ballin appeared.
"Mr. Groide, out of your jacket in the hall there comes the sound of a bell. I assume it's your smartphone?"
Groide jumped up and hurried out of the room.
“Smartphone” by niekverlaan
About ten minutes later, he came back.
"Excuse me, but this call was important."
The old man sat down, then he looked at Jamie with a serious look:
"A Carl from Boston called the office at ‘In Vino Veritas’ and asked to speak to you..."
Now Jamie and Claire looked at him in shock.
"I've convinced him that I'm a good friend of yours and that he can talk to me too."
"What did he say?" Jamie asked, his voice giving way his tension.
"He said a man named Randall called the hotel limo service and asked for a specific car..."
Claire's face changed color in one fell swoop. Completely pale and with eyes filled with fear she looked at Jamie. The mention of Randall's name, and even more so the fact that he was obviously picking up her trail, had brought fear back into her life within seconds.
"What happened? What did he say?" Jamie asked.
"They put Randall's call through to Carl because they knew he was your driver. Carl told Randall, that he drove you to his home, as Randall already knew, and then to the Boston mariana.”
Jamie and Claire looked at each other first and then at Groide.
"The marina?" Claire asked incredulously.
"Yes, Carl felt that it was none of this man's business where he took you. He didn’t know him and he felt his passengers had a right to discretion. That's why he told Randall that he drove you to the quay next to the ‘Yacht Haven Inn & Mariana’. There, he said, you boarded a large yacht. This yacht arrived at the quay at the same time as the limousine and left immediately after both of you went on board. Randall asked him if he had seen the name of the yacht or if he could remember the flag. Carl replied that he had not paid attention to it. But he assumed that it was a private yacht.
Claire closed her eyes. Her body relaxed, if only slowly. Jamie smiled. Groide remained silent for a few moments. He knew that the two people sitting in front of him would have to digest this shock first. Then Jamie stood up and filled the glasses with whisky and vodka again. After they had drunk in silence, Groide resumed the conversation:
"Well, that went well once again. At least that's how it looks at the moment. But it's not impossible that Randall recognized you, Jamie. So, for the time being, you won't be taking any assignments outside of Europe... who do you suggest as a replacement?"
"The best man we have. My adopted son."
"When will he be ready?"
"I'll call him in the morning and get back to you first thing."
"Well, I hope he agrees to take over your duties."
“Tür” by CJ
When Claire and Jamie got off the elevator an hour later and walked down the hall to their rooms, she asked, whispering:
"Does your comment about Ferdinand's relationship with the Russians have any deeper meaning?"
"You mean, if Ferdinand really was involved with Russians?"
"Hm hm."
"I don't know, it's a joke between us. Ever since I first met him, I've tried drinking whisky with him. But he always refused, and so far he's stuck to vodka. But I wouldn't be surprised if he had dealings with Russians as part of his service. As far as I know, he came to Berlin to study. That must have been a little over 40 years ago. So it was still the Cold War period."
They had stopped at the door of Claire's room.
"Don't worry, Jamie, I'm not here to question you."
"Oh, I don't think that's top secret information."
He looked at her and his eyes got caught on her dress.
"Claire..."
"Yeah?"
"What you did tonight... it was remarkable. So much acumen, intelligence. It will have... certainly... taken a lot of strength from you. And tomorrow will be no less exhausting... will you be able to sleep? Is there anything else I can do for you?”
"Thank you, but I think I’m fine.”
"If there's anything else... I'll be right here.”
He pointed to the door of his room.
"I'll leave the phone on, just in case.”
"Thanks, Jamie. You're very kind. Good night."
"Good night, Claire."
