Читать книгу Beloved Beast - Karyn Gerrard - Страница 12

It was him. Robert Taylor from the air raid shelter. But this man standing before her was not what she thought he was. More like Boris Karloff. How unkind, and not accurate at all. What a shock to see him in full daylight. The perfect profile stood in stark contrast to the rest of his face. Gillian’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment for screaming. What had got into her? Taking deep breaths then exhaling, she made herself meet Mr. Newman’s gaze. Or was he even looking at her, hard to tell from the dark shades. “Apologies, gentlemen,” she murmured.

Luke Newman crossed his arms. She had never seen anyone with such a strange shade of skin. Light gray, like the turbulent skies of a winter storm. Or someone who was…dead. What made her think of such a morbid thing? No doubt the exaggerated Karloff comparison. The left side of his face was covered in scars running along his hairline and down his left temple, spreading out across his cheek like streets on a city map. His lips were perfectly formed and a light pink color, made all the more evident by the strange shade of his flesh.

He was immaculately dressed in an expensive gray suit. His raven black hair fashionably cut with long, tapered layers trimmed close to his head and around his ears. To have such handsomeness still evident, yet noticeably marred, touched her deeply.

“It has been quite some time since anyone screamed at seeing my face, but I am well used to it.” His words were clipped. He was annoyed and Gillian could not blame him.

She stepped forward and held out her gloved hand. “Again, please do accept my apologies, Mr. Newman. Lately I am acting more like a startled rabbit than a woman in firm control of her nerves.” He gripped her hand and gave it a brisk shake before letting go. His touch was cool. She felt it clear through her glove.

“Take a seat, Miss Browning.” Well. He didn’t acknowledge her apologies. Fine. She could act as chilly and impersonal as him. Gillian unbuttoned her wool coat and removed her gloves, then took a seat in front of Mr. Parker’s desk. Mr. Newman remained standing next to Mr. Parker, his arms crossed once again.

“There is not much in your file. In fact, the records were poorly kept,” Mr. Parker stated as he flipped between pages. “Tell me. Do you have any immediate family?”

Gillian never told SIS about her sister or of any other members of her family, deceased or not. “No, I don’t.”

Several moments passed. “She lies,” Mr. Newman stated, his tone even.

Small beads of perspiration broke out at her hairline. How did he know? How could he possibly know? She was well-schooled on how to lie, as she had done nothing but lie the past several years.

Mr. Parker leaned forward and clasped his hands on top of her file. “I think the time has come for you to be completely honest. After your assignment came to an end, we made sure you were returned safely even though it placed those who assisted in your escape in grave danger. We gave you an undemanding but well-paid position as a German and French translator and head clerical assistant with a high security clearance. You earned it. And you earned our trust. Was MI-6 mistaken in our assessment of you?” Mr. Parker’s gaze was as officious as the tone of his voice.

“You must already harbor doubts about me for why am I being followed by this man?” Gillian pointed at Luke Newman who stood as straight and still as a statue. She could feel the frost in his shaded gaze. Her hand trembled, and she pulled it away.

“Luke was following you for your protection,” Mr. Parker snapped.

“Protection? Why?” she whispered. Gillian’s insides tumbled in apprehension.

“The Nazis have discovered your affair with Kroger and German spies here in England are now searching for you,” Mr. Parker replied.

The blood chilled in her veins. “How can that be? I was careful. I left before I was discovered.”

Mr. Parker opened the folder again. “It says here Kroger became suspicious, and because of it, you requested to be removed from your assignment before you were compromised. Did you tell him about yourself? Your true identity? The details of your mission? The report in this file is shockingly spare on details. I will have them now.” Mr. Parker sounded deadly serious with thinly concealed anger evident in his tone.

“No. I never told Otto anything. I swear,” she replied firmly.

“She’s being truthful,” Luke Newman relayed in a flat, emotionless voice. Uncanny, how could he know? Gillian glanced nervously between the two men. Both of them were intimidating in different ways and both wary of her. How could she blame them?

“Why did you believe he was suspicious?” Mr. Parker asked.

“He questioned me in detail about my family, where I was from. He wished to meet them. Otto claimed he would leave his wife, obtain a divorce in order for us to be married. Things had gone too far. He asked me outright if I was using a false name. Perhaps he was checking up on me already. I had no choice but to leave immediately.”

