‘Nothing that will not be common knowledge tomorrow. The Italian Grand Council has been convened.’
Suddenly my bruised ego seemed a small thing.
‘Convened? Why?’
‘Why do you think?’ That he was snapping indicated his level of irritation. His response was immediate. ‘I apologise, Angel. There is no excuse for being short with you.’
The Italian Grand Council? That could only mean . . .
‘They’re deposing Mussolini?’ I whispered, a maelstrom whirling in my mind.
How had Bendixen heard the news so soon, and what did it mean for the war?
*
We drove in silence, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts. Three baubles hidden outside a window, a deposed dictator, and a wife I knew nothing about. Matthew would hear the news of Mussolini before I could get word to him, but the baubles? I’d draped one just like it out of the window whenever I transmitted on my wireless, holding my breath in case someone would see it, or the radio detection vans would find me.
Three baubles meant at least three wireless operators operated out of the Villa Bem-me-Quer. This was where Bendixen and Schüller transmitted fleet locations to whichever Luftwaffe base was close enough to attack convoys heading around the Cabo de São Vicente.
They had to be stopped. Permanently.
‘You’re quiet this evening.’
I opened my mouth to claim exhaustion, and was horrified when a different set of words spilled out:
‘You didn’t tell me you were married.’
‘Angel.’ His shoulders dropped; he didn’t want to have this conversation any more than I did. ‘You had a husband before. I do not like the idea, but I accept it.’
‘Good. That’s good of you,’ I muttered. ‘To accept the existence of my dead husband.’
I braced myself for some story of a man far away from home. Graf ran his hand through his hair. Instead of abating, my words stoked his anger.
‘Angel, do you truly think I would be here with you if I were still married? What kind of man do you think I am?’
An Abwehr officer. Who’s possibly hunting me.
‘You’re not?’
‘Franziska died five years ago. Her car skidded on black ice and went into the River Elbe.’
‘Oh, Eduard, I am sorry!’
For her death and for his bereavement. For my appalling behaviour, and the tears I didn’t know I was holding back.
‘Thank you.’
We were at an impasse. Eduard drove on in silence, maybe expecting a different reaction.
Until a loud crack split the night.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The car swerved, and I screamed. Eduard thrust me forward, banging my head against my knees. I stayed hunched over, groping for the dashboard as he accelerated.
‘Stay down.’
Pulling his pistol from its holster, fury turned his pleasant features into something unfamiliar and frightening. The hand gripping his pistol held me in place. The car screamed to a halt outside my gate and, in a tone I’d never heard from him, Eduard ordered me to remain in the car.
He disappeared down the hill, Luger in hand, while I lay curled on the floor of the car aware of the possibility that he wasn’t the target. A clever assassin would approach the car now, with Eduard out of sight. I was hampered, although not harmless. Did he know that? Did the assassin know what I was capable of?
If he didn’t yet, he soon would.
Who was he? And, for all that Rios Vilar and his men watched me, were they a part of this or just observing to ensure I wasn’t disrupting the balance? If they weren’t trying to kill me, would they prevent someone else’s attempt?
Apparently not.
Eduard tapped on my window, shielded me with his body as he helped me from the car and ushered me through the gate. I went straight to the sideboard in the parlour and poured two large brandies. Handed Eduard one and slumped into a chair.
‘Someone shot at us. Someone had the unmitigated affront to shoot at us!’
Eduard knelt in front of me, holding my hand in his.
‘I can only apologise, Angel. I would never willingly endanger you.’
He thought they were shooting at him. Maybe he was right; just because I had been shot at twice now, that didn’t mean he wasn’t the real target. I hadn’t considered that, but even if it weren’t true, I wasn’t about to correct him.
‘Why? Why were they shooting at you? At us?’
‘I’m a soldier. People have been shooting at me for years.’
‘Stop making light of it,’ I snapped. ‘Portugal is supposed to be a neutral country, and that blasted road isn’t a battlefield. Who is trying to kill you? Why?’
He let go of my hand and began to pace.
‘I work in military intelligence, Angel. Or rather, counter-intelligence. You know that.’ He turned and faced me.
‘So, it’s someone you’re after who’s trying to kill you? Was this the risk that Köhler told you about?’
He shook his head. ‘I do not know who shot at us, Angel. Not yet.’
‘Köhler . . . ?’
‘Spoke of a different risk.’
‘Christ.’
Anger made me shiver and Eduard held me close. Another feeling rose, strong enough to subdue even my anger. A need to move closer, be closer. Not to feel less alone, like the night in the farmhouse with Alex. This was something more though, something I was reluctant to give a name to. My hand went to the back of his head, pulling his lips to mine. He tasted of brandy, warm and sweet. He pulled away far too quickly.
‘I am sorry Angel,’ he said, retreating again to the open window.
With the high fence surrounding the property, it was unlikely anyone would see him, or be able to take a shot, but it was also unlikely he saw anything more than the trees. If that.
Was he rejecting me? Could that really happen after a kiss like that? Or was it something else: the ghost of a dead wife?
Indecision dissipated and I followed him, sliding my arms around his waist and resting my head on his back. For a few minutes we stood like that until he turned, breathing my name into my hair.
‘Angel,
