That wasn't the last time they talked into the night.
Delphine tried to limit their communications, but she was so tired, and so lonely. Something in the American's voice resonated with her, comforted her. Not only had this woman, like Delphine, surmounted some daunting odds to get to her position, but she had done one thing no other person had been able to do for her since the invasion of her country. She made her feel, however briefly, cared for, almost safe.
Delphine would trail off into silence, going over her missions in her mind, evaluating von Leekie's recent behavior, and Cosima would reach out with calming words, with friendly interest, coming up with things like "hey, did I ever tell you about the time I learned mah-jonng in Chinatown?" Then she'd launch into ridiculous stories that made Delphine laugh even as the back of her mind turned over ways she could get caught and punished.
She'd also prompt her gently, asking her questions. Before Delphine knew it, she'd outlined her childhood. She'd been privileged, the only daughter of a well-to-do couple. She remembered catching frogs behind the country house, sneaking her father's science books into her room until she was found out, and her unusually progressive parents told her they would help her achieve any level of education she wished. She'd been gawky, too-tall as she entered her teenage years, lost her heart for jumping competition when her favourite horse died, and was prone to startling adults at her parents' parties with her intelligent, mature, yet unfailingly polite additions to their conversations.
Then she had grown to be considered attractive, to fill out, and found it was often best to find excuses to avoid the older men at parties. She hung around with a few friends, mostly superficial except for her cousin, Laurent, who had a daring playfulness that could convince her to join him in escapades, pranks, and assorted good-natured naughtiness.
She'd made it into university, studying science, disarming the boys and men with her grace, her few, well-chosen words, her determination, and her willingness to assist them with her brilliance, and then started on her doctorate. She had had few boyfriends, being entranced by her studies and considered somewhat odd, but there was one, a handsome, serious boy named Renaud, who was also studying medicine. They became engaged, but when his father died, his family begged him to join them and move away from France before the Germans advanced too far. He pleaded with her to join him, but she felt she couldn't abandon her parents. Last she heard of him, he had booked passage on a ship headed for Canada. She didn't know if he had made it on board, much less across the ocean.
But that felt so long ago.
Her parents had been taken by the Germans, she didn't know exactly why. Rumours said they may have resisted. She grieved, and then she decided she had to do something, whatever it took, to help the resistance and the Allies. Getting into the elite social circles of the Nazis had required cunning, but she still had money, based on her family's holdings in other countries, and she learned to use her charm and her looks. Having her father's wireless had been an advantage beyond her expectations, especially once she had established contact with British intelligence.
Cosima listened, rapt, encouraging, praising and prompting her. Her story had not been so different. Her family had a good deal less money, but also doted on their daughter and respected her intelligence. With a thirst for knowledge and a brash, American attitude — some might call it "gumption" — Cosima had advanced far past her compatriots in her studies, mastering several disciplines and charming her way into the realm of the educated and powerful. At the same time, she seemed more rebellious, more restless than Delphine had ever been. Maybe it came from living in a city so young. Time and time again she discovered new places, groups and cultures, and somehow made friends, or at least people who saw it advantageous to barter with her. She was confident in her intellect and her ability, but even more than that, she knew how to make herself valuable, even necessary.
More than once in sharing her stories about growing up in San Francisco and projecting herself into a convoluted web of government, educational and private interests to help with the war effort, Cosima reminded Delphine of Laurent. She was adventurous, excited by learning and fond of people, despite all the evil in the world. She, also, hadn't much to say about romance and dating — perhaps she was a little too odd, a little too footloose, it seemed, although not a prude. But perhaps one didn't have to settle on one person when had so much love for and interest in humanity, and when one had such a romance with knowledge.
Sometimes Delphine would pause, brushing her hair or choosing something to wear for another unwanted social obligation with von Leekie, and find herself thinking about the American woman. When would they next talk? What would she say to Delphine in her honey voice, broken into bright staccato rhythms full of sly wit and enthusiasm? Would they talk of science, logistics, or would Cosima prompt her memories of ambling through the spring wildflowers in Chamonix, the snowy crags of the mountains rising so close? Would Cosima bring her to think of sitting in a darkened theatre watching a favourite film, then counter it with a funny tale about getting caught sneaking into the cinema with her friend Felix? Would they meet, sometime, in a better place, her eyes finally taking in what Cosima described as a short, small body, a dark, waving "kind of pompadour with a bun," and heavy glasses? Would they feel at home with each other in the flesh as she did during their conversations? Would Cosima accept all Delphine had to do, to compromise, to get through the war and fight the Germans?
Don't get ahead of yourself, Delphine would interrupt her own daydreaming, remember your duties, be vigilant. Don't get lured into false hope.
But if her wits, her watchfulness and her many masks were working to help her survive, what was it that she felt creeping into her soul that had begun to make her feel, just a little bit, alive?
Von Leekie paced in the communications room, eyes occasionally darting up to take in intelligence reports, and symbols on maps. Against one wall, radio operators were fielding and relaying messages in strict code, but also scanning for any foreign broadcasts. He knew that the Allies were massing across the channel, everyone did. He also knew that they employed everything from their own coded transmissions to secret messages hidden in regular radio programming. But, while von Leekie had a keen eye and ear for codes himself, he knew the German intelligence was missing transmissions, and able to crack and translate even less, while the Allies seemed to be reaching deeper and deeper into the Nazi military secrets, despite constant modifications to the Enigma coding machines. He balled his fists, his usual affable façade stripped to taut frustration and anger, the movement in his sharp cheeks betraying the clenching of his jaw. The Abwehr often seemed so incompetent and belligerent towards the SS intelligence that he sometimes wondered if they were really all on the same side. That was why he had his own specialists to listen and analyze, and his own officers and enforcers to gather information the old-fashioned way: by taking people in, and making them talk.
The wireless specialist turned his head toward him.
"Öberführer," he reported, "no further activity on the frequencies we previously scanned. Known broadcasts are being intercepted, but the anomalies seemed to have stopped. All we are getting is broken chatter."
Von Leekie stared at the young man for a moment, making him squirm, making him wonder if his superior's wrath would be taken out on him.
Von Leekie turned and called for his adjutant instead.
"Fromm," he snapped, and his assistant stepped quickly to him. "Bring me Haptsturmführer Faustrecht and Die Klinge. It's time we used a more hands-on approach."