Mr. Parker flipped through the papers. “None of the information is here. Damned annoying.” Clearing his throat, he laid the file flat on the desk. “What members of your family are living in the immediate area? Or anywhere in the UK?” he asked with pen poised.

Gillian clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “All I have is a sister living in the East End. Miss Joan Simm. My parents are both dead.”

“She is telling the truth about all of it,” Mr. Newman said, sounding more and more like an automaton.

“My God, are you even human?” Gillian cried as she glanced at him.

“That could be debated,” he answered softly.

Puzzled by his response, she looked away. What could he mean? Her insides churned with anxiety.

“Why didn’t you tell your agent-handler of your sister?” Mr. Parker asked as he scribbled furiously.

“My parents divorced when I was young and my mother and I moved to Devon. I use my mother’s maiden name. Joan used our father’s. I had no face-to-face contact with my sister until I returned to England three years ago. We exchanged brief correspondences during our teen years. She was a stranger to me. I didn’t see why it would be important.” She stared at the foreboding Mr. Newman. “Am I telling the truth?” she asked sarcastically as she glared into the dark lenses hiding his eyes.

“You are,” Mr. Newman said.

“Well, it is damned important. If the Nazis are looking for you, they will also be looking for anyone related to you,” Mr. Parker said. “How much they know, we have no idea. The little we do know came to our attention recently. From what we have ascertained from our contacts in the SOE, Kroger’s wife reported the affair and he was taken from his home by SS operatives. The man has not returned, he is either languishing in a concentration camp or he is dead.” He frowned. “Though why the wife waited so long to report it, I have no idea.”

The emotions Gillian fought hard to keep hidden burst free. She sobbed piteously as hot tears trailed down her flushed cheeks. Mortified, she buried her face in her hands. Despite her best efforts in keeping Otto at arm’s length, she’d become smitten with him. Now she may have cost him his freedom, or worse, his life. More guilt to add to the pile already weighing on her soul.

A vision formed in her mind, her and Otto alone in a hotel room, they were naked, kissing and touching as they made love. “I love you, most desperately. I’ve never felt this way before,” he whispered to her in German. “Never leave me or my heart will shatter.” But she did leave him. She had deceived him.

“Apparently, she is emotionally involved,” Mr. Newman declared, pulling Gillian from her romantic daydream.

“Try and control yourself, Browning,” Mr. Parker snapped in irritation.

Damn, she was making a fool of herself. She had been instructed to be in command of her emotions, though at the moment she was unable to recall any of the training. “Quite right, sir.” Gillian gulped deeply and looked up to see Mr. Newman holding out a handkerchief toward her. Nodding in thanks, she took it and promptly blew her nose. “I apologize for my emotional outburst.”

“You loved him,” Mr. Newman stated in his flat tone.

“No, but I did become infatuated with him. He told me he fell in love with me, I never returned the sentiment. As I stated, he was willing to leave his wife. That is another reason I requested to be extricated. In all honesty, I should have requested it three months before as I’d already collected all the information there was to get. But…I didn’t want to leave him. I had grown fond of him.” Gillian wiped her nose. Otto had turned out to be a passionate man, a surprising development. And not entirely unwelcome.

“She’s telling the truth,” Mr. Newman said.

“How did the wife find out?” Mr. Parker speculated to no one in particular.

“He wouldn’t have told her, I am sure of it. Otto went to great lengths to hide our affair.” Gillian wiped her eyes and exhaled shakily.

“Was there any physical evidence of your affair? Letters, poems, photographs…” Mr. Newman interjected.

“No. Wait; there were photos from a business trip. I accompanied him. They were a bit personal, us at the beach, a lady took one shot with the both of us embracing. But I asked for them and burned them and the negatives before I left.”

“She is telling the truth…yet, could it be possible Kroger kept his own copies as a remembrance?” Mr. Newman stepped closer. “He was entirely bereft at your sudden departure he could not bear to part with them?” The last sentence ended on a sarcastic note, enough to make Gillian bristle. How dare this walking lie detector make judgments? He knew nothing of her feelings or of Otto’s.

“Bloody hell, if that’s the ruddy case, then the Nazis have a picture of her. It would explain how they tracked her to England.” Mr. Parker rubbed the bridge of his nose in obvious irritation. “Give me the address where your sister lives. We will have to extract her right away.”

