“Elwood and Maxwell are already planning to ask you to return to France.”
“I’ll refuse,” I gasped incredulously. “Everything has changed now! Surely you understand that.”
“Did Elwood give you the photograph she purchased?”
“She did, but…”
“Then you saw how settled he was. That was just two days after your mother’s passing. He is well settled where he is, and more importantly, he is safe there. Even if you retrieve him tonight, all you do is to make him identifiable again. And if you do choose to return—”
“I won’t!” I interrupted him rudely. “My priority must be my son now, Mr. Turner. I can keep him safe better than anyone can.”
“The work is not finished, Eloise.”
“But it is finished for me now that my mother is dead!” I exclaimed roughly. “I did everything the SOE asked of me. I went to Normandy. I’ve—”
“That’s precisely my point,” he interrupted me. “You have knowledge of the Normandy region that could be vital in the future. You will need to take time to process the news today and to make sense of it, but I know the fierceness of your spirit—I saw it every day when you were training. D-Day is surely approaching, Eloise, and France is the key to ending the war so that Europe can be free—” He broke off, then his voice dropped as he whispered, “So we can all be free.”
“There is no precedent for the Germans injuring the families of agents on British soil, sir. Is there?” I said, throat tight.
“There are few precedents for any of this, Eloise,” Turner said, and suddenly he seemed almost as tired as I was. He dropped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. “It’s not uncommon for the Germans to figure out who our agents really are if they are arrested and now, we have someone on the inside sharing personal details so…who knows what comes next.”
“But you can’t seriously suspect a double agent at the very top of the organization,” I said. He looked right at me, stricken as he nodded.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Who else knows your real name? The details of your family? Those files are secure—only the highest echelons of the SOE can access them.”
“But Mr. Booth would never,” I said fiercely. “And Miss Elwood? Not a chance! And my God, if it’s Colonel Maxwell, we’re all doomed. It makes no sense, sir.”
“You’re just going to have to trust me when I say that I know for certain someone has divulged your identity and I am certain that there is a double agent. You must not breathe a word of this to any of them—not Elwood, not Booth, not Maxwell.”
“But Elwood had Hughie for days after my mother died,” I whispered. “If you don’t trust her, why leave him with her?”
“It is an exceedingly difficult situation to understand, let alone to explain to you without putting you in still more danger. Maybe this person found themselves in an impossible situation,” he said wearily. “And Eloise, you are just unlucky enough to have been sent to Normandy—the most contentious commune in France. Some bastard German was utterly determined to know who you were and our double agent possibly had no choice but to give you away, perhaps not even realizing your family would be exposed too. Every agent who goes into occupied territory gambles with their life, but this mission always put you at an extra level of risk.”
“You make it sound like the double agent is powerless but there is always the choice to do the right thing. The betrayal is unforgivable,” I said furiously. “Unimaginable! They should hang! Tell me you’re close to exposing them.”
“It is unforgivable. But it’s also no surprise to any of us that these Germans are utterly ruthless. And please trust me when I tell you that I am handling this the best way I can,” he said firmly, then softer, “Please believe me when I tell you I am doing my absolute best.”
“I do, sir,” I whispered. My eyes were burning with unshed tears, but I hated anyone to see me cry. I turned away from him to stare out the window. “I need to see my son, Mr. Turner. Please take me to him.”
“I don’t think you’ll retire from the SOE—not until the war is finished. And if there is any possibility that I’m right about that, I strongly suggest you leave your boy where he is.”
I closed my eyes. I imagined a future where I collected Hughie and took him back to our flat. We grieved my mother together. We established a normal life again—visits to the library, the park, the grocery store. Perhaps, if the Allies won the war, I would eventually come to terms with my decision to step back from the SOE. I’d unwrap that parcel of Giles’s belongings. I’d learn to live with the reality that my husband’s death was unfair and unjust and that was just the way it was.
But if the Allies lost? Britain would fall one day. My son would grow up in a world where Nazi hatred reigned supreme. And I would have to live with the knowledge that I didn’t do everything in my power to make the world a better place for him.
My heart sank. As exhausted as I was, as unthinkable as it was, I realized that I would return to France if the SOE did indeed ask me to. Maybe this time not for Giles, but for Hughie himself.
“I will need to meet this woman,” I said. “I need to see where he’s living. If you want me to entrust my son to her, I’ll need to know who she is.”
“It should be very apparent to you now that in the field, anything can happen. If you return to France and you’re captured, you will take with you the details of every surviving shred of the Normandy networks with you in your mind. You can only be sure that your interrogation would be especially fierce—you cannot predict how you’ll cope with that. If you genuinely have no idea where Hugh is, that is one less vulnerability they can use again you.” To my frustration, a tear slipped from my eye, onto my cheek. I brushed it away impatiently. Turner sighed gently and dropped his voice. “I’ll arrange for you to see him from a distance. Without his carer seeing your face, without him seeing you because that would be unsettling, you’ll see that I’m right—he’s perfectly safe and content.”
“So only you will know where he is.”
“That’s right.”
“And if something happens to me in France?”
“He’ll be well cared for with this woman and her family.”
“How can I go back to France, knowing there is a traitor in Baker Street?”
“You have to trust me when I tell you that there is one bad apple but the rest of our team are exemplary,” he said heavily.
“And if something happens to you while I’m gone? What happens to my son?”
“The moment I resolve the situation with the double agent,” he said, “I’ll be sure to update your file with the precise detail of where he is.”
“How did you find this woman?” I asked Turner the next day. We were sitting in his car on one side of a stretch of parklands opposite an historic convent. I was holding binoculars. Turner was tapping the steering wheel.
“Through a trusted friend,” he said.