She opened the door and entered her room. When she had closed the door behind her, she held her hand on the door leaf for a moment, as if she could still maintain contact with Jamie in this way. This man touched something inside her. Something that was buried deep under years of neglect, harshness and unkindness that she had experienced through Frank Randall. For the first time since the death of her Uncle Lambert, she felt that someone else really cared about her. Claire went to her bed, pulled out her pyjamas from under her pillow and changed. Then she went to the small desk that stood under one of the windows and turned on the small lamp that was placed at the right side. From one of her suitcases she took a diary. She sat down at the desk and began to make notes about the evening and about the conversation with Ferdinand Groide. An hour later, Claire closed the book and put it back into the suitcase. She sat down on the bed and reached for her handbag, which she had left on the nightstand. Claire opened it and pulled a zipper attached to the lining. Another zipper was attached to the bottom of this inner bag. When one opened it, you entered a compartment that was hidden in the bottom of the handbag and not visible from the outside. Claire reached into this compartment and then looked thoughtfully at the six silver USB flash drives on her hand. What had Frank once said? You can't let all your cards go at once. She had agreed with Frank only on a few things, but on this point she had to agree with him. Slowly she put the USB flash drives back and closed the handbag. After she had freshened up a bit in the bathroom and put a big glass of mineral water on the bedside table, she lay down and turned off the light. Claire looked up at the ridge of the roof. Through the glass she could see the night sky. She wondered if Jamie was now lying in his bed and looking up there as well. With this thought she fell asleep.
After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.
This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach
Chapter 8: 14 Men (4)
During her medical studies, Claire had seen many horrible pictures. And what she saw in the emergency room where she later worked had often been just as bad. Except that they were no longer just pictures, but injuries endured by living people. That which had been bad but far away during her studies had come close and seemed all the more terrible to her. But Claire had never seen anything like what she saw when she walked through the door of James Fraser's gym. Later, she would realize that this experience gave an answer to all her questions.
“Fitnessraum” by lewisgoodphotos
The sensitive person inside her shuddered at what she saw. But the healer in her could not help but stretch out her hands and lay them on the terrible scar tissue that covered Jamie's entire back. Only later did she realize how much she could have frightened him with this gesture. But Jamie, who had finished his work out and was almost dressed, sat on a bench facing a wall of mirrors. There he had seen her coming. Still, he felt a slight tremor when he felt Claire's hands on his back.
"Who ... who ... did ... did this ... to you?" Claire asked quietly and in a trembling voice.
Jamie grabbed her left hand and pulled her gently down onto the bench. Claire slid into the seat next to him. Her face reflected the immense shock she felt about what she had seen. Jamie carefully put his left arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently towards him. Then he replied, just as quietly:
"Jonathan Wolverton Randall, better known as Black Jack Randall."
Claire's eyes filled with horror.
"Did ... did you kill him?"
Though the situation was so serious, Jamie could not help but smile.
"No," he said quietly, his words accompanied by a slight shake of his head, "I wished for it many thousands of times. But in the end, other men put an end to his life, at least to the one he had on this earth."
"He ... he ... was Frank's cousin ..." she said and a long breath escaped from her lungs. Then her gaze wandered into emptiness.
"I didn't know ... but ever since I ... since that day in Boston, I've felt that somehow they must be related."
Claire turned her face back to Jamie. Slowly, she ran her right hand down his left cheek. She wanted to say something, but nothing she could think of seemed appropriate for that moment. She shook her head again, then lowered her gaze to the floor of the gym. Jamie pulled her gently towards her again.
"Don't worry, Claire. It's all over. And no one here will hurt you."
They remained like that for a few minutes. Then Jamie stood up, put on his shirt and undershirt and stuffed them into the trousers he had put on before Claire arrived. Finally, he slipped into the black leather shoes that stood under the bench. Still in silence, they left the basement and took the elevator that brought them to the attic. It had not escaped Jamie's notice how deeply this further revelation about the background of Frank's family had shaken Claire. Arriving at the door to her room, he asked:
"Claire, are you okay? Is there anything I can do for you?"
"I'm exhausted and I want to lie down, but ... "
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to be alone right now. Could ... could you ...”
"I can stay with you - if you want me to."
"Yes, please."
“Schlafzimmer” by innokurnia
They entered the big, bright room. While Claire sat on the bed and wiped off her shoes, Jamie stepped to one of the windows and looked out. Then he turned back to Claire:
"I haven't asked you if you like this room. I hope you're comfortable."
"Oh, yes."
Claire looked around. Her face showed that she was thinking.
"But?"
"No but. It's just that I've ... well, I've never had a room all to myself that big before. It's ... basically an apartment, not a room. I enjoy the light ..."
She looked up towards the roof. The middle part of the ridge of the roof was glazed, so that it let the sun in during the day and at night you could look through it at the starry sky.
"Do you know that you can cover the glazing in the ridge? In case it gets too bright or too hot from the sun."
