Cold Harbour (14 page)

She tried another door and found herself in some sort of sitting room with French windows beyond, which opened on to a terrace. When she crossed it and stepped on to the grass, the cold morning dew sent a shiver through her entire body and she ran down the slope, her white robe flying out behind.

The small lake in the hollow was gold and silver in the early sun, what was left of a dying mist curling above the surface. She took off her robe, pulled her nightdress above her head, waded out through the reeds and plunged into deep water.

It was so cold that she didn’t even feel her body go numb, simply floated in a kind of limbo, watching the reeds sway in the breeze, the trees beyond. How still the water was, like black glass and she recalled, very clearly, a dream she’d had the night before of waters just as dark, Anne-Marie drifting up to meet her, hands in slow motion, reaching as if to pull her down to join her.

It was revulsion more than any panic that made Genevieve turn and swim back towards the reeds, wade through to dry land. She pulled on the robe and started to dry her hair with her nightdress as she walked up through the trees, back towards the house.

Craig was sitting on the balustrade of the terrace, smoking the inevitable cigarette, very still, so that she wasn’t aware of his presence at all until she was half way across the sloping lawn.

“Did you enjoy your swim?”

“You were watching?”

“I saw you go out and I followed—yes.”

“Like any good intelligence officer? What did you think I might do—drown myself? That
would
have been inconvenient for you.”

“Highly.”

WHEN SHE OPENED
the door of her bedroom she found Julie arranging breakfast on a small table by the window. She wore a green velvet housecoat and looked very pretty.

“You’re not pleased,
chérie,
I can tell. What’s wrong?”

“That damn man,” Genevieve said.

“Craig?”

“Yes, I went for a swim in the lake. He followed me down. Watched me.”

She said soothingly, “Drink your coffee and try the scrambled eggs. They’re a speciality of mine.”

Genevieve did as she was told. “We just seem to rub each other up the wrong way,” she said as she attacked her eggs.

Julie sat down opposite and sipped her coffee, “Really? I should have thought it was the other way about.”

The door opened and once again Craig Osbourne looked in without knocking. “There you are.”

“My God, it gets worse,” Genevieve said. “Still no privacy.”

He ignored the remark. “Munro would like to see you as soon as possible. Grant’s flying in to take him back to London this morning. I’ll be in the library.”

He went out, closing the door. Julie said, “I wonder what Munro wants.”

“To wish me luck? Who knows.” Genevieve shrugged. “He can wait. I’m going to have another cup of coffee,” and she reached for the pot.

WHAT HAD HAPPENED
to the men who had interrogated her the night before, she had no idea. The house was quiet,
no sign of anyone else around as she went down the stairs. Craig was standing by the library fire reading a newspaper.

He glanced up casually. “You’d better go straight in. The last door.”

She walked to the other end of the library, paused at the leather-covered door and knocked. There was no reply. She hesitated, opened it and went in. It had no windows and was furnished as a small office with another door in the far corner. Munro’s Burberry was draped over a chair, and there was a briefcase on the desk holding down one end of a large-scale map. She could see what it was at once—a section of the French coast. The heading said Preliminary Targets, D-Day. As she stood looking down at it the door opened and Munro came in.

“So, there you are.” And then he frowned, crossed the room quickly and rolled up the map. She had a feeling he was going to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he put the map in the briefcase and closed it. “Amazing how different you look.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Have they been giving you a hard time?” He smiled. “No, don’t answer that. I know how Craig operates.” He stood at the desk with his hands behind his back, suddenly serious. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you, any of it, but I can’t impress the importance of it too much. When the big day comes, when we invade Europe, the battle is going to be won on the beaches. Once we get a foothold, the final victory is only a matter of time. We know that and so do the Germans.”

It sounded as if he was making a speech to a group of new young officers.

“That’s why they put Rommel in charge of co-ordinating
their Atlantic Wall defences. You see now why any information you can get us from that conference this weekend could be vitally important.”

“Of course,” she said. “I can win the war for you at one fell swoop.”

He managed to smile. “That’s what I like about you, Genevieve. Your sense of humour.” He reached for his Burberry. “Well, I’ve got to go.”

