Читать книгу The Family Secret - Terry Lynn Thomas - Страница 9

I should never have kissed her. Thomas Charles tried to push Cat Carlisle out of his mind, took a deep breath, and turned his attention to the city he had called home for years. He had only been away for two months, yet so much had changed. A tension hung in the air so heavy he could taste it, hot and thick on the back of his throat. His collar stuck to the back of his neck as sweat broke out between his shoulder blades. For the briefest moment, he thought about going back to his flat and crawling into bed. The sling that held his injured arm felt like a wool blanket. Exhausted and weak, he trudged towards Piccadilly Circus, his shoulder throbbing with every step. His thoughts – as they often did – returned to Cat and the unfinished business between them. His kiss. Her rejection. His sudden departure. It had taken Thomas Charles three years to fall in love with Cat Carlisle. And I lost her with one kiss.

Piccadilly didn’t have its usual spark. He hadn’t yet seen a double-decker bus. The statue of Eros had been taken away, Thomas imagined for safe keeping, leaving a yawning chasm in the roundabout. He passed the fruiterer where the lady behind the counter kept the best apples for him. The men who used to stand outside smoking cigars and talking about the state of the world were gone now. The shop windows had been covered up with large pieces of plywood. Someone had haphazardly nailed a large poster to one of the boards depicting a young boy gazing at a British solider. The caption read, ‘Leave Hitler to me, sonny. You ought to be out of London.’

Many women and children had evacuated to the country. The women who remained dressed in the smart style of office workers, independent women who spent their days toiling in offices and their nights frequenting night clubs and dancing to big band music. They walked along the street at a clipped pace with a sense of purpose. Many carried gas masks in a small box which hung from a leather strap. Thomas shook his head, remembering the brutal bombing of Guernica in April of 1937. This war would be different. Gas masks wouldn’t be of much use. It would be incendiary and brutal. Invasion was imminent. Hitler was coming. After Churchill’s rousing speech to the House of Commons, the people were ready.

Thomas caught a glimpse of a tired-looking man with gaunt cheeks and dark circles under his eyes in one of the few shop windows that hadn’t been boarded up. He walked on. After a full minute, he realized the tired man was him. ‘I look like hell.’ He said the words out loud, not caring if anyone heard him talking to himself. He was out of breath and moving slowly. The time had come to reflect and evaluate, make changes in his life where necessary. The question was whether or not those changes would include Cat Carlisle.

The bookshop was just two blocks away. Thomas moved with his usual sense of awareness, deeply inculcated from his years spent doing dangerous things for a man he didn’t really trust.

By the time he arrived at the back-alley antiquarian bookshop, he was ready to sit. The walking journey had weakened him. His shoulder throbbed and he longed to take off the sling which held his arm still and safe against his body. The alley was deserted, not surprising given the early hour. The tailor shop next door stood vacant, its doorway full of leaves and rubbish, its owner in all likelihood having fled to the countryside. Out of habit Thomas ducked into the alcove, ignoring the crunch of glass under his feet, counted to five, and surveyed his surroundings. Through the reflection in the glass across the street he had a good view of the surrounding footpath. Still empty. Certain he hadn’t been followed, he stepped out of the safety of the tailor shop’s doorway.

A bell above the door of the bookshop jangled as he let himself in. The old man who used to sit behind the counter had been replaced by a younger woman, probably in her early thirties. She had cropped raven black hair, fair skin, and thin lips doused in a layer of startlingly red lipstick. Thomas gave her a quizzical look as she looked up from the book she was reading.

‘Where’s …?’ Thomas was embarrassed that he didn’t even know the old gentleman’s name.

‘You mean my father, Frank? He took my children to Scotland.’

‘And you decided to stay?’

The woman reached under the counter and set a small pistol with a mother of pearl inlaid grip on the counter. ‘When the Germans come marching through the streets, I’ll start shooting. Sir Reginald’s in the back office. Turn the sign to closed and lock the door, would you?’ She turned her focus back to her book. Thomas did as she asked and walked along the ancient wooden floor towards the tiny office in the back. Sir Reginald Wright sat on a rickety chair reading a tattered copy of The Warwickshire Advertiser.

Thomas and Sir Reginald had been having their clandestine trysts in this office for decades. The tiny room faced an alley, with windows so grimy the room was cloaked in a patina of perpetual gloom. Disorganized files were stacked precariously in one corner. The desk held a brass banker’s lamp in need of a polish, and – as usual – loose papers covered the surface. Sir Reginald had taken off his hat and set it on the corner of the desk. His cane – black with a silver lion’s head – leaned against the wall. Thomas took in the pinstripe Savile Row suit, the impeccable tie, and felt the familiar irritation raise its ugly head. Sir Reginald didn’t even raise his eyes as Thomas entered the room.