Claire looked at Jamie questioningly. He walked over to the small coffee table that stood near the door and formed the center of a small seating area. Next to a bowl of fruits was a kind of remote control. He took it and gave it to Claire.
"There are only two functions: open and closed. Press 'close' once."
Claire pushed the button and together they watched a dark cover slide across the glass.
"If I cover these windows, does that mean the windows on the other side of the ridge are also covered?"
"No. You don't have to worry about that. The glazing above my room will stay clear. I also have a remote with which I can control my side. But didn't you want to get some sleep?"
Claire nodded, went back to the big white bed and sat down against the wooden, large pillow-backed headboard of the bed.
"Can you ... sit next to me?"
"Sure."
Jamie walked round the bed, wiped off his shoes and sat down beside her. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to put his right arm around her. Claire lowered herself against his shoulder. The scene reminded Jamie of the night they had left Boston sitting next to each other on the plane. And indeed, again it was only a short time before Claire fell asleep. He watched with joy as first her body relaxed and a little later her facial features. About half an hour after she fell asleep, Claire began to spin. Obviously, her body was trying to get into a more comfortable position while she slept. Jamie got up, circled the bed and gently lifted her up on both arms. He set her down a little below the pillows, bedding her head on one of the it. Then he took the blanket that was at the foot of the bed and covered her with it. He was glad Clair hadn't woken up during this action, but before he could sit down next to her again, she had turned around, still asleep, and was groping for him with her outstretched left hand. He reached for her hand and whispered:
"I am here."
There was no reply from Claire's direction, just a light sigh. Instead of letting go of his hand, she pulled it towards her belly and held it there. Jamie had to smile. He closed his eyes and was grateful that no one could read his mind at that moment.
Around 4pm the alarm on Jamie's smartphone sounded. Claire woke up and yawned. Then she noticed her hand clasping his and let go in shock.
"Good morning," Jamie, who hadn't been sleeping, muttered jockingly.
Claire turned abruptly and now they were face to face.
"Have I ... the whole time ..."
"No problem, Claire. My arm's a little asleep, but there are worse things. I didn't want to wake you. But now it's time for tea, and then we have to get ready for the evening.
Claire sighed.
"Lie still. I'll ask Helene to bring us the tea."
"But it doesn't have to be ..."
He smiled.
"Yes, it must be," he said and reached for his smartphone to dial Helene Ballin's number. While waiting for the housekeeper to pick up, he thought that this evening, especially the conversation they had to have with his 'friend', would be exhausting enough for Claire.
“Tea Time” by NajukusnijiRecepti
Three hours later, at 7pm sharp, the front doorbell rang. Jamie had already seen a big black Opel coming up the driveway from one of the windows of the hall. The driver had stopped, then opened the passenger door and let an elderly gentleman about six feet tall get out. Jamie had opened the door and welcomed his friend.
Claire and Jamie had taken the tea that Helene Ballin had served. As Jamie prepared in his room for the evening's conversation, making a short list of questions and thoughts, Claire showered and thought about what to wear for the occasion.
In the end, she decided on a dark, classic-timeless dress, with a skirt that went way up over her knees. Although it accentuated her body, Frank had called it a 'prude Pietist frock' when he first saw it. When she had looked at him then in astonishment, he had added that she would look in it 'as if she had come out of the 18th century'. He was not so wrong with this remark. Claire had discovered the dress in a shop during a stroll through town, and the owner also made re-enactment costumes. But that she had not told Frank. She knew that he would then finally declare her insane. But how could she explain to him that it wasn't only fashionable reasons that had persuaded her to buy that dress. She couldn't quite explain it to herself. All she could say was that something about the dress spoke to her. This dress was not the only one she had bought in that shop. Little by little she had bought one dress in dark red, one in dark green and another in dark blue. Claire stored all these dresses in a wooden box that she had inherited from her Uncle Lambert so that Frank would not discover them. A few weeks before 'the horrible night' happened and she left Boston, she had felt the urge to go to the store once again. On this occasion she bought three more dresses. These too disappeared into Uncle Lamb's box. In all the chaos that had accompanied her escape from Boston, Claire had forgotten all about the dresses. But then the suitcases and boxes that had disappeared in that black van marked "New Castle Movers" arrived in Berlin, and Claire wondered if she would be able to wear them now. But when she noticed that Jamie's sister also wore ladies dresses almost exclusively, she had dismissed the question of whether she could be dressed inappropriately. On the previous days she had worn more modern dresses with a light, floral pattern. But for the occasion of this evening this dress seemed appropriate to her. Like the other dresses she had bought, this one had an oval neckline, into which she had tucked in a white silk scarf. Normally she tucked it in so that a small part of her neck was still visible. But this time she covered everything. The marks that 'the 'that horrible night’ had left had turned blueish in the past two days and she did not want anyone to see them.