Gillian’s blood chilled. Could Otto have had his own copies of the photographs? Oh, you sentimental, stupid man. She recalled posing provocatively on the blanket, giving him a sultry look as he snapped the shot on his Leica III camera. Face it; both of them were stupid and sentimental. He was in love, and people in love acted in a careless manner. She never should have let it get as far as it did. She had been trained to know better. And yet she allowed a brief infatuation to grow and it caused her slapdash actions. Yes, she should have ended the assignation months before she did. Now she placed Joan in harm’s way. “My sister won’t go easily as she’s attached to the neighbors and a member of the WVS. I should go and explain to her…”

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Parker said. “You are not to see her again.”

“Not even to say good-bye?” she questioned.

“No. You’ve lost that luxury. What does your sister do with the WVS?”

“All manner of volunteer services, she’s had nursing and first aid training…”

Mr. Parker held up his hand to silence her. “Luke, I can place Miss Simm with my parents. What do you think? They need assistance, she has nurse training, and their place is hidden away.”

Luke nodded. “It could work.”

“Why can’t she come with me?” Gillian asked. “Wherever I’m going?”

“Have you visited her in the past two weeks?” Mr. Newman asked.

Well, she couldn’t lie, not when Mr. Newman’s hidden stare bore through her like a blazing light. “Yes, I went to her flat yesterday.”

“Then no, Miss Browning, she cannot accompany you. At least not right away, if at all.” Mr. Parker pushed a blank piece of paper toward her, then handed her a fountain pen. “Is she aware of your service with MI-6?”

“Joan knows I work for the government, but I never told her the particulars and she never asked.” Gillian looked toward Mr. Newman. “Well?”

“She is telling the truth.”

“Fine. Write a note to her stating due to your previous assignment, you are being transferred immediately and cannot see her in person to say farewell. Mention Mr. Parker, the deliverer of this letter, is to be obeyed as her and your safety depends on it. You know what else to say.” Mr. Parker pushed the paper and pen closer.

Gillian nodded briskly, sliding her chair closer to the desk in order to write the letter. Joan knew her handwriting at least. She scribbled quickly.

My dear Joan,

I am terribly sorry to put you in this position, but it seems my past has caught up to me. Mr. Frederick Parker, who will be delivering this letter to you, has only your safety in mind, and you must follow his instructions implicitly. Both our safeties depend upon it. It will mean you will have to leave Aberavon Road and the people you care about and as I cannot say farewell in person, you cannot say your good-byes to your friends and neighbors. I cannot apologize enough for all this.

My employer believes I am in danger. I do not yet know where I’m going and when I will be in contact with you again, but try and remember me fondly, as I will remember you. I admire your resilience and pluck. Mr. Parker has a safe place for you. I know you will amend to your new circumstance.

I am sorry we did not have more time to get to know each other better.

Love,

Gillian

With an exhale, she screwed the top on the pen and laid it across the paper.

Mr. Parker picked up the letter and read it. “This is sufficient. I will go to her when we’re finished here. Now, we’ve sent a number of agents to Canada and there have been no difficulties so far. It is where we will send you. Regardless, it will take some time to arrange your transport, organize your Canadian identification, and craft your cover story. In the interim, Luke will be accompanying you to a safe house where you will lay low until I can send further instructions.” Mr. Parker opened his desk drawer and slid papers and a rations book toward her. “Use this identity for now, that way you can procure food at the village shop. You could be there for close to two weeks.”

“What village?” Gillian asked.

“Charlwood.”

* * * *

Luke could not believe it. Of all the damned villages in England, Fred picked Charlwood. Luke’s former home. The place he’d been buried, reanimated, and fell in love with Glenna. Damn it all, he was practically run out of the village with torches and pitchforks. Well, a slight exaggeration, but not far from the truth. “Have you lost all sense?” Luke snapped in annoyance.

Fred pressed his intercom. “Mrs. Travers, please accompany Miss Browning to the outer office until we have need of her again. And stay with her, she is not to leave.”

“Right away, Mr. Parker.” The formidable Mrs. Travers bustled into the room and escorted Gillian out, closing the door behind her.

