The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2)

by CW Browning

  “He didn’t tell you anything?”

  Bill shook his head.

  “No. He said he needed to confirm the information and that was the last I heard of it.” He lifted his brandy glass to his lips. “I completely forgot about it until after we received word of his death.”

  Evelyn frowned. “What made you remember?”

  He hesitated for a moment, then sighed.

  “I suppose there’s no point in keeping it from you now. His office in London was ransacked a few days after he died. His assistant was blamed and discharged, but I wondered at the time if it was something more ominous. Now you’re telling me that a few weeks later, someone went through his study here.”

  Evelyn’s heart sank. Her suspicions were correct, then. It hadn’t been a simple break in. While she’d known it couldn’t be, a small part of her had been hoping that Bill would have another explanation. Instead, all he’d done was confirm it.

  “Well, there was nothing for them to find,” she finally said, sipping her wine. “I can assure you of that.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I’m fairly confident that whatever my father may have had in there was given to me a week before he left for Poland.”

  Bill stared at her. “What?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t get to it at the moment, but I will eventually.”

  “What do you mean you can’t get to it?”

  “It’s inside a puzzle box.”

  The confusion on Bill’s brow cleared and a slow smile crossed his face.

  “The sneaky old devil. He was still finding new boxes for you every year? I thought that had stopped.”

  She shook her head. “No. The last few have been near impossible to figure out,” she admitted.

  “And he gave you one before he left for Poland?”

  “Yes. I worked on it for three days after he left, but then I went back to Scotland and left it here. After Rob told me what happened, I pulled it out and started again. It will take time, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll take it with me when I leave.”

  Bill pursed his lips together and slowly shook his head.

  “No,” he said softly. “Leave it here for now. It will be safer here. If it really does have something inside, this is the best place for it.”

  “Unless they come back,” she argued. “I can’t leave it here and put my mother at risk.”

  They both glanced over to the sofa where Madeleine and Marguerite had their heads together, laughing over something they were looking at in a magazine.

  “She won’t be at risk,” Bill said after a moment. “I’ll send someone to keep an eye on things.”

  Evelyn gaped at him. “What?”

  “Don’t look so shocked. I’ll arrange for a footman or gardener, or something. Someone who will keep an eye out and alert us to anything. We can’t wait almost two months to find out something happened again.”

  She chewed her lip for a minute, then nodded slowly.

  “That would certainly set my mind at ease,” she admitted. “I know Rob is worried. He said as much this afternoon. When the servants start to join up, he’s worried that Mum will only be left with the older ones who won’t be much use against an intruder. I know he’s wishing I wasn’t away from home now.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” Bill said with a quick nod. “In the meantime, leave the box here and work on it when you come to visit.”

  “What if it’s time sensitive?”

  “I’d rather risk that than have it lost or destroyed by moving it around.” Bill finished his brandy and set the glass down. “And given your penchant for getting yourself into sticky situations, I think it’s safer here.”

  Evelyn made a face at him but couldn’t argue. The box would be safer in her wardrobe than in a room on a RAF base where people came and went practically at will.

  “Evie!” Rob called from across the room. “Come tell Miles about the time you made it to London in the Lagonda in two hours and twenty minutes. He doesn’t believe me!”

  Bill smiled and winked at her.

  “Go and enjoy yourself,” he said. “Forget about work for a while. It’s Christmas, after all.”

  Evelyn nodded and turned walk towards her brother and Miles. It was easy for him to say that. He wasn’t the one who had a box with a secret in it, a secret that was apparently worth breaking into a country manor over.

  A secret that she had no idea how to get to.

  Evelyn sighed and tucked her feet up beside her comfortably. A large, cheerful fire crackled in the hearth, casting a comfortable glow over the study. She smiled as Miles handed her a glass of sherry before taking the chair across from her. After her mother had gone to bed, they had come into the study with Rob. But after smoking a cigarette, he’d cast Evelyn a sly grin and taken himself off, leaving her alone with Miles.

  “Your brother isn’t very subtle, is he?” Miles asked, sitting back and crossing his legs.

  “Not very, no,” she agreed with a laugh. “Do you mind?”

  He smiled slowly. “Not a bit.”

  “I hope this wasn’t all too strange for you,” she said after a moment. “It’s been a very odd Christmas. We’re usually much more lively than this.”

  “I imagine it’s not easy, being the first holiday without your father.”

  “It’s not,” she said frankly, shaking her head. “I don’t think I was fully prepared for how difficult it would be. One realizes, of course, that things will be different, but I suppose I didn’t think of the little things.”

  “Like the goose?”

  Evelyn nodded. When they sat down to dinner and the roast goose was set on the table, there was a moment sheer panic as Mrs. Ainsworth and her children all stared at each other. None of them had even considered who would carve it. It was always her father’s pride and joy to do it.

  “Thank goodness for B—Mr. Buckley,” she said. “If he hadn’t stepped in, I don’t know what would have happened. Robbie can’t cut anything to save his life.”