‘That newspaper’s rather out of date, wouldn’t you say?’ Thomas looked for another chair. When he didn’t find one, he cleared a spot on the crowded desk and sat on it, not caring about the impropriety of his actions. For years Thomas had loyally served the Crown under a convoluted chain of command that led through Whitehall and straight to Downing Street. He had survived war, hand-to-hand combat, and a stint in a German prison camp. Sir Reginald had promised a long rest after his latest mission. It seemed as though his superior was going to renege on his promise.

Sir Reginald ignored Thomas as he shook the paper and carefully folded it before setting it on top of the stack next to his chair. Just being in Sir Reginald’s presence set Thomas on edge.

‘I’m here, Reginald. Why did you want to see me?’

‘How’s the shoulder? Infection cleared up?’ Sir Reginald leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He surveyed Thomas with his rheumy eyes. Thomas wondered when the old man would finish with this business. God knew, he was ready to leave it all behind. He thought about moving to the country, spending his days doing research and writing in earnest, not just as a cover for his various missions. Of course, Cat would be with him. They would marry … He turned his focus to Reginald. ‘Fine, thank you. My stay in the hospital proved beneficial.’

‘Haakon commended you. I thought you’d want to know. He credited you for keeping your head in Nybergsund.’

‘I wasn’t the only one who kept a cool head,’ Thomas said. ‘It was a group effort, believe you me. I’m just grateful they came willingly. I wouldn’t have relished forcing the King and the Crown Prince to come to England against their will.’

‘Agreed. Now, onto more pressing matters—’

‘No. I’m not interested in pressing matters. I’m finished. We had a deal. No more. I’m not fully recovered from the events in Norway. My shoulder isn’t healed yet. I’m tired and physically weak. I was assured a long rest would be forthcoming, and I intend to take it.’ He wondered what Reginald would do if he simply got up and walked away. Would the old man come after him? Send some henchmen to do his dirty work?

‘You can’t walk away from this, Thomas. You’re too far in. Trust me when I tell you civilian life would not suit you. You’re not fully recovered yet, so you don’t appreciate how you enjoy the excitement. This type of work gets in your blood. You’d grow bored in months, maybe weeks. You and I both know you’ve grown accustomed to the money. Have you thought about finding a situation that pays you as well as I do? And, just in case you’re not feeling appreciated, I need your delicate expertise.’

Liar. Thomas watched as Reginald fussed with his gold cufflinks. They had been doing this dance for years now. How many times had Thomas told Reginald he was finished with this business, only to have Reginald ignore his words and send him on another mission, often more harrowing than the last one?

‘If I say no?’

‘But you won’t.’ The old man stared at Thomas through heavy lidded eyes. He hurried on, not giving Thomas a chance to object. ‘You’re to go north, to a small village in Cumberland called Rivenby, under the guise of a rest cure. Take Cat Carlisle with you. I’ve arranged a house for her. When you approach her, tell her you’ve found her a house, you want her and the child safe when the bombs come. Scare her. Tell her they will come. She’ll be of use to you. She grew up in Rivenby, lived there until her parents died and she moved to London with her aunt. She’ll provide an in for you socially.’ Reginald tossed a sealed envelope onto Thomas’s lap. The envelope slipped to the floor. The old man watched as Thomas bent to pick it up, as if he knew Thomas’s attitude would change now given Cat Carlisle’s involvement.

Thomas let himself get carried away by his fantasy of a life with Cat in a quaint village. They’d have a garden, and a house filled with sunlight. Oh, Cat. I hope I’ve not ruined it between us. He shook his head, focused on the dingy room and the miserable man who sat before him. After thirty years, Thomas knew there was no such thing as an easy mission. Why did he think there would be one now? When he spoke, his voice was calm and steady. ‘And the nature of the mission?’

Reginald rubbed a hand over his face. For a fleeting moment Thomas saw the exhaustion there.

‘This is serious business, Thomas. One of ours has been murdered. She was a major player in the last war, a brilliant cryptographer. She worked in the field before we discovered she had talents in code breaking. She’s made her fair share of enemies. Two weeks ago someone tampered with the brakes of her car. It crashed and she died. I’m afraid an enemy from long ago has tracked her down.

‘She has a son, a Phillip Billings. His picture is in the packet, along with a scant dossier. Phillip’s quite the Lothario. Actually lived in a house owned by his boss’s wife, if you can believe that. She doted on him, bought him clothes, a car, the two were attached at the hip.’

‘Her husband didn’t mind?’ Thomas asked.

