by Candace Camp
Alyssa threw on her coat and hurried over to the building. Inside, a glance at the directory on the wall beside the elevator told her there was nothing listed above the fourth story. She frowned, wondering if the caller had been wrong or had used the American system of numbering floors for her convenience. As she hesitated, a man rose from a bench by the door.
“Miss Lambert?”
“Yes.”
“I’m to take you up.” He led her into an elevator and told the operator to take them to the fifth floor. Alyssa realized that the entire fifth floor must be secret.
Her escort took her down a hall past several closed doors and knocked on the last one. Ian’s familiar voice called to them to enter.
“Hello, my dear.” Ian rose and came around his desk to take Alyssa’s hand. “How are you?”
“Fine.” Alyssa glanced around. “Is this where you work?”
He shook his head. “No, they have me in the basement of an old house outside the city. But this is a better place to meet people.”
When he remained silent after that, Alyssa prodded, “You know why I’m here.”
“Yes. Blakely recommended you highly, though he added that he disliked sending you into certain danger.” A thin smile touched his lips. “That caused some stir here, for Blakely is generally regarded to be lacking a heart.”
“And what did you think about it?”
“I think he’s right. It’s too dangerous a task to ask of any woman, although I’m sure you would be good at it. I won’t put you through another list of objections. No doubt you heard quite enough of that from Blakely. Frankly, I don’t want you to go.”
“But why? I don’t understand—if Everson praised me—“
“It’s not a question of your abilities; Blakely’s words only confirmed what we had already learned about you. Nor is it a question of my refusing to let you do the job. It is my preference that you not go. Sometimes I think that I have asked too much of people, that I have sent too many people to their deaths. And you have already given up a great deal.”
“I want to go.”
“I know. And if you are absolutely positive that it is what you want to do, I shall send you to the three people who make the decision on your suitability.”
“I’m positive that I want to do it.”
A smile escaped him. “Don’t you even want to hear what the job is first?”
“I wasn’t sure you would tell me.”
“I don’t think I need be quite that secretive with you. Your security has been well established. What we need is a ‘pianist.’”
Alyssa stared at him, confused. “A what?”
“Pianist. A slang term we use for a radio operator.”
“Like Jessica?”
“Yes, like Jessica. But Jessica operates here at our base. She receives the messages of operators stationed in France. They’re associated with groups of French fighters who are clandestinely working against the Nazis. That is what we are talking about for you.”
Alyssa drew in a sharp breath. At last what she had wanted for so long dangled before her, and it both excited and terrified her. “Working inside France?”
“Yes. You would be flown in and would hook up with one of the resistance networks. Then you would send back their messages to headquarters.”
“I want to do it.”
“Don’t jump in so quickly,” Ian cautioned. “Think about it. This is a dangerous job. The resistance groups suffer terrible risks. They’re open to the infiltration of informers and spies. The Nazis monitor radio transmissions, trying to find the illegal transmitters, so that sending radio messages is in itself dangerous. A transmission that lasts too long could bring the enemy straight to you and blow your cell, or even an entire network. There’s always the chance of discovery, and for someone who isn’t French, the chances are even greater. A slip in the accent, a lack of knowledge of a place, an incorrect idiom—any little mistake could betray you. Capture means death, or, worse, unspeakable tortures. It’s something I cannot urge anyone to do, and I don’t advise a person to do it if he or she has any doubts. That’s why I ask you to think about it carefully.”
“All right. I will.” Alyssa’s stomach fluttered at the things he described. She would have to be insane not to be frightened by the prospect, she thought. Even so, she was determined to do it.
“Good. Then, if tomorrow you are still convinced you want to do it, go to this address.” He handed her a slip of paper. “It’s a residence near Berkeley Square. Be there at nine o’clock, and you will talk to a woman code-named Athena. She is one of the three people who must approve you for the program. If you’re accepted, she will work with you on much of your preparation. Answer all her questions openly. She and the others know of your record.” He paused. “Quite frankly, I hope they decide against using you.”
“One would almost think you didn’t like me,” Alyssa remarked lightly, standing to take her leave.
“No,” he replied, his cool gray eyes a trifle sad. “No, it’s that I like you too much.”
Alyssa did as Ian directed and spent the rest of the day thinking over the opportunity. The prospect frightened her, and she felt a few qualms over whether she could do it, but neither of those things were enough to squelch her determination to go to France.
The next morning, promptly at nine, she rang the doorbell at the address Ian had given her. It was a small, pleasant house in a nice neighborhood. She doubted that anyone would suspect that it was a meeting place of spies and saboteurs. A tall, spare woman opened the door. Her features were thin and sharp, her eyes shrewd as they swept over Alyssa. She stepped back from the door and motioned for Alyssa to enter.
Alyssa followed her into the small parlor. “Please, sit down.” The other woman motioned toward a chair and sat down herself beside the tea cart. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
“I have coffee, if you’d rather.”
“This is fine.”
“I am Athena, as I suppose you’ve guessed. Milk? Sugar?”
