But then there was the silence from the Spanish end of the line. No airmen had come over the border for four days.
And then there were the rumours. They’d started coming in the previous day, from other evasion lines and from agents of the Special Operations Executive.
The rumours hinted at a disaster in the Meteor line.
All Smithe-Webb could do was to hope it wasn’t true – and wait for news.
The news came at four that afternoon. From the Coding and Signals Section of MI9 headquarters at Beaconsfield, just outside London. The section had received a message. It was from Xavier, one of the Meteor wireless operators. The message was perfectly routine, asking for arms and money to be dropped in three days’ time; the code used was correct; and the ‘touch’, the operator’s unique and personally identifiable Morse style, was definitely Xavier’s.
But something was missing, something which made Smithe-Webb’s heart sink. One of the security checks had been left out. One of the two intentional mistakes that operators were trained to put into their messages had been omitted.
That meant only one thing. It meant that Xavier was operating under German control.
Over the next three days more and more information filtered through and Smithe-Webb’s worst fears were realised.
Meteor had been devastated. It was as if the line had never existed. Over a hundred and fifty arrests had been made: men and women, some in their seventies, others no more than eighteen.
It was a disaster.
When the news broke, the Head of MI9 shielded Room 900 from the worst of the flak which rained down on them from the Department’s enemies in high places.
But Smithe-Webb didn’t care either way. There was only one thing he cared about – finding out how it had happened so that it could never, ever happen again.
The next day his prayers were answered. A long signal arrived from the British Consulate in Lisbon. A man claiming to be a member of the Meteor line had reached Portugal by means of the Pyrenees and a Spanish jail. His code name was Gaston and he had operated in Brussels. Before escaping from the city, he had heard a whisper, passed from someone who had called up to the leader, Guy, in his prison cell. The whisper was that it was a traitor who had caused the disaster, a man who called himself Lebrun.
A traitor from within.
Smithe-Webb sighed. It was the one thing that was so very difficult to guard against.
All he could do was to help them prevent it happening again.
He would press for money to train agents, agents who could be sent over to start new evasion lines, people who, above all, would be skilled in security …
He started planning straight away. It would be a mistake to set up another large-scale Belgium-Spain line too soon; the aftermath of the Meteor disaster would rumble on for a long time.
Instead he would reinforce the existing, smaller réseaux, particularly those well away from the Meteor route.
He looked at the north coast of Brittany. The recent upset there had been no more than a temporary hiccup.
Most of the line was still intact. So too were the MGBs, though minus Ashley and his crew.
Yes, Brittany it must be. A new organiser, a new security system, and a much larger operation.
The line would need a new name.
He thought for a moment, then came up with the name which had been his mother’s before she married. He would call the new réseau the Sheldon line.
Chapter 19
TANTE MARIE TOOK a last look into the front parlour, closed the door, and nodded to Julie. Julie picked up a plate of fish stew from the stove, a knife and fork from the table, and carried them quickly into her bedroom. Tante Marie closed the door behind her.
Julie walked through the room and started to climb the narrow stairs. Whispers and a small chuckle floated down from the room above. Her eyes reached floor level and she saw the two heads bent over some fascinating object on the floor.
They heard her and looked up. Richard grinned. For a moment she met his gaze and smiled back. Then she directed her eyes towards her son. Peter acknowledged her arrival with a matter-of-fact glance and said in his high-pitched monotone, ‘Maman, look at this. It’s nearly finished!’
Julie obediently inspected the rough model ship lying on the floor and said, ‘It’s lovely, darling. Really super!’
Richard got to his feet and reached out for the plate. ‘Shall I relieve you of this? It looks too good to go cold.’
‘Oh yes! Sorry!’ Julie laughed and looked up into his face. He was still smiling, but there was something else, too: an enquiring, watchful look, as if he were trying to catch her out at some game they were playing.
She looked away and said to Peter, rather too quickly, ‘Come on! Bedtime, young man.’
‘But I’m not tired!’
‘That’s as may be, but it’s still bedtime.’
‘Oh, no! We were just going to stick the funnel on, weren’t we, Richard?’ He pronounced ‘Richard’ in the French way, softly and with no ‘d’, just as Julie had taught him. She was terrified that he would blurt the name out at school.
Richard put on a stern face. ‘It can wait until tomorrow. Go on, jeune homme. Do as your mother says!’
Peter made a face, then nodded obediently and got up. Julie reached down to take his hand, but he said crossly, ‘No, I want to walk by myself!’ Julie sighed. Such an independent little beast, her son, and hardly six. She shrugged, rolled her eyes at Richard, and followed Peter’s stamping feet down the stairs.
She knew the bed-time stories so well that she could read them automatically while she thought of other things. Up until three weeks ago, she had thought about the shopping and the mending and Peter’s clothes. But now … Now she thought about the evening ahead.
She was fascinated by Richard’s view of the world.
Certain things – like politics – he found amusing; something the French would never do. He said that anything so serious which was so badly managed had to be funny. She wasn’t sure she agreed with him, but the way he talked made her laugh – most things he said made her laugh. But then at other times he could be very serious, and those laughing eyes became as hard as stone, and she guessed he could be very determined when he chose to be. Particularly about things he cared about, like loyalty and integrity and duty. When he talked about things like that he reminded her of an earnest schoolboy – or perhaps a knight of old: chivalrous, honest and true.
