The Paris Agent(104)

“But why lie to us about her death?” Dad asks brokenly.

“The same reason he made such a mess of the SOE files, Noah. He was covering his tracks,” Helen says. She glances across to Drusilla. “Why do you think he told you that dreadful lie about her carelessness in the field, Dr. Sallow? He wanted you to be ashamed. He wanted to keep her story secret, and he really didn’t want you asking questions because they would have led you straight to us. Later, he destroyed her file so that there was no chance we would find you either.”

“So where is he now?” Dad demands, thumping his fist onto the desk. “Tell me the bastard is in prison for what he did.”

“It took us far too long to realize that he was still creating chaos even once the war was over,” Helen admits. “I didn’t make it back to London until 1946. I was shocked to learn then that Booth and Maxwell were growing suspicious of Gerard in the wake of the mess he made in the records department. They had looked back at the chaos of the war and could finally see the connections between Turner and so many incidents that made little sense at the time. MI6 arrested him to conduct an interview, but I’m sorry to say he took a cyanide pill in the car on the way to questioning.”

Dad’s face falls.

“So he never even faced trial?”

“Not in this life, Noah. I’m sorry.”

“My daughter and I…we parted on very difficult terms and for twenty-four years…” Drusilla whispers numbly.

“She regretted that, Doctor Sallow,” Dad says urgently, as his gaze flicks between Drusilla and Quinn.

“She actually tried to write you,” Helen adds, and from her file, she withdraws a sheet of yellow notepaper. “She passed this letter back to me via another agent who was briefly posted in Paris with her. I wasn’t allowed to send it to you at the time. The rules were very strict about agent contact with home during their field missions, but it’s clear she was desperate to make amends.”

She passes the note across the table. There’s a long, strained moment where Drusilla just stares at the note, frozen.

“Read it to me,” she whispers to her friend. Quinn reaches out and takes it gingerly, then in a low, unsteady voice, reads,

“‘Maman, I am so sorry for the way we said goodbye that morning. I love you, so very much, and I only want you to be happy. You have always fought so hard for me. You have always fought so hard in everything you do, and that is the example I follow now as I go to fight. I am stronger than I ever knew and I want only for you to be proud of me. Please don’t worry too much. I am exactly where I am meant to be. With love, always…’” Quinn pauses. “It’s not signed.”

“She couldn’t sign it,” Helen explains. “She wrote it in the field and she knew better than to leave evidence like that. But I assure you, it came from Josie.”

“I recognize her handwriting.” Drusilla weeps, picking up that little letter and cradling it against her chest. “Oh, my baby.”

“I’m a highly organized woman,” Helen tells us. “I’d have filed that letter in Jocelyn’s personnel file and it would have been lost in the fire, except that the D-Day planning began in earnest right about the same time and I was run off my feet. I forgot all about the letter for years—I only found it in my desk when I returned to pack up once I’d finished searching for the missing agents. By then, of course, we had no idea how to find you, Dr. Sallow, but I’ve held onto it for all of these years…just in case…” Drusilla and her friend are holding one another close and sobbing now, and I feel like an intruder in this room. I look away, as Helen murmurs almost to herself, “I kept all kinds of random things I discovered when we cleaned out Baker Street. Gerard’s office was such a mess! The man was a real pack rat. During the investigation, MI6 went into his flat and his office to search for classified materials and as they went, they boxed up everything else for disposal. I convinced them to keep it all in storage. Maxwell told me I was mad to think there’d be anything of worth in Gerard’s old trinkets and clothing and crockery, and maybe he was right. We just had no way of knowing what damage Gerard had done along the way, so I wanted to keep every scrap of evidence from his life, just in case we ever found we needed it.”

“He told me he’d ensure Jocelyn’s name was suppressed if the records were ever unsealed. He told me it was for the best if no one knew of her mistakes,” Drusilla says now, her voice shaking with anger. “For twenty-four years I thought my daughter died in shame. I thought her death meant nothing.”

“Your daughter was a bloody hero,” my dad insists, tears streaming down his face. “It’s a travesty that you were ever allowed to think otherwise. But this is my fault. It’s all my fault.” He covers his face with his hands, shoulders shaking as he weeps.

“Dad,” I say, bewildered. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I knew she’d make a good agent. And I wanted to see her again, so…” He breaks off, stricken. “I nominated her. Tell them, Miss Elwood. Tell them what I did.”

“During his training, Noah told us about Josie.” Helen nods. “He had correctly identified in her the qualities of a brilliant agent after what he’d seen on their journey on the escape line. That’s why we invited her to try out for the SOE.”