‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Frank asked.
‘Maybe when I get back,’ Dulles told him. ‘In the meantime, just watch yourself, because others will certainly be watching you now.’
He held out a hand towards the door. Realizing he was being dismissed, Frank got to his feet and came over to him.
‘You did well,’ Dulles admitted, clapping him awkwardly on the shoulder.
Frank smiled despite himself.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Now go and clean yourself up,’ Dulles said, shaking his head. ‘And do something about those damn shoes!’
25
They left Bern behind, following the road west as it wound its way through lush green hills and cut across broad flat valleys. In the far distance, the hazy landscape seemed to rise up like a wall, dark with pine trees, and topped by a line of wispy white clouds. Here and there, pointed church spires marked small villages and wooden barns dotted the landscape.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Molly laughed. Wearing a pale yellow dress and sunglasses, she sat with one bare arm resting against the car window, staring out at the blue sky.
‘It sure is,’ Frank replied. He’d been looking forward to this since Molly suggested it and had arrived ten minutes early to pick her up from her lodgings on Waldheimstrasse. Seeing her emerge in a dress – so different to her usual work clothes – had brought an instant smile to his face and it underlined the fact that they would have the whole Saturday together.
Sweeping round a bend, the road ran alongside the railroad tracks for a time. Molly leaned an arm out of the window to wave as a train whined past, and they both laughed when the driver sounded his horn in response.
‘So, this place we’re going, have you been there before?’ Frank asked.
‘Neuchâtel?’ Molly said, turning towards him. ‘No, never. I always wanted to, though. Jean says it’s lovely.’
‘Well, it shouldn’t be all that far now,’ he said, glancing at his wristwatch, then frowning. ‘Though I haven’t quite got the hang of judging distances in kilometers.’
‘I still prefer to think in miles,’ Molly agreed. ‘Oh, look… is that it?’
‘Oh, wow, yeah.’
The road bent around a line of small houses and suddenly they saw the water – a startling blue-green that looked almost unnatural – stretching away into the distance. Not far ahead, the town spread along the shore, where forested mountain slopes ran down to the lake.
‘It looks so pretty,’ Molly said, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. ‘We’re going to have such a good day.’
The style of the buildings was different here – more ornate, like a French coastal town. All the road signs and street names were in French too, and Frank felt a momentary pang of anxiety as he recalled the bomb-blasted street signs he’d seen when his unit was advancing through Normandy.
They parked the car on the waterfront and strolled along the tree-lined esplanade, staring out across the lake and listening to the waves lapping against the shore. Molly startled him by slipping her hand into his as they walked.
‘It’s all right.’ She smiled. ‘Nobody knows us here. We can be whoever we want to be.’
‘I guess.’ He grinned, interlacing his fingers with hers. ‘So, who would you like to be?’
Molly paused, giving him a coy look.
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she said. ‘Tell me something about the man I’m with, first. In fact, surprise me; tell me something I don’t know.’
‘Something you don’t know…’ Frank tried to come up with an unusual story. ‘Okay then, when I was a kid, maybe seven or eight years old, I saved a guy’s life.’
‘Really?’ Molly said, looking impressed. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s not quite as heroic as it sounds,’ Frank explained. ‘Where we used to live was near a railroad junction, and there was a place where the track bent around on itself, called Hobo’s Curve.’
‘Hobo’s Curve?’ Molly frowned.
‘Yeah, it was a tight bend and the trains had to slow down as they took it. I guess it got its name because it was a place where they were slow enough for hobos to run alongside and jump up into the boxcars.’
‘Oh!’ Molly nodded in understanding. ‘Hobos, as in tramps, homeless people.’
‘That’s right. Anyway, this one time I was down there and I found some homeless guy lying by the side of the tracks. He was still alive, but he was in a bad way – all covered in blood and with his leg busted – like he’d fallen from one of the cars or something.’
‘The poor man.’ Molly winced. ‘What did you do?’
‘Well, I knew he needed help, but he couldn’t walk and I was too small to carry him. So I ran home and grabbed my grandma’s crutches – she always slept in the afternoons, and left them propped up beside her chair – and I took them to this hobo.’
‘Go on,’ Molly urged him.
‘Well, long story short, I got the hobo guy up onto the crutches and helped him into town. Got him to the church, and the pastor took him in.’
‘Good for you.’ Molly’s eyes narrowed. ‘But what did your grandmother do without her crutches?’
‘Oh, I caught hell for that,’ Frank said. ‘But later, when the pastor stopped by to bring the crutches back, my family decided I must have been telling the truth after all. My mom even baked me an apple pie as a reward.’
‘Bravo!’ Molly laughed, clapping her hands together. ‘So you were a hero in the end.’
Frank shrugged.
‘My grandma maintained that it wasn’t good for boys my age to be fooling around with train tracks and hobos,’ he recalled, then turned and smiled. ‘But my mom said she was proud that I’d helped the man.’
‘Your mother sounds like a very sensible woman,’ Molly told him. ‘And she’s from Germany, which is how you know the language so well?’
‘Yeah. She spoke to me in German all the time when I was growing up, and we even went over there a couple of times.’
