Authors: Jack-Higgins
Cold Harbour (32 page)
The Brigadier said, “Ah, Genevieve, come in, let’s have a look at you.” He nodded. “Not too bad, I see. Good. You’ve heard the splendid news about the film. A major coup. You’ve shown a real talent for this kind of work. I can use you at SOE, my dear, very definitely. You should do well.”
“Like hell I will.”
“Oh, yes, Flight Officer Trevaunce. You hold the King’s Commission. You’ll obey orders and do exactly as you are told. The Lysander will be here in a while. You’ll come back to London with us.”
“Just like that?”
“Naturally there will be some sort of decoration for you and well deserved. The French will probably give you the Legion of Honour. Some of our girls in the field have been awarded the MBE, but that decoration hardly seems appropriate in your case. I think we can manage a Military Cross. Unusual for a woman, but not unprecedented.”
“I know about my sister,” she said. “Baum told Craig and Craig told me. Even Priem knew.”
“I’m sorry,” Munro said calmly. “An accident of war.”
She said, “You sit there calmly swilling brandy and yet you sold me out. Worse than that, you set me up quite cold-bloodedly from the beginning. And you know what’s so funny about that, Brigadier?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“You didn’t need to have Baum sell me out. It seems Anne-Marie was working for the other side so I didn’t
stand a chance with Max Priem from the beginning. I shot him dead, by the way. Twice in the back with this.” She took the Walther from her pocket.
Munro said, “I’m sorry, my dear. I presume you didn’t think you were capable.”
“No.”
“But you were, you see? I said you had an aptitude for this work. You’re certain about Anne-Marie?”
“Oh, yes, and there was something else.” She frowned, finding it difficult to concentrate. “This Fitzgerald woman at Romney who you’ve been running as a double. Did you know her husband worked with Michael Collins in the IRA during the Irish Troubles?”
Munro went very still. “No, I don’t think we did know that. Why?”
“She’s fooled you. She still works for German Intelligence using IRA contacts in London.”
“Does she indeed?” Munro’s eyes sparked as he glanced at Carter. “Get on to Special Branch at Scotland Yard as soon as we get back. The Irish Section. With any luck we’ll bag the lot.” He turned to her. “Ike will be delighted about this. Copies of Rommel’s Atlantic Wall plans and the beauty of it is, Rommel doesn’t know.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “Do you get a cigar?”
He said calmly, “All right, so I’m a bastard—the kind who wins wars.”
“Using people like me?”
“If that is what it takes.”
She walked to the table, turned, leaning against it, the Walther heavy in her hand. “You know, I was going to make a speech. All about standards and honour and how if you didn’t have rules, even in a bloody stupid game like this, you’re as bad as the people we’re trying to beat.”
“What changed your mind?” Munro asked.
“Oh, I thought about all those bodies stretching from Cold Harbour to Château de Voincourt. René Dissard, Max Priem, Martin Hare and the crew of the
Lili Marlene,
Craig Osbourne. All the brave young men asleep in the deep, isn’t that how the poet puts it. And for what?”
“My dear Genevieve,” he said calmly. “Time is limited. What exactly are you trying to say?”
“That as you’re as bad as the Gestapo, maybe I should treat you like the Gestapo.”
The Walther swung up in her hand. Munro didn’t flinch, and it was Julie, hidden in the shadows at the back of the library, who cried, “No, Genevieve, he isn’t worth it!”
Genevieve stood there, very pale, the Walther steady in her hand. “Well, get on with it,” Munro said impatiently. “Make your mind up, girl.”
“Damn you, Brigadier!” She sighed and put the Walther down on the table beside her.
Jack Carter came forward and placed a tumbler of whisky in her hand. He picked up the Walther and put it in his pocket.
Munro said, “Very sensible. I’d drink that if I were you. You’re going to need it.”
“More bad news and it isn’t noon yet? Come on now, Brigadier. I don’t think you’re really trying today.”
He said, “Your sister died last night.”
She closed her eyes and then there was only the dark and Carter’s anxious voice. “Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes again. “How?”
“I ordered a post-mortem. It was the heart.”
“Another side-effect of that drug of yours?”
“Very probably.”
“Where is she? I want to see her.”
“I don’t really think that’s going to be possible.”
“The Official Secrets Act? You’re going to start throwing that at me?”
“No need,” he said. “Not with your father still around. If you go stirring things up, it would all come out, amongst all the other little unpleasantnesses, that his favourite daughter had been a Nazi agent. That should just about finish him off, wouldn’t you say?”
Genevieve said, “I did bring you those photos. I think you owe me something for that at least.”
“All right, you win.” Munro sighed. “She’ll be buried in a pauper’s grave, unmarked, naturally. Six a.m., the day after tomorrow. Highgate Cemetery.”
“Where is she now?”
“An undertaker in Camberwell handles these things for us. Jack can take you.”
She said, “What about Herr Baum?”
“He was only doing his job like the rest of us.”
The phone rang and Carter answered it. He turned. “The Lysander just landed, sir.”