“Haven’t we all,” she said. “Tell me, Brigadier, do you enjoy your work? Does it give you job satisfaction?”

He picked up his briefcase and when he looked at her his eyes were bleak. “Goodbye, Miss Trevaunce,” he said formally. “I look forward to hearing from you.” And he walked out.

WHEN CRAIG RETURNED,
she was standing by the library fire. “Has he gone?”

“Yes. He wasn’t too pleased. What did you do to him?”

“Lifted a corner of his personal stone.”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at her gravely. “Hardly calculated to please.” He moved to the table. “I’ve got something for you.”

He passed her a cigarette case made of silver and onyx. It was really very beautiful. She opened it and found it was neatly packed with Gitanes.

“A going-away present?” she asked.

“Rather a special one.” He took the case from her. “See the engraving, here in the back?” He pushed his thumb nail in and a wafer-like flap of silver fell down to show the tiniest of lenses and a camera mechanism. “The genius who put this together for us insists it will take good, sharp pictures even when the light is poor. So, if you see any documents or
maps, you know what to do. Twenty exposures and it’s loaded and ready to go. All you have to do is point it and pull this thing here.”

“Always remembering to stand close enough?”

Somehow she’d hurt him now, she could see that and took no pleasure in it. She could have bitten her tongue, but it was too late.

He gave her the cigarette case back and moved to the table, all business again. “The rest of the day I suggest you go over your notes again and the photo and case histories until you’re word perfect.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I’ll go over everything again with you until you know it backwards. Tomorrow night we take off a little after eleven.”

“We?”

“Yes, I’ll be going with you as far as your drop-off point.”

“I see.”

“If everything goes according to plan, you and René will be picked up by the local Resistance people, who will transport you to St. Maurice by road. You’ll wait there in the stationmaster’s house until the night train from Paris has passed through. Then René will go and collect your car as if you’ve just got off the train, and drive you home to the Château.”

“Where I’ll be on my own?”

“You’ve got René,” he said. “Any information you have, you pass straight to him. He has a radio. He can contact us here through the coastal booster station.”

“Here?” she said. “But I haven’t seen anyone else in the place except for those friends of yours last night.”

“They just keep out of the way, that’s all. We have a very efficient radio room, I can assure you and then there’s the costume department. Julie runs that. Not much she can’t supply in the way of uniforms or clothing or documents.”

They stood there, a silence between them. Finally, he said, strangely gentle, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Anne-Marie. I’m worried about her. If anything happens to me . . .”

“I’ll take care of it. I give you my word.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “And nothing is going to happen to you. You’ve got luck. I can tell.”

She was almost in tears, suddenly vulnerable. “And how in the hell can you know a thing like that?”

“I’m a Yale man,” he said simply.

SHE WORKED ON
the papers all morning. Julie had told her she would be going down to the pub at lunchtime so just after noon Genevieve stopped work, borrowed a sheepskin jacket she found hanging in the hall cupboard and walked down to the village.

She stopped on the quay to look down at the
Lili Marlene
where a couple of members of the crew swabbed the decks. Hare leaned out of the wheelhouse window.

“Come aboard, why don’t you?”

“Thank you. I will.”

She descended the narrow gangplank gingerly and one of the men gave her a hand.

“Up here,” Hare called.

She went up the steel ladder and followed him into the wheelhouse. “This is nice,” she said.

“You like boats?”

“Yes—very much.”

“The Germans call this a fast boat,
Schnellboot,
because that’s what they are. Hardly a pleasure craft, but about the most efficient thing of its kind afloat.”

“How fast?”

“Three Daimler-Benz diesels, plus a few improvements the Brits have added, give us about forty-five knots.”

She ran her hands over the controls. “I’d love to go to sea in her.”

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He took her down to the engine room, the tiny galley, the wardroom, his own minute cabin. She inspected the two torpedo tubes, sat behind the 20 mm ack-ack gun in the foredeck well and inspected the Bofors gun which had been fitted in the afterdeck.

When they were finished, she said, “It’s awe-inspiring. So much packed into such little space.”

