Thank you all for reading and your kind reviews, I really do appreciate each and every one even if I don't always get around to saying thank you personally. I mentioned at the start of chapter thirteen that the story was drawing to a conclusion and this is the penultimate chapter.
Chapter Fifteen
December 1943
"Good afternoon, Miss. Nice to see you again."
The smile of welcome from the Commissionaire behind the desk in the lobby was warm and genuine and George realised with surprise that this was no affectation. He really did remember her even though it had been many months since she had first walked through the door into the unassuming apartment block wondering exactly why she had been asked to attend an interview in such a strange location.
"It's nice to be back."
She meant it too even though the three months that had passed since she and Emile had returned from Spain had been more unsettling than she could have imagined. Returning here seemed somehow right and fitting. It was time to find herself some useful activity again and at the back of her mind was the thought of seeing Emile again. They had arranged to meet later in the park and she was longing to spend time with him after an enforced absence of many weeks. There had been phone calls and letters but nothing could take the place of being with him.
"Captain Ferris is expecting you, Miss. Go right on up."
She turned towards the stairs knowing exactly where she was heading and looking forward to hearing what SOE had to offer her.
X-X-X-X
George and Emile had returned to England in the second week of September via the British consulate in Bilbao, swiftly succeeded by the Embassy in Madrid and finally by an RAF flight from Gibraltar.
The British Consulate in Bilbao had detained them for a few of days whilst checking with London to establish their identity. As an official 'Non Belligerent', Spain was awash with foreign agents and intrigue, not least amongst them Germans, and London was understandably cautious about accepting the two new arrivals at face value. However, after Emile and George had supplied sufficient personal details to convince SOE in Baker Street that they were indeed who they claimed to be they were transported to the Embassy in Madrid where an intelligence officer debriefed them, obtaining details of their route through France and how they had escaped across the Pyrénées.
It was in Madrid that Emile had also been given his first proper medical attention since Doctor Lambert had performed rudimentary surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder at the Moreau's farm a few weeks earlier. The doctor who attended him was of the opinion that although the wound had healed reasonably despite the infection that had laid him low, there had been some muscle and tendon damage and Emile would need further treatment and rehabilitation to improve the mobility of his shoulder and right arm which was still giving him pain and discomfort. It was hardly surprising, the doctor had concluded, that his recovery had been affected given the manner in which he had been forced to recuperate. Embarking on long dangerous journeys with little rest, sleep or food not to mention that final arduous four day trek over the mountains was unlikely to have helped his progress.
Emile had felt every aching step of that fifteen thousand feet climb, had sweated in the sapping heat at the lower levels and shivered in the dank, freezing mists that had soaked them to the skin at the higher altitudes whilst George had trudged on beside him, equally as weary, but without ever uttering a word of complaint. It was fortunate that Emile had been strong and fit before he had been deployed to France as he had needed every ounce of those reserves to get him over that final hurdle to freedom. It was only when he was finally able to let his guard down and accept that he had reached safety that he felt the true bone aching weariness borne not only of his injury but the many months of tension and stress in France and it was not until they reached Madrid that he had finally succumbed to the deep, untroubled sleep of the unburdened and accepted it was over.
When the plane from Gibraltar had touched down in England, George and Emile found a car waiting for them and were promptly whisked away to an old manor house which had been requisitioned for the duration and used as a retreat for returning agents. It was set in substantial grounds, somewhere well away from prying eyes and gave them an opportunity to rest, relax, re-acclimatise and undergo a full debrief which took place over a period of days.
George had been glad of the time and as the debriefing sessions continued she began to realise how much she needed to get her thoughts together. She had already been told that once the debriefing was completed she would be sent on an extended period of leave and the prospect of seeing her family again after so many weeks away in such difficult circumstances was hard to contemplate particularly knowing that she would have to lie about everything she had done. She knew that she needed time to create yet another imaginary world in which she was just Private Lane coming home on leave after manning an ack-ack site in Scotland. She longed to see her family but she was strangely nervous too.
At the end of the first day George had wandered into the lounge at the manor house just before dinner to find it was deserted apart from Emile relaxing on the sofa, his eyes half closed and his legs stretched out in front of him as if he was taking a quick nap before dinner. On their arrival at the manor house they had been provided with their own clothes again and seeing him casually dressed like any Englishman at home after so many weeks in France she couldn't help but stop and stare. Opening his eyes in surprise he looked slightly embarrassed.