‘Apparently not. In any event, she caught him with another woman and kicked him out of the house. Despite a wardrobe full of tailored suits, she wouldn’t let him have anything but the clothes on his back. She was spiteful, tried to convince the police that he made off with a rare diamond necklace. Phillip came close to getting arrested, until the lady’s maid – she was rather involved with Phillip too, if the gossip is accurate – found the necklace hidden in her mistress’s desk. So Phillip returned to Rivenby penniless. He spends money like a lord and has accumulated a fair share of gambling debts.’

‘Does his mother have anything in her possession the Germans could use now? Something they would buy? It just seems far-fetched they would come after her now. Codes and tactics have changed since 1919.’

Reginald shook his head. ‘Not sure.’

‘Local police?’

‘Treating it as a homicide. Investigation ongoing. The woman’s name is – was – Win Billings. She’s got a niece she doted on, named Beth Hargreaves. Beth’s husband died six years ago. They’ve got a daughter, Edythe, who is 18 years old. The two have been living with Win. Phillip expected to inherit, but his mother changed her will, leaving the bulk of her assets to Beth.’

‘So if Phillip killed her, it was for nothing? What about Beth? Could she have killed her aunt?’

‘Anything’s possible, but I doubt it.’

Thomas had already made up his mind. Sir Reginald would get his way this one last time. Thomas would do so because of Cat. All he needed to do was convince her to go with him.

‘What exactly do you want me to do? I have no standing, and surely the police are working the case.’

‘I need your eyes, nothing more. This is strictly a watch-and-observe mission, with an eye towards interested parties who may try to influence the investigation or who show an unusual or inappropriate interest in things. There will be plenty of time for you to rest and take care of yourself. The country air will build your strength. The long walks in the woods will put the colour in your cheeks. I told the police you were coming as a favour to me. The DCI in charge, one Colin Kent, knows of Win’s service in the last war. Kent’s a good chap. He understands the lay of the land. He’ll give you no trouble. You can speak freely to him. Mutual cooperation is the operative word here.’

Trust Sir Reginald to make it all sound innocuous.

‘So am I correct in understanding you want me to observe the investigation, keep my eyes open in the village, and determine if anyone involved with Fifth Column operations murdered this woman as a vendetta killing? You’d think they’d have more pressing matters, like the war at hand, rather than the settling of scores from twenty years ago.’

‘It is not as far-fetched as you think, old boy. Win was a dear friend, a brave operative who is – was – respected and admired by her colleagues. I need to know what her son has been up to, or if someone from her past tracked her down and killed her. If that’s the case, other agents could be in danger. Some of Win’s contacts in the last war are in play now. This is important, Thomas. I don’t trust anyone but you to handle this one.’

‘And Cat Carlisle? How is she to be involved in this? How do you suggest I make use of her?’

‘You will simply start working on your next book. I was thinking a detailed study of monastic houses in Cumberland should keep you busy for a few years. Cat is a gregarious creature. Before long, she’ll fall in with her childhood friends. You can accompany her to social functions and get a first-rate view of village life, get a sense for who belongs where.’

‘I thought you didn’t want her involved with our arrangement any longer. You said she – and I’m quoting now – was reckless, inconsistent, and too emotional for this sort of work.’

Cat had worked for Sir Reginald briefly in 1937, when it came to light that a member of her household was stealing her husband’s classified documents and passing them on to a German agent. The mission had ended in disaster, with her husband’s murder and attention from the media.

‘Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep that mess with her husband off the front page of the papers? Mrs Carlisle is like a ticking bomb. She bumps into something – correction, she simply takes a breath – and things start exploding.’

‘That’s a little exaggerated, don’t you think?’

‘Just follow the orders, Thomas. Please.’

‘I haven’t seen her nor spoken to her since April, Reginald. I left – dropped off the face of the earth – without an explanation. I don’t suppose you took the time to let her know I’ve been in hospital recovering from a gunshot wound?’ Thomas didn’t wait for Sir Reginald’s response. ‘I didn’t think so. She’s probably furious with me. There’s a very good chance she won’t speak to me. If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t.’

‘You’ve fallen in love with her, haven’t you? My God, I can see it on your face. You’ve fallen in love with her, but the feeling isn’t reciprocated.’ The old man tipped his head back and laughed.

‘My love life, or lack of, is none of your concern.’

‘Ah, but it is. Everything you do is my business, Thomas, and it will be until the day I die. I admit to having a soft spot for Cat Carlisle. She did well for us. But there’s no way she could operate without close supervision. Surely you can see that? And as for you falling in love with her, forgive me for being insensitive. I’ve watched women fall at your feet over the years, old boy, and you’ve been impervious to their charms. Now you find a woman who piques your interest … In any event, you should be glad she doesn’t reciprocate. There’s no room for romantic entanglements in this business.’ He gave Thomas a stern look. ‘She’s not to be involved in this, Thomas. She is not to know about Win’s activities, or why I have sent you to Rivenby. Do you understand me?’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘That’s not good enough. Surely a man of your abilities can manage a woman, despite your feelings for her.’