‘But your father’s American?’
‘Yeah, he was an engineer. Spent some time working over in Hamburg, which is where he met my mom.’ Frank paused, then shook his head. ‘I used to think it was kinda fun, having extended families with such different backgrounds, you know, traveling and all, but having a German family isn’t so great right now.’
Molly put her arm around him briefly.
‘War spoils everything,’ she said softly.
They walked on, past a short pier where several small boats were tied up, bobbing and creaking as the rippling waves pulled at them.
‘What about you?’ Frank said, as they continued along the waterfront. ‘Whereabouts in England are you from?’
‘I grew up in a tiny village called Littleworth, just outside Oxford,’ Molly replied.
‘Oxford as in the university?’
‘That’s right. Lots of lovely old stone buildings; rather like Bern, in a way.’
Frank caught the wistful tone of her voice, and the easy way she held his hand. He imagined her back in Oxford, before the war, beautiful and popular. Someone like her couldn’t have been unattached…
‘Got anyone waiting for you, back home?’ he asked casually.
‘Well, the family’s decamped to London just now – father’s got a job with the War Office – and my sister’s a nurse at St Bartholomew’s.’ She glanced over at Frank, then hesitated. ‘Oh, that wasn’t what you meant, was it?’
‘It’s okay, really.’ He gave her an awkward look. ‘I just... wondered, you know?’
Molly slowed a little, hanging back from him and turning to stare out across the lake.
‘I was… nearly married,’ she said, a sad smile touching the corners of her mouth. ‘His name was Harry. We met just before the war at a summer ball and... well, things just sort of happened, and we were engaged…’
They stood there for a long moment. The water slapped and sloshed over the stones below them.
‘He was killed in France, two years ago,’ she finished, simply. ‘And that was that.’
Frank put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told her.
‘Thank you.’ She turned to face him and he glimpsed the emptiness in her eyes, heard the hollow note in her voice. ‘He was so much fun… and then… gone. Just like that.’
Frank reached down and took her hand, squeezing it gently. After a moment, she squeezed back and lifted her chin.
‘Anyway,’ she said, taking a deep breath and mustering a sudden, sunny smile. ‘It’s a beautiful day. Come on, I want to see if that museum is open.’
They walked across the road and climbed the steps of the imposing stone building. At the top, Molly pushed the heavy door open and Frank followed her into the cool stillness of a vast lobby.
The elderly man at the front desk spoke neither English nor German. This defeated Frank, but Molly stepped in, smoothly exchanging pleasantries in French with the man, who seemed thoroughly charmed by her.
‘What did you say to him?’ Frank whispered, as they turned from the desk and started across the lobby towards the grand staircase.
‘I told him you were an important American collector, touring the world in search of art treasures,’ she said, innocently.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ She grinned. ‘Though I’m not sure he believed me.’
They started up the broad stone staircase, footsteps echoing around the huge space. Frank glanced up then slowed, pausing to stare at one of the mighty frescoes that towered above him, some sort of warrior angel, standing over the coiled wreckage of a slain dragon. He looked down to see Molly, a small figure at the turn in the stair, her face tilted up in wonder as she gazed at the enormous pictures. He moved up to stand by her side. After a moment, she noticed, and silently took his hand.
Upstairs, it became apparent that they had the museum to themselves. Moving from room to room, Molly studied the different paintings, while Frank nodded at her whispered commentary and enjoyed her obvious delight.
When they finally emerged, blinking into the sunlight, her mood seemed completely restored.
‘Did you want to find somewhere we could get a drink?’ Frank asked. ‘Or maybe something to eat? We could take a walk through the town, see what there is.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Molly lifted her eyes towards the sun-bleached houses that looked out across the lake from the hillside above them. ‘Let's go and explore.’
A few streets back from the shore, the ground rose sharply, climbing high above the grand buildings of the waterfront, with amazing views of the lake and the distant mountains. As the sun became hotter, they found welcome shade in some of the narrow, cobbled streets, where tall buildings crowded together, winding along the hillside.
Later, near the centre of town, the stopped at a tiny café with a window full of enticing hand-made chocolates. As Frank sat at their little corner table, sipping his café crème, he watched Molly tasting the last of their cocoa truffles, and smiled at her blissful expression.
‘They're really good, aren't they?’
‘Heavenly,’ she sighed, putting a hand across her mouth. ‘I do wish we could get chocolate like this back in England.’
‘Things often taste better when you're away from home,’ Frank said, taking out his cigarettes and offering the pack to her. ‘You know, when everything's new and exciting.’
‘I'm not so sure about that.’ Her face darkened as she reached over and took a cigarette. ‘I've been to a couple of places that were definitely new and exciting, but nothing tasted good.’
‘Yeah?’ Frank asked her. ‘Where was that?’
Molly looked at him strangely.
‘Let's not talk about work,’ she said.
Sunlight sparkled on the blue water as they drove back along the main road.
‘Oh, it looks idyllic,’ Molly sighed, gazing out across the lake. ‘I wish we didn't have to leave.’
Frank nodded, then glanced over at her.