"Something wrong?"
"I've never seen you like this before. It looks odd somehow."
He looked her up and down, taking in the unusual sight of her dressed in a brightly printed frock, the like of which he had never seen in France and a cardigan that was not quite a complementary shade of blue but was necessary as there was a chill in the air. She looked tired and the dress also looked loose on her and he realised that the long weeks in France and the last few weeks in particular had taken their toll.
"Well, you look beautiful."
She walked slowly towards him her eyes locked with his as she fought to keep a straight face, "Trust you."
"Trust me, what?"
She shook her head at him, "To lie."
He patted the seat next to him inviting her to join him, "I'm not lying. You are beautiful. Granted the dress might not be the nicest view of you I've ever had…"
He was incorrigible. She started to laugh and he didn't wait any longer but reaching out his left hand to her he caught her fingers in his and pulled her down onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
"What if someone comes in?"
"They'll go out again."
He didn't give her time to utter another word as with a sense of immense relief his lips found hers and with it the affirmation that they could really start to think about the future. Only the sound of the dinner gong in the distance brought them back up for air and even then it took some persuasion from George to encourage Emile to get up from the sofa and head for the dining room.
"You need to build up your strength, Emile."
He winked, "I probably do."
"I'm serious, Emile. "
He rose stiffly to his feet, betraying the fact that George was right.
"Pity I haven't got much appetite for whale meat but lead on Doctor Lane. I will follow your orders to the letter."
Much later, long after they had concluded the surprisingly acceptable dinner in the company of some of the SOE officers who worked at the reception centre, they found themselves once again alone, sitting out on the terrace as darkness fell. They sat close together on a bench and George reached for Emile's hand and held it fast.
"Major Brownlee thinks I'll be able to go off on leave in another two days," she whispered." I didn't think I'd ever say this, least of all when I think of those days in prison in Varennes but I'm almost dreading it."
Emile nodded, "It won't be easy being around other people who can't know what you've done and possibly wouldn't understand how you feel even if they did know."
He was right, of course, but even in these luxurious moments of calm and safety she recalled the conversations with her debriefing officers and her thoughts returned inevitably to France.
"Do you think about the others?" she asked without looking at him. "I keep wondering about Jacques, Sebastian and Louis or the sisters in Varennes. I worry that all those people who helped us are still out there in danger and someone might have betrayed them."
Emile wondered whether to impart something he had heard today and was tempted for a moment to keep quiet but he knew he had no right to patronise George. She was his equal and he didn't need to protect her from the truth, however painful.
"Louis was arrested about a week after we left. Brownlee told me. He was a good man. Sorry George."
The news hurt her. She remembered so clearly setting out from Tempsford with Louis thinking how little suited he seemed to the job but he had done his work well and defied the odds, keeping operational far longer than was expected.
"God willing, he still is a good man."
Emile said nothing. There was no need. They both knew Louis's future was at best very uncertain.
It was late and George was tired. She rose from the bench and Emile looked up at her with one questioning raised eyebrow.
"I'm going to bed."
She waited expecting a quip or comment but he merely caught her hand and raising it to his lips, kissed it. There was something sad about the gesture that touched her and she sensed he was low-spirited.
"What no risqué suggestion?"
He shook his head. "Sleep well, you've earned it."
"So have you."
"Have I? When I think of men like Jacques it feels as if I've just abandoned them to fight alone."
Now George understood what was bothering him.
"We had no choice, Emile. The circuit was broken, we were all at risk of arrest and you were injured."
"Oh yes," Emile replied with more than a hint of sarcasm, "My injury. I forgot to mention that they're sending me to see an orthopaedic chap. Apparently the doc in Madrid sent over a report and they're concerned about my arm."
So this was another issue that was playing on his mind. She tried to sound positive.
"Well that's good isn't it?"
He gave her a sidelong glance, "You sound like the Colonel, now. Has he told you to chivvy me along or something?"
She shook her head, "Of course not. I only meant it would be good to get it treated properly."
He gave her a thin smile, "Alright, Doctor Lane. I hear you."
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, "Make sure you hear them, Emile."
He nodded and released her hand and she walked away, leaving him to watch the night sky in the company of his own thoughts. She knew that he needed to be alone right now and after so many weeks of putting on an act and playing a role in her every waking moment she knew that she also needed time to reacquaint herself with simply being Georgina Lane.
