“Help me get Donat out of here, and in turn I will do all I can for you. It’s time you were your own woman, Elaine, not a puppet for someone else—your father, Mark Scott, or the likes of Luther Gramm, Hans Berger, and their brother officers.”
Elaine blushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Maisie.” Her eyes met Maisie’s. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”
As she left, Maisie hoped that was true. Today she had seen John Otterburn’s daughter, given exact instructions and a chance to shine, to rise to the occasion. But, Maisie reminded herself, she had also seen her fall apart—and they were both still suffering the consequences.
Gilbert Leslie came to the hotel to deliver the necessary papers for Leon Donat, should he be asked to present them at the airfield. He lingered only long enough to wish Maisie well, and bon voyage.
“Mr. Leslie, you know it would help very much if you accompanied Mr. Donat all the way back to London. You could help ease the way, you know.”
“I thank you once again for your interest, but I think you’re quite capable of doing any easing required.” He lifted his hat in farewell, but before he could leave, Maisie pressed a piece of paper into his hand.
“This is where I will be at half past nine tomorrow, if you change your mind.”
The following morning, the hotel lobby was busier than Maisie had expected. A large and lingering group of travelers from Berlin was leaving the hotel, jostling to form a queue while they waited their turn to check out, and the doorman was helping load luggage into a motor bus. Maisie was able to step out unnoticed. Keeping close to the outside wall of the building, she walked away, following the directions given her by Ulli Bader. Maisie looked up at the sky: it was what James would have called a fine day for taking up a kite. Elaine was already at the meeting place, her long coat almost disguising the thick woolen trousers she had donned in anticipation of her role. She’d wrapped a wide scarf around her head and neck, and brought a leather bag of the type usually carried by doctors on their rounds.
Bader nodded at them both, opened the passenger door, and waited while Maisie and Elaine climbed aboard. The same man was driving as before; Bader took the seat next to him and nodded, and the motor car moved away from the curb and as they began to gather speed, Maisie felt Elaine Otterburn take two deep breaths.
“It’ll be all right, Elaine. I know it will. You’re a very good aviator. You said it yourself—it’ll be a piece of cake.”
“At least I turned up this time,” said Elaine.
“I never doubted you,” said Maisie.
Another white lie, but it was a good one.
Leon Donat was sitting at the kitchen table when Maisie and Ulli Bader entered the farmhouse. He was dressed as if for a gentlemen’s luncheon or an important meeting. His suit seemed tired, but it was brushed and pressed, and he wore a clean shirt with a tie and a small handkerchief in the pocket. His shoes had been polished, and over his arm he held a raincoat. His hand rested on the rounded top of an old walking stick. Fatigue marked his bloodshot eyes.
“Are you ready, Mr. Donat?”
Donat nodded. “My strength is mustered.” The words seemed to catch upon the drooping lip as he tried to smile, swallowing back saliva. “I can walk, with aid.”
Bader nodded at Maisie and pressed a hand to the shoulder of the woman who stood by the sink, wringing a dry cloth. Donat stood up, thanked the woman, and said she would hear from him again. Then, with Maisie and Bader supporting him on either side, he walked to the door, then to the path, and on to the motor car. Elaine was waiting by the front passenger door. She reached out to take Donat’s arm.
“Lovely to see you again, Mr. Donat. You’re on your way home now.”
Mist was rising off the land as the airfield came into view. It was smaller than Maisie had imagined: only a long, low hut, a windsock flying above a narrow runway that looked perilously short. Three aircraft were lined up to one side.
“We will wait only until we see you walk out of the hut toward the aircraft,” said Bader.
“I understand,” said Maisie. “Once we’re on the other side of the hut, we’re on our own.”
“The name of the game.” Elaine had pulled a packet of cigarettes from her bag and proceeded to light one. “Rude of me—anyone care to join me?” No one answered. She extinguished the cigarette between thumb and finger, adding, “Shouldn’t really do this anyway, not at an airfield.”
One man was on duty as they entered the hut, though they heard laughter from an adjoining room. It was the laughter of boys, thought Maisie, a youthful sound, as if jokes were being told, stories embellished—perhaps with a little help from something stronger than coffee, even at that time in the morning. But what they had been drinking mattered not to her; she only hoped they remained exactly where they were. She approached the desk and handed the man in attendance a sheet of paper with another set of instructions dictated by John Otterburn. The man looked up and nodded, pointing to one aircraft set apart from the others.