And Giles? Staring into his eyes in that photograph made my chest ache and my eyes sting. He looked so content, so thrilled with the surprise twist in our story that Hughie represented. I missed my husband with every waking moment, but as I looked at that photo again, I felt my grief would overwhelm me for the rest of my life.
I couldn’t do it. I could not read his letter. It would be the last words he ever spoke to me and that would mean he was really gone. I pushed it away as if it represented a physical danger to me, but then a thought sounded—if not now, when? I’d been tempted to open the parcel before my first mission, but I had the luxury then of knowing that if anything happened to me, my mother would know to share its contents with my son.
Just as Giles had left instructions to his CO to send me this parcel, I was the only person left who could do the same for Hughie, and I could be called up for my next mission at any time. Just like Chloe in the field, lamenting whatever the disagreement with her mother was, I had to ensure there was some kind of closure for my loved one left behind.
Weeping now, I unfolded the letter slowly, savoring the touch of the paper against my skin, knowing that it had last touched Giles’s hands. A sob burst from my lips at the sight of his handwriting—that pretty, careful scrawl, almost too flowery to come from the pen of such a strong man.
Eloise, my love,
You have been the greatest blessing of my life. Whatever happens, know that I have loved and adored you with every breath since the moment I saw you behind that desk at Hatfield.
If this war takes my life, but one day you and our baby live in a world at peace, it will have been worth it. Make sure that they know that their father loved them even from afar. Make sure they know that I was certain that they would be good and brave and brilliant.
And as for you, Eloise, do not let rage consume you if I am lost. Be safe and be well, and be happy. You deserve all of those things, my love, with or without me.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Giles
With shaking hands, I folded the paper up, and rested it gently in the little box I had picked up in Paris for Hughie. On top, I rested the photograph, and atop of that, the final item from the parcel: the rosary beads I gave to Giles the very last time I saw him.
The metal links were a little rusted now, the medal of St. Michael slightly bent. I tried not to think about whether Giles had those beads with him when he died. I tried not to picture another airman gently taking them from his pocket and washing them so I might have them back.
When I was called back into Baker Street just two days later for a meeting with Turner, I took that little box with me, stuffed with precious items for my son, including a note from me. It was so difficult to write and I could manage only a few lines before my emotions overtook me and I wound up weeping over the paper, but it was something. Giles’s last words meant the world to me, and I wanted to do the same for my son.
Hughie,
It is so impossibly hard to leave you but I step back into this war driven only by the need to know that I did everything I could to build a better world for you. Be safe, and know that you were loved and adored by both of your parents from the very first minute of your existence.
Be a great man, my son, just as your father was a great man. He lived his entire life in compassion, love and humility, and it is my hope and prayer that you will do the same.
Love always,
Your maman
“Make sure Hughie gets this if anything happens to me,” I told Turner. “It’s not much, but it will tell him who we were.”
After seeing Hughie in the park that day, the only way I could convince myself to leave him again was to promise myself that I was finishing my work for him, and only him.
C H A P T E R 15
JOSIE
Paris, France
March, 1944
The Paris operation was nothing like the tight triad Noah, Adrien and I had formed. The Success circuit had several w/t operators, a dozen couriers, and when I first joined, one somewhat battered circuit leader, César. At our very first meeting he warned me that the circuit had suffered a recent spate of arrests.
“A few of my agents were here too long and maybe they got complacent…” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “One agent was arrested after he made a habit of eating lunch at the same place every day. Some agents probably pushed too hard in their recruiting. But we’ve had some baffling arrests. One of my w/t operators just disappeared into thin air. Local contacts I thought were completely secure have been captured. I’m starting to think the only explanation is that the Germans have someone in London. Maybe someone right near the top.”
This prospect was fanciful—close to paranoid! The top ranks of the SOE were comprised of the most dedicated personalities I had ever encountered—Elwood, who was stern and could be cold, but who lived and breathed her work. Booth, who had been known to fall asleep midsentence, nap for a few moments, then wake up and get right back to working on some cryptography challenge. Turner, who loved to drink and would always offer a few pounds if the opportunity arose to gamble, but who was quick with a smile or to offer support, and who loved France with every fiber of his being. And Maxwell, who had a wife and children at home but made it very clear that so long as the war raged, his home family would be secondary to his work family.
“Not a chance,” I told César. He seemed dejected to the point of depression, and at my dismissal of this idea, he sighed wearily.
“Perhaps it’s someone here in France, then, but someone is exposing our methods and operations to the Germans. As you join us, you should know to watch your back.”
I got to work right away. The Success circuit was a hotbed of resistance activity—stretching across the city and into the regions around it. I was constantly on the move, cycling or walking or catching trains, delivering messages directly or via dead drop. Sometimes I helped move supplies from one place to another, smuggling cash or small weapons or medicine.
I constantly wished that Noah had been transferred with me, or even in my place. The challenges the Success circuit faced were so immense and he was such a skilled agent—I was doing my best, but felt certain he’d have been better able to rise to the challenge than I was.
At times, the loneliness of my new role seemed more than I could bear. The very nature of my work in that large circuit was that I was moving between other agents and contacts constantly, never forming close bonds with any of them. As I sat alone in my room night after night, I had so much time to worry and to ruminate. I worried about Noah. Was he safe, was he well? Would we both survive to reunite after the war? I worried about Maman, and even Aunt Quinn, and everything we said to one another on that final, awful meeting.
German eyes were on me everywhere I went, the danger every bit as intense in Paris as it had been in Montbeliard right after the bombing. In the first few weeks after my arrival, I heard of seven new arrests. I even had a close call myself during what I thought was a meeting with another courier. I arrived at the apartment to find the door unlocked, just as I had been told to expect, but when I pushed it open, two Gestapo officers were waiting.
“Name and papers,” the first one said. After a split second of panic, I retrieved my falsified papers from my handbag.
“I’m Margot Barre,” I said, giving them the new cover name I’d adopted with the move to Paris. I was trying to sound innocent, but my voice came out rough and uncertain. Their gazes sharpened as they looked back down at my papers. I forced a cough and peered around. “Is this the home of Dr. Le Lievre?”