X-X-X-X
The house looked the same as always, the very image of a respectable home on a quiet suburban street. George had returned here so many times in the past, from school, from work and on other occasions on leave from her ATS postings but this time she was assailed by a mix of emotions that ranged from surprise that it should be unchanged in any way to unashamed nostalgia as if she had been absent for years rather than months. Despite being familiar with every paving stone on the winding path that led to the blue painted front door with the stained glass panels that cast a multi-coloured glow into the hall as the sun rose in the morning, she still hesitated and felt the unnerving urge to check behind her, fearful that someone might be following her. It was difficult to throw off the habits that had become so ingrained in France and she paused and took a deep breath before heading around to the back door of the house, knowing that at this time of day her mother would be in the kitchen preparing the evening meal and expecting her father home from work.
She opened the door and called out, "Mum?"
There was silence and she called again more loudly, "Mum? It's George."
Footsteps hurried along the hall and then her mother was before her, a smile of surprise and delight on her face,
"Oh, come here, my darling, and let me give you a hug,"
Genevieve Lane swept towards George and enveloped her in a tidal wave of love, her arms tightly winding around her daughter, pulling her in close and relishing the fact that she finally had all her family safely back in the fold.
"Aren't they feeding you in Scotland?" she asked a moment later, stepping back a little to survey her daughter.
George smiled, "Well, there is a war on, Mum, and anyway we're very busy all the time."
"Too busy to eat?" The sound of her father's voice behind her in the hall, made George spin around. He had just come through the front door having finished work.
"Dad!" She rushed towards him with her arms outstretched and he embraced her and kissed her cheek before holding her at arms' length and taking a long look at her. "Your mother's right. You look a bit thin and peaky, love. Is it really that busy up in Scotland? I don't remembering hearing much about raids up there."
George tried to keep smiling but she hoped this wasn't going to be a continual line of questioning as it might become wearisome after a while although thankfully her father changed tack as another idea occurred to him.
"It's not some chap is it? Because if some fella's been messing you about, he'll be sorry if I catch up with him."
This time George laughed out loud, "No Dad. It's nothing to do with any chap. I'm just busy that's all. We do a lot of PT and walks and go to dances."
"Well I can't wait to join up, it sounds a lot better than being here," George's youngest sister, Lulu, called as she rushed downstairs. George ran to embrace her, "It sounded like you were having a whale of a time the last time you wrote," Lulu continued. "I'm not surprised we mostly only get postcards. You must be having too much fun to write properly."
"It's not fun all the time," George replied, thinking her sister couldn't have been any further from the truth than she was now. "We do work quite hard too."
"Well, the sooner I can get in uniform the better," Lulu concluded. "It's rotten being seventeen, you know. Everyone treats you like a child."
"Don't be in too much of a hurry," George said with feeling, "Let's hope the war's over soon and then we can all go back to a normal life."
Lulu pulled a face, "Well I ruddy well hope it's not over too soon."
"Lulu!" her mother admonished as much for the use of what she considered coarse language as the sentiment.
George smiled. It was so good to hear her mother scolding her little sister just as it had always been and to hear the spirited Lulu expressing her opinions in her usual forthright manner. She had missed them so much and had to fight to keep the tears from her eyes when she considered how she had almost lost them forever. However, it also brought into very sharp contrast her life here and the one she had left behind only a couple of weeks ago.
She looked around her, "Where's Marie?"
"She'll be back soon," her father informed her. "She's been helping up at the Women's Institute this afternoon. They're sorting out all the donated clothing for the bombed out families."
The news surprised George, "I didn't realise she was so public-spirited."
"Well we all have to do our bit and she's just filling in until the WAAF call her for basic training," her father advised whilst taking off his coat and hanging it up in the hall.
For a moment George was nonplussed, "The WAAF?"
"Aye, don't you remember?" Max said. "She volunteered for the WAAF a couple of months ago. She said she wasn't having anything to do with the Wrens and they only wanted la-di-da toffs anyway and she doesn't think much of your lot. Apparently the uniform's the wrong colour. Sorry, love."
Somewhere in her debriefing George remembered being brought up to date with news that her family had sent her in her absence. She had been given all the letters that had been redirected from Scotland but she hadn't really found the time to read them all thoroughly. They were all in her kit bag and she knew that she ought to acquaint herself with what had been happening in the Lane household but she would need to do so in secret or it might raise unwelcome questions.
"I hope the WAAF knows what's coming their way," she joked.