“Yes, to both. One lump.”
Athena gave Alyssa a carefully measured smile as she handed her the teacup. “One feels a trifle awkward using these names, but it’s a necessary precaution. Much better all-around not to know actual names.”
“Yes, of course.”
They sipped their tea, and the dark, thin woman studied Alyssa. Alyssa was careful not to betray any nervousness under the steady gaze. She knew that her looks would work against her in this situation; the last thing one wanted was to stand out for any reason. So she had left off all her makeup and dressed her hair in a plain roll. She had worn her dullest dress, a simple dark blue wool, and had borrowed from Jessica’s closet a tweed coat whose dark mix of colors was not complimentary to her complexion.
After a moment Athena smiled. “You’ve done a good job of hiding your looks. I’d like to see you in makeup and attractive clothes, just to see how different you appear. Still, it’s hard to completely cover up natural beauty. It would be a problem.” She switched to French, continuing, “What abilities do you have that will make up for that negative feature?”
“I have experience in secretive work from my days in Washington. I am less likely to betray myself by speech or actions than most Englishmen or Americans,” Alyssa answered in a French far better than Athena’s own. “I learned to speak French as a child, when my father was stationed in Algeria, and my knowledge was strengthened by attending a Swiss boarding school, where we spoke French in all my classes. Most of all, I am an actress—a good one, I assure you. I am adept at accents.” To demonstrate, Alyssa switched to French spoken in the tones of Lyons, something she had picked up from listening to Philippe’s valet, Georges. “I am accustomed to playing a role, and I have learned to control any display of nerves.”
“Most impressive,” Athena admitted.
“I think I could fool many Frenchmen, and I certainly can speak French well eno
ugh to deceive a German.”
“I distrust an actress,” Athena went on in a hard voice. “You have too much need for praise and applause. You will seek recognition, even though unconsciously. That will be disastrous for your network. We can’t have anyone playing to the gallery.”
Alyssa masked her quick, angry reaction to Athena’s words and answered calmly, “I’m not seeking glory. If I wanted recognition and praise, I would have spent the past year onstage, not ruining my career and my reputation doing the work of this organization. I could get glory right now stumping for war bonds in my own country, safe from German bombs.”
Athena’s narrow face hid any reaction she had to Alyssa’s words. She continued to question Alyssa about her reasons for wanting the job, ending with a long and sickeningly detailed depiction of the terrors that would probably await her at the hands of the Nazis.
Alyssa knew she couldn’t prevent the sudden whitening of her face, but her voice didn’t tremble as she replied, “I realize that. I would have to be crazy not to be scared by what will happen to me if I’m captured. Naturally, I don’t wish to be killed or tortured, but I wouldn’t think it’s any less frightening to the other people who have done it. I have to take the risk. What I could accomplish in France is more important that my fears.”
“I’d like for you to talk with someone else, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
The someone else turned out to be a short, thickly built man called Stiletto. His eyes were dark and bright, and they flicked over Alyssa, then away, as they talked. The movement of his eyes gave him a furtive look at odds with his stolid appearance. He talked to Alyssa about all manner of things, very few of which had anything to do with France or the war or resistance groups. Yet, after an hour he exchanged a glance with Athena, then turned to Alyssa. “Are you positive you want to do this?”
“Yes.”
He gave a short nod. “You have to go to school first to become a radio operator. Then you’ll have two months intensive training by Athena and me.”
“You mean I’m accepted?” Alyssa asked cautiously.
“Yes. Didn’t you expect to be?” he countered.
“I wasn’t sure.”
He shrugged. “We could hardly afford to pass you up, now, could we?”
“But what about the third person? I thought there were three who had to approve me.”
“You already have the third approval.”
“I see.” So it was Ian himself who ruled on her suitability. It warmed her that he had already accepted her, despite his words yesterday.
“Are you ready to begin the telegraphy school?”
“Right away.”
“Good. There’s a new class starting next week. First you have to become a member of the FANY. Athena will see to it.”
“FANY?” Alyssa repeated, a little dazed at the sudden acceptance.
“First Aid Nursing Yeomanry,” Athena explained. “They’re a volunteer organization, rather antiquated, but at least they have a uniform and aren’t stuffy about women taking part in military operations. The RAF, army, and navy won’t allow it, although the RAF will give you an honorary commission when you finish training. Becoming a member of the FANY gives you a credible explanation for where you are and what you are doing while you’re going through training. Also, it will allow you to claim to be a member of the armed forces if you’re captured and receive treatment under the Geneva rules. I’ve never known it to make any difference to the Nazis, though.”
Stiletto rose and stuck out his hand to shake Alyssa’s. “I’ll see you in training camp. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” She was in. She was finally in!
*****
The next day Alyssa traveled with Claire to Chilton Dean for Alan’s funeral, and later the three friends sat up much of the night together, talking, reminiscent laughter mingling with their tears. Early the following morning, Alyssa took the train to Yorkshire to begin her training.
