by Tricia Goyer
Emma’s heart was full as she entered the front doors of Danesfield House that evening. She’d taken a chance and written a note to Will, asking to meet the next day in a small café in Henley. Danny had brought back a quick response. She’d read the note over twice.
Thank you for offering to lend me the book. I’m looking forward to reading it. More importantly I’m looking forward to spending time with you. I will be happy to pick you up at noon. No need to find a ride.
With deepest regards,
Will
Just knowing she would see Will the next day brought a lightness to Emma’s steps. The sunshine filtering through the clouds added to her happiness. Even though she’d been entering the doors of Danesfield House for months, everything seemed new again today. She smiled as she walked into the room with the twenty-foot arched ceiling and curved mahogany staircase. Her work took on an extra feeling of importance being assigned to such a place.
Entering the front foyer, Emma smirked at Harold, the security guard on duty. He scrutinized her papers as he did every day as she entered. She hadn’t changed and the papers hadn’t changed, but she knew procedure was procedure.
“Here you go. Have a nice day, Miss Hanson.”
She smiled, folded the piece of paper, and tucked it back into her pocket. “You too, sir.”
“You look extra chipper today,” Harold commented, his eyes turning to the next WAAF walking through the door.
“It’s turning out to be a good day, that’s all. And I have a feeling I’m going to find good information tonight.”
She ascended the staircase to the west wing and moved with purposeful steps toward their workroom. It was quiet inside. She was always the first to arrive. But this time, before moving to the window to watch for the incoming bombers, she paused and took in the room, trying to picture it before the war. Now most of the wood paneling had been draped by sheets for protection. The upper half of the walls were white, ending in a rich wood ceiling of elaborate design. Some of the walls showed dark rectangles where paintings and tapestries had hung. The ornate furniture—except for two wingback chairs—had been removed.
“What did this place look like with paintings and carpets and no desks?” Emma whispered to herself.
Emma moved to her desk and slid off her jacket. She went to the windows and watched the bombers come in. Today they flew in as eagles—proud and majestic—instead of as injured falcons. She’d heard that all the recce planes—what they called the reconnaissance planes—had come in too. And she couldn’t wait to see what photos they had brought her.
As time neared for her shift to begin, Emma turned on the electric kettle, preparing for tea. She expected Georgette to come first, but it was Sarah, one of the newer members of their team, who slipped through the door with a soft grin hidden under a cool demeanor. They’d started with only forty interpreters, but it seemed a dozen more were added to the different departments each week. Sarah was the daughter of an important member of the Cabinet, and she fit in easily with the Danesfield experience, which revolved around so many important officials.
“I had the most lovely dinner last night,” Sarah started before her jacket had even found its place on the coatrack. “Remember that crewman who gave us a tour of the bombers months ago? He took me back and showed me the latest nose art. Can you guess whose picture he painted?”
Emma turned and showed off her backside in the famous pose. “Betty Grable?”
Georgette entered just in time to catch her pose, and laughter spilled from her lips.
Sarah chuckled. “Emma, you are in a playful mood today. You’re usually so serious.”
“So he didn’t paint Betty Grable? Was it Rita Hayworth then? Oh, I bet Rita would look ravishing on a B-24!” Emma exclaimed.
“Lana Turner?” Georgette pipped in.
Sarah placed her hands over her heart in a dramatic pose. “Please don’t be so dense. It’s me. He painted me.”
Emma’s mouth gaped open. “In your bathing suit?”
“No, silly, just my face. And they named their bomber Sentimental Sarah. I have to say I’m taking a fancy to these American chaps.”
Emma sat in the wooden chair, scooting it up to her desk. “That’s great.” The others in their department entered, each one going to his or her desk and preparing for the night of work ahead.
Sarah approached Emma’s desk. “Do you want to go with me tomorrow to see it? I know you have the day off.”
“Oh, well…” Emma fiddled with her stereoscope and then looked at the clock, willing the photographs to show up early. Did she want to tell her friends about her plans? About Will? Looking into their eyes, she knew she wouldn’t have a choice.
“I, uh, have plans tomorrow.”
“Plans?” Georgette approached with interest too. “What makes you footloose and fancy-free? Are you going back to London?”
“Not London, but Henley. I’m getting picked up by a friend.” She let out a sigh, realizing that they would continue to ask questions until they got all the information they wanted. She decided just to tell them everything. They’d find out soon enough.
“A friend?” Georgette prodded.
Emma brushed a strand of dark hair back from her face. “Did I mention I met a guy?”
Sarah’s eyes widened, and her hands covered her mouth. The faces of others in their division turned her direction too. They’d obviously been listening.
Georgette inched closer, eyebrows raised, waiting to hear more. “Like someone you’re interested in romantically?”
