Eddie shook her head. ‘I don’t think I should,’ she whispered. ‘You can tell me what she says later.’ As she turned to go inside, Eddie hissed, ‘Dudley? Daddy gave me a bottle of hooch last week. I’ll bring it down when Miss H has gone and we’ll celebrate.’
Claire put her thumbs up and returned to the apartment. She asked Miss Halliday to take a seat and offered her tea. Vera Halliday sat down, but politely refused the tea. ‘Are you sure it is Mitch who is alive, Miss Halliday?’ Claire asked, sitting next to her.
‘I’m sure, my dear. I don’t know the details, but the leader of a Maquis group that you helped in Paris got a message to the wireless operator in Gisoir via Antoinette Marron at the Paris safe house. Loosely translated, Captain Mitchell knew he wouldn’t be able to make it across the Pyrenees and pretended to be dead so his fellow escapees would go on without him. And as you know they did. When night fell, the captain rolled into a ditch and covered himself with vegetation.’
Claire took a shivering breath. ‘But the temperature at night… It’s so cold.’
‘Thankfully not as cold at that time of year – and not at the foot of the mountains.’ Claire looked at Vera Halliday, her eyes pleading for more news. ‘He was found by a retired doctor who, with the help of a couple of members of the Maquis, carried him to his house.’
‘Carried him? How badly was he hurt?’ Claire forced herself to ask.
‘We don’t know. He was shot in the leg once, maybe twice, we can’t be sure.’ Claire put her hand up to her mouth and gasped. ‘He couldn’t climb the mountain, but that doesn’t mean he was badly injured, just that he was brave and sensible and didn’t want to put the lives of his comrades in danger.’ Miss Halliday smiled and looked into Claire’s eyes. ‘I don’t know many able-bodied men who could cross the Pyrenees. I must go,’ she said, standing up. Claire stood up too, and in shock showed her guest to the door. ‘Captain Mitchell is alive, Claire. Hang on to that,’ Vera Halliday said.
Claire guided her across the dark entrance foyer to the main door. ‘As soon as we have any news as to where Captain Mitchell is, I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, get some sleep. You look exhausted.’ Vera Halliday opened her handbag and, after fishing around for a couple of seconds, produced a handful of food tokens. ‘Go to the shops. Buy some food. You won’t be any good to Captain Mitchell if you’re not well – which,’ Miss Halliday said, ‘by the look of you, you are not.’
Claire opened the street door. Vera Halliday hesitated. Claire sensed the colonel’s secretary wanted to say something and looked questioningly at her. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I know you want to get back to France.’ Claire nodded. ‘There is an important drop coming up, but Colonel Smith is reluctant to send you. If you want to go back to France, you must get yourself fit.’
‘Thank you,’ Claire said, grateful for the information. ‘And thank you for calling to tell me Captain Mitchell is alive.’ Vera Halliday put her arms round Claire and hugged her. When she left, Claire watched her walk down the street and fade into the night. Then she turned and went back to her apartment. At the door the emotion she had suppressed throughout Miss Halliday’s visit gushed from her like an open faucet. She cried with fear and laughed with happiness. When she calmed down, she wiped the back of her hand across her face, shook out her shoulders, and opened the door.
‘Brandy?’
Claire jumped. Looking up, she saw Eddie making her way down the stairs. With a torch in one hand, pointing its slim yellow beam on the edge of each stair, and a bottle in the other, she arrived at Claire’s door.
In the sitting room Claire went to the sideboard cupboard and took out two glasses. Emotionally drained, she put them on the table, dropped onto the settee and put her head in her hands.
‘My God, Dudley, I thought Miss Halliday had brought good news. Here!’ She handed Claire a glass of brandy. ‘Get this down you. It’ll make you feel better.’
With tears running down her face, Claire told her, ‘She did bring good news, Ed. Mitch is alive. He was shot in the leg somewhere in the Pyrenees and survived.’ Claire whooped, took a drink, and choked when the strong spirit hit the back of her throat.
Eddie knocked her brandy back, replenished both glasses and made a toast. ‘To the beefcake Canuck.’ They both drank.
‘To my beefcake Canuck,’ Claire said, and they emptied their glasses. She told Eddie what Miss Halliday had told her.
‘That’s great news, Dudley,’ Eddie said, putting her arms round Claire. Exhausted from emotion and alcohol, the two friends fell backwards onto the settee. ‘And you gave her your uniform?’
Claire groaned. ‘I forgot.’
‘Oh Dudley!’ The two friends looked at each other, lifted their empty glasses, and roared with laughter.
Knowing Colonel Smith wouldn’t send her back to France until she was fully fit, Claire went up to RAF Coltishall. She was there on June 6, D-Day, until the end of the summer, when she was summoned back to London without leave, which meant she wasn’t able to visit her parents and sisters at Foxden as she had promised.
The train was late getting into Euston. Claire looked at her wristwatch. It was twenty-past two. She
