and caught McConnell’s eye, beckoning him to follow.
“What is it?” McConnell asked, pulling the front door closed after them.
“The SS may come for her,” Stern said. “Frankly, it worries me that they haven’t come yet.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you should wait for me in the cellar. She should stay upstairs. If they come, and she goes with them voluntarily, they might not search the house.”
“I’m not an idiot, Stern.”
“I know that. But you . . . her. I’m not blind. All I’m saying is that now is not the time.”
It irritated McConnell that Stern had seen through him so easily. “There may not be any other time,” he said.
Stern shrugged. “Do what you have to. But if they do come here — and they don’t find you — take the spikes from the cellar, climb the hill, and go up that pylon. When you get to the top, tie yourself on with your toggle rope and wait for me as long as you can.” He laughed. “McShane was right about those ropes after all, wasn’t he? Anyway, you’ll be in the treetops, but you’ll be able to see the camp road. If it looks like Schorner’s men are coming up the hill for you, send down the gas. It’s set up so a child could do it. After you’ve done it, forget about me, forget about her, and try to reach the coast. You just might get out alive.”
McConnell was shaking his head, but Stern said, “If it comes to that point, Doctor, she and I are dead already.”
Stern held out his hand for the first time since McConnell had known him.
McConnell took it.
“It’s less than twenty-four hours,” Stern said, squeezing his hand. “What can happen in a day?”
37
“He’s gone,” McConnell said, shutting the door against the cold.
“What did he say?” Anna asked from the table.
Without Stern’s manic energy there to distract him, McConnell noticed for the first time the tremendous toll all of it was taking on Anna. Her skin, especially around the eyes, had completely lost the pallor of that first night, and taken on the shiny darkness of overripe fruit.
“He’s setting the two cylinders for eight tomorrow night. He’ll send the rest down at the same time. He said I should wait for him in the cellar, and you should wait upstairs.”
She looked surprised. “I assumed he would tell you to wait on the hill, in case he was caught and you had to carry out the attack tonight.”
“He doesn’t plan on getting caught.”
“What do you think?”
McConnell sat down opposite her. “To tell you the truth, I don’t even know if I could climb the pylon. They didn’t train me for that.”
“You have to climb it to release the gas?”
“According to Stern.”
“I could go with you,” Anna suggested. “Help you. There’s no reason for me to stay here.”
“There no reason for you to risk going with me. Besides, you . . . you look done in. You really should try to sleep.”
Anna folded her arms together as if she were cold. “I cannot sleep. I am exhausted, but I don’t want to drop off. Schorner could send someone for me at any moment.”
McConnell weighed the dangers of remaining at the cottage against trying to reach the pylon on the hill. “Anna, has anyone suspected you before now?”
“I don’t think so. But it won’t take Schorner long to put it together.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “If they come for me — if Sergeant Sturm comes for me — I think I would kill myself rather than be taken.”
McConnell looked into her eyes. She was not only exhausted, she was absolutely terrified. He felt stupid for not seeing it earlier. And she meant what she said about suicide.
“Look, I’m not leaving you behind,” he said. “I’m taking you out with us.”
“Stern said the British wouldn’t let you take anyone out.”
McConnell tensed at the sound of an engine on the Dornow road, but the vehicle didn’t turn into the lane that led to the cottage. “How long have you been helping SOE?” he asked.
“Six or seven months.”
“To hell with what the British say. I’m taking you out. Smith owes you that.”
She kept looking at him. In her eyes he sensed, or hoped he sensed, some flicker of hope for herself. He could tell that she had been forcing herself not to think about what would happen after the attack. But now he had offered her a chance, and he saw that she wanted it.
“What about the hill?” she asked.
“To hell with it. I’d rather wait here.”
“In the cellar?”
He slid his hand across the table. “With you.”
She lowered her eyes, but did not take his hand. “Stern told me you’re married.”
“I am.”
“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“I don’t know. You didn’t ask.”
She looked up at him again. “What is it you want, Doctor?”
“You.”
“I know you want me.
He searched for some reasonable answer, but could not find one.
“Is it because you might die tomorrow? Or even tonight?”
He considered this. “I don’t think so.”
“Why, then?”
“Because I love you.”
“Love me?” Anna’s lips curled with a trace of irony. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you.”
“You’re mad.”
“No argument.”
“Don’t say you love me, Doctor. Not to persuade me to give my body to you. You don’t have to say that.”
“I don’t say it easily. You’re the second woman I’ve said that to in my entire life.”
Her eyes searched his face for deception.
“I know a lot of men say it,” McConnell went on, “just for that reason. It’s the easiest way to get a woman to let you have your way with her, I’m sure.”
“And you say it now.”
His eyes didn’t waver. “Yes.”
“You have a wife.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t love her?”
“I do love her.”
“But she isn’t here to comfort you. And I am.”
McConnell watched the way her eyes changed when she talked. They seemed as much a part of her communication as her words, amplifying each question or statement with fine yet uncertain shades of meaning. “She hasn’t been in England to comfort me for the past four years, either,” he said. “I made it fine without any . . . comfort.”
“There were temptations there? In England?”
“Enough.”