  Miles grinned.

  “I expect he would have just torn it apart with his hands and chucked it onto our plates like a cricket ball.”

  Evelyn choked on her sherry as she laughed.

  “That’s probably exactly what he would have done!” she gasped, her eyes watering. “Good heavens. Here’s to Mr. Buckley!”

  Mile raised his glass and sipped his brandy.

  “I wish I’d got the opportunity to meet your father,” he said slowly. “Rob’s told me some stories. I think I would have liked him.”

  Evelyn smiled. “He would have liked you.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes.”

  They were quiet for a moment and then Evelyn shook her head.

  “We’re in danger of being thrust into a maudlin silence,” she announced, “and that will never do. Tell me why you became a pilot.”

  “I’ve always loved flying. I talked your brother into taking lessons down at the auxiliary flying club near university. Never looked back after the first day.”

  “What about your father? What did he say?”

  Miles shrugged. “Not much, actually. He knew I wasn’t cut out for a career in politics. I think by that point he was just hoping I wouldn’t bankrupt him before I finished university.”

  Evelyn grinned. “Was that a possibility?”

  “Me? Not a chance. I’m an angel, m’dear, the perfect son.” He winked. “After it became clear that the flying wasn’t just a passing phase, he warmed up to the idea. I think he’s rather proud to have a son in the RAF now.”

  “What will you do when the war’s over? Will you continue with the Air Force?”

  “That depends on my father. Eventually I’ll have to take over the estate.” He shrugged. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. What about you?”

  “What abou
t me?”

  “Before you joined the WAAFs and started training young things to work in the grid stations, there must have been something you wanted to do. Come on. Fess up. What was it?”

  “I love how you assume to know what it is that I train my girls to do,” she said a grin.

  “I thought we’d already established that I know all your dirty secrets,” he retorted teasingly. “There’s no point in pretending now.”

  Evelyn swallowed as guilt washed over her. If he had even an inkling of her dirty secrets, he would run as fast and as far as he could. And who would blame him?

  “And you still haven’t answered the question,” he continued, oblivious to her discomfort.

  “I was still trying to figure that out,” she said honestly. Here, at least, she could be truthful with him. “I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. My mother wanted me to get married and set up house with a respectable and suitable peer, of course.”

  A faint smile played on his lips. “But that didn’t suit you?”

  She shook her head. “Not much, no.”

  “What about your father? What did he have to say?”

  “He suggested a career, actually. He said I should go to university and find a use for my talent for language. I toyed with the idea of journalism, but then all this happened and, well, here we are.”

  Miles sipped his brandy, studying her over the rim.

  “Would you have enjoyed journalism?” he asked.

  “I’ve always enjoyed world politics and events, so perhaps,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Will you try it after the war, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  He chuckled and held up his glass in a silent toast. “Touché.”

  “This war certainly isn’t turning out to be what everyone expected, is it?” she asked after a moment of silence. “Here it is, Christmas, and things seem to be getting worse.”

  “You’re talking about what’s happening in Scandinavia?”

  She nodded.

  “Finland will fall,” he predicted. “Although, they’re putting up a much stronger fight than I think the Soviets expected.”

  “Let’s hope they hold out.”

  “Chamberlain sold thirty of our fighters to them,” Miles said with a shrug. “With any luck, they’ll help.”

  Evelyn glanced at him. “But you don’t think they will.”

  He shook his head.

  “No. And eventually Hitler will turn his attention to France. We’ll need our fighters then, and Chamberlain is selling them all off.”

  She sipped her drink, thinking once again of the reports of aircraft production coming out of Germany. Hitler was also ordering an increase in ammunition and mine production. Miles was closer to the truth than he knew.

  “What does he think thirty fighters are going to accomplish against the entire Soviet force?” he continued. “Finland needs troops and support, not a handful of planes that we’ll soon be needing.”

  “They’re England’s ally,” she reminded him. “Chamberlain had to send them something.”

  “Yes, but not planes. We have precious few to spare. Do you have any idea how many fighters we have ready to defend England right now? Less than a thousand. Do you know how many fighters Goering has under his command? Round about two thousand.” Miles got up restlessly and went over to the desk to open the cigarette case there. “And those are just the fighters!” he added over his shoulder. “We should be keeping our fighters for our own defense.”

  He opened the box and took out a cigarette. Turning, he offered the box to her and she leaned forward to take one.

  “How do you know those figures are accurate?” she asked, inwardly shaken at how close his numbers were to the truth.

  “My CO and I were discussing it earlier this week.” Miles looked at her sheepishly. “I’m not supposed to know the numbers, but I do. He let it slip.”

  He flicked open his lighter, holding it out for her.

  “And I’m bloody angry that Chamberlain is selling the few planes we do have to other countries.”

  Evelyn watched as he lit his cigarette and began pacing in front of the fire. He knew entirely too much, but she couldn’t say anything without revealing her own knowledge on the subject. She decided to change the direction of the conversation instead.

