Code Name- Beatriz

by Lou Cadle

  “A good cook, then.”

  “As long as I don’t have to actually cook, I suppose I am. But I liked it because I became invisible as a server of food. I could listen to conversations that might have been stopped, had they seen a little girl walking amongst them. I became something else, a non-person really.”

  “Sounds a radical way to raise a child.”

  “I’m not a Communist, if that’s what you mean, and nor were my parents. But they had Communist friends, and the Communists have some good points. There are haves and have-nots in this world, and most of what is had is inherited. I was lucky to have inherited comfort myself, but I could have as easily been born into the servant class, where I didn’t play at serving food but had to, or die. I think that is good to remember, as often as we can make ourselves.”

  “I’m glad I was born where I was. I can’t imagine being born in a city.”

  “Had you, you’d have considered that the normal way of life and wondered what those odd ranch people did out west, yes?”

  “Perhaps. But liking open spaces seems such a part of me, I can’t imagine that it’s not born in.” He looked at his empty plate, and upended his wine glass. “I could eat that much again in an hour or two.”

  “It’s good to not be hungry for that hour,” she said, standing. “I’ll take this to the back door. Finish the wine if there is any left.”

  He looked, and then upended the bottle over his mouth and swallowed.

  She admired the line of his throat.

  “A mouthful only,” he said, handing her the bottle. “I’ll relieve myself around the barn while you’re at the house.”

  “Hold on to the walls. The wine may affect your balance, and I would hate for you to fall. Stay out of sight from the road,” she said. “And then put yourself to bed. You need to sleep and recover.”

  She used the pump outside to rinse the wine bottle and then filled it with water to keep in the barn. The rest of the dishes she left on the back stoop. She took a moment to admire the first and brightest of the stars coming out.

  There was beauty in the world. Some days, she didn’t think that there was much in the human world, but look at the day she’d had. An old woman had helped them despite not knowing them, despite the danger it might bring to her. Claude had forgiven her. She’d had not one but two warm meals. And she’d spent time with Will, built memories to sustain her.

  These three people reminded her of the sort of people she was fighting for. There were good people in the world. Their numbers far surpassed the numbers of the evil ones.

  And there were stars in the sky, and wine, and, come to think of it, maybe she was a little high from the wine. She hadn’t had alcohol in several weeks. She made it back to the barn door, said Will’s name softly, and when he didn’t answer from outside, went to relieve herself. Then she let herself into the barn, which was warmer than the fresh air, holding on for a short time to the day’s heat.

  The chickens talked to her as she passed their enclosure, a muffled but satisfied sound. Will was bedded down in the stall. She looked at him for a moment, thinking about finding another place to sleep.

  But he said, “Would you join me? We only have the one pile of straw, and we should share it.” When she hesitated, he said, “You’ve seen my injuries. You’re safe from me.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that.”

  “Then there’s no excuse not to lie right here,” he said, and patted the straw beside him.

  “I slept a long time today. If I’m restless, I could keep you awake.”

  “I’d rather be next to you and awake than almost anywhere else, in any state at all, waking or sleeping.”

  “All right,” she said, but it was her heart answering. Her mind told her to keep more distance, to save him future pain when she did not return from the war.

  She lay next to him, putting her jacket over them both. It was soon quite warm under the cover, but she didn’t want to move away. When he put an arm around her and tugged, she rested her head on his shoulder, and he made a contented sound.

  For many long moments, they lay, breathing, growing used to the closeness. And then he turned, touched her chin, and she tilted her head. He kissed her, again and again, the kisses growing longer and deeper. Her body felt fully alive, for the first time in months, and she had to hold herself back from pressing her lower body into him harder. He was injured there, and she could only hurt him.

  She’d only hurt him anyway, when she failed to come back to England.

  The thought made her pull away.

  “Beatriz?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I—” she tried. Then, “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this?” She hadn’t meant to make it a question.

  “We most definitely should.”

  “What about your injuries?”

  “It hurts.”

  “More?”

  “Yes, more for this. I think I—” He cleared his throat. “I’m getting excited by you, and yet I can’t, but whatever is happening to me physically hurts me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I do.”

  “Beatriz. Or whatever you name really is—will you tell me?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “Beatriz, then. The pain is nothing, not compared to the pleasure. I’m falling in love with you. You fill an empty space in me.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “The pain is nothing, nothing at all. I would die for this. Wouldn’t you?”

  She let herself go then, and kissed him as she wanted, and led his hands where she wanted them to touch her, and for nearly an hour, everything else retreated, the war, the future, the loss, everything but this one man, and his hands, and the soft words they whispered in the dark.

  Her pleasure broke, like a thousand detonations going off at once, and she fell back, panting, realizing her clothes were mostly off, and her breasts were raw from his new beard, and that he was laughing.