‘Cat’s got a nose for subterfuge. She’ll know I’m up to something, mark my words. When my investigation for you comes to light – and believe me it will – there will be hell to pay.’

‘Handle it, Thomas. That’s an order. Cat Carlisle’s your problem, not mine. Bigger things are in play here than your affection for some woman.’

Thomas wanted to scream that Sir Reginald certainly didn’t feel that way when he asked Cat to drug her husband and switch his papers. This parry between Reginald and him had been ongoing for years. They had both grown used to it, expected it. But Thomas didn’t want Reginald issuing edicts where Cat was concerned. Because of Cat’s involvement – and his desperation to be near her – he’d take the mission. Didn’t he always?

‘A few ground rules before you go,’ Reginald said.

‘I’ve been at this a bit too long for ground rules, don’t you think?’ Thomas picked up the folder and walked out of the shop.

* * *

An hour later, after a stifling bus ride and a somewhat circuitous cab ride in the gruelling sticky heat, Thomas stood in front of Cat’s house in Bloomsbury, gathering his courage to walk up the steps and ring the buzzer. What if her attitude was ambivalent? Could he cope with her utter lack of caring? All he needed to do was lay his eyes on her and he would know how things stood between them. If she harboured the slightest affection for him, he would be able to see it on her face. And if he didn’t see anything? It was time to level with Cat, and, if necessary, walk away, Reginald be damned. He wouldn’t torture himself by continuing to work side by side with this woman. Unrequited love didn’t suit Thomas, and he had no intention of suffering through it. No, if Cat didn’t want him, he’d end the relationship. After they moved north and Cat and Annie were safely away from the impending disaster that would be London, Thomas would rescind his request for an easier job and let Reginald find him something all-consuming and dangerous, a job that would require all of his focus just to stay alive. Once he forgot Cat, he would end his relationship with Sir Reginald for good. If he survived.

He took a deep breath, hurried up the stairs and was met there by Annie and Aunt Lydia as they stumbled out the front door. Cat’s aunt illustrated a popular children’s book series. She claimed she did this to pay the bills, but that her still-lifes were her passion. An influential collector had become enamoured with Lydia’s work last year, and now she was enjoying success. He watched the two women, surprised to find that he had missed them as well. Each of them carried a canvas under one arm, an easel under the other, along with matching tote bags slung over their shoulders. The box that held Annie’s gas mask threatened to fall out of her tote. Lydia – as was her custom – wore a pair of men’s dress trousers in a grey pinstripe, covered with a loose-fitting button-up shirt. At one time, the shirt was a fine custom-made affair, probably worn by a solicitor or banker. Thomas often wondered where Lydia obtained the fine men’s clothing that she painted in. He had asked Cat about this once. Her comment had surprised him. ‘Oh, from her lovers, probably. She’s had her share of them.’ He shouldn’t have been surprised. Splotches of paint cascaded down the front of this particular shirt. Lydia’s hair, as wild and curly as Cat’s, was piled on top of her head and held in place by two criss-crossed paint brushes.

Annie Havers had started out as a maid in the Carlisle house before Cat’s husband was murdered. After the case was solved, Cat had taken Annie with her, offering her a job as a paid companion. They had become close, and now Annie was Cat’s ward. Cat confessed to Thomas that she wanted to adopt Annie, but Annie was loyal to her mother. The girl was 16 years old now and blossoming into a young woman. Thomas watched her fuss with her tote bag. Her movements held an acquired grace that Thomas recognized as a mimicry of Cat’s easy elegance. Cat’s influence was further reflected in the fine yet understated linen skirt and blouse Annie wore. The sight of Annie, the way she had grown stronger while under Cat’s care, touched his heart.

‘Hello, Annie.’ He smiled at her.

Her face broke into a big smile. ‘Oh, hello! You’ve come back. Miss Catherine will be ever so pleased. I’ll just go and tell her.’ She dropped the canvas and easel and ran into the house. Thomas just saw her duck down the staircase which led to the basement kitchen.

Thomas cast a sheepish glance at Lydia. ‘How is she, Lydia?’ Thomas had learned early on not to mince words with Cat’s aunt. The woman had the intuition of a witch, coupled with a rapier wit and an equally sharp tongue.

‘Lonely. Missing you,’ Lydia said. ‘And don’t act so surprised. She’s been out of her mind with worry. We read about the King’s harrowing escape, being chased across Norway in the snow with Nazis on his trail. I assume you were involved in that?’ Her eyes went to his shoulder.

‘I got shot. Infection. Forced hospitalization.’

‘You could have written,’ Lydia said.