Jessica remained in Chilton Dean another day, trying to support Alan’s mother through her stunned grief. With relief she boarded the train that would take her back to Evington Court and her work, carrying her away from the miasma of grief and regret that enveloped Alan’s home.
As the train chugged along, she thought of Stephen Marek. After crying in her arms the other day, he had turned away abruptly, embarrassed by his display of emotion, and Jessica hadn’t had a chance to express the thanks she had gone to the hospital to give him. Now, thinking of him, she decided to detour by Long Grove Hospital on her way back to Evington Court. This time she would tell him how grateful she was that he had brought Alan back. And maybe this time he would talk to her about Alan.
The same army captain was seated outside Marek’s door, and he looked no happier to see Jessica than he had been before. However, he didn’t try to stop her. A nurse was leaving the room just as Jessica walked in, and she smiled at her. “Oh, a visitor! How nice.’
“Hello, Sister.”
The nurse turned back to Stephen, saying brightly, “Captain Marek, there’s someone here to see you. Isn’t that nice?”
Stephen sat in a chair by the window, wrapped in a blue robe. He turned his head to look at Jessica and frowned. He turned back to the view. The nurse made a small apologetic gesture and whispered, “Please stay. It will do him good.”
Jessica nodded, and the woman left the room. Jessica went over to Stephen. “How are you?” What a stupid thing to ask! It was obvious that he was still quite sick. Though the signs of fever were gone, he was thin almost to the point of emaciation, and his color was poor.
His only response was a shrug, and he continued to stare out the window, ignoring her. Jessica stood uncertainly. The nurse had suggested she stay, but it seemed foolish since he obviously didn’t want her here. She wet her lips and tried again, “I see they’re letting you up and about now. You must enjoy that.”
His head swung around, and he fixed her with a flat, dark stare. Finally he asked harshly, “What is it you want?”
Jessica’s lips thinned. “I simply wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Why?”
“Why! What a bizarre question! Why shouldn’t I? I hoped you were feeling better.” He said nothing, and she went on, “I wanted to thank you.”
“For what? Bringing you home a corpse?”
Jessica’s telltale skin flushed. “You are an excessively rude man. But, then, I suppose that doing something heroic doesn’t necessarily make one a decent human being, does it?”
“Heroic?” His mouth curled into a sneer. “I wasn’t heroic, lady, just trying to save my skin.”
Jessica frowned. He was trying to anger her, she realized, to force her away. “Captain Marek, I don’t understand why you’re doing your best to make me dislike you. Or why you’d like to think that you are less than you are. But I happen to know what you did. You rescued Alan from a prisoner-of-war camp, and you tried your best to save his life. They told me how you put your own coat around him to keep him warm. How you carried him to the boat and pulled him on. You could have left him there for the Germans to pick up. That would have been saving your skin.”
“Well, it didn’t do much good, did it?”
“It did me quite a bit of good. And his parents as well. At least we were able to bury him. At least we know that his body wasn’t left lying in a foreign country at his enemy’s mercy. That means a great deal to a family.” She squatted down beside his chair. This close she could see the ache that dulled his black eyes. Jessica laid her hand on his arm, wanting to comfort him. His skin jumped beneath her touch, but he didn’t pull his arm away. “I meant it when I said I wanted to thank you. You see, I thought Alan died over a year ago when his plane was shot down in the Channel. All that time I’ve thought his body was lost in the water, and that was very painful to me. But I no longer have to live with that. You brought Alan home, and we were able to bury him in the family plot
at St. Crispin’s. We can go to visit his grave. He’s no longer lost to us.”
Stephen stared at her for a long time. Slowly his other hand came up and covered hers. They remained in that position for a long moment, neither one speaking.
Marek removed his hand and said gruffly, “You’re a kind woman. Townsend said you were.”
“Did he?” Jessica smiled. “I’m glad he thought so.” She patted his arm. “I know you’re tired. I shan’t stay any longer. But I would like to come back to see you. May I?”
He nodded.
“Thank you. I’ll be over my next free day. Perhaps in a week.” It was clear to Jessica that Stephen was suffering as much mentally and emotionally as he was physically. He needed something to bring him back to life, and visitors were the only thing Jessica could think of that would help. She owed him that.
“Could I bring you anything to read? Puzzles? Cards?”
He shook his head. “They have stuff like that here. I’m not interested.”
“You’re a hard case.” She smiled at him. “All right, then. I shall simply bring my sparkling conversation. But in the meantime you must get better so that you can enjoy it properly.”
For the first time, a faint smile crossed his face. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good-bye, then, until next time.”
“Good-bye.” Jessica was halfway to the door when Marek spoke again. “Mrs. Townsend?” She turned inquiringly. “Thank you.”
Jessica smiled. “You’re very welcome. And you must call me Jessica.”
“Jessica.”
*****
He wouldn’t have admitted it, but Stephen woke up each morning hoping that Jessica might come that day. He told himself it was crazy. She had said it would be a week—and that was presuming that she’d meant it and wouldn’t forget. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to feel the tingle of anticipation.