And yet – whenever he was talking seriously he would add almost in the same breath something so irreverent that it made her gasp. At first his wickeder remarks had taken her aback and – well, shocked her. Then she’d started to find them rather funny and it dawned on her that he said them for that very reason: to make her laugh.
He made her talk too, about herself and what she believed in and what she cared about. She wasn’t used to having long discussions. The conversations in the farmhouse kitchen were inclined to be short, almost monosyllabic. At first she found it difficult to express herself, but then, gradually, the words had come more easily.
‘Maman, a kiss!’
She leant down and kissed the small round cheek. ‘Good night, darling. I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed.’
‘Night-night.’ He was already half asleep.
Julie hurried to the mirror and peered into it. She brushed her hair a couple of times then examined herself critically. She really didn’t look bad at all, she decided. She was doing her hair a new way – with a side parting – and it rather suited her.
She made her way to the stairs and went up, happy and confident.
He was sitting on the bed, finishing his meal. When he saw her he put the plate down and said, ‘I’m putting on weight, you know. You’ll have to stop feeding me like this!’
She sat down on the floor and smiled. ‘Well, it’s not exactly Cordon Bleu – and I wouldn’t enquire about the vegetables you had in that stew. But we do our best!’
‘It’s wond
erful!’ And Julie had the feeling he wasn’t referring to the food. She said quickly, ‘Do you want to play crib tonight? It’s about time you played an honest game and beat me!’
‘Are you suggesting I cheat?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ Julie laughed.
He looked horrified. ‘How did you guess?’
‘Because I win so much.’
‘Ah! I can’t argue with that logic! I promise never to cheat again. Guide’s honour.’ Julie smiled because he didn’t mean a word of it.
He looked at her more seriously and exclaimed, ‘No, don’t let’s play cribbage. Let’s talk instead! Come on …’ He settled himself more comfortably. ‘I want to hear the story of your life.’
She felt a stab of fear. She said quickly, ‘No. There’s nothing to tell.’ There was an awkward pause. She looked for something else to say. ‘I heard about your crew, by the way. Did I tell you? They’re fine, apparently, but still very restless. D’you want another message sent over to them?’
Ashley shook his head absently. ‘No. It’ll wait a couple of days.’
He was watching her carefully. She went on quickly, ‘But still no news from outside, I’m afraid. There’s been a big clamp-down round Paris and the wireless operators have gone to ground. We still haven’t managed to get a message through …’
He frowned. ‘This Paris thing – is it connected with what happened here?’
‘No … they don’t think so. Our – incident – happened before the troubles up there. No, our problem was that leader of ours. We think he just talked too much and the wrong people heard …’
‘But – will he have talked? To the Gestapo?’
Julie stared at him for a moment. ‘No … Thank goodness, there’s no possibility of that.’
‘Why?’
‘Ah. Well, he died, you see. On the way to St Brieuc, to Gestapo headquarters.’
‘Oh … He—’ Richard searched her face. ‘He died immediately, did he?’
Julie thought: He’s quick, he understands completely. She said quietly, ‘Yes … The Germans found him dead on arrival. But then he would have died anyway—’
Richard nodded. ‘Quite.’
Julie had been relieved to hear of the leader’s death. It was amazing how hard and realistic you could be when it was your child and your family who were at stake.
Julie shook her head. ‘But none of it need have happened. If we’d had our own people running it their way …’
Richard nodded sympathetically. ‘Well, for what it’s worth I’ll put in a word with the powers-that-be when I get back.’ He laughed. ‘If I get back!’
Julie said gently, ‘I’m sorry there’s no news.’
He leaned forward and touched her arm. ‘Don’t worry on my behalf. Actually, to be honest, I’m rather enjoying it in some ways. I’ve done a lot of thinking – much more than in the whole of the last few years. And I’m getting a lot of satisfaction out of making this model with your young man. Then, of course …’ He paused and stared at her meaningfully. ‘… it’s really rather nice to be locked up with you.’
Julie gave him a look of amused disbelief and said, ‘You’re just saying that!’ But secretly she was pleased.
There was a pause. He said quietly, ‘You very cleverly put me off just now, when I asked you about your life. But come on, Julie, don’t be such a mystery woman. Tell me …’
Julie said softly, ‘No, I’m really not ready to talk about it yet. I’m sorry.’
He gave her a questioning look. She was tempted to explain but instead she got up and fetched the upturned packing case they used for playing cards.
He gave a small laugh. ‘All right. Cribbage then.’
He won the first game easily and Julie said, ‘There, you see! When you concentrate you can beat me every time!’
He let her win the next game and the next, then she accused him of not trying.
He replied half-heartedly, ‘Of course I’m trying.’ But she knew he wasn’t.
Julie looked at her watch and got to her feet. ‘Well, work tomorrow as usual. About time I turned in.’ She smoothed down her skirt and looked up with a smile. ‘Good night, then!’