  She pushed gently at his chest, pretending irritation. “And what’s so amusing?”

  “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I’m—well, hell, I’m just very proud of myself. It was more like a crow of triumph.”

  “Well, then. You deserve that.” She was immediately worried about him. “Is there—? Are you—?”

  “I couldn’t possibly. But I do want to, and that’s something of a relief. I think I might make it through this.”

  “Do you hurt?”

  “God, worse than ever,” he said, but she could tell he was still smiling.

  “I am sorry.” She felt contrite. But she felt wonderful, with spasms of pleasure still throbbing through her body. Her knees felt the pleasure, her feet, everywhere still twitched with the release.

  “I’m not sorry.”

  “Oh good, because I’m not either.” She laughed.

  “Now what are you laughing at?”

  “Pure pleasure.”

  “Just wait until I’m fully functional.”

  “Braggart.”

  He kissed her forehead and then rolled a little ways away from her. He said nothing for a time, and she let herself feel the ebbing of her spasms. She reached for his hand and held it.

  “It’s not that I’ve had a lot of experience, mind you,” he said.

  “Clearly you’ve had enough.”

  “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

  That was what snapped her out of her fog of lust. Good gods, what had she just done?

  “What? Something’s wrong.”

  How could he know that? She must have tensed. “You’ll be gone in a few days.”

  “Come back with me.”

  “I can’t. I already told you. I have work to do here.”

  “Then they can let me stay.”

  “The Nazis know your face. They’re looking for you. And your French is terrible.”

  To that, he said nothing, for what could he say?
>
  “I will miss you,” she said, unwilling to deny it. “And we have at least two more days together.”

  “Tell me your name.”

  “I can’t. I shouldn’t. What if, God forbid, you are caught again?”

  “I’d never tell them your name. Never.”

  “You wouldn’t want to.”

  “I wouldn’t. Full stop.”

  “What if they kicked you again? What if they threatened to cut off your penis?”

  “Wouldn’t matter.”

  “What if they said they had me, and were raping me and they’d stop if you told them everything about the circuit?”

  “Stop it,” he said. “Stop talking like that.” He sat up. “We were so happy, and you’ve spoilt it.”

  “I know,” she said, sad that it was true. “But being happy is a short gift. And the world is out there. And part of the world—the part that is controlling this town, this province, this continent—wants me and you both dead, and they revel in the pain they’d give us before we die.”

  “Do we need to talk about it all the time?”

  “We need to think about it all the time.”

  “No, we don’t. We can take a moment of joy.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and she was. And she wasn’t, both. She wanted to go back ten minutes and still feel like that, floating in nothing but joy. “I promise, it’s the last time I’ll remind you tonight.”

  “At least my bollix hurt less now,” he said, falling back onto the straw. “Whatever urge I felt was just deflated.”

  “One of my many talents,” she said.

  That drew a half a snort of laughter from him.

  “Come back to me. Hold me. Forgive me for being so harsh.”

  “You’re a strange woman,” he said, but he did move closer to her.

  She scooted over and put her head on his shoulder again. “Think of me as an agent first, and a woman second.”

  He sighed. “Think of me as a spy never, and a man who loves you well before that.”

  She wished he would quit using those words. It highlighted the mistake she was making here. She would not risk saying it back to him. All she did was reach up and pat his chest. “Try and sleep if you can.”

  “Can you?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said. She could too. She was still short on sleep for the week, and the release had left her drowsy.

  “Then sleep. I’ll watch you.”

  “It’s dark, silly man,” she said, and that was all she knew for a time.

  She woke up and it was purely dark. She remembered where she was, reached out her hand, and touched Will. He was but two inches away, breathing deep and regular. Asleep. She withdrew her hand and wiggled out from their nest in the other direction. She was wide awake, and she had slept enough.

  She walked outside. It wasn’t yet dawn, but the moon was low in the western sky, so dawn wasn’t far away. She relieved herself and walked out to the road, walking a quarter mile farther along it, and then retracing her steps, stretching out her sore muscles. Behind the barn, she did a few calisthenics, her memory conjuring up the PT trainer’s voice barking out commands. Dropping to the cold ground, she did a few push-ups, and then she stretched out her calf muscles long and slow, taking care not to damage the injured one any more than it already was.

  Tonight she would hear what England had to say. Part of her wanted them to say, “So sorry, can’t pick up cousin Bernard. But in two weeks….” That would mean she could have two more weeks with Will, up in the hills, in that abandoned house, living there, making love, playing husband and wife with him.

  But she couldn’t do that, could she? She had to get Will on a plane to England. By the time that happened, and she had spent a week hiding in the hills, surely Claude would have some other plan for an operation. She’d be needed. She had a job to do. This coming day with Will might be her last.

