do.”
Julie said, “I’ll bring Genevieve up later.”
“Fine.” He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to Genevieve. “This is for you. I sent Carter round to Bart’s first thing this morning to explain to the Matron that your leave would have to be extended because of family bereavement. She’d not forwarded that letter because she’d expected you back any day.”
It was open, slit neatly along the flap. “You’ve read it?” Genevieve said.
“Of course.” He went out, closing the door behind him.
“Isn’t he sweet?” Julie said sarcastically.
Genevieve put the letter down and carried on drying the dishes. “Before. What were you doing before?”
“I was in France. My husband was Professor of Philosophy at the Sorbonne.”
“And now?”
“He is dead. They came for us one night, the Gestapo, and he held them off while I and the others made our escape.” She was lost for a moment, staring into space. “But Craig went back for him. Saved his life. Helped us get out of France.” She sighed. “He died of a heart attack last year, my husband.”
“And it was Craig Osbourne who saved him?”
“That’s right.”
“Tell me about him,” Genevieve said. “Everything you know.”
“Why not?” She shrugged. “His father was an American diplomat, his mother French. As a child he lived for years in Berlin and Paris which explains his fluency in the languages. He was working for Life magazine when the Germans took Paris in 1940.”
“Yes, that’s when he knew my sister. Did you ever meet her?”
“No. He became involved with an underground ring engaged in smuggling Jews out through Spain and only got out by the skin of his teeth himself when the Germans discovered what he was up to. That’s when he first came to England and joined their secret service. What they call SOE. Later, when the Americans joined in, they transferred him to OSS.” She shrugged. “Names only. Everyone does the same thing. Fights the same war.”
“He went back to France?”
“Twice they dropped him in by parachute. On the third occasion, a Lysander was used. He operated a Maquis sabotage unit in the Loire valley for several months before they were betrayed.”
“Where did he go?”
“To Paris, a café in Montmartre, a staging post on the underground route out to Spain . . .” She paused.
“And?”
“The Gestapo were waiting. They took him to their headquarters in Rue de Saussaies at the back of the Ministry of the Interior.”
“Go on!” Genevieve turned pale.
“He was photographed, fingerprinted—all the usual things, including an interrogation that lasted three days and involved considerable brutality. Notice his hands sometime. His fingernails are misshapen because they were torn out at the time I describe.”
Genevieve felt slightly sick. “But he escaped?”
“Yes, he was lucky. A car in which he was being transferred was involved in a collision with a truck. He got away in the confusion, hid in a church. The priest who found him got in touch with my husband who was leader of the underground movement in that part of Paris.”
“And who held the Gestapo off while you and Craig got away . . . ?”
“Let me explain, chérie ,” she said patiently. “Craig could hardly walk because they’d done things to his feet also.” She held Genevieve’s right hand tightly for a moment. “This was not some film made in Hollywood starring Errol Flynn that you go to see at your local cinema on a Saturday night. This was real. This is how it is over there. And things like this—they could also happen to you. This you must face now. After Thursday night it will be too late.”
Genevieve sat there staring at her. Julie carried on. “We were taken to Amiens in a market truck. After three days they sent a Lysander.”
“What happened to Craig after that?”
“They made him a Commander of the Legion of Honour, his own people gave him the DSC and made him joinOSS. The irony now
Julie said, “I’ll bring Genevieve up later.”
“Fine.” He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to Genevieve. “This is for you. I sent Carter round to Bart’s first thing this morning to explain to the Matron that your leave would have to be extended because of family bereavement. She’d not forwarded that letter because she’d expected you back any day.”
It was open, slit neatly along the flap. “You’ve read it?” Genevieve said.
“Of course.” He went out, closing the door behind him.
“Isn’t he sweet?” Julie said sarcastically.
Genevieve put the letter down and carried on drying the dishes. “Before. What were you doing before?”
“I was in France. My husband was Professor of Philosophy at the Sorbonne.”
“And now?”
“He is dead. They came for us one night, the Gestapo, and he held them off while I and the others made our escape.” She was lost for a moment, staring into space. “But Craig went back for him. Saved his life. Helped us get out of France.” She sighed. “He died of a heart attack last year, my husband.”
“And it was Craig Osbourne who saved him?”
“That’s right.”
“Tell me about him,” Genevieve said. “Everything you know.”
“Why not?” She shrugged. “His father was an American diplomat, his mother French. As a child he lived for years in Berlin and Paris which explains his fluency in the languages. He was working for Life magazine when the Germans took Paris in 1940.”
“Yes, that’s when he knew my sister. Did you ever meet her?”
“No. He became involved with an underground ring engaged in smuggling Jews out through Spain and only got out by the skin of his teeth himself when the Germans discovered what he was up to. That’s when he first came to England and joined their secret service. What they call SOE. Later, when the Americans joined in, they transferred him to OSS.” She shrugged. “Names only. Everyone does the same thing. Fights the same war.”
“He went back to France?”
“Twice they dropped him in by parachute. On the third occasion, a Lysander was used. He operated a Maquis sabotage unit in the Loire valley for several months before they were betrayed.”
“Where did he go?”
“To Paris, a café in Montmartre, a staging post on the underground route out to Spain . . .” She paused.
“And?”
“The Gestapo were waiting. They took him to their headquarters in Rue de Saussaies at the back of the Ministry of the Interior.”
“Go on!” Genevieve turned pale.
“He was photographed, fingerprinted—all the usual things, including an interrogation that lasted three days and involved considerable brutality. Notice his hands sometime. His fingernails are misshapen because they were torn out at the time I describe.”
Genevieve felt slightly sick. “But he escaped?”
“Yes, he was lucky. A car in which he was being transferred was involved in a collision with a truck. He got away in the confusion, hid in a church. The priest who found him got in touch with my husband who was leader of the underground movement in that part of Paris.”
“And who held the Gestapo off while you and Craig got away . . . ?”
“Let me explain, chérie ,” she said patiently. “Craig could hardly walk because they’d done things to his feet also.” She held Genevieve’s right hand tightly for a moment. “This was not some film made in Hollywood starring Errol Flynn that you go to see at your local cinema on a Saturday night. This was real. This is how it is over there. And things like this—they could also happen to you. This you must face now. After Thursday night it will be too late.”
Genevieve sat there staring at her. Julie carried on. “We were taken to Amiens in a market truck. After three days they sent a Lysander.”
“What happened to Craig after that?”
“They made him a Commander of the Legion of Honour, his own people gave him the DSC and made him joinOSS. The irony now
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