In the morning I dragged myself out of bed, having had hardly any sleep. When the milking was done, and I’d called at Rose Cottage to check Leo Badger’s progress, I made my way back up to the house and took the path that led down to the church. I peered round the door to make sure no one was there. I tiptoed in and sat in one of the pews. My eyes were drawn to the crucifix above the altar. The figure of Christ was as pale as the candlesticks on the table below. He looked emaciated, defeated—a stark contrast to the buxom, fiery-eyed mermaid carved into the choir stall a few feet away.
Please, tell me what I should do.
I knew God wasn’t going to speak to me. I’d sat like this too many times to hope for a clear voice inside my head. But I prayed that he would answer through my conscience. I closed my eyes. Jack was there, waiting in the darkness. I saw myself sitting beside him at the helm of a boat, dressed in oilskins and a sailor’s cap like the old fishermen in the village. I almost smiled. It was such an absurd image, a risible imitation of the novel I’d been reading, where the heroine disguised herself as a cabin boy to go plundering ships with her pirate. But even as I mocked myself, the thought of going off on a secret mission with Jack was intoxicating.
Why was my imagination so much more powerful than my conscience? How could I know if the answer God seemed to be giving was nothing but my own cloaked desire?
“Hello.”
The voice made me jump. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts I hadn’t heard the door open, or the sound of footsteps.
“I thought I might find you in here.” Merle was standing at the end of the pew. “I wanted to apologize.”
I didn’t know what to say. It stung me that the friendship she’d seemed to offer had an ulterior motive. But how could I criticize her when I’d lied about myself?
“I’m sorry.” She sat down beside me. “He said we had to test you out. But as soon as I met you, I felt guilty, because you were so warm and so kind to the children. I wanted us to be friends.”
“How much did he tell you about me?”
“That you were a nun, but couldn’t go back to that life,” she replied. “And that you spoke fluent French. He wanted to know if you were capable of concealing who you really are, that you’d be convincing. That’s important, in the sort of work our people do.”
Our people. I couldn’t help wondering what else Merle and Jack might be concealing from me. Knowing that they were working together so closely only stoked the suspicion that had taken root that afternoon in the churchyard, when I thought I’d seen him place a hand on her back.
“I hope you’ll forgive me,” Merle went on. “There’ll be no more pretending. You know everything now.”
“Everything?” The expression on my face must have betrayed what was going through my mind.
“You think there’s something between us?” Merle gasped. “Goodness, no!”
“I . . . I’m sorry, I—”
“You thought that because of what I told you about Maurice, I’d be looking elsewhere.” She pursed her lips. “That’s understandable, I suppose. And it’s true. I have fallen in love with someone else.” She opened her handbag and pulled out a leather wallet. Inside was a black-and-white image of a dark-haired man in workman’s overalls standing in the doorway of a greenhouse. “His name’s Fred Bechélet. He worked on our farm on Guernsey.” She handed the photograph to me. “He was there for me when I was at my lowest ebb, when I found out about Maurice’s affair and the baby Ruby was expecting. After a while it developed into something more than a friendship.” She glanced at me, her eyes wary, probably wondering if I’d disapprove.
“I don’t think anyone would blame you,” I said.
She grunted. “Maurice did. He was furious when he found out. Fred lost his job.”
“Where is Fred now?”
“Somewhere in North Africa.” Her face clouded. “He’s not allowed to say exactly where. He joined the Hampshire Regiment a few days after the war broke out.” She took something else from her bag. “This is his last letter.” She stared at the smudged postmark on the envelope. “Everything he writes is censored. He always tries to make me laugh. He draws funny little caricatures of the officers in his camp. But the newspapers are full of what’s been happening out there. The Germans are trying to cut off the Suez Canal and the Persian oil fields. There’s so much at stake he must be in terrible danger.”