Emma didn’t know why she was telling them, especially before she even had a chance to see Will again. Maybe the spark was just imagined. Then again, she had his note. “With deepest regards,” he’d written. Her stomach fluttered like a kite in the wind. She was drawn to Will and thankful for the fact he was not involved in the war. He was an artist, a painter. He was safe to love. Safe to give her heart to. Well, as safe as one could get in the war. She’d been so quick to act in so many other aspects of her life—her move to England, her joining the WAAFs, her volunteering for special projects—but even in doing so she had protected her heart. Now, for the first time that she could remember, she also wanted to run ahead with eager abandon when it came to building a friendship with Will—and who knew if something more would come of it.
Sarah leaned closer and tugged on her earlobe. “Did I hear that right? The girl who claims she’s not going to date because she’s here for a job, not a romance, met a guy?” Sarah smirked.
“When Vera and I were in London—” Emma started, but her words were interrupted when the door to their workroom swung open.
Sergeant Edward Blackbourne entered the room, which officially meant their work day had begun. He strolled around, handing out the first covers for the day, starting in the far end of the room.
“I’m meeting Will tomorrow at noon. He’s coming here to pick me up,” Emma whispered to Georgette and Sarah, who hovered close. As soon as the words were out she regretted saying them. Georgette let out a small giggle, and Sarah winked. Then they strode back to their own desks.
Edward reached Emma’s desk, and she wondered what she’d see today. She settled in, preparing for the work to come. Within twenty-four hours of the prints being received, all operational sorties had to be plotted onto maps, showing exactly where and when each photograph had been taken. After that, the photos were interpreted to be used for determining strategy and for comparison for any future sorties. The limited time frame was vital. Information had to get out to the commanders at the bomber bases and front lines. Men’s lives depended on their observations.
Edward placed a stack of photos in front of her. He leaned down, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “No movement on the secret weapons.” His eyes focused with intensity. “But here are some wonderful camouflage shots. I’m giving them to you because for some reason, you’re able to see what they’re trying to hide.”
“Camouflage. Do they think the
y’re fooling us?” She smiled up at Edward. “If anything it just makes us certain it’s something important. Something they don’t want us to see.”
She took the photos from his hands. “I can’t wait to see what they’ve been up to.”
As Edward continued on, Emma spread out the black-and-white prints on her desk. Even without the stereoscope she could make out shadows and vague outlines under the camouflage. No matter how the Germans attempted to hide their secrets, shadows always showed through netting.
Her keen attention to detail and visual memory had brought her to Medmenham, but now she wondered if God had something else in store.
God, could Will be part of your plan for me here? Out of all the places you could have led me, I ended up here.
In the months since she’d signed up for the WAAF, it was as if she’d been a character in the novels she liked to read. She’d crossed the ocean and billeted by the sea during her training. When first stationed at Benson, she’d awaken to the roar of plane engines and thought she was hearing ocean waves as she had in Tremont.
She learned how to install and quickly retrieve cameras from aircraft. She knew how to develop film and carry out initial examinations. She knew how to print photographs. Her favorite part had been processing film in the field using buckets of developing fluid, fixer, and water. And now she was here.
Emma had moved to this esteemed position and now knew Germany in more detail than she’d even known her hometown. Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d travel in her mind’s eye to small places like Lübeck, with its medieval center of wooden buildings. Then she imagined walking block by block, building by building.
Often in her dreams she’d see the image of American bombers taking off, and she strained to see the pilot’s face. Waking or sleeping, only one face had materialized in her mind—Samuel’s, with the set of his chin and determination in his eyes. But now as she lined up the photos in front of her to make a complete picture, another face came to mind. Will’s.
He’d told her about his painting and said he’d been hurt during the Blitz. She’d love to hear the whole story and guessed he’d been doing something heroic. He had the same confidence about him that she saw in the erect stances of the section leaders, commanders, and generals whom she worked with at Medmenham. The movement of their bodies proved they had pride in their work, their cause, themselves. It was extremely attractive.
But now it was time to push those thoughts away. Instead, she would focus on the prints in front of her, cataloging the type and number of German tanks she spotted under the camouflage nettings. And soon the air commanders would understand their new target in detail.
Edward came by a few hours later to view her progress. “It’s rather thrilling, don’t you think, being spies? Determining what men in war have always wanted to know, what’s on the other side of the hill?” He chuckled. “And in this case, what the Germans are so determined to hide from us.”
Emma smiled. “The Germans can pull few surprises with us around.”
Edward crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a worried expression. “Yes, we can say that now, but we must hope and pray that remains the case.”
Her eyebrows folded, mimicking his. “Have they been able to get the photos we need? The new covers?” She didn’t have to mention the secret weapons project for him to know what she was talking about.
“They’ve tried a few times but no luck. But we’ll keep on looking. If the information we’re receiving from the ground is accurate, there should be many sites that are being developed.”
“And if we don’t move fast enough? If we don’t find what we need?”
Edward sighed. He picked up her pencil from the desk and pointed it upward. Then he made a launching motion, flying it over her desk. “If Hitler’s able to accomplish what he plans, there will be no stopping him. It’s hard enough dealing with bombing when we can hear the bombers overhead, but can you imagine the panic that would ensue if bombs fell unseen and unheard until it was too late?”