Claire looked at herself in the mirror once more. Then she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. She decided not to take the elevator. Slowly, she went down the stairs. Suddenly, she heard the doorbell ring and when Claire arrived on the first floor, she heard voices. One of these voices belonged to Jamie, who was greeting a man he called Ferdinand. Claire paused for a moment. She was now just a bend, a landing and some more stairs away from the entrance hall. She was far from eavesdropping, yet something was holding her back.
"Jamie! It's so good to see you again!"
"The pleasure's all mine, Ferdinand. Even if the occasion is a bit, well, complicated.”
"Jamie, we don't even start before ‘complicated’. We start with ‘impossible’ and move on when ‘hopeless’ appears. But when we com to ‘utopian’, we are at our best."
The men giggled briefly. But then the voice, which belonged to the unknown Ferdinand, became more serious:
"Jamie, none of this has to be a real problem. We just have to be wise about this whole thing. It is important that we act calmly. The elections are in a year and a half and Ernst has a good chance of being promoted to the top of a ministry. From there it's just a matter of winning an election or two. With each of these steps we are getting closer to our common goal. We may ..."
"... not to endanger it," Jamie finished the sentence.
After a short pause he continued:
"I know, Ferdinand. I know. And I'll do everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen."
Claire wondered what goal it was the men had in common. And who was this man called Ernst they spoke of? But then she had to turn all her attention to an itch in her nose. She tried to suppress the approaching sneeze. She went around the corner and stepped on the steps that led directly into the hall.
“Foyer” by ErikaWittlieb
Then she sneezed - loud and audible. The men standing in the hall looked up at her.
"Gesundheit."
The men’s wish came as if from a mouth.
Claire sneezed again. She shook herself slightly. Then she smiled and walked down the final steps of the hall.
She felt Jamie's gaze latch onto her, accompanying her every step down.
"Good evening," she said as she arrived in the hall.
"Good evening, Claire," Jamie replied. Then he turned to the older, tall man and introduced them.
"Claire, this is my good friend, Ferdinand Groide."
She shook hands with the stranger, who to her surprise indicated a kiss on her hand.
"Good evening, Mrs. Beauchamp. Welcome to Berlin."
"Ferdinand, this is Claire Elisabeth Beauchamp."
"Good evening, Mr. Groide, and thank you for welcoming me."
Jamie led the guest and Claire into the dining room, where Ian and Jenny were already waiting.
Clair noted with interest that the Murrays, and Mrs. Ballin, treated the guest like an old friend. When the housekeeper served dinner, she mentioned that she had prepared his favourite vegetables and Jenny thanked him before and after dinner for the large bouquet of flowers that the guest had brought. Claire herself was very restrained during the meal, but also during the conversation between courses, and was more inclined to observe the interaction of the individuals.
When the coffee Helene had served with dessert was also finished, Jamie urged to leave. The Murrays said goodbye and retired to their living room while Jamie led Claire and Mr. Groide into the library. There he previously had Helene Ballin prepare the larger rectangular table for their small conference. He had not found it appropriate to have this conversation at the coffee table.
“Chipendale” by JamesDeMers
After they sat down and Jamie poured a glass of water for each of them, Ferdinand Groide began:
"Mrs. Beauchamp, Jamie, Mr. Fraser, told me that your husband is
Dr. Frank Randall. Is that correct?"
"Yes, that's right."
"And is it also true that your husband is not only a professor of history at Harvard University, but also works for British Ml5?"
"Yes, that's also correct."
"You'll forgive me if I enquire. But people who work for an intelligence agency don't usually talk about that activity. Not to their spouses or to their family members. What makes you think your husband is in the service of Ml5?"
Claire smiled lightly.
