‘Of course.’
She rubbed the top of her thumb on the inside of her wedding finger, a habit she’d acquired to check the ring was still there. It had never been a tight fit, but since she’d lost weight it had become loose. It wasn’t there. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said, running back to the desk. ‘Édith Belland’s wedding ring. I’ll need it when I go back to France.’ She followed Vera Halliday out of the office and along the corridor.
‘You don’t want to go back to France right away, do you, Claire?’ Miss Halliday asked.
‘I certainly do. And I shall keep going back until I find Captain Mitchell.’
As she opened the front door to the apartment block Claire saw Eddie going up the stairs. Eddie looked over her shoulder and stopped. ‘How did the meeting go with you-know-who?’
‘You-know-who,’ was all Claire said before her legs gave way and she fell to the ground.
‘What on earth?’ Eddie flew down the stairs and dropped to her knees. ‘What is it, Dudley?’
Claire hung onto Eddie and sobbed. ‘Mitch has been shot.’
‘Come on.’ Eddie took Claire by her arms and slowly pulled her to her feet. Taking Claire’s weight, she walked her across the foyer to her apartment. Inside, she pulled Claire’s coat off and threw it across a chair. ‘Sit down,’ she said, leading Claire to the settee. ‘Will you be all right for a second? I think it’s time to open the medicinal brandy.’ Claire nodded and Eddie ran upstairs to her flat.
On her return Eddie took two glasses from the sideboard and poured them both a large brandy. She put one glass into Claire’s hand and the other on the small occasional table, before going over to the fire. It wasn’t giving out much heat, so she added a couple of logs and a pan of coal, before joining Claire on the settee. She took a sip of her brandy. Claire took a swig and almost choked. ‘Steady on, old thing. Best to sip it.’ The wood crackled. The fire had taken hold and flames licked at the coal. It would soon be warm.
The two friends sipped their drinks and watched the flames flicker up the chimney. ‘They left him for dead in the Pyrenees,’ Claire said, suddenly. She took a shuddering breath. ‘He had been shot and they left him,’ she cried.
Eddie took Claire’s glass and put it on the table with her own. She put her arms round her friend and Claire clung on to her, as a hurt child would, and sobbed. When she had worn herself out, Eddie slipped from the settee, put a cushion under Claire’s head and lifted her feet up. She then took a blanket from Claire’s bed and put it over her. Sitting on the rug by the fire, Eddie sipped her brandy and watched Claire as she slept.
Claire stirred. She was hot. She felt as if she was suffocating. She gulped air, threw off the blanket and struggled to sit up. For a moment she didn’t remember the meeting with Colonel Smith, or that Mitch was…. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. She looked around. A fire blazed in the hearth and the blackout curtains were drawn. A beam of light shone into the sitting room from the kitchen. Claire put her feet to the floor and stood up. She crossed to the standard lamp and switched it on. Drowning in a sea of despair, she took her hand from her mouth and let out the pain in a howl.
‘Dudley?’ Eddie rushed in from the kitchen. She pulled out a chair at the dining table and guided Claire into it. Claire took the remains of her brandy and drank it down in one. ‘I’ve made us some supper. Fried Spam, mash, and bread and butter. Is that all right?’
Claire nodded, but said, ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Lift the drinks, will you?’ Claire complied and Eddie threw a tablecloth across the table, before fetching the food from the kitchen. ‘Damn, forgot the bread. Pour another drink, Dudley,’ she said, going back to the kitchen and returning almost immediately with bread and butter. ‘You may need a stiff drink before you sample my cooking.’ Claire smiled thinly. ‘That’s better,’ Eddie said. ‘Now eat!’
Claire ate most of the mashed potato and felt better for it. When they had finished their meal they cleared the table together, leaving the dishes in the sink. Back in the sitting room, they refreshed their glasses and sat by the fire. Claire related the conversation she’d had with Colonel Smith and when she’d finished, Eddie said, ‘With such scant information it’s impossible to know what happened to Mitch.’
‘He was shot, the colonel said. The men who escaped saw him go down. At best he’s stuck on a mountain with snakes and mosquitoes in the day and temperatures below zero at night, and at worst, he’s…’ Claire couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
‘If they fought back, it’s more than likely that they killed the German snipers. In which case,’ Eddie said, ‘Mitch could be found by a Maquis group, or a farmer.’
‘Or not,’ Claire said.
‘Look, Dudley, you don’t know that he’s dead. He’s injured, yes, but you don’t know how badly. You need to be positive. Think about Aimée. Focus on her. And focus on getting fit, so the colonel sends you back to France.’
Claire thought of Aimée and smiled. ‘You’re right. Thank you, Eddie.’
‘My advice, my friend,’ Eddie said, sharing the last of the brandy between their glasses, ‘is to wait for further intelligence before you write the Canuck beefcake off.’ Claire laughed and wiped the back of her hands across her face. ‘I’m serious, Dudley. There are a hundred things that could have happened.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Claire rolled over