Max shook his head, "It's funny hearing you say that. I thought the same about you when you joined the ATS but you've done alright for yourself."
She nodded. "Yes, Dad. I've done alright."
"Well, let's not stand around in the hall. Come on through to the back parlour, love. We'll have a cup of tea and you can tell us all about everything. I bet you've got a few stories."
George stood back and let them lead the way. She took a deep breath and tried to get her thoughts in order but all she could hear inside her head was her conscious repeating if only you knew the half of it.
X-X-X-X
George glanced to her right at the profile of her sister, Marie, illuminated by the bright light from the cinema screen. She was staring ahead, biting her lower lip in anticipation of the next scene, obviously engrossed and enthralled by the exploits of Anna Neagle as a British spy in The Yellow Canary and no doubt on the edge of her seat willing Richard Greene to come to the rescue before the Nova Scotia based Nazi's were able to carry out their deadly plan. Marie had been keen to the see the film and George had had no objections to accompanying her but as much as she knew it was fiction she was finding it difficult to take the story seriously. It was so far removed from her own experiences that she almost laughed in one or two places before thinking sadly how little anyone here could possibly understand what it was like to live under oppression.
When the film reached its happy conclusion and the lights came up Marie turned to George with a smile on her face.
"That was great, wasn't it. Oh gosh, I wouldn't mind Richard Greene looking out for me."
George shrugged, "It was alright."
"Only alright?" Marie's voice rose an octave in complete astonishment at her sister's review.
George joined Marie in scrambling to her feet as other members of the audience started to make their way out of the cinema and showed signs of wanting to push past them.
"I just meant it's a bit far-fetched."
They stepped out into the aisle and started to make their way through the crush of bodies towards the exit.
"Hark at you the expert!" Marie scoffed.
George waited until they were outside before responding, "I did enjoy it, Marie. I just don't think that's what it would really be like."
Marie pulled a face, "Well, we'll never know, so it doesn't really matter does it?"
"No, I suppose not."
George realised there was little point in arguing with her sister when she was in this kind of mood. Their relationship had sometimes been tense. George knew it was awkward for Marie being the middle sister. George had always been the one to forge ahead and do everything first and had attracted her parents' interest and praise, Lulu was the baby of the family, spirited and opinionated but somehow indulged because she was the youngest but Marie had lived in that difficult middle ground where nothing she did was ever considered unusual and she was expected to learn from her eldest sister's example whilst not upsetting the youngest. George knew Marie was potentially spoiling for a fight and felt it safer to change the subject.
"Are you ready for the WAAF?"
"I suppose so. Were you ready for the ATS?"
George tried to remember how she had felt more than two years ago on leaving home and mixing with women who had come from all over the country and all walks of life. It had been a steep learning curve but it seemed like a lifetime ago when she considered all that had happened in the past few months.
"Yes, I think so. I enjoyed it."
"That sounds like you don't enjoy it anymore," Marie said picking up on the past tense.
"I was thinking of what it was like at the start that's all. It's just different now."
"In what way?" Marie persisted. "Mum was always reading out those postcards of yours. You sounded like you were having a wonderful time. I don't know why you're complaining."
"I'm not complaining," George replied beginning to feel exasperated by her sister's questions. " I've just found it different recently."
They walked on in silence for a minute or two before Marie remarked, "You've changed, George. You seem fed up with everything, like the film just now. You used to love going to the pictures, seeing all the new films and talking about it afterwards but it's like you just don't care about any of that stuff anymore."
"I do, Marie. Just because I didn't think much of Anna Neagle or Richard Greene doesn't mean I've changed."
"It's not just that," Marie replied, "You've been really quiet since you came home. You wrote all that stuff you were doing up in Scotland but you've hardly said anything about it since you got back. You just seem like a different person."
George was glad it was dark because her sister couldn't have hit the nail on the head more accurately if she had tried. There was no escaping the fact that George had changed more than she could ever have imagined. She couldn't just sweep aside her experiences but she couldn't talk about them either and after more than two weeks at home she knew she was desperate to be able to talk freely to someone who would understand. Everything that had happened before France seemed irrelevant. Her work in the ATS had been important but she had been living on her wits, her instinct and her nerves for several months and nothing could compare with that feeling of living on the very edge of life. It was hardly surprising that she found it difficult to be interested in a film that was far removed from reality, her father's struggles with meat rationing, Lulu's exasperation at being caught in that awkward stage between childhood and adulthood or Marie's impatience to join the WAAF. At this moment she realised how much she longed to see Emile. At least with him she didn't have to pretend; he understood everything.