“Good.” Munro stood up. “We’ll be off then.”
“But there still might be a chance,” Genevieve said. “Craig—the others.”
“Yesterday’s news,” Munro said, “so let’s get going.”
On the afternoon of the following day, Jack Carter delivered her to the undertakers in Camberwell. He waited outside while she went in. It was pleasant enough, a small, oak-panelled waiting room smelling of beeswax polish and candles, a sheaf of white lilies in a brass container by the door. The man who attended was very old, probably someone who had stayed on because of the war, his hair snow white, a perceptible shake to his hands.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “I did have a telephone call about you, Miss. The party in number three. There is just one small difficulty. There’s a gentleman in there already.”
She brushed past him and entered the small corridor beyond. There was a sealed coffin in the first cubicle, the second was empty but a green baize curtain was drawn across the third. A voice murmured softly the Prayers for the Dead in Hebrew. She’d heard them often enough in the casualty wards at Bart’s during the Blitz.
She pulled the curtain aside and Baum swung to face her clutching a prayer book, a small round capel on his head. Tears coursed down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry—so sorry. As God is my witness, I never meant for such a thing.”
Beyond him she could see Anne-Marie, hands folded across her breast, the face, her own face, framed in the shroud, peaceful now in the candlelight. She took his hand in hers and held it tightly, saying nothing, for there was nothing to say.
IT WAS A
grey morning, fog in the air and Highgate Cemetery was not the best place in the world at that time of day. She was delivered to the gate, once again by Carter in a green Humber limousine.
“No need to wait,” she told him. “I’ll find my own way back.”
Strangely enough, he didn’t argue, but drove away and she walked up through the cemetery, hands pushed deep into the pockets of her jacket. She didn’t need to search for the plot number, she saw them up in the far corner soon enough. The old man from the undertaker’s in black overcoat, hair very white in the grey morning, bowler hat in hand, two gravediggers leaning on their spades while a minister in black cassock worked his way through the burial service.
She waited until he’d finished, turned and walked away with the undertaker, approaching herself only as the gravediggers started to shovel in earth. They glanced up, old men, long since past the age for military service.
One of them paused. “Anything I can do for you, Miss? Someone you knew?”
She glanced down at the plain deal coffin partially
covered with dirt. “I thought I did once. Now, I’m not so sure.” It started to rain and she looked up. “I wonder if God ever intended mornings like these?”
They glanced at each other in some alarm. “You all right, Miss?”
“Perfectly, thank you.” Genevieve said.
She turned and found Craig Osbourne standing a few yards away watching her.
HE WAS IN
uniform. Forage cap and trenchcoat and when he took it off, she saw that he wore olive drab battledress underneath, his pants tucked into jump boots. His medal ribbons made a brave show in the grey morning as did the double wings on his right sleeve.
“I like it better than the last one,” she said. “The uniform, I mean.”
He slipped the trenchcoat over her shoulders without a word. They walked down the path between the gravestones and fog swirled in spite of the rain, shrinking the world until it encompassed only the two of them. The rain intensified into a solid downpour and they ran together, making for a small shelter with benches by the fountain and all she could think of was another graveyard in the rain and Max Priem.
She sat down, he took out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About Anne-Marie. Munro only told me last night.”
“They didn’t tell me you were safe. Even Jack didn’t mention it.”
“It was after midnight when I got in. They told me you’d be here this morning.” He shrugged. “I asked Jack not to say anything. I wanted to tell you myself.”
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“I drifted away when the
Lili
went down. Same thing happened to Schmidt. We held hands for a long, long time. Finally washed up on a beach near Lizard Point.”
“And Martin?”
“Gone, Genevieve. They’re all gone.”
She nodded, took out her case and selected a Gitane. “What’s going to happen to you now? Munro can’t have been too pleased.”
“At first he was madder than hell. Said he was shipping me out to China. There’s an OSS project starting out there to train Chinese commandos in hit-and-run tactics, parachute jumping, that sort of thing.”
“And then?”
“The Supreme Commander took a look at the blow-ups of those photos of yours.”
“And everything changed?”
“That’s about the size of it. It’s coming soon now, Genevieve—the big day. It’s been decided to drop in SAS and OSS units far behind German lines in France when the time comes, link up with the Maquis and cause as much disruption as possible.”
“In other words, Munro finds he needs you again?” she asked. “What for, Major? Another oak leaf cluster to your DSC?”
He didn’t reply to that, simply said, “Jack tells me the old bastard wants you for SOE?”
“So it would appear.”
“Damn him to hell!” He put his hands on her shoulders. “You were always yourself alone, never her. Remember that.”
Priem had said that to her
. Amazing how alike they had been. She nodded. “I will.”
He stood there, looking at her. “That’s it, then?”
“I suppose so.”
He walked away suddenly, the greyness swallowed him and that was no good, no good at all. There was a war on. You lived for today and took what there was. It was as simple as that.
She ran forward, calling his name. “Craig!”
He turned, hands in the pockets of the trenchcoat. “Yes?”
“Didn’t you say something about dinner at the Savoy?”