‘May I come in?’ Thomas asked. He wasn’t in the mood for Lydia’s diatribes. They had a tendency to be blunt, prescient, and to the point.

‘Of course.’ Cat’s voice rang through the dark hallway. She appeared out of the dim gloom of the hallway, with Annie at her feet. His heart squeezed at the sight of her. ‘Lydia, let the poor man in.’

She came towards him, hands outstretched, a smile on her face. ‘Thomas—’ She took one look at his shoulder and stopped in her tracks. ‘What’s happened?’

Lydia said, ‘We’re going. We’ll be back later. It’s too hot to eat dinner, so don’t bother with it.’ Lydia ushered Annie out the door, shoving the canvas and easel into her arms.

‘Be careful,’ Cat said.

‘We will. Don’t worry,’ Annie said. She held up her gas mask, smiled at Thomas, and trotted after Lydia.

Cat and Thomas watched as they walked down the sidewalk.

‘Come in. Let’s go down to the kitchen. It’s cooler down there.’

He followed her, noticing how the waist of the linen dress she wore was loose around her thin frame. Her hair was longer now. She wore it tied back with a scarf. A stray curl, a perfect curlicue, rested against the white of her neck. Thomas bit back the relentless yearning and followed her down the stairs.

Cat pulled a chair out for Thomas. While he sat down, she poured him a glass of lemonade from a crystal jug on the counter. She placed the glass in front of him and sat down across the table.

‘Enjoy that. I’m told lemons will be in short supply before too long. We’ve actually planted vegetables to eat in Pete’s back yard, if you can believe that. He and Lydia tilled up the grass, and we’ve got rows and rows of things growing. I don’t know a thing about gardening …’

She rambled about new friends and the projects they were undertaking, Annie’s hard work under Lydia’s tutelage, and the child’s worry about things to come. The words kept coming, a feeble attempt to fill the empty space between them. Finally, she stopped speaking mid-sentence and stared at him, her eyes as green and clear as an emerald pool. He surrendered, met her eyes, unafraid to get lost in them.

‘What happened, Thomas? Where did you go? How did you hurt yourself?’

He didn’t want to talk about where he had been. He wanted to talk about where they were going. ‘Norway. I got orders to leave immediately the day after – I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know I was leaving. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to hear from me.’ Thomas ran a hand over his face. He was hot and tired. His shoulder throbbed.

Cat nodded. ‘I read the account in the papers. At least he didn’t abdicate.’

‘He refused. He felt horrible about leaving his people. He’s a good chap, really, unassuming and fair minded. Good qualities in a king. He’s going to do his part from here.’

‘We were worried about you,’ Cat said. She picked at her cuticle on her ring finger, caught herself doing so, and tucked her hands under the table, out of sight.

‘The wound got infected. I stayed in hospital until it was resolved.’

She wrapped her hands around her untouched glass of lemonade. ‘Better now?’

‘Much, actually. It still aches at night, but I am officially on the mend.’

‘Reginald must be pleased.’ Cat got up and busied herself with the tea things on the counter. Without thinking, Thomas got up and went to her, stopping himself before he got too close.

‘I am sorry things didn’t work out with you and Reginald,’ Thomas said.

‘There’s no need to explain.’ She busied herself with the stack of cups in the sink.

‘I think it was rather rotten of him,’ Thomas said. ‘This is a brutal business, Cat. Consider it a blessing you are no longer involved in it.’

‘Admittedly, I feel a bit used,’ Cat said. She didn’t meet Thomas’s eyes. ‘He expected me to do things without proper training, promised me a job. It’s not about the money. I wanted to do something useful, something I was good at. I don’t understand what happened.’

‘Me neither,’ Thomas lied. He knew full well that Cat had made a mess of things. Undercover operatives – at least those who report to Sir Reginald Wright – never end up in the newspapers.

‘I’ve found other ways to be useful. And I don’t blame you, Thomas. Honestly.’ She tossed the tea towel on the counter and refilled Thomas’s lemonade. They sat back down at the table.

‘What’ve you been up to?’ He glanced at the two stacks of papers, which sat next to Cat’s leather notebook and a fancy fountain pen with a gold nib. An inkwell rested on a small plate, small drops of blue ink spattered here and there. He smiled as he thought of all the times Cat had filled her pen and spilled ink everywhere. It had become a joke between them.

‘I’m on some committees, trying to get people with no soil around their house access to garden space to grow vegetables. We’re hoping to plant a garden in the square. I’m also working on a fundraiser for three new fire trucks. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve nearly got enough money for one of them.’ She flipped through the stack of papers, set them down, and folded her hands on top of them, as though in repose. Thomas’s heart beat faster. He waited. She looked up at him with soft eyes and a trusting look which made Thomas lose his reason. God, he loved her. When she spoke her voice was soft and full of worry.

