"Thank you," she whispered huskily. "I'll have Sister Margaret show you to the refectory so you can eat while I go and find Michael."
"Thank you, Sister." He couldn't stand it any longer. "Sister Catherine?"
"Yes?" she turned and waited at the threshold.
"There’s a small chance Jeff will contact me tonight. A slim one. I don't know where he is or how he can arrange it, but apparently he’s still in England. He said he would try to phone and see how things went today. Please. Is there any word I can give him from you? He’s suffered so much since you left. You have no idea."
There! He'd asked her, point blank, but he knew it was useless and didn't really expect an answer.
She didn't make a move. She seemed to be rooted to the spot. He probably shouldn't have asked, but suddenly she looked up and her face seemed to glow with a luminescence all its own. She walked back to the table, her eyes looking directly into his.
"Tell him," her voice caught, "tell him that I’ve laid my case before the Holy Mother. I am leaving the sisterhood."
Philip had been prepared to hear the very worst. He stared at her. "What did you say?"
Catherine smiled. She could see the news had amazed him. "My love for Jeffrey is too strong to be denied. I plan to become his wife as soon as the Pope grants a dispensation."
"Are you serious?" His voice still sounded unbelieving.
"Completely.” She smiled and put out a hand to touch his arm. His face lighted up.
"My brother’s going to be the happiest man who ever lived, Sister! Jeff is a very lucky fellow," he whispered. "When will you be free to join him?"
"In several months. Tomorrow I have an interview with the Bishop. That is the first step. There are many things involved, you understand."
"Of course. Jeff won't be the same man when I tell him." He cleared his throat. "I don't have to tell you how I feel about you. You're the best thing that ever happened to any of us."
"Philip," she said his name for the first time with such sweetness. They looked at each other with love. "There’s something else I want him to know," Catherine added. "Until he comes back from his mission and my dispensation is official, I still have work to do for the Lord."
"I understand."
Catherine grew nervous. "I’ve accepted a special assignment which will take me away from Castle Combe for a few months. I’ll be leaving this week." Philip was listening, alert to the tension which had crept into her voice. "I'm being sent to Spain, to join our sisters at Saint Theresa's convent in the Pyrenees, near the French-Spanish border. It's one of our Benedictine priories."
"I don't understand."
Catherine moistened her lips. "The priory is housing refugees from France. It’s severely understaffed. I’m going there to render service."
"But we're at war, Sister, and Spain will come into it officially at any moment. You won’t be safe."
"Rest assured our Heavenly Father will protect me. I’m one of many being asked to give aid. How can I refuse?"
Philip was flabbergasted. "If I tell Jeff about this on top of the other news, it will tear him to pieces!" It was one of the few times in his life Philip felt totally helpless. His legal mind had no answers. How was it possible that the Church would allow a young, innocent sister to travel to the war zone? It was inconceivable.
He doubted he would tell Jeff the complete truth if he should call. It would kill him to be so close to having her now, and then hear she was going off for one last time. She might never come back!
Philip experienced a new heaviness and he feared for Catherine. He loved her, too, and even if this adventure was sanctioned by the Vatican, Philip did not have her faith.
Catherine saw his reaction. What would the news do to Jeffrey? "Please don't be concerned for me," she pleaded with him. "I want to go. There are children who need help."
He bowed his head. "We will never stop praying for your safety. How will you get there?"
"By boat. We’ll travel with the Mother General.”
He shook his head. Perhaps it was best after all if Jeff weren't able to reach him. Catherine could read his mind. "Philip, it will turn out as God wills."
"You're right, Sister."
“I’ll go and find Michael now. He has to be told.”
Philip's lips broke into a tight smile. "He loves you so much. I wish I could see Michael's face when you tell him."
Catherine returned the smile. She cared a great deal for Philip. "When Michael and I have had our talk, we’ll come and find you."
"Very good, and Sister? Catherine?" he said her name. "God bless you."
She bowed and left the room, walking with consummate grace. Jeffrey was a fortunate man, but Philip wondered if the two of them would survive the war to even see each other again.
Catherine found Michael playing with his best friends, Peter and Brock, out on the grassy slope behind the convent. They were involved in a game of "Doggie come running," but when Michael saw Catherine in her flowing white habit, he left his play and dashed up the hill into her outstretched arms.
"Sister!" He hugged her.
"Michael, darling," she nuzzled her face in his neck to kiss the soft skin.
"I've missed you. Did you know Daddy went away last night?"
"Yes.” She finally put the boy down. They clasped hands and started walking toward the brook.
"I wish he didn't have to go away."
"I'm sure he didn't want to, but he has a job to do to protect our country, like King Richard, remember? And soon he will be back again."
"Uncle Phil is staying with me. Aunt Ellie has gone away. I'm glad."
Catherine was pensive. "It should make you very happy that your uncle is home with you."
"But I still wish you could come. I wanted to visit you last Sunday, but Daddy was sick."
Catherine slowed her pace. "What was the matter with him?"
"He couldn't sleep. Dr. Endicott came over." There was a pause. "Sister, why did you have to go away?"
