I Can't Begin to Tell You (36 page)

Signalmaster Noble was standing by her station when she appeared for her next shift the following afternoon. ‘I’ll have your guts for garters, Voss.’

She held her gaze steady. ‘Could I sit down, please?’

His grip on her arm was vicious. ‘Not so fast. You’re wanted in room thirteen.’

‘My shift?’

‘Don’t you worry your head about that.’ Fury made his Adam’s apple seem more pronounced than usual.

‘I’ll come back as soon as possible.’

‘If I have anything to do with it you won’t.’

Room 13 was tiny. Mary squeezed through the door and saw Ruby leaning against the windowsill.

‘Hello, Mary. I came as quickly as I could.’

‘Thank you.’ Opening her notebook, Mary passed it over to Ruby. ‘Whatever else, this is definitely not like Vinegar.’

Ruby scrutinized Mary’s note about the sign-off that read CAU instead of QRU, and the later note about the change in frequency.

‘He did that once before. On his first transmission,’ Mary said. ‘But it’s not like him.’

Ruby reached for the pencil and paper on the desk and began to take her own notes from Mary’s.

‘Vinegar knows the Q system backwards,’ Mary pointed out. ‘He’s never made a mistake and could transmit it in his sleep. And why the frequency change?’

Ruby tapped her teeth with her pencil. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you think he’s in trouble?’

Ruby said: ‘I want to thank you, Mary. You’ve been very helpful. You can go back to work.’

As her mother would have said: ‘In for a penny, in for a
pound.’ Mary’s hands clenched. ‘Ruby, I’m afraid you’ll have to sort it out with Signalmaster Noble. He told me that I’d lose my job.’

‘I assure you that you won’t.’ Ruby gathered up her papers. ‘I’ll ask Major Martin to phone at once.’

Mary remained where she was and Ruby raised her eyebrows. ‘Anything else?’

‘Can you tell me
anything
?’

‘No.’ Ruby was regretful. ‘I wish I could.’

‘It’s hard.’ Mary couldn’t prevent herself.

‘I can imagine. But it’s for their sake as well as yours.’

Mary nodded and left the room. Halfway along the corridor, she spotted Signalmaster Noble. Arms folded, he was clearly looking for trouble, but so was she. Squaring her shoulders, she walked past him and into the signals room, where her desk was waiting. She sat down and picked up the headphones.

‘The old bully was swearing about you,’ said Nancy.

‘Let him.’

Nancy shot her a look

Mary sat down and prepared herself for work. Anxiety and doubt were like lumps of coal in her chest.

In the late afternoon, Kay rowed back across the lake from Sophia-Maria’s island. She had been doing a reconnaissance of its jetty and checking over the summer house.

Would the island be adequate as a hiding place? Could they camouflage the material? How much time would be needed to get there and back? The water tumbled over the blades, making lovely watery sounds, and she ran through the sequence of a drop until she was fact-perfect. Preparation was everything … She didn’t know how likely this was but, if and when London ever gave the go-ahead to use the lake as a drop zone, she would be ready.

Anton promised to make contact with London. ‘If Felix made it, he will have been debriefed pretty thoroughly. They will have a good idea of the situation here.’

Kay felt her new isolation, both mental and physical. With Felix gone and Rosenlund under surveillance, all activities had ground to a halt, a state which Kay had imagined she would relish. She didn’t, which went to prove how contrary human beings were. Lying low and keeping quiet made their own demands. Yes … yes … she was grateful for having got away with it and for her sudden peace and the chance to enjoy the summer weather. But, if she was truthful, she also found herself yearning for the adrenalin rush and the comradeship between unlikely people. Resistance, she realized, had become a state of mind.

Shortly after Tanne fled, Juncker had been sent on a course to København, which left Sergeant Wulf to pursue the enquiries. For a couple of weeks after Tanne vanished, he drove up to Rosenlund every few days to ask about her. Either Bror or Kay
would report that she was still staying with the cousins and Sergeant Wulf would solemnly note it down.

It seemed that Sergeant Wulf’s old loyalties had held.

Kay missed Tanne badly and often lay awake picturing the worst.

Please be in Sweden
.

Allied night-time bombers had taken to flying over the area in large numbers on their way to bombing missions in Germany. Their noise broke into her already fragile sleep and she wasn’t sleeping well.

But that was good. The noise was the excuse she used to Bror to keep him out of her bed. ‘I can’t sleep,’ she told him. ‘And it’s worse if you’re there, too.’

He didn’t like it and it meant that the patching up of their relationship was additionally uneasy and, sometimes, fraught. The bridge that had been built was still shaky. But, for the moment, that was the way it must be.

The political landscape was changing. Incidents of sabotage in shipyards and factories all over the country had been stepped up, and the newspapers were full of reports of resistance activity. ‘Railway line blown up,’ said one. ‘Factory demolished,’ said another. A series of strikes had been rolled out. To no one’s surprise, the Nazis did not like the behaviour of their so-called reliable Nordic brothers.

