Catching the Wind(51)

He shrugged. “I don’t speak to her about such things.”

“But you want me to tell the Germans about her baby?”

“Not you, the girl. But you’ll have to translate it first.” He pulled a German dictionary out of the box. It was much too risky for him to carry a German letter to her or put one through the post.

“Why must the Germans know about a baby?”

“Trust me, Olivia.”

Still she pouted, as if she no longer believed him or in the hope of their mission. Putting down the letter, she walked toward the cobwebs on the window. “I could die out here, and you’d never know it.”

“I would know,” he said tenderly. “And you can’t die. Your work here is going to win the war.”

“Sometimes I think you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“I want what’s best for you, for us,” he said, pulling her close to him. “But I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

Perhaps he’d stay for the night after all. Then he’d go back to Breydon Court at first light. “If nothing else, stay strong for me, Olivia.”

“I’m trying—”

“Nothing will ever tear us apart.”





CHAPTER 30





_____

They found the abandoned flour mill where the River Ouse flattened and drifted between curtains of reeds along its banks. On the other side of the river, someone was swimming upstream, and Quenby shivered at the thought of being immersed in the murky water, unable to see what was under or beside you. She much preferred venturing on land so she had some visual, even if it was limited in these trees. And she much preferred being here with Lucas to being alone, in case Kyle discovered her on his land again.

Behind the mill, set back in the woodland, was a chimney shaft that towered above a moss-covered waterwheel and a weathered roof striped with rusty corrugated iron. Wild thyme sweetened the breeze as she and Lucas hiked into the forest, but as she scanned the ruined buildings, the rugged piles of wood and brick between the Queen Anne’s lace, Quenby feared again that the growth and elements had destroyed the Mill House as well.

“I feel like we’re hiking through a jungle,” Lucas said as he ducked under a branch.

“Have you ever actually been in a jungle?” she asked. This time she was armed with insect repellent and a pair of rubber wellies she’d bought in town to combat the swarms of mosquitoes and the mud that had stained her trainers.

“I hiked through the Amazon when I was twenty.” He lifted another branch and she walked under it. “How about you?”

She shook her head. “There’s a reason I live in the city.”

“Don’t you swim in those ponds behind your flat?”

“I prefer being able to see through the water.”

“No surprises?”

“I’m surprised enough in my work.” Mud tugged at her wellies as they turned onto a soggy path, but she pressed on.

“I bet you’ve stumbled over all manner of secrets in your job.”

“I don’t stumble, Lucas. I search.” With that declaration, her toe caught on the root of a tree and she fell forward, plunging into the grass. Her hand snagged on a briar, and she rolled away from the blackberry bush.

Lucas reached out his hand, but she didn’t take it. Standing again on her own, she wiped the blood off her hand with a leaf. Her jeans and blouse were now coated with mud.

He reached out and plucked a leaf from her hair, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

She held her head high. “Still searching.”

“I’m glad you never stumble.” His cheeks trembled with his words, a feeble attempt at suppressing his laugh.

“Let’s move along.”

“Of course, my lady.”

She stuck out her tongue.

Lucas continued following her on the dense trail until they reached a cross path. She turned right.

“Look at this,” Lucas said, and she stepped back. Intertwined in vines at the edge of the path was an old post. The two of them worked carefully to uncover the rusty sign underneath. Kelmore Street. The words she’d been searching for.

“Well done,” Quenby said, and he glanced up, surprised at her affirmation. “I mean it.”

His brown eyes smiled along with his lips. “Glad you approve.”

Weeds paved the forgotten road, and trees on both sides had spread their limbs over the path, as if reaching across to shake the branches on the opposite side. Perhaps long ago this road had been wide enough for a vehicle, but there’d be no driving any sort of car or even a bicycle down it now.

As they walked, she searched the bramble for more ruins, but it wasn’t until they reached the end of the lane that they found an old cottage, protected by a canopy of tall oak trees. The front window was shattered, though jagged pieces of glass edged the frame, reminding her of the isolated farmhouse in Wuthering Heights.

“This must be it,” she said. No nameplate hung near the door, but it was the only house on the entire road.

“For once, I think we can agree.”

She eyed it. “What a miserable place to live.”

“Not if you’re trying to keep a secret.”