They were nearing home and George had no wish to continue this conversation in front of her parents and sought to close down the subject.
"I expect I have changed a bit, Marie. It's the war and you'll change too when you join up, wait and see."
She pushed open the garden gate and they made their way in the pitch darkness of the blackout up the familiar path and round to the back of the house. George opened the back door and stepped into the parlour. Her parents were sitting at the table, listening to a dance band on the wireless. Her mother was knitting using some wool she had salvaged from an old jumper which Lulu had outgrown and Max was polishing shoes and humming along to the tune. They both looked up as their two older daughters came in.
"Did you enjoy the film?" Genevieve asked with a smile.
Marie immediately launched into a detailed retelling of the story with much embellishment, chiefly related to the actions, expressions and dialogue of Richard Greene. Max caught George's eye. "What did you think?"
Marie broke away from her description and butted in, "Oh, George didn't like it. She thought it was far-fetched."
George shook her head, "It just wasn't my favourite, that's all." She had no desire to start the conversation all over again, "I'm going to bed." She bent to kiss her father and mother in turn, "Goodnight."
She headed upstairs without delay but couldn't help overhearing Marie's final remark, "There's something up with her. I reckon something happened in Scotland."
X-X-X-X
The bus from Grantley station deposited George at the gates of the RAF hospital in what seemed to her like the wilds of East Anglia. It had been a long journey from Manchester by train, with plenty of stops and starts along the way that reminded her of some of the difficult journeys she and Emile had endured in France but at least without the element of danger. She wished Emile hadn't been sent to the RAF hospital for the operation on his damaged shoulder but it seemed that they preferred to treat their own. Despite having worked in SOE he was considered to be a serving RAF officer and it was therefore deemed appropriate that he was treated in an RAF hospital. It was also an unfortunate fact that some of the most skilled orthopaedic surgeons were to be found in hospitals treating the steady supply of patients requiring complex surgery on combat injuries and he was considered to be yet another.
Emile had written to George about his operation. She had opened the letter at the breakfast table and after reading the contents informed her parents that she would be leaving early the next morning and wouldn't be back until late.
"Where are you going, George?" Lulu had asked through a mouthful of toast much to her mother's annoyance.
"To see a friend who's in hospital."
Max lowered the newspaper he was reading.
"Who's the friend?"
She had shaken her head, "No one you know, Dad"
"That's not what I asked," he replied, "but you're saying it's going to take all day?"
"It's a long way from here. You know what the trains are like."
George saw her mother and father exchange looks and her mother commented, "Well, it's kind of you to visit them, George. I'm sure they'll appreciate it. You can take some of the roses from the garden, if you like. It's getting late in the season but there are still some in bloom."
George shook her head, "Thank you but I don't think so."
She folded up her letter and stuffed it back into the envelope before rising from the table and starting to clear the dishes away intending to get on with the washing up but as she turned away she heard her mother whisper across the table to her father, "It's a man!"
As she pushed open the door of the ward, George was certainly glad she hadn't turned up with a bunch of roses. She could imagine the look Emile would have given her had she presented him with a posy of pink blooms. It was a long ward lined with metal beds on either side and almost all were full. Some of the men were sitting up in bed reading newspapers or paperback novels. A few were in dressing gowns and playing cards together at a table. Others were lying flat on their backs strapped up in traction or with blanket tents over injuries to lower limbs. The lucky ones had visitors with them as it was mid-afternoon and visiting time. As she walked down the ward looking for Emile, George felt more than a few pairs of eyes upon her and heard a few entreaties not to go any further as she would be wasting her time but apart from smiling once or twice in the direction of the voice she carried on walking knowing there was only one person she wanted to waste her time with.
Emile was sitting up in bed, dressed in RAF regulation blue pyjamas, with his right arm in a sling. He looked tired and as she gazed at him she wondered if he was in pain but the moment he caught sight of her approaching his face broke into a broad grin and as she drew near he said, "You're a sight for sore eyes, George, and mine are particularly painful given the view in here."
She moved closer to the bed and sat on the chair at the side, "How are you feeling?"
He sighed, "A lot better than the last time my shoulder was in this state."
She smiled, "It must be the morphine."
"Or maybe the company and the knowledge that no one's trying to kill me this time."
George looked around her at all the beds occupied mostly it seemed by injured aircrew.