She turned to go but he stood up and touched her arm. ‘Julie …’ His voice was very soft. ‘I wish you’d tell me …’ He sighed. ‘You know what I mean.’ He held her by the arms and, moving closer, kissed her on the forehead, very gently, his lips barely brushing her skin. Then, for a single moment, he leant down and put his cheek against hers and Julie thought: I’m not going to survive this. He turned and whispered into her hair, ‘Julie, I want you so much …’
Julie pulled away and looked unhappily at the floor. Then without a word she turned and made quickly for the stairs.
‘Julie—?’
But she was hurrying down. As soon as she reached the bedroom she pulled off her skirt and top and quickly got into bed next to Peter. She closed her eyes tightly and thought: God, please help me to live through the next few minutes. She listened to the sounds upstairs. For several minutes he didn’t move, then she heard him walk slowly across the room to the bed.
She stared into the darkness for a long time, full of longings, wretched with misery.
She wanted him too, of course she did. She wanted him with all her heart.
But there could be no question of that. He wouldn’t care for her if he knew the truth. He wouldn’t respect her. The humiliation would be terrible.
She closed her eyes tightly, thinking that sometimes life could be very unfair.
Richard eyed her critically. ‘You look terrible!’
‘Thanks!’ Julie managed the ghost of a smile. She was feeling an awful lot better than she had first thing that morning. She’d woken with a thundering headache and it hadn’t faded until the afternoon. Now, she was just feeling tired.
She put the plate down on the packing case and looked at him a little nervously. She hadn’t seen him since the night before. She breathed deeply and said, ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go straight to bed tonight. I’m rather tired.’
He got up slowly, a frown on his face, and took her hand. ‘Julie, if it’s anything I said last night … If I offended you in any way … I’m terribly sorry …’
‘No! Really.’ She smiled and gripped his hand. ‘No, I’m just tired, that’s all.’
‘Well … if you’re sure.’ He looked uncertain. ‘You promise that I didn’t upset you …?’
Julie said, ‘Honestly,’ and wished he would let go of her hand. It was embarrassing her.
He said softly, ‘If I did upset you, Julie, I assure you it was the last thing I intended … You know that, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I know that.’
Very gently he released her hand and said breezily, ‘Well how about a nightcap?’
‘A nightcap?’ she repeated dully.
‘Yes, I did a little bit of bartering with your uncle. He ended up with three cigarettes and I got a bottle of wine. Rather a good deal, don’t you think? Though who for, I couldn’t say!’ He laughed and leant down to pick up the bottle. ‘Look, why don’t you have a quick glass. It’ll do you good! And make you sleep! Come on, keep me company! Just for a minute.’
Julie knew that if she didn’t go to bed now she might stay all evening. She began, ‘I really would, except …’ Then she closed her eyes, and smiled faintly and said, ‘All right.’
He grinned at her: he was pleased.
She sat on the floor and accepted a glass. He was right about the wine: it did make her feel better. After a while she felt beautifully calm and almost content again. Richard told some stupid stories about a pet goat his family had once owned and suddenly she found herself laughing again. It was as if nothing had changed …
Except that it had.
They talked about all the usual things and he looked at her with the same eyes, alive and sparkling with fun, but … it was all subtly different. The words from the previous night hung in the air.
&nbs
p; She began to feel deliciously drowsy; she hardly ever drank wine. She said, ‘I really must get some sleep now …’
‘Of course.’ He leaned forward and helped her up. ‘But wait! Just for a second …’
He went to the candle and blew it out. She heard him move across the room and the next moment a square of light appeared where he had pulled the curtain back from the window. ‘Come and see!’
She came up beside him and stared out. It was a brilliantly clear night. A myriad stars carpeted the sky, like silver on black velvet.
He said, ‘I used to sit on Dancer and watch the night sky for hours on end …’
She said, ‘It is lovely.’
‘It’s even better when you’re sitting on deck. Then you can see everything, all the constellations.’
They stared in silence.
He said pensively, ‘After the war I’ll take Dancer cruising again, to all the old places.’
‘To the Scillies?’
He turned. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Well – you must have told me.’
‘Not since I’ve been here. I wouldn’t have.’ He was very definite. ‘You know, you must have remembered that from before. In Plymouth.’ He laughed softly. ‘And there you were, pretending you didn’t even remember me! You quite hurt my feelings, you know!’
‘Rubbish!’ Julie said firmly. ‘It did you good, not to be remembered. Otherwise you’d have got a big head.’
‘But you did remember me, didn’t you?’
Eventually she said, ‘Yes, but I couldn’t remember exactly where it was that I’d met you.’
‘Well, I knew! I enjoyed that day we spent together, and I was rather disappointed when you announced – right at the last moment – that you were just about to go away!’
He touched her shoulder and, sitting on the bed, waited for her to sit down beside him in the darkness. He said, ‘Tell me. About you.’
She murmured, ‘I’d rather not.’
‘But why? Do you think I won’t try to understand? Whatever it is you don’t want to talk about – well, it can’t be that bad, Julie. It can’t be so bad that I wouldn’t—’ There was a pause. ‘– that I wouldn’t care for you any more. You know I care, don’t you?’
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