Chapter Forty-seven
The aeroplane rolled to a halt on the runway in Bristol. The pilot and I remained in the cockpit until the others disembarked. A dusting of snow blew across the tarmac as I followed him into one of the metal huts.
Vera Atkins waited just inside. One gloved hand adjusted the impeccable tilt of her hat, and then she moved forward to greet me.
‘Welcome back to England, Cécile. Did you have any problems getting in?’
‘A bit of flak as we crossed over France, but nothing significant,’ the pilot answered.
‘Excellent. Thank you very much,’ she said, dismissing him. ‘Come, my dear. Dinner’s waiting for you in the main hangar, then we’ll get you to London. Buck is quite keen to speak to you.’ She linked her arm in mine, a civilised escort. ‘We’ll drive back after dinner, and do feel free to doze on the way, Cécile. It’s a long drive, and Maurice is expecting you at Orchard Court at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.’
Eight o’clock sharp. This wasn’t going to be good.
*
Mr Parks was immaculately clad in his usual dark suit and tie.
‘Good morning, madam.’
I forced a polite smile. ‘Good morning, Mr Parks. Did you miss me?’
‘Frightfully dull without you, madam. Please follow me.’ He led the way through the lift’s gilded gates. ‘Pardon me for saying, but you’re looking well. It’s nice to see a tanned, friendly face.’
The lift stopped on the second floor, and Parks opened the grates.
‘This way,’ he said, although I knew the way. We walked to the end of the corridor, and Parks knocked on the door. At the muffled response he peered inside. ‘Miss Cécile is here to see you, sir.’
Maurice Buckmaster mumbled something and Parks closed the door. I knew the drill. Followed Parks down the short hallway to Special Operations’ Orchard Court suite waiting room. Or rather, its bathroom. I flicked on the lights and perched on the toilet’s closed lid and leant my head against the cool tiles. If I had to be locked in the loo, I might as well be undignified about it.
The first time I was locked in here was the day of my interview, a year and a half ago. I’d been kept waiting rather too long and by the time they came for me, I’d been on the verge of walking out of the lavatory, the flat, and the interview.
Now, I was back. My body was scarred from German bullets, and my soul from the deaths I had seen, and caused. I wanted to open the locket and look at Eduard’s face, but dared not. Not in this place. They knew about him, and might eventually learn of the locket’s secrets, but not yet. I wasn’t ready.
There was a polite knock on the door. Vera opened it. She had freshened up and was impeccably dressed in a smart tweed suit with a gold cat pinned to her lapel. If the late night drive from Bristol had drained her, it didn’t show.
‘I apologise for making you wait, Cécile. We’re ready for you now.’
Buckmaster stood as I followed Vera into the bedroom that served as his office. He was tall and slim, with an angular face and thinning hair. He vigorously shook my hand, then waited for me to sink into an armchair before perching on a corner of his desk, legs swinging.
‘Welcome back, my dear. Excellent showing down in Portugal. Particularly liked your style, stealing the wolfram whilst rescuing Sir Matthew. Excellent use of your assets.’
If he was aware of the rescue, he knew who’d helped me. I hoped my polite smile hid the burning in the pit of my belly.
‘Don’t forget the shipping schedule.’
‘I was more impressed by the way you set up the Germans from a legal perspective,’ Vera said. ‘Relying on Salazar’s instability to help your case. Most would have just blown up the villa, as they were trained to do. I’m glad to see you’ve learnt to curb your temper.’
If she’d seen the warehouse she might have rethought that assessment. She allowed silence to blossom between us, her blue-grey eyes intent on mine. Eduard did this too – using silence to compel people to incriminate themselves. I wasn’t that foolish. I lit a cigarette and waited.
‘I am, however, most intrigued about this marriage of yours,’ she continued.
Her tone was light, conversational. It gave nothing away, but implicit in it was the threat: betraying your country is treason.
‘Of course,’ I echoed. I, Elisabeth Daria Grace de Mornay . . .
‘It takes a strong will to live that sort of deception.’
Maurice didn’t take his eyes off my face. I shrugged, desperate to change the subject. Or for Buck to tell me what fate he’d decided for me.
‘I never doubted the strength of your will, Cécile. Quite frankly, what does concern me is any emotional entanglements you may have formed with this man. As Solange you spent a lot of time with him, were intimate with him. How much do you know of his business? The reason he was in Portugal?’
‘He was a military attaché.’
Buckmaster flipped his hand impatiently.
‘Yes, yes, and Harrington is in charge of passports.’ I frowned as he leant forward. ‘Last summer you accompanied him to the Hotel Avenida.’
How the devil had he heard of that?
‘I had drinks with him there several times. Which time are you referring to?’
‘Perhaps the first week in July?’
That first date, before hearing Amália sing. When Andreas Neumann kept me company as Eduard disappeared for a meeting. With Köhler.
‘What about it?’
‘Did he ever speak of it?’
‘He apologised. Said it was something he had to do. I remember being quite out of sorts with him for leaving me waiting downstairs with his adjutant. Even less so when I recognised the man he was with as Gestapo.’
Vera smiled. ‘Yes, I can’t imagine you enjoying that. How did he explain it?’
‘He didn’t. Said he couldn’t.’ They exchanged a glance, sharing some secret that I was not privy to. ‘Is there something I should know?’
‘Well, yes, Cécile. You should