"What's it like in here?"
He pulled a face, "Alright as military hospitals go. The Matron's a dragon, the Sister's a stickler for the rules but Nurse Frazer's a dear." George could imagine Emile giving some pretty young nurse a flash of his smile and sending her heart all aflutter but she passed no comment and he continued, "The conversation's a bit sticky sometimes when they ask where I'm based or what I think of the Wellington versus the Lancaster but I get by. Actually, I ran into an old friend last week, Charlie James. He got badly shot up on a raid over Krefeld and crash landed up at RAF Milton. His leg's in a bad way but by the sounds of it he's lucky to be alive."
George remembered the name, "Well it's nice you've got someone to talk to. Does he know about…" she left it unsaid and Emile shook his head.
"No, but he's been transferred now anyway. His mother pulled strings and got him sent to a rehabilitation hospital near Bath. He didn't seem very pleased about it for some reason. I think there's a girl involved somewhere."
George smiled, "There usually is with you lot, isn't there."
He grinned, that easy boyish, cheeky grin that had once infuriated her but which she now loved.
"Thank god there is."
He reached out his left hand to her, grasped her hand in his and pulled her towards him. He kissed her not caring who was watching and George heard the round of cheers in the ward that accompanied it. They broke apart and she found herself blushing at the attention. It amused Emile. He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him.
"I can't believe a woman who told an Abwehr officer pointing a gun at her that he was not a gentleman, could be embarrassed by a kiss."
He had a point but she merely replied, "There's a time and place for everything."
"Talking of which," he responded, "What have you they got lined up for you after your leave. Any ideas?"
George shrugged. There had been no specific long-term plans mooted about what would happen next but Miss Watkins, the SOE officer who kept in regular contact with her, had suggested that George could be a useful addition to some of their training courses and they could look at employment possibilities afterwards.
"They're sending me on some courses for a few weeks."
Emile frowned, "What sort of courses?"
"I don't know exactly."
Emile was concerned but he made light of it, "I shouldn't think there's much they can teach you. Perhaps you should be running the course."
She nodded, "Perhaps that's why they want me. I think they might want me to talk about being…" she paused conscious of her surroundings, "about my experience and give the trainees some background. I need to do something, Emile. My family are beginning to wonder when I'm going back to Scotland. I can't stay at home much longer."
She knew it was quite possible given her recent experiences that she might be asked to give advice to others on the agents' training courses and it would be useful work that could help others avoid the dangerous pitfalls. However, she didn't want to dwell on something that seemed to be a cause of concern to Emile and changed the subject.
"Did the doctor give you any idea how long your recovery will take?"
Emile raised his left hand in a non-committal gesture, "I'll have to go to a medical board in about six weeks but the doc seems confident everything should be fine."
George nodded, "You see, I told you to listen, didn't I?"
He gave her a long look, "And somehow you're always right, Doctor Lane."
X-X-X-X
The late afternoon sunshine had the golden hue of winter and there was a distinct chill in the air. George strolled through the park lost in thought, too preoccupied to even notice the calls and whistles of a couple of GI's passing her by and keen to make her acquaintance. They had spotted the attractive young woman in an ATS uniform some distance away and had been laying bets on which one of them would be successful in winning a date. They were sorely disappointed to find that not only were they unsuccessful but she failed to even look in their direction forcing them to swiftly form the opinion that she was one of those English ice maidens who refused to have anything to do with their allies. Had they known her thoughts they might have forgiven her lack of attentiveness. She had much to consider and it concerned far more than just her choice of company for the evening.
Emile was sitting on a bench near the lake, his left arm resting along the back, the picture of relaxation as he stared out across the water, engaged in observing the ducks diving below the surface on a strenuous quest for food. George slowed as she approached caught by the sight of him in his RAF officer's uniform, his cap pushed at an angle on the back of his head, looking just as he had more than two years ago when she had first met him. He looked content and she had the unusual urge to stop, stay just where she was and not encroach on this moment, just let him be for a short while longer.
He sensed she was approaching. After months of covert work he had a well-honed sixth sense for such activity. He had been back in England for three months but he still couldn't truly relax especially in places like these which had once been chosen rendezvous locations. He turned his head and relief washed over him. She looked as beautiful as ever. Not even the unflattering cut of her uniform in drab khaki could detract from her loveliness and he automatically smiled at the sight of her. She returned the smile but he knew at once that she was troubled.
