Night of the Fox by Jack Higgins Page B

her cap, her face very determined, the hazel eyes serious. Her gown was filthy, stained with blood, her stockings torn. She knelt to help the matron sedate a panic-stricken young girl who was bleeding badly from shrapnel wounds. They stood up to allow porters to carry the girl away on a stretcher.
     
     
Sarah said, "I thought night raids were supposed to be a thing of the past."
     
     
"Tell that to the casualties," the matron said. "Almost a thousand of them in March. Right, you clear off, Drayton.
     
     
You'll be falling down soon from sheer fatigue. No arguments."
     
     
She walked wearily along the corridor, aware that the sound of the bombing now seemed to have moved south of the river. Someone was sweeping up broken glass, and she stepped around them and moved to the reception desk to book out.
     
     
The night clerk was talking to two men. She said, "Actually, this is Nurse Drayton coming now."
     
     
Jack Carter said, "Miss Drayton, this is Brigadier Munro and I'm Captain Carter."
     
     
"What can I do for you?" Her voice was rather low and very pleasant.
     
     
Munro was much taken with her at once, and Carter said, "Do you recall an interview you had two years ago? An Intelligence matter?"
     
     
"With SOE?" She looked surprised. "I was turned down."
     
     
"Yes, well, if you could spare us some time we'd like a word with you." Carter drew her over to a bench beside the wall, and he and Munro sat on either side of her. "You were born in Jersey, Miss Drayton?"
     
     
"That's right."
     
     
He took out his notebook and opened it. "Your mother's name was Margaret de Ville. That has a particular interest for us. Do you by any chance know a Mrs. Helen de Ville?"
     
     
"I do. My mother's cousin, although she was always Aunty Helen to me. She was so much older than I was."
     
     
"And Sean Gallagher?"
     
     
"The General? Since I was a child." She looked puzzled. "What's going on here?"
     
     
"In good time, Miss Drayton," Munro told her. "When did you last see your aunt or General Gallagher?"
     
     
"Nineteen thirty-eight. My mother died that year and my father took a job in Malaya. I went out to join him."
     
     
"Yes, we know that," Carter said.
     
     
She frowned at him for a moment, then turned on Munro. "All right, what's this about?"
     
     
"It's quite simple really," Dougal Munro said. "I'd like to offer you a job with SOE. I'd like you to go to Jersey for me."
     
     
She stared at him in astonishment, but only for a moment, and then she started to laugh helplessly and the sound of it was close to hysteria. It had, after all, been a long day.
     
     
"But, Brigadier," she said. "I hardly know you."
     
     
"Strange chap, Harry Martineau," Munro said. "IVe never known anybody quite like him."
     
     
"From what you tell me, neither have I," Sarah said.
     
     
The car taking them down to Lulworth Cove was a huge Austin, a glass partition separating them from the driver. Munro and Jack Carter were in the rear, side by side, and Sarah Drayton sat on the jump seat opposite. She wore a tweed suit with pleated skirt, tan stockings and black brogues with half-heels, blouse in cream satin with a black string tie at her neck. She looked very attractive, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering everywhere. She also looked extremely young.
     
     
"It was his birthday the week before last," Carter told her.
     
     
She was immediately interested. "How old was he?"
     
     
"Forty-four."
     
     
"What they call a child of the century, my dear," Munro told her. "Born on the seventh of April, nineteen hundred. That must seem terribly old to you."
     
     
"Aries," she said.
     
     
Munro smiled. "That's right. Before the advent of our so-called enlightened times astrology was a science. Did you know that?"
     
     
"Not really."
     
     
"The ancient Egyptians always chose their generals from Leos, for example."
     
     
"I'm a Leo," she said. "July twenty-seventh."
     
     
"Then you are in for a complicated life.