  She’d live up to her promise to him not to bring up anything serious for that time. She’d put her own worries aside and be led by his nature, more gentle, and fun, and forgiving. He hadn’t said a word about wanting to get the Nazis back for the pain they’d inflicted on him, for instance. He was a better person than she was. And he seemed to care for her.

  For that, she was grateful. For the lovemaking too. If she was to die in the next few weeks, at least she had experienced that beauty before she left the world.

  She had never believed in an afterworld. It was a comfort to imagine that her Mama and Papa would be there, arms open, and that Reg would be there and would love her parents, and that none of them would judge her for her choices, not for killing the Nazis, and not for the sweet hours with Will.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to believe it would be so. She thought when she died, that would be the end of her, except for where she resided in memories. Will’s, Claude’s, Miss Atkins, Mr. Marks, her cousin’s. Not many. And even some of them would say, “There was this woman one time—what was her name?”

  She wasn’t any too clear on her name either. She was Antonia Tellez de Bausauri, a Spanish citizen; she was Toni Dankworth, a married English woman; and Antonia Lazard at the SOE. She was Beatriz of Reseau Tonnelier, she was the French secretary. Who could blame everyone else for forgetting her name when she barely knew it herself?

  Chapter 30

  Madame Formoy brought them soft-boiled eggs for breakfast, with a kettle of hot water to drink. “There is no coffee, but at least the water is hot.”

  Then her tone changed into that adoring one she used on the hens. Will came slowly awake as she cajoled them and collected their new eggs. Upon leaving, she said, “I’m going to let the hens outside later in the day. It will be warm, and they can find bugs and shoots. Will you keep half an eye on them if I do?”

  “Of course,” Antonia said. “Thank you for the eggs.”

  “Thank the chickens. They laid them, not me.” And she was gone.

  “Shit,” Will said, as he sat up. “Or merde. Whichever.”

  “How are you?”

  “Tired,” he said. “Sore.”

  “There are eggs for breakfast. Two each, a treasure these days.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She left the bowl of eggs where they were and went back into the stall, squatting down and touching his face. “You have a small fever, I think.”

  He brushed off her hand. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re in a bad mood.” Her worry grew. “I have some aspirin. But I don’t know if you should take it. Is there still blood in your urine?”

  “How would I know?” he snapped. Then he reached for her hand. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “You’re sick, it seems. Maybe something is going wrong inside you. You need treatment by a doctor, not by someone with a day’s worth of first aid training. I hope they can get you out of here soon.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I am worried,” she said. “What do you think? The aspirin, or is it too dangerous?”

  “I wouldn’t mind something for the pain,” he said.

  “Then we’ll do that. I have sulfa powder left as well. Let me check those truncheon wounds and the burns. One of them may be festering.”

  “For a nice lady, you certainly do take my trousers off a lot.”

  She hesitated. “I had something amusing to say back, but I’m not sure if I should make those sorts of jokes to you, considering what they did to you.”

  “Pretty ugly, isn’t it?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I know you still must be worried about everything working all right.”

  “Much less after last night. I think there’s life in the old boys yet.”

  He made her smile despite the seriousness of his situation. “Disrobe, then, and let me doctor you a bit. I even have hot water and the rags of my shirt to use.”

  She had him lie on his front and checked the wounds on his buttocks and thighs. “There’s no sign of infection, but I’l
l use the sulfa powder just in case. The burns aren’t healing as fast. I’m going to soap you again, so let’s do this out in the main part of the barn. We don’t want our bedding soaked.” She was more worried than she let on. He was too warm to the touch.

  She doctored his wounds again, and then scooted around to look at his testicles. “They’re less swollen today.”

  “Still hurt like the dickens.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Those Nazi bastards,” she said, with feeling. “Okay, trousers up.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’ll sleep a bit more now,” he said.

  “I don’t mind at all. Please eat your eggs first.”

  “Not right now. When I wake up.”

  “All right,” she said. The egg would keep that long. They were still in their unbroken shells.

  Will went back into the stall and lay down. She ate her two eggs, which lacked salt, but were still delicious, rich and still warmer than the morning air in the barn. She drank all of the hot water that she had not used on Will’s back.

  While he slept, she did some more exercises, keeping herself fit and limber. She worked up quite a sweat, and went out to get more cold water to bathe herself. She’d love a hot bath, and knew that inside there were a stove and kettles, but she’d promised Claude she’d stay out of the house, and she’d keep that promise. She did see the old woman’s face from the window, and smiled at her. In return the old woman frowned and jutted her chin out.

  Antonia carried water back in and entered the stall next to Will. Her soap powder supply was getting small. She’d need to buy more soon. She left the sleeve dagger and its sheath and straps hanging over the wall of the stall for now. If men came in with guns, it wouldn’t help her much anyway. When she was done with her bath, she washed the dagger blade and grip as well. They still had dried blood on them.