Luke paced about, running his right hand through his hair. “You mean to tell me there are no other safe houses in all of bloody England?”

“And you don’t think the SS and the Abwehr is not aware of most of our locations already? No one will suspect Charlwood.”

“You have gone completely mad,” Luke muttered. “All the Germans have to do is investigate current agents and their former homes and check them off the list one by one. You grew up in Charlwood. Why on earth would you even consider it?”

Fred pointed to the chair. “Sit down, Luke, you’re making me nervous. I doubt the inept spies the Nazis have sequestered in London would be that thorough.”

Luke plunked himself down in the seat Gillian had vacated. It was still warm from her body heat and surprisingly, it in turn warmed him. And aroused him. He’d been aroused through most of her interrogation. Her reactions spoke of a passionate woman who felt things deeply, but fought hard to hide her emotions. He could relate. Besides lying about her sister, no doubt done to protect Miss Simm more than anything, she spoke the truth in everything else.

The fact she’d become besotted with Kroger surprisingly stung, which made no sense at all. Gillian Browning was nothing to him but an assignment. They were much in the same boat, nursing broken hearts in different ways and at different stages. But back to the subject at hand. Charlwood. “I am known. Damn it, I still have family in the area. Give me one good reason why we should hide there?”

Fred reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a file. He opened it and arranged the pile of papers within. “First things first, old chap. It has been a while since we’ve done an update on your extended family. Not in any depth since you left Cornwall. Here’s what we know: Your illegitimate son, Dr. Jeffrey Twington, age fifty-three, lives in Yorkshire with his wife, Nicola. Their children, a daughter—Sandra, age twenty-eight—married last year, and their son, Jeffrey II, is age twenty-five and serving with the RAF. He is participating in bombing raids over Germany.”

As his blood cooled in his veins, Luke’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Why did you not tell me before now my grandson was part of the war effort? And do not refer to Jeffrey as illegitimate,” Luke snapped.

Fred arched an eyebrow. “He is illegitimate according to society. Adopted by the village doctor and his wife in eighteen ninety-two as well you know. But I do apologize. I won’t refer to him as such again.”

His one meeting with Jeffrey, who had been five years old, still caused his heart to ache at the remembrance since he was not aware Jeffrey was his son until later. The boy had been the result of one of his many dalliances in his previous life as Ravenswood. When he reflected back on the man he used to be, it turned his bile. He had not seen Jeffery since the chance encounter by the brook. After leaving Charlwood, he decided to stay focused on the Parker side of the family, cut all ties with the Maddens and their various branches, illegitimate or otherwise. He promised his wretched father he would in exchange for money and the chance of living in peace.

Regardless of the threats, his father did leave him alone, and in return, Luke kept his distance from his family. True to his word, his father saw to the upkeep of Jeffrey and a girl, named Betsy, whom he also fathered from a farmer’s daughter, until the young woman’s death during the Spanish flu epidemic in 1919. Thanks to the old earl, Jeffrey received a topnotch education and the opportunity to practice medicine at prominent hospitals throughout England.

After Luke’s mother died, the Earl of Whitestone remarried and had more children. Luke had two half brothers he knew nothing about. If he were to be honest, he didn’t much care for any of the Maddens. He left his life as Viscount Ravenswood far behind. God. Jeffrey was fifty-three. Where had the years gone?

“Uncle, do you want to hear more? It was by your own instruction you wished periodic updates. I am bringing you up to speed now to prove there is no one in Charlwood who would even remember you. Close to fifty years have passed since your departure.”

Luke arched an eyebrow at his nephew. For a man working for SIS, he could be incredibly naive. “I am the Beast of Charlwood. The stuff of fireside horror stories. I am well aware I’m used to keep children in line. ‘Behave, or the beast viscount will get you.’ I did not leave of my own accord. I was run out of the village.”

“Anyone who witnessed you that day is either dead or long gone from Charlwood. Arrive at nightfall, stay hidden until it is time to go, and all should be fine. And you know why I selected this particular location.”

Crossing his legs, Luke smiled sardonically. During World War I, Reed had an underground tunnel and shelter built on the outside chance the Germans might decide to have a Zeppelin raid over Charlwood. Though eccentric, Reed’s cautious nature contained sound reasoning. Brighton and the south coast were only twenty-six miles away, the idea was not inconceivable. Reed did not order a small shelter; he commissioned an elaborate underground tunnel system exiting into a secluded area near the River Mole, a tributary of the Thames. “Have the tunnels been kept in good repair?”

