I don't know how Keith notices the first of the secret signs. I realize that he's stopped turning the pages and brought the diary very close to his eyes, the magnifying glass forgotten. "What?" I whisper. He points to the space for a Friday in January. It seems at first to be empty. Then I see some kind of handwritten mark, nestling inconspicuously in the little gap between the date itself and the phase of the moon: a tiny x. He slowly turns the pages of his mother's diary. More x's. As I record them, a pattern begins to emerge-the x, whatever it is, happens once a month. In some places it's crossed out, and entered a day or two earlier or later. "She has meetings," I suggest. "Secret meetings. They're planned in advance only sometimes the person can't come so they have to change the date..." "Look at the moon," Keith whispers. I go back to the beginning, tracking the phases of moon. Yes, the little x's are approximately keeping step with the lunar calendar. "The night of no moon," he says. The hairs rise on my neck. I can see the possibilities as clearly as he can-the unlit plane landing on the fairway of the golf course, the parachutist falling softly through the perfect darkness... Excerpted from Spies: A Novel by Michael Frayn All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