“I know,” he said. “Very thorough, the Germans, very efficient. I should know. My mother was one.”

“Are you ashamed of that?” she asked.

“Of Hitler, Goebbels and Himmler? Yes. But thank God for Goethe, Schiller, Beethoven and a few more I could mention.”

She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I like you, Martin Hare.”

He smiled warmly, “Oh, keep it up—please. I’ve almost a quarter of a century on you, girl, but you could be in trouble.”

“Promises,” she said. “That’s all I get.”

“No you don’t. You get lunch,” and he took her hand and led her up the gangplank.

EVERYONE SEEMED TO
be at The Hanged Man. The entire crew of the
Lili Marlene,
Craig, even Joe Edge at the end of the bar attempting to play hail fellow well met with everyone. Julie was passing hot Cornish pasties from the kitchen which Schmidt was dispensing to the others with his usual good humour.

He brought three across to Genevieve, Hare and Craig at the table by the window. “Nothing kosher about these, but they smell bloody marvellous,” he said.

Craig seemed more cheerful. He and Hare exchanged jokes and drank beer with their pasties while Genevieve tried another Gitane. She didn’t like to admit it, but she was actually beginning to enjoy them.

Craig said, “Excuse me for a moment, I need to see Julie about something.”

He went behind the bar into the kitchen. Hare was obviously enjoying the pasty. Genevieve was aware of Edge at the end of the bar, watching her, eyes glittering. She began to feel uncomfortable.

Hare said, “God, that pasty was marvellous. I think I’ll have another.”

He stood up and Genevieve said, “Actually, I could do with some air. I think I’ll go for a walk.”

She went out, aware of Edge following her with his eyes. She was angry then for it was as if he’d driven her out and she started to walk fast, head down, following the path up through the trees to the headland. A moment later, Edge emerged from the pub and hurried after her, cutting to one side after a while, following another track and starting to run.

Martin Hare, in the window seat, took the pasty Schmidt passed to him and turned at the same moment to see Genevieve disappear into the trees, Edge running after her. He put the pasty down and stood up.

“I think I’ll leave this till later.”

“I think it might be an idea, sir,” Schmidt said.

Hare went out quickly and started to hurry along the track.

CRAIG LEANED AGAINST
the sink, smoking, and watched Julie roll more pastry.

“You want something special, is that it?” she asked.

“Dinner,” he said. “You, me, Martin, René, Genevieve. I mean, it’s her last full night. I think it would be nice.”

“Why not?” she said. “Just for you. I’ve got some lamb, just a bit mind, but it’ll do. Oh, and there are three bottles of champagne still in the cellar. Moët, I think.”

“What could be better.”

“And be nice to her, Craig.” She put a hand on his sleeve, touching him with flour. “She likes you, that girl.”

The door opened and Schmidt came in. “Excuse me, guvnor.”

“What is it?” Craig demanded.

“A little potential drama, I think. Miss Trevaunce went off for a walk up the track to the wood. Then we see Flight Lieutenant Edge running after her. Well, sir, the Commander didn’t think too much of that. He went after them.”

“So?” Craig said.

“For Christ’s sake, sir, if you’ll pardon the expression,” Schmidt said, “he’s only got one good lung. I mean, if it gets physical,” but Craig was already on his way out of the door, moving very fast indeed.

IT STARTED TO
rain a little as Genevieve moved on through the trees. She came into a clearing and found a half ruined building, relic of the tin mining explorations of the previous century. She hesitated in the entrance then moved inside. It was very dark and mysterious in there, no roof above her head, only the inside of a kind of beehive tower.

Edge said, “Whither away, oh maiden, so palely loitering?” She turned, saw him leaning in the doorway and
moved to pass him. He put up an arm to bar her way. “What does it take to make you just a little more friendly?”

“Nothing you have to offer.”

He grabbed her by the hair, pulling her close, his free hand groping between her legs. She cried out and beat at his face with a clenched fist. He slapped her back-handed and she staggered back, catching her foot on a stone, and fell down. In a second, he had dropped on his knees, straddling her.