Talk in the Køge bread queues was of little else. Rumours solidified and circulated. Rumours of torture, of
stikker
going into hiding … of people being shot in the streets. It was said that the Allies would invade through Denmark. It was also said that Werner Best and his crew were planning to round up the Jews, which would put the Danish government in an untenable position.

Is Tanne safe?

Of course she is.

No, she isn’t.

Kay
rowed on, the boat slipping easily through the shiny water.

There was sunshine and a deep blue sky to enjoy. There was Nils to consider. He had not been home for some time.

And Bror?

She peered down into the lake.

In. Out …

After the bad nights, exercise made her feel better.

In. Out …

Nosing the boat up to the jetty, she was surprised to find Bror waiting by the mooring post.

He made no move to help her and, hauling herself up onto the jetty, she slipped and fell. Struggling upright, she peeled a tacky mess of wet and blackened silver foil strips away from her leg. Whatever these were, they seemed to arrive in the wake of the bombers. She held up one. ‘What are these for?’

‘Ask your British-loving friends, Kay.’

Don’t get angry. Don’t despair. ‘Good idea.’ She smiled to take away the sting from the exchange.

‘Want to know the news?’

She tied up the painter. ‘I’m listening.’

‘The Allies have landed in Sicily.’

‘Thank God.’ She closed her eyes.

‘I knew you would be pleased.’

But Bror wouldn’t be. Or, might he be? Not possessing a way into his thoughts any longer, she did not know.

There was a flurry and a clatter of wings.

‘Look!’

A flight of duck rose from the rushes and looped above the golden landscape.

‘Are you going shooting this year, Bror?’

Bror did not even glance at the duck. ‘Not until Tanne is safely back.’

The water was so still that the trees were perfectly reflected in it. Such soft colours, she thought.

The
boat knocked gently against the jetty.

‘Kay, you would tell me if you heard from Tanne?’

‘How could you imagine I wouldn’t tell you?’

‘Very easily,’ he said and that shocked her.

Later, after they had eaten supper, Bror picked up his book. ‘I’m going to have an early night.’

‘Sleep well, then.’

He had brushed his hair back and it gleamed like an otter’s coat. Looking at him, it occurred to Kay that he had never looked so well, or to such advantage.

It was no good thinking about the future. Or, at any rate, it was no good thinking of it without a degree of fatalism. The war had done its worst. Given the context, theirs was only a small tragedy but a bitter one. Like so many others were bitter and cruel. The odds were that they could never restore their true, honest marriage, and the sense of bereavement was all the heavier because she had been the one who had brought it about.

‘Bror, will you kiss me goodnight?’

Without waiting for an answer, she reached up and kissed him.

After a moment, he stroked her hair.

Up in her office, she closed the door, drew the curtains and crouched down by the radio to listen to the banned BBC.

‘Josephine loves her grandmother.’

‘The rabbit arrived this morning.’

‘The river is flooding over the meadows.’

She knew enough to know that some of the messages were instructions to someone in the field. On hearing the relevant one, a team would swing into action and prepare to receive the arms and explosives descending from the belly of a plane.

For some reason she felt uneasy tonight. True, she was no longer actively involved. Nevertheless, she could not shake off a sense that danger lurked everywhere these days and the result was to sharpen in her an urge to corral her possessions, neaten her arrangements, order her affairs – it was a feeling she
remembered well from the hours before going into labour with the children. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising. Birth and death were allies.

She sat up late making a list. Bring accounts up to date. Burn letters. Make will.

Afterwards, restless and disinclined to go to bed, she sat at her desk. It grew chilly and she reached for the wrap that she kept on the back of the chair. Pulling aside the curtain, she looked out. It was a clear night and the summer constellations lit up the sky.

There was a noise on the steps outside, a shuffle and scrape of feet.

In a flash, she had extracted the pistol from the desk and rammed it into her pocket.

A soft tap, then a voice whispered: ‘
Fru
Eberstern.’

One hand on the pistol, Kay opened the door. ‘Arne.’

‘
Fru
Eberstern, we need medicines and bandages.’

She didn’t require an explanation. ‘Bad?’

‘Very.’

She was already on her knees by the cupboard, handing supplies to Arne, including bandages, a small bottle of brandy, scissors and a suture kit which she had bought from the vet.

‘Where?’

‘Jacob’s place. I have the bicycles ready. We’ll go by the back road to dodge the curfew.’

It was approaching midnight by the time she and Arne wheeled their bicycles around the back of Jacob’s cottage.

Jacob was waiting to let them in and she was struck by the difference in him. No longer the pale, gawky youth he had been when she and he first encountered each other, Jacob had grown into a bulkier, confident figure. ‘Thank God,’ he said.

As Arne parked the bicycles he warned, ‘
Fru
Eberstern, what you’re going to see is not good.’

She girded herself. ‘I know.’