"My husband is not only convinced of the cause of what he calls the great British Empire and its superiority, but also very much of himself. This ... arrogance and ... his use of alcohol ... often caused a certain talkativeness. On top of that, especially in the last few years, he did not consider me to be his intellectual equal. I don't think he could imagine that what he told me would one day be used against him or even leave my mouth."
"Can you give me an example?"
"Mr. Groide, I am prepared to share my knowledge with you. But you will understand that I need certain guarantees."
Now Jamie smiled lightly. He hadn't underestimated Claire, and he was happy to see her speak up for herself so clearly.
"What kind of guarantees do you have in mind?"
"Well, first of all, I have to ask if I can stay here, in this country. At present, I am grateful to accept the hospitality of the Fraser family. But as you may know, I am a trained physician. Surgeon, to be exact. And once I've settled my affairs in the United States, I'd like to return to my profession, earn my own income."
Ferdinand Groide nodded.
"For the time being, nothing should stand in the way of your stay in our country. If I am correctly informed, you have a visa that is valid for three months. This can easily be extended, as Jamie, I mean Mr. Fraser, will vouch for you. And if you should decide to acquire German citizenship ... I also don’t see any problems in principle that would prevent you from taking up work later. As I'm sure you're aware, our country has been seeking medical personnel for years, and as you can imagine we're always happy to hire well trained doctors.”
He smiled, then he went on:
"I can't promise you that we can employ you as surgeons or in a hospital, but I'm sure we'll find a job where you can use these skills and abilities and earn your own decent salary. But you were talking about guarantees, plural?"
"Yes. As you may also know, I have left my husband. Our marriage had been on paper only now for several years. I will ask for a divorce, if that is possible from here. However, this ... this ... I care about his life. I'm a doctor, I took an oath. If I reveal the secrets I have learned ... what will you do to him?"
"What do you mean? What are we gonna do with him?"
"Will you lay hands on him? I mean, will you let someone lay hands on him?"
Ferdinand Groide and Jamie looked at each other in amazement.
"Mrs. Beauchamp, we're not the Mafia. We don't hire hit men."
"But you are part of a secret service, Mr. Groide."
Claire said those words with the same calmness and objectivity as if she told Jenny:
"If you put one more egg in the batter, it gets better."
"And intelligence agencies do these things," she added to her statement with the same objectivity.
"Well, maybe the CIA or the KGB," Groide replied smiling. After a brief pause, he continued:
"Let me answer you this way: In my opinion, a living Frank Randall is far more interesting and valuable to an intelligence agency than a dead Frank Randall."
"That is, you guarantee me that the information I give you will not put his life in danger."
Once again, Groide and Jamie looked at each other.
"Promise me!"
It wasn't a question, it wasn't a request, it was a demand, and the way she made that demand left none of the men unaware that for her there was no alternative to this deal.
Groide took the hand Claire held out to him.
"You have my word, Mrs. Beauchamp. You don't know me yet and you probably mistrust me. That's only natural. But Jamie, Mr. Fraser, can assure you that I'm a man of integrity, a man of my word."
Claire looked over at Jamie. This one nodded.
"Done."
She reached for the glass of water that Jamie had put in her hand and emptied it in one gulp.
After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.
This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach
Chapter 10: 14 Men (6)
"Now you will tell me that this is all publicly available information and I would agree with you. But I was not aware of it before. In a way, it woke me up. It took some time but when I had the opportunity to take over another week of night shifts I immediately agreed. In this time I developed a kind of plan. I was eager to find out if Frank's statement was true. At first I tried to track when he was going to conferences or work meetings. Not all of them, but several of them took him to England and Scotland. I can't prove it, but I had the impression that his travels became more frequent at times when 'the Scottish theme' was boiling over. Later, after 2015, and particularly after the Brexit, his travel intensified."
To Jamie's surprise, Claire reached into her handbag, which she had hung on the back of her chair, and pulled out a piece of paper she handed over to Ferdinand Groide.
"This is a list of all the trips my husband has taken since 2013, supposedly for reasons of his work as a historian."
Groide skimmed the list, then put it aside.
"Thank you very much. We will try to verify the data."
"In the weeks that followed, I voluntarily took several weeks of night duty, because there was another advantage to this. I was at home while my husband was at university and could look through his records almost undisturbed."
"Will you share the knowledge you have gained from this?"
