Daughters Of Eden: The Eden Series Book 1 (43 page)

Yet there was a distraction, and one to which Eugene found he could not finally object. As he strolled the far side of the small copse that lay on the north side of the lake, in the quiet of the evening, beneath the higher sounds of the birdsong around him, he could hear the unmistakable sound of someone playing tennis.

At first he stopped, sensing that it would not be a good idea to even glimpse the person he thought it might be on the court, but finally the temptation became irresistible, and he found himself pushing his way carefully, lightly, through the woods until he reached the other side, where he was afforded a perfect view of the court below, and, more important, the person practising.

Eugene hadn't seen or spoken to Kate since she had given him his precious stone. He had been away, and now that he had returned he had been keeping out of sight of the other sections. But he was a man and whenever he had an idle moment he found his thoughts invariably straying to her whom he now thought of as his heroine.

He would have given anything not to have done what he had done when they first met on the tennis court, but given the fact that he had an allotted task he knew he must stay emotionally
unencumbered. There was no other way. Besides, there was the undeniable fact that men like himself were not supposed to fall in love. It was just a fact. Of course, they could have affairs, many of them did, some in the course of duty, some for other reasons, but none of them were meant to fall in love. It was just not done – just in case. Those were the three words that mattered most. Just. In. Case. You never knew. That was why you didn't fall in love, because you just never knew, ever, if you might have fallen in love with that most deadly of the enemy's secret weapons – the double agent.

Yet here he was, drawn back to watching Kate, unable to resist the siren call, standing watching the figure below him on the court striking perfect serve after perfect serve and flashing forehand after flashing forehand.

She was practising with a dark-haired young woman he had seen with her before, the one he assumed to be young Billy Hendry's sister. She was throwing balls over the net for Kate to hit, exactly on the spots Kate was indicating while Kate was hitting the balls back to her. Finally, as the other girl stopped, tapping her watch to indicate that she had to go, Eugene found himself walking forward, when he really meant to walk backwards. He meant to, but he didn't, for the truth of the matter was that she was alone, and Kate alone was irresistible. He knew he was doing the wrong thing, and yet he continued on, even as he told himself that by doing so he was blowing his cover, he was breaking the rules, he was doing something that he himself would find infuriating in another
agent. You did not break the rules, you did not reveal yourself unnecessarily.

But. She was looking so beautiful, so gazelle-like, so artless, swinging her racket to and fro in the air, high above her head, talking to herself as she did so.

‘That's better, you silly ass, that's much more the thing,' he heard her murmuring. And then again, ‘Why do you do that?'

Of course he told himself that it didn't matter, that she was not going to become suspicious, that he had as good a reason to be where he was as she had, arguing with himself so that by the time he had walked quietly from his woodland hiding place and got to the court, Kate had already gone to the chair to collect her things, having obviously decided she had practised enough.

‘No!' he called from just behind her. ‘Don't go.'

She wheeled round in surprise, and looked genuinely astounded when she saw who it was.

‘Do you actually live in the woods?' she asked, after a short pause during which she stared at him, a wary look in her eyes.

‘Why do you ask?' Eugene was suddenly well aware that his heart was beating faster not because he had been walking, but because he had heard Kate's voice.

‘Why I ask is because you're forever popping out of there like an overlarge leprechaun.'

‘I live in a tree with a large hole in it.' Eugene nodded. ‘It's full of gold and broken promises.'

‘Blarney,' Kate said, picking up her things. ‘I bet you kissed that wretched stone the day you were
born.' She rolled her eyes expressively, making sure to walk away from him.

He took the lucky stone she had given him at their previous meeting from his breast pocket. ‘This is the only stone I've kissed,' he said quietly. ‘Don't go,' he heard himself pleading again.

‘Why not? I've finished practising,' she called back, hoping her voice sounded indifferent.

‘Who are you practising to play? I've never seen such practice. Have you a match?'

‘There's only one person I'm practising to play,' Kate replied, eyeing him hard. ‘Guess who.'

‘Any time you say.'

‘No time like the present.'

‘Sure I don't have my togs,' Eugene protested. ‘I'm not the same player without my togs.'

‘You didn't play in
togs
before, I seem to remember.'

‘I did indeed. I had my tennis shoes for a start.'

‘Well seeing how easily you won, I'm sure you wouldn't mind giving me a small advantage.'

‘You serious?'

‘Perfectly,' Kate replied. ‘After all, you didn't exactly play fair before.'

‘You're on,' Eugene said after a moment, sitting down at once and taking off his shoes.

‘Barefoot?' Kate queried.

‘I was brought up on shingle beaches. It won't inconvenience me,' Eugene replied, pulling off his second shoe. ‘Not in the slightest bit. You have a spare racket? I'm not so good with my hand.'

‘Oh dear. You should be writing for
Comic Cuts
, you should.'

‘When this lousy war is over maybe I will.'

*     *     *

They knocked up, and even as they did so it was obvious this was not going to be any light-hearted return game. As she warmed to her task, Kate was hitting the ball with even greater strength and speed than Eugene had witnessed from his hiding place in the woods.

For his part he tried not to show that he was finding a lot more difficulty returning even her practice shots, so in order to cover this he rushed her into playing the first game, hoping that once they were playing competitively he would be able to re-establish his former supremacy. After all, whatever his private feelings about the beautiful young woman the other side of the net, Eugene was damned if he was going to allow himself to be walloped by a girl.

But Kate had been practising hard. She hadn't taken her first defeat well – her loss hurting not because it was a defeat but because she thought she had been tricked, and because she had been tricked she had foundered, and the moment she had foundered she had lost her confidence, so that inevitably he had triumphed. Just as inevitably, that had irked Kate. More than that, it had rankled and continued to do so, so much so that every free moment she had she was out on the court practising, trying to regain the confidence she had lost, so that she could get back her self-belief.