The room into which Jacob conducted her was small,
sparsely furnished and lit by one medium-sized oil lamp. At its centre, a man lay across a couple of chairs which had been pushed together as an improvised bed. A newspaper was spread out underneath to catch the blood which streamed from a slash on his chest. Its smell was sickening.

At her entrance, he turned his head and she battled with herself not to run out of the room. He was covered in sores, as thin as a rake and his face was almost pulp.

She swallowed. ‘Danish police?’

‘Gestapo.’

‘How did he get here?’

‘We had a tip-off that prisoners were being transferred from Aarhus to København. An ambush was arranged.’

‘Where are the others?’

Jacob shrugged. ‘Round and about.’

Kay bent over the wounded man. ‘I’ll try to help you.’

Drawing her aside, Jacob said, ‘He can’t talk … but we think the Germans have had him for some time, which would suggest he’s important to them.’ His voice was husky with exhaustion. ‘Maybe they’ve finished with him. Or they were going to kill him off. The plan was to get him and the others out to Sweden.’ He gestured to the injured man. ‘But I don’t think so.’

She knelt down beside him. ‘Name?’ she asked.

The man was conscious but since his jaw was at an odd angle, he struggled to respond intelligibly. The effort, and the smashed jaw, proved too much.

Was he one of Felix’s men?

After a moment, Kay laid a hand gently, oh so gently, on his shoulder. ‘Don’t try any more.’

She examined him as best she could – biting down on her lip when he cried out. ‘He’s been beaten all over,’ she said at last. ‘Systematically and brutally.’ Except for his hands. They appeared to be untouched, although Kay couldn’t be absolutely sure about that because he was filthy. Underlying the more
recent wounds, including the one on his chest, were older yellow and purple scars and contusions. His shoulders were raw – that was recent. Some of his injuries indicated cigarette burns, or small knife slashes, and they oozed pus.

Clinically, Kay noted the tally of violence: the bruises, the rotting flesh, the attempt to destroy his face.

What good were a couple of aspirin in this situation? Angry and helpless, she sponged the man down with water from the bucket Jacob had fetched, and dabbed at the worst of the wounds with disinfectant.

As she worked, her anger intensified. If she had ever doubted her refusal to tolerate evil and cruelty, this was no longer the case. If she had ever had doubts about being involved, they vanished.

Jacob and Arne watched.

‘I was warned about this,’ she said. ‘If he’s British-trained, which is possible, the Abwehr would have tried to use him and get as much out of him as possible without killing him. Afterwards, the Gestapo probably took over.’ She straightened up. ‘His jaw’s smashed. He’s got a head injury and the socket of his right eye is possibly broken. He needs to be in hospital.’

‘Our contact at the hospital says they can hide him in the isolation ward. But not until tomorrow,’ said Jacob.

‘Right.’

But it wasn’t all right.

The bleeding from the chest wound needed to be dealt with. At least Kay could do something about that. She pulled the suture kit out of her pocket. ‘I’ll have to stitch it.’ After scrubbing her hands with disinfectant, she sterilized the needle by dipping it into the flame of the oil lamp, then threaded it. ‘Could one of you get some brandy down him?’

Jacob did his best but not that successfully.

‘Bring in the lamp as close as you can,’ she instructed Arne. ‘And Jacob, please hold him.’

Her hand shook only marginally. Thank God for that. Arne
held the lamp up and Jacob pressed down on the man’s raw shoulders. Grasping the edges of the wound, she pulled them together.
Pop
. The needle pushed into the flesh with an unexpectedly loud sound.

She had no idea that human skin was so tough.

The wounded man whimpered.

How far can humans go? When do you stop fearing pain?

Questions that Kay could not answer.

Pop
.

Too far gone, he barely made a sound after that.

She sewed on, knotting the thread, snipping it, then pressing a dressing onto the wound until the bleeding slowed.

The man made one last-ditch effort to speak but only a gurgling, glottal noise issued from the battered mouth. She bent over and strained to make sense of it.

But it was useless.

Before she left, Kay handed the Browning to Arne. ‘You might need it tomorrow morning.’

He accepted it reluctantly.

The wounded man never made it to the hospital. When Arne appeared at Rosenlund the following afternoon, he told Kay that he had died during the night. He and Jacob hid the body in a cart under piles of old sacks and buried it in the woods.

Kay wept.

It was another warm and sun-filled day. The sky was cerulean blue, the wisteria on the terrace bloomed uninhibitedly, bright greens stippled in the woods. The air was so still that Kay felt as if the universe was holding its breath.

After dinner, she and Bror were drinking their coffee when Birgit appeared. She was sobbing incoherently.

Kay got to her feet. ‘Birgit, what on earth’s the matter?’

‘Arne’s been arrested.’

Kay put her arm round the other woman. ‘Tell us.’

‘They’ve
taken him to the police station.’

‘Who have?’

Birgit merely shook her head.

Bror said wearily, ‘The usual nonsense. I’ll phone Sergeant Wulf.’ He rested a hand on Birgit’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry.’