"Yes. But perhaps we could have some tea?" Claire replied as she looked at Jamie.
"Certainly."
He got up and left the room for a moment. Ferdinand Groide pressed the 'stop' button on the recorder. Then he got up and stretched a bit. Claire did the same.
"Tea” by Pexels
"It's good to take a little break," Groide said as he slowly walked across the room and then paused at one of the windows. Claire, too, had stood up and stretched. Her steps led her to one of the dark oak bookcases. Slowly she let her eyes slide over the old leather-bound volumes. Then her gaze wandered over to Groide.
Ferdinand Groide was, at least as far as she could judge right now, an impressive person, even on the outside. Claire estimated him to be in his mid-60s and should be almost right. The 66 year old, tall man stood bolt upright in front of the window and had his arms crossed behind his back. He was moderately slim and not muscular, but his movements suggested that he had kept himself physically fit for his age. His black, short cut hair showed grey patches only at the temples. From the first moment they met, Claire had been attracted to the unusual shape of his face - you could almost call it rectangular. The way he appeared and behaved radiated calm and a kind of positive authority. He was wearing a black three-piece suit of virgin wool, whose jacket he had taken off before dinner. The timelessly elegant waistcoat that appeared beneath it, from whose small side pocket a golden watch chain protruded, and the discreet tie of dark Italian silk jacquard that matched the pocketkerchief of his jacket contrasted with the visitor's simple but flawless white shirt. Groide wore gold-framed, thick glasses that suggested myopia, a simple gold wedding ring on the right hand and a signet ring with a dark blue stone on the left hand. At dinner, Claire had also noticed the rectangular gold cufflinks bearing Groide's monogram. Everything about this man underscored Claire's impression that she was dealing with a person who not only knew exactly who he was, but also what he was doing.
Moments later, the door opened and Jamie entered.
"Tea will be here in just a few minutes. Would you like something else to drink?"
Claire shook her head, Groide turned to Jamie and said:
"Thank you. Not yet."
A little later, a knock caught their attention.
After Helene Ballin served tea and everyone had a cup, Groide asked:
"Can we continue?"
Claire nodded.
Groide pressed the record button on the recorder, and Claire went on to talk:
"My husband has always had a certain reluctance towards the new media. Of course we had a PC in the house that was connected to the Internet. But my husband used it very rarely. An yes, he also has a notebook. But it was never allowed to be connected to the Internet. Frank was always afraid of viruses or that hackers would steal his work. Before 2015, when he used the term 'work', I was thinking only of his research and the manuscripts of his books. But since that conversation in November 2015, I wondered if it could be about something else entirely. My husband always took his notebook with him to the university. But that was not a problem. Because Frank was obsessed with the thought that his notebook might get lost or - even worse - be stolen. So..."
“.... were there disks, USB flash drives?" Groide asked interested.
"No," Claire replied smiling, "papers.”
The expression of highest astonishment was to be heard in the older man's voice.
“Papers?”
"Yes, papers. Frank believes that only what is written by hand will remain in ones memory. That's why everything he later typed into his notebook was first written down by hand."
"And you had access to these handwritten documents?" asked Groide, who had now put his arms on the table and moved his whole body forward a little.
"No," Claire replied smiling.
"Too bad."
An unmistakable disappointment spread over the face of the German.
"Why?" Claire asked, adding: “One can get access."
She laid her head to one side coquettishly, smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
Once again, astonishment spread over Groide's face. Meanwhile, Jamie had to pull himself together because he almost laughed out loud. This woman was not only intelligent and strong, she also had a sense of humor. It was delicious to watch the rapidly changing emotions she was able to conjure upon Ferdinand Groide's face.
"So you have ... gained ... access ..." he said, trying to remain objective.
"Yes," Claire, in turn, noted objectively and took another sip from her teacup.
"One Friday evening, it was in early February 2016, my husband came home from university in a rage. He said that he had had a dispute with the university management about his research funds. Later I was to learn that this dispute never existed. In fact, it was that one of his affairs had dumped him. But that's another story. As always, when he was angry or did not know how to handle a situation, he became aggressive and drank. And that's what happened that weekend. "
Claire paused for a moment, looked at the table and took a deep breath.
