The House at Mermaid's Cove(52)

“The hospital,” Merle replied.

I remembered what Dr. Williams had said about it being a waste that I was doing farmwork. Jack had told me I could save more lives working for Churchill’s secret army than being a nurse. Was that true? I wondered. I’d patched up four men on that mission to France. It didn’t seem much, compared to what I might have done in a hospital ward. But I knew that wasn’t what Jack had meant. It was impossible to gauge the impact of those four men going back into active service.

“Do you wish you were working there, instead of for us?” Merle had read my thoughts. She’d dropped her voice to a whisper, mindful of the other people on the bus.

I hesitated before replying. “I’d like to work in a hospital again one day,” I said. “But if you and Jack think the other work is more important, I’m glad to be doing it.”

“It’s not just important—it’s vital,” Merle murmured. The bus came to a stop and she stood up. “This is where we get off.”

We stepped out into a wide avenue of pale brown buildings that reminded me of Grafton Street in Dublin. As Merle led me across the road, away from the alighting passengers, she said: “I couldn’t tell you on the bus, but those people you dropped off—and the ones you’ll take next month—they’re preparing the way.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The Americans are getting ready to launch a major offensive. The success of that operation will largely depend on the people we have in France gearing up the Resistance. That’s why we’re so desperate to get them over there.”

I nodded as I took in what she was saying. That explained why American soldiers had set up a base in this area. They were gathering as near as possible to the coast for an attack by sea. “When will that happen?” I whispered.

“No one knows. It’ll be determined by what happens on the eastern front, as well as the strength of the Resistance in France.”

I thought about the agents we’d taken to Brittany. Miranda, Ferdinand, and the others. I asked Merle where they would have been taken when I’d left them.

“To a safe house inland,” she replied. “Although safe isn’t a very good word. The places they stay in are constantly being raided. They have a fifty-fifty chance of coming back alive.”

“Do they know that?”

“Yes. We couldn’t expect them to do what they’re doing unless they knew the risks.” She paused as a man walking a dog came to a halt a few feet in front of us. She pulled me into a shop doorway and started talking about the balls of wool arranged in a pyramid in the window. When the man moved on, she said, “All of this is top secret—you mustn’t breathe a word to anyone.”

A moment later, Merle was back in the persona of a mother whose only concern was trawling the shops for what she needed for her children. It was as if the conversation we’d had about the war had never happened. She took me to a store that sold blankets and suggested that I buy one to have made into a coat. Then she found a place that had rolls of printed cotton that the assistant said had just arrived from India. She explained how many coupons I was permitted to use from my ration book, and we bought enough fabric to make me a dress.

I should have savored the experience of buying things on what was my first shopping trip in years. But my heart wasn’t in it. I couldn’t stop thinking about the photograph in the bureau at Penheligan. It was as if I’d found a little piece of Jack’s soul hidden away in that envelope.





Chapter 15

Jack came back a week after my trip to Falmouth. He emerged from the trees, Brock at his heels, as I was going to fetch water from the stream.

“Alice!” His voice had a treacherous effect on my body. It unleashed a powerful surge of pure joy, instantly tainted with dark swirls of jealousy.

“Hello,” I called back. “How was London?” I tried to sound casual, carefree, but the way it came out wouldn’t even have deceived a child.

“Depressing,” he replied. “It’s good to be back. Have you had breakfast yet?”

I shook my head.

“Good.” He shrugged off his knapsack. “I have bacon and sausages. We might have to share them with Brock, though. He hardly touched his food in London. It’s as if he could smell the fear.”

I bent down to stroke the dog’s fur. It felt warm and silky soft, not yet matted with salt water and sand, as it would be after a few minutes of frolicking on the beach. I didn’t ask why or how we were having bacon and sausages for breakfast. It seemed terribly extravagant. But I didn’t want to cast a cloud over his good humor. He’d sought me out and he’d brought me something special. For that I was happy, despite the warning voices in my head.

“I thought you might like to know how those men are,” he said when we were sitting on the beach, eating with our fingers. “They arrived in London a few days after me—all in good shape. They’ll be back in action by the time we do our next run.” He broke off a chunk of sausage and tossed it to Brock, who caught it between his teeth before it could fall onto the sand. “They asked me to pass on their thanks. You did a terrific job in difficult circumstances.”

“I’m glad they’ve all recovered,” I replied, “but I don’t like to think of them having to go back to what they were doing.”