Claire shook her head. ‘I hope they don’t use his old books to back up what Professor Puel said. All students are idealists and most have strong political views - it goes with being a student. Come on,’ Claire said, getting to her feet, ‘there’s nothing out of place in here, let’s look round the rest of the house while it’s still light.’
It was obvious to Claire as soon as she went into the sitting room that someone had been in there. A thread of cotton hung from her sewing basket and when she pulled on the top of Mitch’s bureau it was locked. The key was always left in the lock, so it didn’t get lost, but Mitch never locked it, there was no need. She checked inside. It was tidier than she remembered but she wouldn’t have a clue as to whether any of her husband’s papers were missing. She closed the lid and followed Esther to the door. Before leaving she turned, looked back into the room, and shivered. She was cold and needed to build a fire. She was worried, too.
Nothing looked as if it had been disturbed in her bedroom. She opened Mitch’s wardrobe. His shirts and jumpers were folded and stacked on the shelves. Too tidy, Claire thought. And his lightweight sports coat and jackets in the hanging section of the wardrobe were lined up too neatly.
‘I’m not sure I’d have noticed anything was amiss if you hadn’t suggested we check, Esther,’ Claire said. ‘I wouldn’t have looked, but now.’ Claire shivered again. ‘Come on, let’s go down, it’s cold up here. I’ll make a fire in the sitting room, while you-- Shush!’ Claire put her arm out to stop Esther from leaving the bedroom. ‘Did you hear that?’ Esther shook her head. ‘It sounded like metal clinking.’
As the women approached the top of the stairs a knock on the front door halted their step. Esther took a sharp and very loud breath. ‘Shush...’ Claire put her forefinger to her lips. Whoever was at the door knocked again. This time louder.
Before they began their descent, Claire heard the jangling sound again. Whoever was outside had keys, and they were about to let themselves into her house. She looked at the older woman, questioningly. ‘Alain?’
Esther shook her head. ‘It’s more likely to be Airforce intelligence,’ she hissed.
Go back to the bedroom and ruffle your hair. I’m going to say you came to see me, didn’t feel well and went up for a lie-down.’ Esther nodded. ‘Come down in a couple of minutes and follow my lead.’
‘Just a minute!’ Claire shouted, running down the stairs. ‘I’m coming!’ She flicked on the hall light and opened the door. ‘Where’s the fire?’ she asked the two uniformed men standing on her doorstep. She looked at the taller of the two officers. ‘My keys, I think,’ she said, snatching them out of his hand. ‘Would you like to explain why you were about to let yourselves into my house with a duplicate set of keys when you thought I wasn’t at home?’ Neither officer spoke. ‘Perhaps you’d rather I telephoned Commander Landry and asked him?’
‘What’s going on, Claire?’ Esther croaked from the top of the stairs.
‘My husband’s grandmother wasn’t feeling well. She went upstairs to have a rest.’ Claire almost burst into laughter when she saw Esther. Her hair looked more like a bird’s nest than it looked ruffled because she’d been lying on it. And to say her clothes looked dishevelled was an understatement. Claire hoped Mitch’s letter hadn’t been dislodged when Esther pulled one side of her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt.
‘Can’t you give this family a bit of peace,’ she said, hanging onto the handrail swaying and yawning. ‘What do you want now?’
Esther was being so dramatic she was on the verge of giving the game away. ‘Come on dear,’ Claire said, helping her down the last couple of stairs then physically turning her in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Light the oven. The room will soon warm up. I’ll be in in a minute to make you a hot drink.’
As Esther toddled off to the kitchen, Claire showed the Canadian Airforce officers into the sitting room. ‘It’s rather cold in here. I’ve been away. But then you know that, don’t you?’ She glared at the tall miserable looking officer. ‘So,’ she sighed, ‘what do you want from me?’
The shorter officer stepped forward and gave her a warm smile. ‘We’d like to know if you’ve had any contact with your husband, Mrs Mitchell?’
Claire straightened and looked him in the eye. She knew the game, good officer-bad officer. When she was with the SOE she had been in worse situations and been grilled by harder and more experienced interrogators. Even so, she must be careful. These men would know Mitch had worked undercover in occupied France during the war. They may not, however, know that she had been an agent too - and she didn’t want them to know. To them, she was only the wife of a suspected traitor. Even so, Claire was not about to let either of them intimidate her. ‘I have not.’
‘He hasn’t telephoned, or written to you?’
‘I’ve just told you. My husband has not contacted me!’ Claire checked herself. ‘I know you have your job to do, but I’m worried about him,’ she said, her eyes moist with tears. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pretended to pull herself together. ‘Mitch has not telephoned me or written to me.’
Thank you, Mrs Mitchell.’ Good Officer turned and motioned for Bad Officer to leave. At the door, Good Officer turned to Claire. ‘Commander Landry would like you to come to the base tomorrow.’
‘What? I spent