She tried to imagine that. She pictured the fear and horror on the people’s faces. Emma’s throat tightened at the thought, and a lump within it grew. Her stomach clenched down too, and she told herself to focus on the work. It’s up to us. We have to find those weapons. If we don’t, there will be no stopping the Germans.
Worry as she might, it didn’t completely wash away the buoyancy in her heart over seeing Will the next day. But like everything else, those thoughts were pushed away when she sat down at her desk to work.
Don’t let the thoughts of a handsome man keep you from your work, she chided herself. The enemy outside was known and feared, but for the first time, Emma recognized the enemy within. The one that tended to draw her away to distraction. The one she’d have to fight, especially when thoughts of Will threatened to disrupt her concentration. She had a job to do, and she needed to focus on that, even with her heart drawing her away.
EIGHTEEN
Will set up his easel and painting palette and released a breath, taking in the scent of pine in the air, the quiet breeze, and the beauty of the discovered spot at the edge of a forest on the main road between Henley and Medmenham. The chill fogged his breath even though the sun had risen. The gray waters of the river rolled by, and the small cottage on the river’s edge was his muse for the day. It was only ten in the morning, but he’d already put in a full day of work.
He’d gotten up at dawn and embarked on a morning walk, casually strolling by the underground factories not too far out of town. They were building Spitfires to be used in their photographic reconnaissance, and the area was exactly how Albert used to describe it. Following in Albert’s footsteps, Will had taken notes of the number of workers’ automobiles and the size of the lorries transporting aircraft parts to a nearby factory. Returning home an hour later, he passed on the intel over the wireless he’d set up in his cottage. He could picture the Abwehr agent on the other side of the wireless yawning at the report, and that was exactly how he wanted it.
Will’s reports were as fictionalized as they were dull. Just as he’d done with Albert’s information, Will changed enough of the details to ensure it didn’t help the Germans. His report also protected those at the factory. He gave just enough actual intel, though, for the Germans to believe he was valuable and could be trusted. Will had to keep up the ruse until he could figure out what had happened to Albert. It seemed ludicrous that the man had died in his sleep. But who would have discovered him? Killed him? And why? Those at MI5 knew that Albert was a pawn in the chess game, and as far as Will knew the Abwehr believed him to have been a valuable resource. It made no sense…
In addition to discovering Albert’s killer, Will had to get inside Medmenham. At least he was moving in the right direction in that regard. Emma was the key to the gates—and the doors—opening to him. Will just hoped he could earn her trust before it was too late.
While no details had been passed on to Christopher, an intercepted message had made it clear that those inside Medmenham were in danger, as was their work. There had to be someone on the inside. Most likely someone Emma already trusted. To find out that information, Will needed to get the beautiful WAAF to trust him too. And to do that he needed to have a painting in progress to show her.
Will adjusted the canvas on the easel. Then he tucked the palette in the crook of his arm as he added paint. First he added a transparent white to allow the colors to mix easier on the canvas. Then he mixed blue and gray until he came to the right color of blue for the sky. With broad strokes he took color from the brush, starting at the top and working his way down. The color faded into the horizon, which was exactly the effect he intended. The swish as he brushed settled his heart, and for a moment he wasn’t Will, working for MI5, but Wilhelm, the young boy who sat by his mother’s side as she worked in her studio. They’d lived in Bethnal Green, in the East End of London, with so many other immigrants.
His mother never wanted him to stand out and insisted h
e speak to her in perfect British English, even though she and his father spoke to each other mostly in German. His father was English and had lived in Germany for a time as a teacher. And after Will graduated from college, he had planned on doing the same, and that’s when Christopher had approached him. Will at first had jumped at the chance of adventure and intrigue, and like a good marriage, over the years he realized that the commitment had nothing to do with what he could get out of it, but everything to do with his dedication to his country.
Like he’d done in numerous other communities since the war started, he’d work hard to settle in to Henley-on-Thames. In the coming weeks—and maybe even months—he wanted to become a familiar face in town. He wanted word to spread of his work with the Recording England project. He needed to be considered trustworthy and honorable, and dating a WAAF who worked at Danesfield House would be key to his plan.
Will was eager to go pick up Emma in a few hours. Eager to get to know her better. He just hoped that in the process of protecting Danesfield House, he could protect Emma too.
Once he’d achieved the shading he desired, Will swished the brush over the canvas, removing the brush strokes. Then with his painter’s knife, he mixed the blueish gray of the sky with a touch of green to obtain the color of the river. With the thinnest bead of paint on the knife, he cut the river through the canvas, in his mind’s eye picturing Emma on the water in a rowboat, rowing with long strokes like her role model, Grace Darling. A smile touched his lips as he thought of Emma.
A woman traveling halfway around the world, sleeping in a Nissen hut, and working around the clock to assist the war effort was intriguing. And a woman that beautiful and smart would make his job of drawing close to her easy. If only he could keep his thoughts focused on the job at hand. Getting too wrapped up with her could break her heart, and most likely his too, if he wasn’t careful. But for the first time in this war it was a risk Will was willing to take.
