Nicolas beamed, bowing his head in appreciation.
“Would it be possible to see my daughters?” Ferrand cut in again. “I understand they are somewhere in this area.”
Fourcade’s expression melted to one of compassion. She smiled. “We’ll see what we can do.”
Jeremy had been sitting facing into a breeze, enjoying the chatter and the ambience. His heart skipped a beat at Ferrand’s request and again at Fourcade’s response.
A French door behind them suddenly flew open. Amélie and Chantal burst onto the veranda, arms outstretched. They ran to their father, who had half-risen from his seat when he saw them. They buried him in hugs and kisses. Chantal jumped up and down in excitement like the young girl she still was.
Amélie had her arms around her father, her face on his shoulder, swaying with him. She glanced up, saw Jeremy, and their eyes met. She sucked in her breath and her cheeks flushed scarlet.
“Jeremy!” She pulled away from her father, rushed to him, and threw her arms around his neck. “We thought you were dead.”
Hearing her sister, Chantal jerked her head around to see Jeremy, and then she too ran to embrace him.
“Was that you who parachuted in the other night? I was there. I helped the woman.”
“Brigitte?”
“Yes, Brigitte. I looked right at you when I went to help her, but in the dark, I couldn’t see that was you.”
Fourcade watched the reunion with amused interest. Maurice walked out onto the patio and took a seat next to her. “Sorry I was late,” he said. “We ran into trouble on the way over.”
Fourcade shot him a look of alarm.
“Don’t worry,” he said, grinning. “This was of the mundane type. A vegetable truck spilled its load all over the road.”
She looked dubious.
“Not mine.” Maurice laughed. “But we had to wait until the road cleared.” He looked across the gathering, locking in on the girls still hovering over Jeremy. “Their father is not the only one they’re happy to see.”
“I noticed.”
While they observed, Chantal broke away to welcome Nicolas, her Aunt Anna, and then her father again. Amélie and Jeremy remained where they were, standing, talking, their hands touching. Ferrand watched with a contented smile.
“Is it my imagination, or do I see some chemistry there?” Fourcade asked.
Maurice laughed quietly. “They’re in love. I’ll tell you the whole story.”
Two more men walked onto the patio with another woman. They had dark complexions, but one man spoke only English, and the other only French. The woman spoke both languages. They did a double take on seeing Jeremy, but he did not notice them. Fourcade introduced them quietly to Maurice.
“This is Kenyon, Pierre, and Elena,” she said in French. “They blew up the tanks in Saint-Nazaire.”
“Impressive,” Maurice said. “Welcome. We’re glad to have your expertise.”
Elena translated for Kenyon’s benefit, and Fourcade noted with amusement the way she flashed her eyes at him. We might be sensing more magic in the air.
Kenyon gestured toward Jeremy. “Who is that man?”
“His name is Jeremy Littlefield,” Fourcade replied. “He was brought over a few days ago from England to put a team in place. He’s leaving tonight, by submarine. We have a boat taking him out to the rendezvous. Do you know him?”
“No, but we had a chap with us at Saint-Nazaire with that surname. He saved my life when the Lancastria went down. That man looks enough like him to be his brother. Unfortunately, we lost him.” He peered more closely at Jeremy. “The mission went off all right, but everyone in his getaway car disappeared. We don’t know if they were captured or killed.”
“Oh, that’s depressing,” Fourcade said. “I wouldn’t tell him. Not now. Whether he is or isn’t your friend’s brother, Jeremy deserves to enjoy this evening.”
Late in the afternoon, Jeremy and Amélie finally had a chance to be alone among the villa’s gardens. They walked hand in hand through the lanes, admiring the flowers and the beauty of the scenery.
“This is so much better than the last time we saw each other,” Amélie said. “I thought we would never again see something resembling normalcy.”
“Your family risked so much to save me,” Jeremy said. “Your father is an amazing man. I haven’t stopped thinking of any of you since Dunkirk.” A shadow crossed his face. “Unfortunately, this is going to be a long war.”
“Shh.” Amélie turned in front of him and raised one delicate finger across his lips. “We must enjoy the good moments.” Then she kissed him lightly. “Everyone says we’re in love.”
“Are we?” Jeremy asked.
They resumed walking along the path. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t,” Amélie replied. “We met under such intense moments. You’re a good man. A wonderful man. And brave. I know what you did to save my father. Whatever debt you might feel you owe us is paid. We’re even. I think about you every waking moment, but is that love, or is that worry? Would I feel differently if we had met under other circumstances? What about you, are you in love?”
Jeremy stopped in the middle of the path. He locked his fingers behind his head, stretched, and breathed in deeply. Finally, he chuckled, and took Amélie’s hand again.
“I’ve had the same thoughts,” he said. “Do I love you, or am I infatuated with a beautiful girl who faced such danger to save me? Would I feel differently if I had met you at a party, or at a library, or in a store. I don’t know.” They resumed ambling through the flower garden, enjoying the fragrance.
“Do you really have to go tonight?”
“I’m afraid I must. That’s the bargain I made for British intelligence to support this mission. I have to go back for training.”
“To do what?”
“I’m not sure, but if I were to guess, I’d say it is to do what I just did, except to learn to do it better.”
“Then you’ll be back?”
“Maybe. But one thing I can tell you for sure.
