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Baker Street is finally sending us a wireless operator.
The relief isn’t enough to chase away all my concerns; it’s not enough to end the war. But the wireless operator will make a difference to our side of the battle. The SOE agents will be able to quickly send intelligence to Baker Street. We won’t have to waste time sending it to Paris to be wired from there and risk it being intercepteden routeby the Nazis.
I light the candle and hold the paper in the flame. It greedily consumes each incriminating word, and the letters disintegrate at my touch.
I open the window and toss the ashes into the breeze. Next, I hide everything linked to my real purpose in France under the floorboard and head outside.
I retrieve the trowel and basket from the shed at the back of the house and set to work on the garden. Jacques’s wife planted the small plot of land to provide food for their family. I weed the carrot beds, enjoying the normalcy of the chore. Memories of my mother and my sister and me gardening together float in like leaves on the wind.
I was six years old at the time; Hazel was eight. It was six months before my father’s diplomat career took us to Paris for four years, followed by Vienna for another four. Mum had loved gardening. Hazel and I had loved watching the butterflies flutter around the flowers.
Once upon a time, butterflies would have fluttered in this garden. Now, it’s as if even they resent the Germans’ intrusion and have disappeared to somewhere more pleasant.
* * *
“Why didyou decide to do this job?” Todd asks. He’s sitting on the bed in his hiding space, a soup bowl in his hands. I’m next to him, having finished supper a short while ago. The only light in the space comes from the lantern on the crate. “Surely there’s a boyfriend or husband at home who isn’t thrilled you’re here, eh?”
“I’m not married, and I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t even have a family anymore.” Or rather, I don’t have a family who counts, especially after my sister’s betrayal.
Todd’s expression gives away what he’s thinking. I don’t bother to correct him. My family didn’t die during the blitz. My sister was very much alive when I left England to come here. And our parents died long before the war, the result of two different causes: cancer and a failed heart.
“You must have known the job would be dangerous,” Todd says. “What made you decide to risk your life to be here?” He lifts the spoon to his mouth.
“The same reason you did. I don’t want Hitler to win. I’ve seen what his oppression has done to this country. I want it to end. I want to prevent his power and hatred from spreading like a deadly mould to the rest of the world.” And I don’t want the Nazis to invade my homeland.
What I didn’t tell Vera Atkins when I interviewed for the position was I needed something to distract me. Distract me from everything that had blown up around me at home. Metaphorically speaking. Coming home early from work one day. Finding my fiancé and sister in bed together. The lies. And the tears. Mostly Hazel’s tears.
I was too stunned to do much more than bloody stare at them as if I had never seen two naked people before.
They married the following month.
“Let’s hope we can wipe out his form of mould sooner rather than later.” Todd lifts his coffee cup as if to toast his words and frowns at the watery brown contents. “I can’t wait for this war to be over so we can have real coffee.”
My mouth twitches. “I agree with you on both accounts. Ground walnut shells aren’t much of a substitute for the real thing.” It tastes fucking awful and lacks the kick of energy to help me survive the day. The kick required to keep me alert so I can do this job without getting killed.
Todd’s easy-going smile returns to his face. “What do you plan to do once the war is over?”
“Sleep.”
His smile widens, and he chuckles. “And after that?”
“I’m not sure. I was a legal secretary before coming here, and my job involved some translating, which I enjoyed. So maybe I will resume doing that.”
He wants to ask more about my previous job, I can see it in his eyes, on his face, but I’ve already shared more than I should. It does feel nice, though, to drop the charade of being Angelique D’Aboville for a minute and have a taste of being Iris Bromfield again.
“Is there a fellow back home you have your eye set on, perhaps?”
I shake my head because it’s true. War isn’t the best time to fall in love. I know women who have lost a loved one because of this war. The bloke either served in the military or was the tragedy of a bomb raid. “What about you? Is there a special woman who has your heart?”
Someone whose heart might be shattered if you don’t survive your perilous journey?
“Yes, there is someone I like. A lot.” A faint blush reddens his pale cheeks, and I can’t help but grin. This is the first time I’ve seen the lieutenant embarrassed. And given I’m the one who has been cleaning his chamber pot for the past two weeks, that’s saying a lot.
“Does she know you like her?”
“She does. But we haven’t gone out on a date yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Why not?”