Emile rose from the bench and took a few steps towards George, anxious at the wariness he had detected but still keen to eliminate the distance between them as soon as possible and no sooner did she reach him then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. She reached up touch his face.
"I've missed you."
"Not as much as I've missed you."
He left in her no doubt of how much the weeks since their last meeting at the hospital had dragged and had the two wandering GI's seen her at that moment they might have changed their opinion of her 'ice maiden' status and thought themselves very unlucky indeed.
Breaking away for a moment, he looked down at her with a cheeky glint in his eye that she knew so well but had not seen for so long.
"What do you say to some dinner, some dancing and …."
He left the rest unsaid but she caught his drift, "What kind of girl do you think I am, Flight Lieutenant Harte?"
He chuckled, "Oh, George, after everything we've been through, I know exactly what kind of girl you are."
She pretended to look outraged and he laughed, "But in spite of all that I'm still willing to take my life in my hands." He moved in closer, "Wouldn't have it any other way."
She kissed him and once again he saw something in the expression in her eyes that concerned him. Something was worrying her.
"Come on. I know you. What's wrong?"
She shook her head and took a step back, "Nothing. Let's sit down for a moment."
He didn't believe her but he let it go.
They moved to the bench and sat close together looking out across the water of the lake and George asked him, "How did the Medical Board go?"
The news that Emile had been asked to attend a medical board in London had coincided with both of them being requested to present themselves for interview in Baker Street again. George's involvement with the agents' courses had come to an end and both she and Emile were looking for new roles. The long period of inactivity had been difficult for Emile and George knew he was itching to do something he considered useful again. The medical board had taken place that morning and there had been no opportunity for them to speak until now.
Emile shrugged in response to her enquiry, "Not the way I'd have liked."
She sensed he was annoyed but trying to hide it.
"What did they say about your shoulder?"
She had noticed that despite a great improvement since their return from France he still seemed to be suffering from some stiffness of movement. He had held her close just now but still the right arm seemed less mobile and she knew she had definitely been in a position to judge.
"They don't think I'm fit for active service at the moment."
He sounded matter of fact but she could tell it sat uncomfortably with him after everything he had done for all those months in France. He smiled at her, "However, they want me at the Finishing School as an instructor, starting next week, so I'm not quite on the scrap heap."
"No one in their right mind would ever put you on the scrap heap, Emile. They need people like you."
He looked at her, "Don't you mean, people like us?"
She didn't answer and a small knot of anxiety started to form in his gut. There was something she wasn't telling him and now he began to sense what was coming but tried to joke, "What delights have they lined up for you then, George? A cosy desk in Baker Street somewhere? They owe you that at least."
She hesitated before answering, "They offered me one."
He could see it plainly written in her face now and his heart was heavy.
"But you didn't accept it. Did you?"
Once again she was silent and he shook his head feeling anger rise, "Did they put pressure on you to go back into the field?"
This time she looked him squarely in the face, "You know it doesn't work like that. No one would ever do that."
He nodded not bothering to hide his exasperation, "Should have guessed. You volunteered didn't you?"
George had known the moment she asked Captain Ferris whether they had any roles for someone like her that she would inevitably end up volunteering to return. She knew that it was only a matter of time before the allies would launch the invasion of France. It wasn't necessary to be a military expert to know that the hundreds of thousands of soldiers encamped across southern England and the amassing of weapons, tanks and supplies were all part of a future invasion plan. Captain Ferris had admitted as much when he informed her that they were sending more explosives and sabotage experts and instructors into occupied France but that an experienced courier would be worth her weight in gold as there was a need to co-ordinate groups. The Captain had nevertheless couched his words carefully.
"Naturally, the choice is entirely yours. You've already made an outstanding contribution and there is no expectation or obligation upon you but if you wanted to return you'd be very useful."
George knew that it was time to confess what had been troubling her, "Yes, I volunteered. They need me."
Emile bit back the overwhelming urge to say 'I need you'. In spite of how much he loved her, he couldn't help seeing the irony of the situation. How many times had a man put his duty before the woman he loved and here she was doing just the same. The difference was that she didn't have to do this and it hurt him more than he wanted to admit. The knowledge that she would contemplate putting herself back into that dangerous arena again was like a physical stab of pain to him, pain mixed with something else that he knew was envy. Perhaps it was this that made him lash out somewhat unfairly, "You've done your bit. It's someone else's turn."
He was sorry at once when he saw her throw him a look of disappointment.