  “Do you think the war will really continue into France then?” she asked. “A lot of people don’t think it will.”

  “Everyone said Hitler wouldn’t go past the Sudetenland. Then they said he wouldn’t go into Poland. Then they said the war would be over by Christmas. Now they’re saying he won’t go into France.” Miles paused to flick ash into the fire. “I think you’ll agree that we can’t assume anything anymore when it comes to Herr Hitler.”

  “I think he’ll try as well,” Evelyn said with a sigh. “Why wouldn’t he? Look at how quickly his forces went through Poland. France was already invaded once this century, and he was there. He knows it can be done.”

  “Have you read his book?” Miles asked suddenly, glancing at her.

  She swallowed hard. Not only had she read it, but it was that book that had convinced Bill to approach her on that long ago day in Paris.

  “No. Did he write one?” She managed a feigned look of surprise.

  He nodded. “I plowed my way through it this summer. It’s a monstrosity of a thing, not well written at all, and makes almost no sense.”

  “Hm. Sounds like the man himself.”

  Miles flashed her a grin, then sobered again.

  “It’s a rambling mess, jumping from one soap box to another, but there are some rather disturbing things in it. If he’s able to implement even half of what he discusses in there, it will be Hell on earth.”

  Evelyn was silent, thinking of Karl in Strasbourg and what he’d told her of the concentration camps. Since then, she’d learned more. Not only was Hitler making good on what he’d written in Mein Kampf, but it seemed he was doing it on a much grander scale than anyone chose to acknowledge. Anyone except those who lived daily under the threat of it. They were well aware of the dangers of ending up in Dachau.

  “So much for lightening the mood, eh?” he suddenly asked, looking at her guiltily. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t suppose this is the conversation you want to be having on Christmas night.”

  Evelyn summoned a smile and got up to throw her cigarette in the fire.

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Honestly. I told you I’ve always enjoyed world affairs. This is part of our world now. I don’t have to like it, but it doesn’t mean I won’t discuss it.”

  Miles tossed his butt into the fire as well and looked down at her, a strange glint in his eyes.

  “You really are the most extraordinary girl,” he murmured. “I’m not really sure what to do with you. I don’t know if I should put you in the bluestocking category, or chalk you up as a wealthy eccentric.”

  She tossed her head, her eyes twinkling up at him.

  “Why don’t you withhold judgment for a bit longer and kiss me instead?”

  A laugh leapt into his eyes and he followed her gaze upwards. There, hanging from the ceiling, was a bunch of mistletoe tied with a pretty white ribbon.

  “How long has that been there?” he demanded, dropping his eyes back to her face.

  “All day,” she said with a laugh. “It’s one of Millie, the housekeeper’s, favorite things to do. Every year she hangs a bunch of them, then moves them throughout the day to catch unsuspecting people like you.”

  Miles grinned and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

  “Then we mustn’t disappoint Millie,” he murmured, lowering his lips to hers.

  Evelyn felt a shock go through her as his lips touched hers. His arms were strong and warm around her and she suddenly forgot all about the war and fighter planes a
nd concentration camps. He smelled like musk mixed with brandy and a rush of heat rolled over her that had nothing to do with the fire. She lifted her hands to hold on to his shoulders, clinging to his solid strength as her world slipped sideways. This was what she’d been waiting for. All the stolen kisses in the gardens of Paris, and all the flirtations in the drawing rooms in London had never come close to this feeling of exhilaration.

  When Miles lifted his head a few moments later, they stared at each other for a long moment before he exhaled and laughed a little ruefully.

  “I’m not quite sure that that’s what dear Millie had in mind when she hung that piece of greenery, but I don’t regret it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He was making no move to pull away, so Evelyn took the opportunity to trace the scar at the corner of his eyebrow.

  “How did this happen?”

  “I was over confident when I was a boy and tried to take a fence that was too high. My horse had more sense than I did and threw me. The fence added its disapproval for good measure.”

  Her eyes shifted to his and she smiled slowly, gazing into the sparkling green depths.

  “I see the recklessness isn’t new, then,” she said. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

  “Would you be sad if I had been?”

  “Of course! Then who would be here kissing me under the mistletoe?” she demanded playfully.

  The smile that curved his lips was wicked and he dropped his eyes to her lips again.

  “Speaking of...” he murmured, lowering his head again.

  This time when he lifted his head, they were both breathless and Evelyn took a deep, steadying gulp of air.

  “Definitely not what Millie had in mind,” she agreed breathlessly.

  “Perhaps not, but I’ve been wanting to do that since the Savoy,” he confessed with a rueful smile.

  Evelyn felt her pulse leap again and swallowed before sliding her hands off his shoulders.

  “I wish we didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” she said, her voice low.

  Miles sighed and reluctantly pulled away from her.

  “At least you’ll be moving closer to London,” he said, moving back to the desk to pick up his abandoned brandy. “We’ll see each other again soon.”