"Then on Sunday ... he started drinking whisky after lunch. He drank until he was laying snoring on the sofa. I used this opportunity to make a copy of the key to his filing cabinet and the key to his desk."
"How did you know how to do that?" Jamie asked, looking at Claire in amazement.
"As I said, I was raised and educated in a very ... nonconformist way. In port areas you can ... come into contact with ... people ... who ... help you with ... such questions ... I had used the pre-Christmas period to, well, let's say, make contacts there. Frank hates to go shopping and so I knew that on these days I did not have to expect that he wanted to accompany me. In a bar I inquired and the waitress behind the counter told me that she could make a contact for me for the payment of $100. I gave her $50 and the number of my department at the hospital as well as the dates on which I was on night shift. Two days later, a man calling himself 'Joe' called. We set up a meeting the night of the next day. He promised to give me two small boxes with a mass to make prints with. He asked me $600 for them. The next night, just before the night shift started, I met ‘Joe’ in the parking lot of the hospital. He gave me a brown bag, the kind you get in burger and fast-food restaurants. Inside were the little boxes. I gave him an envelope with the money in it. We agreed that if I got the prints, I would get back to Brenda at the bar. It took some time, but at the beginning of February, as I said, I finally had the opportunity to carry out my plan. When Frank fell asleep drunk on the sofa that Sunday afternoon, I took the bunch of keys from his jacket pocket. Then I locked myself in the bathroom and made the prints. When I returned to the living room, Frank was still asleep and it was easy to slip the bunch of keys back into his jacket pocket. I had taken the boxes with the prints, wrapped in a towel, into the bedroom. There I stashed them among other things in my doctor's bag.”
“Medical Bag” by Raimundo Pastor
Claire held out her cup to Jamie, who poured tea for her again.
"A few days later I went back to the bar, gave 'Brenda' another $50, the boxes and a note with the details of my next night's duty. It took about 10 days, then 'Joe' called during my night shift and announced that he would bring me the keys the next evening. And that's exactly what happened. He gave me the keys and I gave him another $600. The next day I went back to the bar and gave 'Brenda' another $100, as I had promised her. That was the end of the deal. In total I paid 1400 dollars. I thought, this investment will certainly pay off."
Now Claire took a big sip from the cup that Jamie had left for her.
"Investment?" Jamie asked.
"Well, I was curious if Frank was really working for the Secret Service. To be honest, I still thought his story was just bragging and I didn't expect to find anything real to do with MI5. But I was hoping to get hold of evidence of his affairs. Evidence that, in the event of a divorce..."
Claire paused for a moment.
"Our marriage had gone downhill in the years leading up to it ... I had heard rumors, I had suspicions. "But my studies and work didn't give me time ..."
"And then you put the keys to use?" asked Groide, who was very keen to make sure the conversation didn't drift into secondary topics.
"Yes, in mid-March the opportunity arose. Frank flew to Edinburgh for a weekend, supposedly for a conference, and I took the opportunity to look around in his filing cabinet. I was frankly amazed at how well the keys worked. When I opened his cabinet I found, among other things, 14 files relating to the 'New Jacobite' leaders. They contained detailed information about each of these men. CVs, family trees, family relationships, friendship and business relationships, relationships abroad and more. In each of these files there was also a folder with pictures. I didn't recognize Jamie, I mean Mr. Fraser, in Boston. Because in the pictures in the file that Frank keeps on him, he has red hair and no beard..."
Claire looked over at Jamie, whose hair and beard were black. He smiled and stroked his hair, slightly theatrical, and said:
"There's nothing like a good make-up."
All three of them smiled. Claire picked up her cup again and drank. Then she continued in a rather nonchalant tone:
"It was very interesting to read about the lives of these men. "
"After all these years, do you think you can still remember what you read in these files?" Groiede asked.
"Anything?" she asked with a smile.
"I can remember everything as if I had a photographic memory."
Again she reached into her handbag. To the surprise of the two men, Claire's delicate hand produced three silver USB flash drives, which she slid over to Ferdinand Groide.
"Each of these sticks contains one terabyte of data. I photographed all the pages of the files and placed them in folders with the appropriate names."
The men looked at her first, then at each other in silence for a moment. Ferdinand Groide took the sticks and looked at them.
"You ... said ... that ... you ... did this ... research ... in 2016, so seven years ago ... does that mean the files are up to 2016?"
