Amélie circled in front of him again, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him, gently at first, and then with passionate energy. “I believe you,” she murmured. “Are we being too logical about our feelings?” She kissed him again.
Jeremy’s whole being seemed about to burst. He held Amélie tightly, returning her kisses until he felt almost incapable of catching his breath.
She leaned back slightly, her eyes looking into his. “I love you,” she said.
Jeremy reached back, unclasped both of her hands from around his neck, and held them in front of him, cupping them with his own. Then he put his right palm flat over his chest, cupped it again, and pressed it between hers. “I’ll leave my heart right here,” he murmured, “where it belongs.”
Epilogue
Nine days later – July 12, 1940
London, England
Around nine o’clock in the morning, Jeremy heard the phone ring in the apartment he shared with Claire and Timmy. His sister had already left for work.
His return trip from Marseille via the sea had taken several days. On arriving back in London, he found that Claire had moved to a guest house on an estate near Stony Stratford, a village nine miles from Bletchley, arranged by Crockatt. The MI-6 head, Menzies, had been uncomfortable with the former living arrangement. An alternative had been sought.
The new place allowed Claire to be close to work at Bletchley as well as near Timmy whenever Jeremy had to be away. The nanny had a private room too, and the house had a nursery with plenty of space for Timmy to play indoors and outdoors.
The middle-aged couple who owned the estate were only too happy to help out. The request coming from a military intelligence officer made them feel like they were doing something important for the war effort, and they loved having Timmy around.
The reunion with the child had been joyous. On first seeing Jeremy, the toddler had looked confused. Then he let out an excited shriek, clapped his hands, and burst into happy cries. He ran and locked his arms around his guardian’s neck. Jeremy lifted him into the air and pressed the boy’s cheek against his own. “Ah, I’ve missed you.”
The little boy gazed into his eyes, then looked around questioningly. “Mummy?”
Jeremy buried his head between Timmy’s cheek and shoulder, smothering a grief-filled gasp. Claire and Paul stood watching nearby, holding in check their desire to hear as many details as he was allowed to share.
“Did you see Amélie?” Claire had teased when they finally settled down to talk. She poked his ribs.
“I did,” Jeremy replied, fighting her off. A smile had broken across his face in spite of his best effort. “All right,” he said, “I’ll admit it. We’re fond of each other.”
“Just fond?”
“I won’t go any further on that subject now.” He laughed, then his expression had become serious. “She and her sister and father are together in Marseille for the time being, and that is still a relatively safe place.”
“You’ll see her again, little brother, in better times,” Claire said. She circled behind him and snuggled her head against his back. “I believe that.”
Jeremy had diverted his attention to Paul. “Any news on Lance?”
When Paul shook his head, Jeremy asked, “Do we know how Mum and Dad are doing?”
“Red Cross messages are finally getting through,” Paul replied. “I let them know you’re safe. They’ll be thrilled to hear that.” A note had arrived from them indicating that they were doing well under the circumstances. Given that the communiqués were confined to twenty-eight words and subject to censorship, the siblings could not expect to learn much about conditions on the island. One phrase was cryptic and concerning though: “Pray for Lance, that he can persevere.”
Paul had informed Jeremy sadly that the Germans now occupied all of the English Channel Islands. “We sent reconnaissance patrols to both Guernsey and Sark, but the operations got muffed up. Some of our soldiers were killed. We got nothing.”
Jeremy sighed heavily. “What about Timmy? Any news of his relatives?”
“The Foreign Office thinks they might have found some grandparents living in India,” Paul said. “Apparently, the father was an only child who was educated and joined the foreign service from the Far East. They haven’t learned anything of Eva yet.”
Jeremy was not displeased, but immediately felt guilty for being selfish. “Surely, they must have a record of whom to contact for emergencies.”
“If the father was injured or killed, they were to contact Eva.”
“Oh. I see the difficulty,” Jeremy replied gravely. “Well,” he went on with a subdued smile, “until his relations are found, he’ll just stay with us.” He had plopped on the floor next to Timmy and wrestled with him until the child squealed with laughter.
That had been a week ago. Jeremy had spent the following week resting up, playing with Timmy, and thinking of Amélie. Now that she and her family were safe in Marseilles with Fourcade and Maurice, he finally felt free to let his feelings about her roam without dread. But it’s going to be a long war.
The phone rang again. Jeremy was not expecting any calls this morning.
Paul was on the other end of the line. “Could you come in to Major Crockatt’s office.” His voice sounded urgent. “Can you make it by eleven o’clock?”
When Jeremy pressed for a reason, Paul’s voice broke, and he insisted, “Just please get here, quickly.”
Getting dressed and taking the train into London took two hours, and that was without taking time to see Timmy. When Jeremy arrived at the headquarters, he was startled to bump into Claire at the entrance. She was as surprised as he was, and her face was equally serious. “You were called too?” he asked.
Claire nodded. “Any idea what this is about?”
“None.”
They made their way through the various security checkpoints and arrived at Vivian’s desk. She greeted them warmly but with an air of reserve, and instead