"I thought you were better than that, Emile."
He nodded, "So did I but I love you, George, and I can't pretend this is easy."
Her expression softened, "I know. I love you too and I didn't come to this decision easily." She reached for his hand. "I told you once before that I didn't join SOE to be safe. I joined because there's a job I can do and I need to do it. Can't you understand that?"
He turned his head away from her and stared out across the water of the lake, trying to gather his thoughts. He let out a long breath. Of course he understood. Had he been fit he knew he would have wrestled with the possibility of returning to France just as she must have done. They were kindred spirits, neither of them suited to inactivity and unlikely to rest in any one place for long. She had asked him once before to let her be the person she was and he had given way knowing he had no right to deny her that but now frustrated by his own ability to share the burden of duty he felt helpless. She was quiet and he knew that had no choice but to accept the situation or drive a wedge between them. He reached out his left arm and pulled her close to him resigned to the fact that she would go no matter what he said and chances were it would be soon.
"How long?"
She shrugged, "Two or three weeks maybe, they'll let me know."
It was worse than he had hoped but he forced himself to rally his spirits. He didn't want to say or do anything else to ruin their time together, "Better make most of now, then. Do you still fancy the dinner and dancing?"
She knew he was hurting but putting on a brave face and a smile hovered at the corners of her mouth, "Depends on whether the 'and' is still on offer."
In spite of everything, he couldn't help smirking, "You'll have to wait and see."
She leaned towards him and kissed him gently, "Surprise me then."
X-X-X-X
The cold grey light of dawn stole through the open curtains, casting its harshness across the bed and the sleeping form of George, the sheet contoured around her body as she lay lost in her dreams and oblivious to the fact that she was being watched.
Emile sat in an armchair by the window. Sleep had eluded him and not for the first time in the last three months. He had hoped that if anything could banish the troubled thoughts that plagued him at night it would have been the soothing presence of George in his arms but the dinner and dancing had been punctuated with a false, forced air of good humour that was completely at odds with the way either George or Emile really felt. They were both trying too hard to keep each other's spirits up and it had the reverse effect. It was only when they had finally reached the privacy of the hotel room that had inevitably been the 'and' of Emile's suggestion that he had given in to the feelings he had been holding at bay, "Let's not pretend anymore, George."
They had made love with the poignant tenderness of two people knowing they would soon part and Emile was unconsciously committing each emotion and sensation to memory afraid that it might be all he would have to sustain him through a lifetime. Later as they had lain still and quiet in each other's arms he had fleetingly wished that he didn't love her. All of this might have been bearable if she had just been some other woman; one with less character, less integrity and an ambivalent attitude to duty, in short, anyone but George. Watching her from the bedroom chair as she slept he felt only anger. He was angry at himself, angry at the war and if he was completely honest he was angry at George for simply being the person she was.
She stirred and opened her eyes, catching sight of him framed against the light from the window.
"What time is it?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.
"Very early."
She could tell he had been awake a long time and with an effort she raised her head from the pillow.
"What's the matter?"
"Do you need to ask?"
"That's not an answer."
He moved across to the bed and sat down beside her, "No, it's not but you don't want the answer."
He lay down next to her, reached out his hand and gently pushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes.
"It's too late for talking."
He wrapped his left arm around her and pulled her close breathing in her scent and wanting to capture this moment and never let her go but he knew that he couldn't escape the truth.
"We've already said goodbye."
X-X-X-X
It was a cold, clear night in early January. The stars shone brightly in the dark sky and George knew there would be a heavy frost in the morning, not that she would be here to witness it.
She walked towards the waiting Lysander, a lone figure carrying a case. A sudden gust of wind swept across the tarmac, causing her coat to flap out like a pair of wings behind her. She instinctively turned her face to the side. Behind her she glimpsed the dark outline of the hangar with the SOE officer who had accompanied her today, Miss Watkins, standing before it waiting to wave her off, just as she had done so many times before to so many agents.
George thought briefly of Emile and wondered where he might be and what he might be doing. She hadn't spoken to him again after their night together in London. They both had work to do and she knew that they needed to retreat into their own separate worlds again. He loved her but she feared he might never forgive her for making this decision.
She raised a hand in farewell and Miss Watkins responded. George turned back towards the Lysander and felt her pulse quicken in anticipation of what would soon follow. She strode out towards the aeroplane with a sudden renewed sense of purpose and the conviction that if she hadn't made this decision she would never have forgiven herself.