us in France. Itâs someone you know.â
âWho?â asked Frances.
âRobert Lennox.â
Chapter 7
She could hear the rain beating against the window as she lay in bed with her eyes closed. It was time to get up, she supposed, but a few more minutes wouldnât matter, and she needed time to think about the last three days. About the new people sheâd met and the things sheâd been told.
It had started when Robert Lennox had met her at the station at Sevenoaks and had driven her the few miles out of that little town and into the lush Kent countryside. He had an open-top roadster and Catherine, surprised, because sheâd imagined he would have something more sober, found herself enjoying the sensation of the wind blowing through her hair. It made her feel young and carefree, although considering the circumstances, carefree was the last thing she should have felt.
âAre you sure you donât mind this?â Robert asked again. Heâd offered to put the top up when heâd led her out of the station to where the car was parked. âItâll take us about twenty minutes to get to our destination, and itâs a lovely day. I thought youâd quite like it.â
âYes,â sheâd said, staring at the well-polished red car with its big headlamps and shiny bumper. âLeave the top down.â And now, with her hair streaming out behind her, heâd flicked a look at her and asked again.
âItâs alright,â she assured him. âItâs fun.â
âGood,â said Robert, and grinned.
Catherine immediately felt uncomfortable. Should she be having fun when Christopher was missing or â she forced herself to think it â dead? And this outing to the Kent countryside was certainly not for fun. It was deadly serious. She swallowed the nervous lump that kept forcing its way into her throat and looked up to the blue summer sky. She could see vapour trails criss-crossing the heavens and wondered if they were enemy fighters.
Robert caught her looking. âTheyâre ours,â he said, glancing up briefly. âThe German bomber force is just about finished, but itâs the doodlebugs we have to worry about now.â He frowned. âWeâre struggling to counter them and the people in south London are paying a terrible price.â
âI know,â said Catherine. âMy mother has friends in Croydon who escaped from France in a fishing boat at the beginning of the war. They attend the Church of Nôtre-Dame in Leicester Square, where Maman goes. Last week, the priest told her that her friends were injured in a rocket attack two weeks ago.â She shrugged. âTheir neighbours were killed, so I suppose they were lucky. But I think life is very cruel: they thought they would be safe in England.â
âYes,â agreed Robert. âLife is cruel. But weâre coming close to the end of the war and weâll be able to go home and get on with our lives.â He was quiet for a moment, concentrating on the narrow, winding roads, shaded with heavily leafed overhanging trees. Then he added, âIf thereâs a life worth getting on with.â
Catherine glanced round at him. He was looking straight ahead at the road, his face expressionless. Did he mean something by that? Something personal?
He cleared his throat. âThis place weâre going to is a training school for our agents. You wonât be doing the full course, as it takes months, but you will be given an idea of what you might be able to do for us.â
Catherine bit her lip. She phoned him a week ago and told him that she would consider doing something in France. Heâd sounded surprised but pleased at the same time. The next day, heâd phoned her back and asked her if she could get away for two days.
âAlright,â sheâd said. âI can tell Maman that Iâm working.â
âGood.â He sounded
C. J. Cherryh
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