‘I'm not in any hurry,’ he said. ‘Do you have anything you need to get back for?’
Molly shook her head and smiled.
‘Shall we see if we can find a way down there?’ she said, looking back towards the water.
‘Sure,’ Frank told her. ‘There's got to be a turning somewhere.’
In the end, they found a bumpy little dirt road that cut across the fields and dipped out of sight, but it took them roughly in the direction they wanted to go. When it eventually angled off to the left, they parked the car by a small patch of woodland, and continued down the hill on foot. After a few minutes, they emerged from the trees and stood shading their eyes in the afternoon sunlight. An expanse of lush, long grass swept down to the shore, where the glittering lake stretched out before them to the mountains.
‘So, what do you think?’ Frank grinned at Molly. ‘Will this do?’
‘Oh, it's simply perfect!’ she laughed, staring down the slope. ‘Come on, let's go and see.’
They found a tiny curve of stony beach between two outcrops of rock that jutted up from the rippling surface. Molly took her shoes off, then picked her way down to the edge and dipped a toe into the water.
‘It's cold, but not too cold,’ she called out. ‘Shall we have a swim?’
Frank stepped down onto the beach and sat on a seam of rock. In the sunlight, it felt warm beneath his palm.
‘I don't have a bathing suit with me,’ he replied.
Molly turned around.
‘Neither do I,’ she said, unzipping her dress and pulling it up over her head.
Frank watched her as she removed her underwear, then draped her clothes over a large rock.
‘What's the matter?’ she asked him.
‘Oh, nothing's the matter.’ Frank smiled. He got to his feet and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. ‘I just can't get used to seeing you naked, that's all.’
Molly gave an impish laugh, then turned her back on him and started out into the water.
26
The weather remained fair over the following week, and Frank was grateful when he had assignments that took him out of the office. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he took a last look back along the station platform at Brig, then climbed aboard the train, edging his way down the cramped corridor. Below him, through a window, he could see a uniformed railroad official with a bushy white mustache, wearily calling out the next station stops.
‘Frutigen, Spiez, Thun, und Bern.’
Coming to an empty compartment, Frank slowed, then twisted around to smile over his shoulder.
‘Here’s one.’
Behind him, Jean smiled back. She was wearing a smart grey jacket and skirt, with a black pillbox hat.
Frank grasped the handle and slid open the door to the compartment, gesturing for her to go first.
‘After you, darling.’
‘Why, thank you, honey.’ Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she eased past him and stepped inside. There were two wide bench seats facing each other and Jean hesitated as she looked at them.
‘Which way are we going?’ she asked. ‘I prefer to face forward.’
Frank stepped into the compartment behind her and indicated the seats on the right.
‘That side,’ he told her.
As Jean sat down, he slid the door shut, sealing them in. Then he relaxed and let out a breath, moving over to slump down on the seat opposite her.
Jean looked at him for a moment, then raised an eyebrow.
‘I think a real husband would likely sit beside his wife,’ she reminded him.
Frank stared at her, then gave a reluctant nod.
‘Yes, darling,’ he sighed, getting to his feet and shifting across to her.
‘Aw, was it really so bad, pretending to be married to me?’ she laughed.
Frank rested his head back and rubbed his eyes.
‘It’s been exhausting,’ he muttered, then caught sight of her expression. �
�No, not being married to you, just… concentrating, you know? Concentrating on who I’m supposed to be, who you’re supposed to be, what I have to do. Trying not to say the wrong thing or slip up; lying is tiring.’
Jean turned to look out at the last passengers hurrying along the platform.
‘You get used to it,’ she said. ‘After a while it becomes second nature, and a whole lot easier.’
‘I hope so,’ Frank sighed.
Jean glanced back at him and her face softened a little.
‘I think you did terribly well,’ she said.
They heard the shrill blast of a whistle outside and felt the gentle jostling as the train started to move. Frank stared out of the window at the towering mountain peaks, grey and golden in the hazy sunlight, while the pretty buildings of Brig began to slide away. You could see the Italian influence on the architecture here – the arched window surrounds and the ornate verandas – but that was understandable, so close to the border. Brig was the last stop before the railroad plunged under the Alps to Italy; it was a critical transit route, and rumors were growing that the Germans might soon order the destruction of the tunnel if the Allied advance continued at its current pace. Preventing this was the reason that Swift had sent them down here.
‘So, is that what you’ll put in your report?’ Frank asked, sitting up.
‘What?’ Jean frowned at him.
‘That I did “terribly well”.’ Frank grinned. ‘Is that what you’ll say when you make your report to Swift?’
‘Oh, I see.’ Jean laughed. ‘I think he’ll be more interested in learning what we discussed with our partisan friends, don’t you?’
‘I guess so,’ Frank said, smiling. He settled back into his seat, gazing out as the last buildings of the town disappeared. ‘What did you think of them, by the way?’
Jean lowered her eyes for a moment, considering this.
‘The one who called himself Luca seemed a bit… nervous, but that was understandable, I suppose. Did you see the way he kept turning that cigarette lighter over and over in his hand?’
‘Yeah, I noticed that. You think he was on the level?’
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