‘We never talked about what happened before I left.’

He nearly groaned. The near kiss. The hint of a promise. The one thing that had kept Thomas going during his convalescence. He continued. ‘We don’t have to talk about it. It’s in the past. If it makes you uncomfortable, and you don’t want to work with me anymore—’

‘Of course I want to work with you! Why would you think otherwise?’ She put her hand on Thomas’s arm. ‘I owe you an explanation. I am afraid I was sending mixed signals.’

‘You owe me nothing. Really. I came here with a plan to get you and Annie – and Lydia, if we can convince her – out of the city.’

She cocked her head. ‘Out of the city?’

‘It’s not safe here. The bombs will come. I’m sure of it. And I would rest much easier if you weren’t here when they did.’ Thomas met her eyes, careful not to show his feelings. He knew Cat had yet to recover from the brutality of her marriage to Benton Carlisle. He understood her reluctance to open her heart. This small show of affection would have to do. For now.

She didn’t look away. Instead, she took a deep breath, as if savouring the heat between them. They sat like that for a few moments, neither of them speaking. A small frisson of hope bloomed in Thomas’s chest. Cat smiled as she leaned back in her chair and shook her head. ‘I hadn’t thought of actually leaving. It seems as though we’re running away.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘We’re at war. London will come under fire. Why stay when there’s no reason for you to? And I’ve got a commission, if you’re still wanting to work with me.’

‘I do! Let’s hear your plan.’

Thomas resisted – for what seemed like the hundredth time today – the physical pull he felt towards Cat.

‘I’ve been commissioned to write a series of books about monastic houses in Cumberland. I’d like you to take the pictures and help with layout, like you did last time. I’m going to move to Rivenby. There’s a church nearby whose vicar apparently has a canon of research – his life’s work actually – that he’s offered to share with us. Do you want your job back? You’d spend the bulk of your time tromping around old churches taking pictures. I hope you don’t think me forward for suggesting you leave, Cat. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. But I think you, Annie, and Lydia would be better off in the country.’

‘I can’t believe you’re going to Rivenby. I grew up there.’ She gazed dreamily over his shoulder. ‘It’s been years since I thought about home. I wonder if the house where I grew up is still standing. This is a wonderful idea, Thomas. Annie will be pleased. I’ve missed working with you.’

When she reached for a fresh piece of paper and her fountain pen – the sure sign that soon she would start making lists – he knew she was in agreement.

‘I know of a house you could rent. But you’ll have to call the agent today. Evacuees are going north in droves. Housing will be difficult to find.’ He didn’t tell her the house had already been arranged, and the phone call requirement was just a ruse to lend authenticity to Reginald’s scheme to get Cat to move. Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. ‘The house is called St Monica’s. It’s got five bedrooms, four baths, and a big kitchen with lots of light. There’s five acres attached to it, so you can grow all the vegetables you want.’

‘How ever did you stumble across St Monica’s? I used to love that place as a child.’ Her eyes danced. ‘I used to daydream about living there. Beth – my childhood friend – and I would sit outside the property and gaze at the house, making up stories about our pretend husbands and servants.’ She shook her head. ‘I hadn’t thought about Rivenby in a long time. I’m rather looking forward to going home.’

‘I was looking for a place for myself, and the agent mentioned the house. I’ll be staying at the inn.’

‘The family who owned it back then had a daughter who used to hitch her goat up to a cart and ride through town. What was her name? Gwendolyn? They used to throw a Christmas do every year, with carolling and an old-fashioned Christmas tree with candles.’ She shook her head. ‘I know Lydia won’t come with me. She’s ordered a Morrison shelter for the basement. She wanted to get one for me, but I couldn’t bear the thought of getting into it. It’s nothing more than a small cage. This will do well for Annie. I wasn’t sure what to do about her. We’re so close to the police station, the sirens keep us up at night. Annie hasn’t slept in ages. The poor thing’s scared to death, and she feels guilty for it.’ Her eyes took on that familiar softness that reduced him to adolescent longing. ‘And in you come, with the perfect solution to this mess. Thank you, Thomas.’ A look of worry passed over her face.

‘What is it?’

‘What about Annie’s studies? Lydia has been giving her art lessons. The child’s been working herself to the bone. And she’s sold a few paintings. She’s got talent, Thomas. I mean she’s really good. I’ve never seen anyone work so hard. It seems cruel to take something she loves so much away from her.’

‘There’s a day school for her there. Surely Lydia can give her projects to do. They could communicate via the post.’

They made arrangements. Thomas waited while Cat called the agent and agreed to lease the house. He sipped his lemonade as Cat took notes about furnishings, linens, and other mundane household items. She hung up the phone, excited, focused, and busily making lists.

‘I’ll have to give away most of my clothes. I don’t see how I can possibly take them all on the train.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘Clothes will be rationed at some point.’