Catherine knelt before him, brushing the curls out of his blue eyes. "Michael, in a few months I'm going to come and live with you and your daddy."
Michael looked incredulous. "For a visit?"
She shook her head. "Forever! I'm going to marry your father." It took a moment for the words to register. He cocked his head.
"Then you'll be my new mummy?" His eyes opened till they were round as saucers.
"Yes, darling."
"And you won't have to wear that long dress and funny hat anymore?"
"Oh, Michael," she crushed the boy to her, laughing and crying all at once. "No. I'll be just like all the other mums,” she whispered. He pressed himself against her and they clung for a long, long time. Words were unnecessary. She'd never known such happiness. Finally she let him go and stood up.
“Now I want you to listen carefully to something else I have to tell you. Until I can come to live with you and your father, I have work to do. There are some poor little children at another convent who need my help for a while. That means I won't be here at the convent. You won't be able to come and visit me But you won't mind, will you darling? Pretty soon we're all going to be together, and I'll never leave you again."
He was very calm. "That's all right, Sister. You're going to be my new mum.” He clapped his hands. "Can I tell Peter and Brock?" Catherine could see that the news brought a light to his eye. He didn't care about anything else, to her relief.
"Not yet. This will be our little secret. Just you and your Uncle Philip know."
"Daddy doesn't know?" he asked.
She enfolded him once more. "No, not yet. Your uncle is going to tell him tonight if he should call."
His eyes danced. "Daddy said he was going to ring me up tonight. Can I tell him?”
"If you want to.” She kissed him. "Now let's go find your uncle. He’ll be anxious to get back to London."
The child ran on ahead of her in carefree delight. He was going to be her very own little boy
soon. Another life was about to unfold for her. When she thought of being in Jeffrey's arms, of bearing him children, she couldn't breathe.
A few minutes later, Philip and Michael were in the car once more, traveling back to London. The child rattled on endlessly about the exciting news. Philip realized she had not told Michael any details about her new assignment. It was wise that she had spared him.
He drove faster than usual, his mind in a fog. Michael finally fell asleep on the back seat, exhausted from the excitement. This left Philip with several hours to consider this new state of affairs. He prayed that it would all turn out right!
*****
Coastal Command Headquarters were set up outside London in an immense mansion which could house several hundred men if necessary. Jeffrey had driven there with Lord Wyngate the night before. They’d come from a special air ministry meeting and went directly to headquarters for further conferences.
Jeffrey had been ordered to attend and to be prepared to brief the staff of dignitaries on his last intelligence gathering mission to the Mediterranean. The summons had come sooner than he would have liked, for Michael's sake as well as his own. He’d planned to drive to Castle Combe that very Sunday and speak to the Holy Mother about Catherine.
For nine days he’d waited impatiently for some word, and every moment away from her had been excruciating. Then he was told to report to Headquarters and he had to go. He had no choice.
He was ushered into the conference room and immediately recognized General Gort, Mr. Alexander, Mr. Lloyd and General Auchinleck, top men in the department. The meeting was even more important than he realized. When they were all seated, General Gort stood up.
"Gentlemen, good morning. I've asked you to assemble on a moment's notice so we can be briefed in detail on the situation around the Gibraltar Straits. Lord Harley sat in on the meeting we held with the Prime Minister in Commander Norwood's place last week, and he advanced some of the theories written up in the Commander's dossier.
“But I felt that specific points brought up made it necessary for us to hear from him in person. His son has been seriously ill, so we've waited until now to hear from him. He has a real grasp of the problems, so without further ado, we'll hear from him now." He turned. "Go ahead, Commander."
Jeffrey nodded and took his place by the map which was an up-to-date picture of the enemy's air power throughout the Straits. "Gentlemen," he began, thinking that one bomb dropped on this building could wipe out the entire leadership of Britain's air power.
"In March I was asked to go on a mission to Gibraltar and ascertain our air strength as compared to the enemy's. As you know, since the outbreak of the war we've used the London flying boats based on Gibraltar to ferry important dignitaries between England and the Mediterranean area. They've also had a workout escorting convoys passing southward.
“We haven't been too worried in the past about increasing our air power there because of the obvious reason that the fighting was centered elsewhere, but now the situation has changed drastically. The Bay of Biscay is crawling with Germans, here, here and here," he demonstrated on the chart.
"The French fleet is in harbor, and our men are skirmishing with Luftwaffe at least three times a week." Some of the men raised skeptical eyebrows. "This, gentlemen, means that escalation of enemy air power has begun in this part of the world. I recommended in my reports that we triple our defense posts in West Africa or we're going to lose the fight in the Mediterranean.
“We can’t afford to leave Malta unprotected from this end. The Germans have grasped the entire coastline of Europe. Franco hasn't catapulted his country into the war yet, but Spain has become a stronghold of German bases, the extent of which is still unknown. Franco's December meeting with Mussolini was up to no good, we all know that.
“I don't think we even begin to know what we're up against. I'm not at all sure that tripling our air power in that region will be sufficient. We know Spain is mass producing ammo and parachutes for the Third Reich, but that is nothing compared to what is happening in their harbors.