As for Eugene, he might melt at the sight of beautiful Kate, but romantic feelings would never rob him of his determination to show no mercy and give no quarter. Whatever his feelings might be for the beautiful, athletic young woman facing
him across the net, he was damned if he was going to play the gentleman, and he was double damned if he was going to allow himself to be beaten by a slip of a girl, even if he was obliged to play in his bare feet. It would never do to let her triumph. He had to win. That way she would surely hate him more? He served and won the first game after three deuces. It was the only game Eugene took off Kate in the first set.

He fared a little better in the second, winning three games against her six, but he still walked off the court a loser, going down 1–6, 3–6. Neither of them said a word as they sat down to cool off, Eugene choosing to direct his gaze between his two bare feet while Kate carefully and slowly towelled herself off with a white towel, slowly extending one arm after the other in front of her to wipe them dry before turning her attention to her long sunburned legs and finally the back of her neck.

Eugene refused to look, staring instead at the ground, aware of what she was doing and longing more than anything at that moment for a sight of his young goddess towelling herself dry, but denying himself the delight.

‘Could I have my racket back, please?'

Kate was standing in front of him, one hand out, having pulled on two extra sweaters to protect herself from the autumnal chill that was now in the late evening air.

Eugene said nothing. He just got to his feet and handed her back her tennis racket. Kate was about to thank him and wish him goodnight, but before she could draw breath she found herself being kissed.

‘There was no need for you to do that!' she heard herself exclaiming as she pulled herself clear.

‘Au contraire
, princess,' Eugene replied with a poker face. ‘There was absolutely every reason to do so, for I am leaving you for a long time.'

Without another look at her he turned on his bare heels, shoes in hand, and wandered off the way he had originally come, whistling one of his favourite Gaelic airs to himself as if he hadn't a care in the world, which of course was the very opposite of the truth.

For a second Kate was seriously tempted to hit him, so curmudgeonly did she feel he was being, so all male, but she resisted the urge, preferring instead to poke her tongue out at his retreating figure before collecting the rest of her belongings, and hurrying back to the place Eugene mockingly called the Fortress. She now felt she knew considerably less about Eugene Hackett than ever, and before she even reached the main house she herself had reached the conclusion that, all in all, it was most probably a very good thing.

Poppy walked casually over to the tobacco kiosk in the hotel foyer as the rest of the party with whom she had been drinking began to disperse behind her.

‘A box of Du Maurier Red, please,' she ordered from the tall, dark-haired girl in attendance.

‘I'm sorry, madam,' the girl replied. ‘We're out of Du Maurier. I could offer you a tin of Markowitch Black and White.'

‘Oh, very well,' Poppy sighed ungraciously. ‘How very tedious.'

‘They're a very good cigarette, madam.'

‘I know, I know.'

‘I particularly like the design of the packet,' the girl continued, taking Poppy's money. ‘The black and white stripes. And the little picture of the man in his top hat lighting his cigarette from cupped hands.'

‘Yes,' Poppy returned curtly. ‘Isn't it just so charming, if you like that sort of thing.'

She looked at the girl handing her the cigarettes just once and very briefly, but it was enough, quite enough for each of them to register that they were both singing the same tune.

Upstairs in what she hoped was the relative security of the living room of her suite, Poppy carefully unsealed the Black and White tin, tipping the contents out on to the glass table in front of her. Then she took out the wrapping that protected the cigarettes and with the aid of a nail file eased the paper off the back of the silver foil. Inside, as expected, was another sheet of paper, a very thin one made of rice paper.

Separating this slowly from both the foil and its protective paper Poppy smoothed it out on the table and then held it up close to read the message written in a beautiful clear hand. When she had digested the information it contained she set fire to it with a match.

It ignited instantly, curling to nothing in a second. Poppy then took one of the cigarettes from the table and lit it with the same match she had used to ignite the message. She leaned back, enjoying her smoke, staring up at the ceiling as she
thought of what lay ahead. She was glad they now had the information, since it meant that it would at least spell an end to the waiting. Now they could move forward in the hope of preventing a catastrophe.

Chapter Fifteen

Major Folkestone was happy, too. That had not been the case when they had first got wind that something serious was afoot, but now that not only significant but rapid progress had been made his mood had become much more optimistic. He knew there was still an enormous amount of work to be done, but, unusually for him, he was sure that they had everything under control, that the hidden enemy would not win. His pre-war reading might have been more than a little narrow, confining itself as it had to the
Wide World
magazine and Agatha Christie, but he now needed little convincing that a side to life with which, he thanked God, he himself had never been acquainted was not just still present in England, but active. It was shocking. It was, in many cases, blatant. Worse than that, it was against everything for which he believed his country and its ancient history stood.

‘You'd be surprised, Tony, at the hold they have here,' Jack had told the major during their many meetings over the plot that was slowly being uncovered. ‘I'm forever telling my people the same thing, that one must not be shocked at what one discovers. People like this are everywhere in
Europe at the moment. There is strong evidence to prove that there are other countries besides Germany, Italy and Spain that have a very strong allegiance to the Führer and his politics. We're now adding a growing number of Englishmen to the list, but what is even more startling is that countries such as Ireland, Sweden – yes, Sweden and Denmark – and even more surprisingly Norway have a quite considerable number of Fascists who have pledged their allegiance to Germany, and who are more than willing to fight alongside her. The object in this country, as in some of the others, is to come to an early agreement with Hitler, although of course the neutrals have no such ambition since they consider themselves free to do as they choose. But here – and this is what is important – here there is a growing feeling among the Fascists that we must sign a truce now with Hitler and pull out of the conflict altogether.'