Kim Philby opened the door. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all, Mr. Philby,” Miss Lynd replied. “We’re just wrapping up.” She looked to the duo.
“The moon is full and we have good weather. We’d like you to go tonight. We have a plane in place,” Philby said.
Miss Lynd gave a smile, a genuine one. “We’re taking you to the aerodrome before midnight.”
“Midnight,” Sarah mused, her eyes locking with Hugh’s.
“By the way, this telephone message was left for you.” Miss Lynd passed Sarah a note. It was from Maggie, asking her to return her call and saying that it was urgent she do so.
“What is it?” Hugh asked her.
Her jealousy was irrational, Sarah knew, but it was hot and strong nonetheless. She had no desire to bring up the topic of Maggie and no desire to return her call. “Nothing that can’t wait until we get back from France.”
—
Elise and her captors had made it to a safe house just outside Paris. The SOE agents took Elise inside with them and had her sit in a corner of a small old-fashioned kitchen while they spoke in rapid French to the men there, other SOE agents and Free French, she realized, translating in her head. It was a modest house, with a pump at the sink, a fireplace to one side. One of the men from the house gazed at Elise, then went upstairs to alert their radio operator the subject had arrived safely.
“Are you hungry?” one asked, pulling out coarse bread and purple fig jam, and pouring steaming milk into cups.
“We’ll untie you if you promise not to do anything stupid,” said another.
“Why are you fighting us, anyway?” asked her original captor. “We’re all on the same side, you know.”
Elise forced her lips into a smile. “I need to use the toilet. Please.”
“Of course,” the man who’d driven replied. “We didn’t mean to scare you, you know. We’re the heroes! Here to save the day!”
The other man dipped his bread into the steaming milk and began to chew hungrily. “You certainly have friends in high places.” He shook his head. “Downing Street.”
“How far are we from Paris?” Elise asked. She could see woods and fields through the open windows.
“Not far. About seven or eight kilometers, I think.”
“The toilet?” she repeated. She smiled. “I promise I’ll be good.”
“Outhouse is back there,” the driver said with a jab of his thumb. “Pump’s right by the back door.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Sorry I was so much trouble. Thank you for everything.”
When she reached the outhouse, she turned to look through the kitchen’s window. The four men were all enjoying their breakfast, talking and laughing, clapping each other on their backs, congratulating themselves on a job well done. They weren’t watching her.
Elise turned and began to run through the woods as fast as she could on her damaged feet, not looking back.
—
When Maggie had finished writing her statement, was discharged by her doctor, and had arranged a scarf around her neck to hide her fading bruises, Durgin was waiting to take her home.
She opened the door, and there stood Chuck, Griffin in her arms, David at her side. “Maggie! Thank God you’re all right!” Chuck embraced Maggie with her free arm, then nodded at Durgin. “Who’s he?”
“Detective Chief Inspector James Durgin. He’s a…friend.”
“Good enough for me.” Chuck bounced the gurgling baby on her hip. “Bring him to the library and I’ll make us all some tea.”
David shook Durgin’s hand. “How do you do, Detective Chief Inspector.”
“Durgin will do just fine.”
“Meh!” K proclaimed, rubbing his face against her, then flopping on the carpet, showing his ginger belly. Maggie scooped him up. “Well, hello, Fur Face,” she said. “Good to see you, too.”
As Chuck bustled about the kitchen getting the tea ready, Maggie sat down next to David on the library’s sofa. Durgin took a wing chair.
“What happened to the rug?” David asked. “That’s antique, you know.”
Maggie remembered all the blood. “I, er, need to get it cleaned.”
“I know you’ve had a lot going on recently,” David said, “and that’s quite the understatement.”
Maggie caught Durgin’s eye. “You have no idea.”
“I thought about whether to tell you or not, but in the end, I decided it’s best you know, and as soon as possible.”
Oh no, what now?
David patted her hand. “Elise was picked up by SOE agents in Berlin. She was supposed to be taken to Lisbon—but she escaped from our men. She’s on the run now. Just outside Paris.”
Maggie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why would she run away from the SOE? They’re saving her, for goodness’ sake! Doesn’t she understand that?”
“Apparently, she wasn’t particularly happy to be saved.”
“What?”
“Her father—er, your stepfather—er, Miles Hess—was working with our agents, and through his own contacts, he arranged things so she would be released from Ravensbrück. The problem is the Gestapo made her release dependent on her renouncing the priest she’d been working with. They also threatened her fellow prisoners if she didn’t return.”
“Our saving her life may have cost her friends theirs,” Maggie said, suddenly understanding why Elise wouldn’t want to leave Berlin.
“From what I understand,” David continued, “she’s quite familiar with Paris, as her parents—er, your mother and stepfather—keep a flat there.”
“What do you think she intends to do? She has nothing—no French identification, no papers, no ration card….” Maggie’s eyes widened. “The nuns. The nuns will take her in and hide her.” She was standing, with no memory of having risen. “I need to go to Paris!” she exclaimed.
“You can’t just ‘go to Paris.’…”
“It’s not only Elise—there’s an SOE agent who was sent into a hostile situation and left for dead, despite coded messages for help. I think she might be in Paris now”—Maggie’s thoughts clicked into place, and she swayed a bit as more information crowded into her brain, buzzing and urgent—“which is where they’re also sending Sarah and Hugh. But the Paris network is in trouble. SOE may be sending them into a death trap—and they don’t even know!”
Chuck walked in with the tea tray. “Who wants to be mother?”
All three of them froze and stared at her without speaking.
“What?” Chuck demanded, exasperated, as she set down the tray. “Do I have something on my face?”
The three were silent. While David and Durgin were cleared for a high level of security, Chuck wasn’t.
Chuck shot David a warning look. “I’m not going to ask you anything,” she said, “and I’m not going to tell you anything. But if anything happens to Maggie, anything at all—”
From the kitchen came Griffin’s wails. “Mummy’s coming, love!” Chuck called, mumbling “clingy blighter” as she left the room.
“I need to change,” Maggie said. “And pack.”
“This is utterly ridiculous!” David said, following her. “Even for you. And despite your brilliant background in maths, you often defy all logic. What are you going to do for papers?”
But instead of going to her own bedroom, Maggie went to Paige’s old one, where she selected a smart Chanel suit and all of the accompanying accessories. What’s more French than Chanel?
“Easy enough to conjure a fake French identity.” Maggie threw things into a bag. “For me, at least. I’ve done it for dozens of other agents.”
“Well, then how are you going to get there? It’s not as if you can simply swim the Channel. Or flap your wings and fly.”
“Silly David,” Maggie said, looking up at him with affection. “As you well know, there are ways, if you know the right people—”
“Come now, even the P.M. wouldn’t—”