‘Clothes? Surely not.’

‘It’s bad, Cat. All of the extra leather and fabric will go for shoes, uniforms, parachutes, you name it. Save your clothing. All of it.’

Their eyes met as the gravity of the situation sunk in.

‘How will I get there? Surely I can’t take all the trunks on the train.’

‘I’ll see to it. Pack all your clothes, linens and the like. I’ll arrange a lorry. Can you be ready the day after tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ Cat said, serious now.

‘Thank you for agreeing to leave. I’ll sleep better because of it.’ Thomas stood. ‘Can you and Annie see yourselves to the train? I’ve things to tend to here, but hope to leave within a few days. I’ll send the lorry for your belongings the day after tomorrow and send word when I arrive in Rivenby.’

‘Of course.’ She capped her fountain pen and stood up. ‘I’ll show you out.’

They walked upstairs together, talking of Cat’s childhood in the country. When they reached the door, she turned to him, rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. It took every ounce of discipline not to wrap his arms around her.

‘Thank you, Thomas. I should have known you would save the day.’

‘Glad to be of service.’ Thomas tipped his hat. ‘Safe travels.’

‘To you as well,’ Cat said. ‘See you in a few days.’

Thomas waited while Cat shut the door behind him and slid the bolts in place. Once he knew she was locked in the house, he headed towards the square where – if providence smiled on him – he would find a taxi. His heart swelled. He had seen the promise in Cat’s green eyes. His question had been answered.

* * *

Cat leaned against the front door, weak-kneed, surprised at the physical reaction to seeing Thomas again. One look at him had opened the flood gates. The emotion she had so successfully been hiding rushed over her. She loved him. After her failed attempt at working with Sir Reginald, Thomas had championed her photographs and had used them in his books, ultimately lettering her serve as art director for the last book they had worked on together. Thomas’s support had galvanized the bond between them. Their creative work had become a partnership. The sum of their whole – the books they produced – a marriage of Thomas’s keen prose and Cat’s pictures. One critic had said that the photos in the book had their own personality and evinced an emotional response. Cat would never forget Thomas’s supportive friendship while she had dealt with the fallout of her husband’s murder and his massive estate. She liked the work. She liked her independence. She loved Thomas. And that had been the problem.

Thomas loved her. She knew it. By all methods of logic, they should be married right now. But they weren’t. And it was all because of Cat, and the internal war that raged within her. If there had been any questions about her feelings for him, they were answered these past few months while he had been away. Her heart ached with longing for him, while her mind worried for his wellbeing. And yet – wasn’t there always an ‘and yet’ – whenever Cat let the fantasy run its course, whenever she envisioned herself married to Thomas, sharing his house, his life, his bed, she was overcome with a sense of panic so strong it knocked her to her knees. Her heart loved Thomas Charles. Her mind was scared to death of committing to him. She simply wasn’t ready to share a house with anyone – except Annie, of course.

Lydia – who could see the conflict of emotions and anxiety in her niece – suggested that Cat see a psychiatrist. But Cat resisted, trusting that her troubles would sort themselves out. And then she and Thomas had nearly kissed. For a brief moment, Cat had let herself go. One moment she had been swept away, weak-kneed as a school girl. Seconds later, she tasted bile. She had pulled away – ran away – like an adolescent. The next day, Thomas left without a word.

And now he’s come home, so it’s time to repair things between us. In truth, moving to Cumberland was the answer to everything. It would be best for Annie, and Cat could only hope it would provide an opportunity for her to make things right with Thomas. She had to manage this relationship somehow. Thomas deserved that.

With fresh resolve, Cat spent the entire afternoon calling the members of her various committees, handing off her responsibilities to any able-bodied soul who would take them. She explained her decision to take Annie to the country, as the child was nervous and on edge. Most of her fellow members were supportive. Those who responded with irritation changed their ways when Cat promised a generous cheque in lieu of her hands-on efforts. With each call the idea of the move became more agreeable. How perfect it would be to return home, where the summers weren’t so sweltering, where Hitler’s bombs would be less likely to fall. How lovely of Thomas to arrange it all.

When the last call had been made and the papers filed away, Cat sat at the kitchen table for a moment, thinking of Rivenby, the place she had called home until her parents had been so tragically taken from her nearly twenty-two years ago.

That morning, she had gone walking on the moors. On her way back home, she had seen Beth kissing the boy who Cat thought was the love of her life. She hadn’t confronted them. Instead, she had run home to her mum, hot tears running down her cheek. In her mind’s eye, she conjured the kitchen of her childhood, with the flagstone floor, the warm Aga, and the curtains billowing in the afternoon breeze. How desperate she had been for her mother’s comfort. But her mum wasn’t there. Her Aunt Lydia sat at the table, crying into a handkerchief, a cold cup of tea before her on the table. ‘It’s your parents, pet …’

Cat shook her head, tamping down the memories that threatened. Lydia had swept her away to London and had done her best to help Cat forge a new life.

