Eduard, dressed in his uniform, lounged against the bonnet of a black Mercedes staff car. The October sun shone off his hair, and if he was still angry from the night before, he hid it well. So did I. There would be a conversation, with the last remaining truths being aired, but not yet.
Claudine, standing on her balcony, raised a hand in greeting as I climbed into the Mercedes.
‘Maybe it was a good thing that I couldn’t arrange the wig into a knot,’ I said. ‘Claudine is a better guard dog than Knut.’
‘She thinks we are going for a picnic.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I told her so.’ Eduard started the engine and looked over at me. ‘What is wrong with Knut?’
‘He licked my hand within seconds of meeting me.’
‘He has good taste.’ He handed me his cap and put the car into gear. ‘We will stop along the way so you can change. There is a uniform in one of the bags.’ Eduard’s mood was as serious as mine. ‘Are you certain you want to do this, Angel?’
It had little to do with ‘want’. I had no lust for battle, but even if there wasn’t a threat to me, I couldn’t leave my godfather to the Nazis. It was that simple.
The trees whipped past, interspersed with the pastel houses that became less frequent the farther we drove from Lisbon.
‘Angel?’
‘It was my idea,’ I reminded him. ‘And there’s no other choice.’
The car slowed down. ‘You could stay home and let me take care of this.’
‘And wait to hear how you and that East End idiot botched it?’
Eduard reached for my hand. ‘I cannot speak for your thug, but please, Angel. Have faith in me.’
‘I do.’
Despite everything, I did have faith in him. It was trust that I struggled with – still struggling to separate Eduard the man from Major Graf, Abwehr officer. And rely on a feeble hope that he wouldn’t betray me.
So, maybe I did trust him.
He turned the car on to a dirt track and cut the ignition. Handed me a bag with a reasonably unwrinkled drab green tunic, skirt, and cap.
‘You want me to change here?’
‘We haven’t passed another car for ten minutes and it isn’t safe to use a hotel, even if we could find one. Go ahead, Angel. I’ll keep watch.’
He reached into a second bag, stored in the well behind the driver’s seat. It looked heavy.
‘Extra ammunition?’ I asked.
‘And a few charges,’ he acknowledged. ‘Your man says he can set them.’
He took out four spare clips, slipping two into his pockets. Reached into my handbag and pulled out my Luger to check it, grunted, then checked his own. He leant back against the car, facing away. As awkward as I felt, he looked worse.
‘Eduard, if you’re guarding my modesty, you’re a little late.’
He snorted, but sat down again in the driver’s seat, keeping his eyes straight ahead. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen my breasts and despite the gravitas of the day, I wanted to tease him.
‘Eduard.’
I moved closer and ran a finger down his arm.
Eduard cast a quick glance my way. His eyes widened as we heard the hum of an engine.
‘Angel!’
I didn’t think – I reacted. Clad in skirt and camisole, I launched myself at him, my knee hitting the steering wheel as my leg straddled his. With a pang, I remembered another country, and another man’s kiss to hide behind. Alex Sinclair had fought for something he believed in. He was too young to die, and so was I.
An old wagon bumped into sight, two men in the front and another two in the back. They called out to us, and Eduard, one hand buried in my hair, waved them off, his lips not leaving mine.
‘Did they recognise us?’ I asked once the sounds of their vehicle had faded.
He shrugged. ‘I doubt they saw anything other than your breasts.’ His hands caressed me for a moment more before lifting me off his lap. ‘Get dressed. We have work to do.’
*
The old soldier stood in front of a hut, a clipboard in his hand. He was of average height, stocky, with a face scarred from weather and combat. His MP 40 Maschinenpistole was slung low across his body. I’d expected another pimply faced youth to guard the quay, not a veteran of the front lines with a paratrooper’s submachine gun. I met his gaze as he glared, first at me, then at Eduard, reclining behind me in the big Mercedes.
‘What’s an alter Hase like you doing on guard duty?’ Eduard asked.
The guard ignored the question. ‘Turn about, this area is restricted.’
‘I’m well aware of that. Please raise the gate, sergeant.’
‘Against orders, sir. None to pass.’ He raised the machine gun menacingly.
‘Herr Kapitän sent me.’
Did Eduard know which captain was in charge, or was he bluffing? From his impassive face it was difficult to tell, and I resolved never to play poker with the man.
‘I have my orders, sir.’
Dogmatic, intense. Not easy to brazen through, but for one thing . . .
The voice of a commanding officer.
‘Raise the gate, sergeant!’ Eduard barked.
His body leant forward, his voice battlefield precise. Instead of my lover, in the rear-view mirror, I saw the Panzer commander, leading his division as it trampled through France. Felt a stifling fear.
‘I’m sorry, sir. My orders are clear.’
A dark shape moved behind him, but I couldn’t look away from the weapon aimed at me.
‘As are mine.’ Eduard ordered. ‘Drive on. Run the fool over if he doesn’t move.’
Crouched low, I revved the ignition and crashed through the barrier. The guard jumped back. I expected to hear gunfire, feel metal rounds riddle my body.
In the rear-view mirror, the guard aimed his weapon. The scarred finger squeezed the trigger and I braced myself for the impact.
There was a flash of sunlight on silver and the old veteran slumped into Bertie’s arms. My breath came out in a soft whoosh as I slowed the car. I hadn’t realised I was holding it.
‘Did you know that