Her answer came quickly and came as no surprise to Ferdinand Groide or James Fraser:
"No, I made the last additions three weeks ago. At that time Frank was - supposedly - at a meeting of historians in Canberra. So all the files should be almost up to date."
Groide was struck dumb. Jamie had no recollection of ever seeing the old man like that. He had sunk slightly into himself and his face had lost the rosy colour that was so characteristic of him. He was obviously aware of the heavy responsibility that came with owning these sticks. Claire's information could change the fate of at least three or more nations. Groide knew it and Jamie knew it, too. But was Claire aware of it? Jamie could not answer this question.
His friend took off his glasses with the angular golden rims and wiped his eyes. A long breath of air escaped the old man's lungs. Then he looked at Claire:
"And you want to give me, I mean us, this information freely?"
Claire nodded:
"Yes."
"May I ask you, are you doing this to get back at your husband?"
"No, I mean yes, you may ask me. But the answer is no. I was thinking of using it against him in case of divorce. But having read so much about the history of Scotland, I think that something like this ... must never happen again. And..."
"And?"
Now ist was Claire who took a deep breath.
"And having learned by chance this afternoon what a member of my husband's family had done to Mr. Fraser, I don't want anything like that to happen to anybody else."
Groide looked over at Jamie, but kept silent.
"All I ask is that you use the information you receive from me in a way that will prevent harm."
China-usb / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)
Groide had his eyes on the tabletop and the USB sticks in front of him. Claire and Jamie heard the hands on the big wall clock that hung behind them ticking. A few moments passed, during which they all remained silent.
"Mrs. Beauchamp, I want you to know that I have great respect for your decision. I'm just one small weel in a much larger machine. But I promise you that I will use all my influence to see that this information is handled as you wish. I also want you to know that we have no hostile feelings towards your country here. On the contrary. The Brexit and its consequences are much regretted in our country by most people. And not just for economic reasons. We miss the voice and political weight of your country. The oldest democracy in the modern Western world has always had an important, a great weight in this Union - also to establish a political balance. You know, there are member states that have not been familiar with the democratic system for so long. So far, things have gone reasonably well, but the loss of the British vote in the Europan Parliament could lead to dangerous imbalances ... And then we must not forget the human relations. I myself grew up many decades before the reunification of our country in a West German state where British troops were stationed. The British were neighbours for us. A friend of mine, who has since passed away, married an English woman, joined the Anglican Church and became military chaplain for these troops in his city. Friends of mine had planned to buy a small cottage in the southwest of England and spend their retirement there. Many of the cities where I lived had partnerships with English cities. We all very much regret the developments of the last ten years ... and we can only hope that a future generation may be able to reverse them. I hope you know that you are very welcome, not just because you are giving us this information or as a health professional, but as a person. And I hope you'll be able to settle in."
Claire nodded. Then she reached out her hand and put it on the old man's right hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Groide. I appreciate it."
"You can call me Ferdinand, if you like."
"Sure, Ferdinand, I'm Claire."
"Thanks, Claire."
"Well, after that eventful work meeting, let's have a nice drink, shall we? How about a whisky?"
Jamie looked at her expectantly.
Claire nodded.
"I'd love one."
Groide shook his head.
"Jamie, you know I don't drink that stuff. I'll have a vodka, please."
"You see Claire," Jamie said with an ironic undertone, "you might as well learn something about the Germans here. When it comes to alcohol, they have no taste."
He handed her a glass of whisky.
"He's right, Claire. And remember one more thing. We have absolutely no sense of humor either."
The men began to giggle and Jamie had to stop for a moment before he handed the glass of vodka to Groide.
"You may say what you usually say about my taste in alcohol, Jamie," Groide then said jokingly.
Jamie looked at Claire with a grin.
"He spent too much time with Russians, they spoiled his taste."
Wodka / Vodka Rene1905
"Sa sdarovje!" was all Groide would answer. Then he turned to Claire again:
"You said earlier that you intend to ask for a divorce from your husband?"
"Yes, I do. I hope it's also possible from here."
Groide looked at her thoughtfully.
"Do you object to Claire's request, Ferdinand?"
"No, I understand the request very well. I'm just worried it might put MI5 on to you, Jamie."
A mild shock drove Claire through and she nearly choked on the whisky she'd just taken.