Reaching for another piece of the thick linen paper she favoured, Cat started a new list of the things she had to do before she and Annie moved. Tomorrow she would start getting things sorted. She and Annie would need new coats, sweaters, Wellies, and other necessities for life in the country. By the time Annie and Lydia returned home, Cat had a plan in place.

Annie and Lydia found her in the darkened front room, the curtains drawn against the sun, drinking a large cup of tea. Lydia took one look at her and raised an eyebrow. She sent Annie off to wash up.

‘So you’ve talked to him? Told him how you feel? Annie’s been talking about the two of you all day. She’s fantasized the wedding, the dress, and she hopes to be in the wedding party.’

‘Whatever gave her that idea?’ Cat set her cup down.

Her aunt gave her a knowing look. Cat ignored it. She patted the spot next to her on the sofa. ‘Before Annie comes down, I need to talk to you.’

Lydia sat.

‘Thomas has offered me my job back. He’s been commissioned to write a series of books on monastic houses in Cumberland. I’ve decided to go with him. Annie will be safe there. The research should be interesting.’

Lydia snorted. Cat pushed on.

‘You can come with us, if you’d like. I’d feel better if you were out of the city.’

‘No. I’ll stick it out. I’ll have my cage in the basement to keep me safe from the bombs. I’ve lived in this house for over thirty years. I’ll not be pushed out by the likes of Adolf Hitler.’ Lydia put a cigarette in her mouth. ‘The child is on edge. A motor-car backfired today. Annie dropped her paint brush and promptly burst into tears. She needs to get out of London. How perfect of Thomas to ride in on his white horse and save the day.’

‘I’ll pretend that I don’t hear the undertone of sarcasm, darling,’ Cat said. ‘What about Annie’s lessons? She won’t be happy there without her art work.’

‘I’ll give her a list of projects that will take years. I’ll come for a good long stay at Christmas. How about that?’ Lydia said.

‘Perfect. We’ll have an old-fashioned country Christmas, like we used to do when my parents were alive. Maybe you’ll like it so much, you’ll stay.’

‘Don’t get your hopes up.’ Lydia smiled to take the sting out of her words. ‘Revisiting the past leads to inevitable disappointment.’

‘Thanks, Lydia.’

She looked at Cat in surprise. ‘For what?’

‘For letting Annie and me stay here these past few years, for standing by me.’ Cat would miss her aunt, their artsy friends, the hours of intellectual conversation with people who didn’t judge her. She would miss London, but she had Annie to think about. ‘I wish you’d come with us.’

Lydia patted Cat’s hand. ‘Don’t be afraid of him. Thomas Charles is not Benton Carlisle. The man loves you. Take a chance, love. Follow your heart.’

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘Why? Just tell me. I’ve watched you mope around this house since April. You love him. Why won’t you let yourself be happy?’

‘Because we’ll go along fine for a while. Then, slowly but surely, he’ll be telling me what I can and cannot do. Or he won’t, and he’ll ask me to marry him. Then what? I’ll have to say no. I’ve grown accustomed to my freedom, Lydia. Do you realize that I have yet to live in my own house, with furniture and paint and curtains that I pick out for myself?’ Cat shook her head. ‘Surely you of all people can understand that.’

‘That’s not it, and you know it. What are you afraid of? He’s a decent man, Cat. He’s foolish over you.’

‘What happens if he changes?’

‘Thomas? Don’t be absurd. He’s solid as a rock, that one.’

‘Ben changed.’ Cat met Lydia’s eyes. ‘Ben seemed solid, too. Ben loved me. He was kind, and tender, and utterly devoted.’

‘For how long, three years?’ Lydia gave her head a tiny shake. ‘He didn’t change, love. I knew what he was made of when I first laid eyes on him. Tom isn’t like Ben. I wish you’d just take my word for it. You’re about to turn 40. You’re lonely. I don’t want you to look back on your life with regret of a chance not taken. Of course, you could always take him as a lover. Just think, you could sneak around some quaint country village, spending the night in each other’s beds and creeping to your own house in the gloaming.’ Lydia spoke before Cat reacted. ‘Never mind. I know that’s not your style.’

Cat giggled.

‘In the end, you’ll do what’s best. Just keep your mind open. A solid relationship with a good man shouldn’t feel like a prison sentence.’ Lydia stood. She put her hands on her lower back and stretched. ‘We’ll leave it for now. At least he’s back and that cloak of doom that’s been hanging over you has lifted. You’re working together again. That’ll have to do for now.’