“The area is inundated with U-boats from Lorient and Bordeaux, but they can't all be stationed in French ports alone. Those U-boats can turn up anywhere in the Atlantic and come after one of our convoys, and with our air power at current strength, we don't have the resources to stop them. And worse, there are pillboxes stretching from Algeciras to the Pyrenees.
"Establishing bases in West Africa is the answer in my opinion. And that’s tricky as well with the Vichy French, but I see no other choice. I know that there has been some question about the necessity of extending the Coastal Command war zone further south into Africa, but I assure you, if we don't, we're in big trouble.
“The build up of the enemy in Spain has me worried. I took in a squadron in March and set up a base of Sunderlands. We camped on the edge of a mosquito swamp. That part of Africa is inhospitable at best, but we were able to manage it. Later, we put up another base at the mouth of a river. We got together the necessary ground staff and were in full operation within a week, and none too soon. Our men sank two U-boats within three days of being there."
He stopped to allow the men to digest his words. "I’ve advised we get more aircraft in there, and I've suggested the Hudson. It's a medium fast land-aircraft, capable of carrying a sufficiently heavy punch to deal with the U-boats. A few squadrons of those at newly erected bases will even up the odds down there. Again, that’s assuming we can get the Hudsons. In the meantime our Sunderlands are doing a Herculean job."
Jeffrey sat down and the men conferred for a few more minutes. Finally General Gort stood up. "Commander, we'll get you those Hudsons and anything else you need. Tomorrow you can take off with as many squadrons as you can put together and set up bases. Think it’s possible to do it in three weeks time?" Jeffrey nodded. "An important convoy will be coming through the Straits then."
One of the staff raised a question. "Commander, I overheard one of your crewmen saying that during your recent mission to Gibraltar, you improvised a very fine oil filter. What did you use?"
Jeffrey laughed quietly. "Toilet tissue, Sir." A roar went up from the men, followed by applause.
"We're sorry you couldn't get those split pins and lubricants requested."
"They arrived, Sir, just a touch behind schedule, but it really didn't impede our progress. Squadron leader Dudley came up with a unique idea for the hydraulics. Homemade ground-nut oil. The men are resourceful."
"That's how we're making it through the war. Sounds like our boys, Commander. And now, to get to the heart of the matter. Your intelligence reports about Spain have given us a few more gray hairs. We need detailed information about enemy activity there. Commander, we’re asking you to do some reconnaissance work for us on this mission.
“We want proof of what Franco is up to. We want you to tell us anything you can about the movement of neutral and enemy surface and underwater craft. We need reports indicating troop movement, construction of new aerodromes, the number and type of aircraft on existing aerodromes, and the location of new U-boat bases along the coast line.
“This hasn't been your usual line of work, Commander, but we need an expert and we know you can spot ship nationalities, recognize deck cargo, classify type. We need this information as soon as you can send it to us on the teleprinter. When you’ve established bases and things are in running order, we would like you to penetrate as deeply into Spain as you can, particularly the mountain areas.
“Use charts, camera pigeons, anything, but we need that information. I realize what we're asking of you. There's nothing the Jerries love more than taking on a British aircraft flying in low for a good look. I hope you've got a photographic memory.
“There’ll be times when you won't have a chance to jot down a note. Up to now, the information being fed to us hasn’t been adequate, and I'm sad to report that some of the reconnaissance crews never made it back to
base to report a few weeks ago."
Jeffr
ey realized he had his work cut out for him.
"You know that area better than anyone, Commander. You've lived out there. In anticipation of this mission, we've assembled the best wing commanders and reconnaissance pilots in the business. They’re in the war room now. You can begin briefing them on the new tactics immediately. Good luck.” They saluted.
He shook hands with them before leaving the room. Lord Wyngate followed him out. "Excellent presentation, had them eating out of your hand. It's too bad you couldn't have talked to them last week. Those Hudsons would be on their way by now, but with Michael ill, that was impossible. I'm sorry you have to leave with Michael barely back from the hospital."
"He'll be all right. Phil’s there with him." He paused. "Elinore is divorcing him. Did you know?"
"Yes ... she told me herself. Sorry for that. It won't be easy for Philip."
"He seems to be getting along amazingly well, actually."
"And you?" he looked at the Commander and noticed his pale countenance.
"I'm all right."
"I've known you too long to believe that! If it isn't Michael, then it must be a woman. We've been friends for years. Out with it!"
Jeffrey smiled tightly. "I'm in love."
"I thought so. Who is she?"
"Believe it or not, she's a nun."
Lord Wyngate was visibly shocked. "You don't mean the Sister that came to take care of Michael?"
"Yes. Sister Catherine."
"Is there any hope? Knowing you as I do, I can't imagine your failing to win her over."
Jeffrey sighed. "You don't know her. I'm not sure if she even wants to see me again, and she won't see me unless she’s free."
His brows furrowed. "I'm deeply sorry about this, Jeff. Under the circumstances, this mission might be just the thing to get her off your mind."
"I doubt anything could do that. Phil took Michael to visit her at the convent today. He should be back in London tonight. I was hoping to talk to him before I left for Africa. Perhaps he’ll have a message for me. I pray to God he does."
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