“Yes, since Mum and Dad moved to London, I have kept a staff on to keep the place in good order. Repairs, a coat of paint, that sort of thing. I proposed it be used as a safe house as soon as the war started and SIS agreed. They’ve paid for the upkeep on the tunnels. Even made a few modifications. Like electric lighting and a cache of supplies, including pistols and other provisions. We’ve upgraded the electrical lines as well. It’s ideal, Luke. Better than a grotty flat here in London.”

Fred had a point. The thought of visiting his past caused his stomach to lurch, but how else to banish the wretched memories once and for all? If it were even possible. Here lay an opportunity to do it. He had to try. “I concede Charlwood will serve, but why not transport her from the country right away?”

“We have to be absolutely sure and meticulous in our planning, and arranging transportation is becoming increasingly difficult the longer the war drags on. Now, let me continue on the Maddens. As you are aware, your father passed eleven years ago, and the present Earl of Whitestone, his oldest son and your half brother, is currently not at the Whitestone estate. His mother is not well and as a result, the entire family is here in London at the townhouse.”

Fred turned the page and continued. “William Madden, his wife, Edith, and their two sons, William Junior and Arthur, along with William’s younger brother, Marcus, are in residence in Mayfair. They will be watched closely and intercepted if they head toward Charlwood.”

Luke felt nothing in hearing of his immediate family, as he didn’t when Fred had told him of his father’s passing. Well, perhaps he cared a little. “How old are my half brothers?”

“Let’s see, William was born in nineteen ten, which makes him thirty-three. His sons are both under the age of seven. Marcus was born in nineteen nineteen, which makes him twenty-four.”

God, his father must have been elderly when Marcus was born. “My youngest brother did not join the war effort? Though I am not surprised, the Maddens were always a selfish lot. Seems they still are.”

Fred cleared his throat. “Actually, old chap, The Honorable Marcus Madden did sign up. Became a commando in the Royal Navy. Lost part of his leg at Dieppe last year.”

Luke groaned and slumped in his chair. Now he felt like a first-class heel. “Brave lad,” he murmured.

“By all accounts, he was following in your notorious footsteps, a decadent playboy who lived for his own pleasure. A lot of drunkenness, gambling, women, that sort of thing. But he straightened himself out and served his country with honor. I hear through channels he may receive the Order of Britain.” Fred flipped the paper and continued on. “As to your sister, Lydia, I am sorry to say she died three years ago and is buried alongside her husband in Scotland. By all accounts she had a contented life. Their children and grandchildren thrive. I’d go into details; however, time is of the essence.”

“Yes. Later perhaps,” Luke murmured. Surprisingly, sadness settled deep inside him at hearing his younger sister had died. They were never close, but Luke was gratified she had a happy life away from their miserable father.

Fred closed the folder. “Of course.”

“Your father’s experiment notes. They are still in your safe? Have you read them?” Luke asked.

“I glanced at them, nothing more. He wrote out two copies in longhand. The effort that must have taken,” Fred marveled.

“Give me one of the copies. It will provide something to read at night while in Charlwood.”

Fred arched an eyebrow. “Do you think that wise?”

Luke tapped the small piece of plastic covering the left side of his damaged skull. “Photographic memory. I’ll retain it all and I will burn the pages as I read them. We will still have the one copy here in your safe.”

“As you wish. Now to get Miss Browning out of London. Shall we say, ‘Operation Miss Marple?’ You’ll need to leave your motor keys.” Luke reached in his trouser pockets and slid them across the desk. Fred stood, opened the cabinet behind him and tossed Luke a different set of keys. “The black Ford Anglia in parking space six. It’s full of petrol and supplied with maps. Communication will be by telegraph boy.” Fred crouched down by his safe, spun the lock, reached in, and passed Luke a thick folder. “Let’s bring Miss Browning in here and I will fill you both in on the details.”

If nothing else, the next two weeks should prove to be interesting. Yet, a feeling of foreboding rolled through him. Luke exhaled. Charlwood. And all the memories and ghosts accompanying it.

The time had come to meet the past head on.