by V. B. Tenery
“Really? Who made you her judge? Jesus admonished the crowd that wanted to stone the harlot? ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ Are you without sin, Grey? I know I’m not. This bitterness you carry doesn’t just hurt your mother; it’s turning you into a cold, hostile human being.”
He didn’t reply. She kept quiet as well. She’d said all she could. Changes to the situation rested in his hands alone.
Bletchley Park Mansion
Buckinghamshire, England
The Bentley stopped at the Bletchley Park gate for security clearance, then Grey pulled to the front of the mansion. He turned to her and looked into her eyes. “Stay out of my personal life, Grace. My relationship with my mother has nothing to do with you.”
“Consider it done,” she said and slammed the car door. She rushed up the steps and into the building, with no idea whatsoever where she was going.
***
Knowing C might want to speak to Grace as well, Grey followed her. They had both cooled down by the time he found her in the canteen, and he invited her to accompany him to C’s office.
The DG had a tight schedule but gave them forty-five minutes.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Miss Sullivan. I would like to hear about your encounter with the spy.”
Grey kept quiet as Grace relayed her near-death meeting with the German assailant, then he filled the DG in on the information they collected on Becke and his planned rendezvous in ten days.
“You have my permission to use all necessary military assistance we can spare to capture Becke. As soon as he’s in custody, let me know. The Yanks have asked for our assistance in a mission into France in a fortnight. You need to plan to accompany them.”
Grey digested C’s last comment as they left his office, wondering what kind of mission the Yanks had in mind for him. As they stepped onto the landing, Nigel Lewis rushed toward them. “Commander, rumor has it you are driving back to London. Would you mind giving me a lift? I need to get back to the city as soon as possible, and the bloody train is too slow for my liking.”
“Of course. We’re just leaving. What brings you to Bletchley Park?”
“I thought you knew. I’m the Home Office liaison officer to MI6.” Lewis gave a short laugh. “That simply means I’m a glorified messenger. However, classified information can’t be handled over the telephone.”
The Savoy
London, England
They were tired after their trip back to London, and Grey stopped at the Savoy Grill Room for dinner.
“Do you eat here often?” Nigel asked after they were served. “It’s a little pricey but the food is good, considering rationing.”
“Fairly often when I’m in London,” Grey said. “It’s central to my mother’s flat where I usually stay, and, as you said, the food is good most days.”
Nigel finished his meal and leaned back in his chair. “Are you having any luck with the murder investigation? I know you can’t share what you’ve learned; a simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Some success so far,” Grey said. He glanced over at Grace. She had said little all evening. He wondered if she was still angry with him. “Do you need anything before we go?”
She shook her head. “Nothing, thank you. I’m tired and would just like to get home.”
Nigel finished his tea and set the cup on the table. “If you could drop me by the Home Office I would appreciate it. I can clear up a few things before I call it a night.”
The three stepped outside into the cold, moist evening. Thick fog had rolled in while they ate. Grey drove Nigel to his destination, and as he exited the car he said, “You might like to know we received a list of French Resistance fighters killed by the Nazis. The French underground tried to release hundreds of Poles and Jews headed for Germany.”
He inhaled a deep breath. “Ten of the French fighters, men and women, were shot down by machine gun fire. The Germans were waiting for them. The names of Jacky Vidal’s parents’ are on the list of those killed.”
Grace lowered her face into her hands and shook her head. Her voice caught when she spoke. “I hate this war.”
Grey’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Yes, and the Nazis who started it.”
Bristol Arms Apartments
London, England
Grey tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep despite his mental and physical exhaustion. He finally concluded he didn’t like being wrong-footed with Grace. Her good opinion of him mattered more than he wanted it to. The last words he spoke to her at the Park ran through his mind. She’d only been trying to help. He would have to apologize for his rudeness if he wished to restore the easy camaraderie they’d shared.
Still lying wide-eyed at midnight, the sound of a key in the lock and the door opening brought Grey to his feet. Aubrey shouldn’t be back so soon.
After his experience with the man who had attacked Grace, Grey kept his Browning HP at his fingertips. He grabbed the weapon and moved into the hallway. He met Aubrey coming towards him and lowered the gun. “I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow night.”
Aubrey ran his fingers through his hair, his usual composure noticeably absent. “I didn’t expect to be back so soon.”
“Is something wrong, old man? Anything I can help with?” Grey asked.
He nodded. “Let me make some coffee, and I’ll explain.”
Grey returned to his room, stashed the gun, and grabbed his robe and slippers. He joined his friend in the kitchen. Whatever happened during Aubrey’s visit with Penelope had knocked the wind out of his sails.
After a few minutes, Aubrey brought two mugs of coffee to the table and set one in front of Grey. “Do we have brandy?”
Grey pointed to Jacky’s impressive liquor cabinet.
Aubrey took a bottle of Bas Armagnac from the shelf, brought it to the table, and poured a generous splash of the costly liquor into his coffee. He took a long sip and his moist gaze met Grey’s across the table. “Penelope broke off our engagement.”
“That was sudden. Did she say why?”
Aubrey gave a short, scornful laugh. “She did indeed. I realized recently I had never told her about my Jewish birth parents. I never considered it would matter. To put it mildly, it was a deal- breaker.”
Disgust swept over Grey. How could a woman profess love for a man and let something so unimportant break off an engagement? He had gone through something similar and knew his friend would get over it in time. But that didn’t lessen the hurt and damage to the man’s pride.
Aubrey stood, refilled his coffee cup, and added another splash of brandy. “I’d like to visit my parent’s tomorrow, if that’s okay. I’ll only be gone a couple of days. Work is the best thing for me now. It will keep my mind occupied, but I need to break the news to my mum and dad.”
“Of course, take whatever time you need. We’re at a standstill until the Becke rendezvous. I can handle whatever comes up in the meantime.”
His pain apparently dulled by the brandy, Aubrey staggered to his room. Grey carried the empty cups to the sink and stared into the water swirling down the drain.
Penelope Winthrop had done little to restore his faith in women.
CHAPTER 10
Bristol Arms Apartments
London, England
Grey spent the next two days with the Navy officials, orchestrating the capture of Gunter Becke. With Grace in tow, he visited the Admiralty Office and explained the operation and their needs. C had already alerted the officers to his visit so the planning went smoothly. Seven days from now, he and Grace would be onboard a ship in the harbor. Aubrey would be stationed on shore with a team of constables to take the spy into custody after his capture.
Catching Becke and finding out what he’d learned from Jacky Vidal was priority one. There could be no slipups.
Their elusive spy had not appeared at his flat since their search. Some of Becke’s neighbors may have tipped him off that Scotland Yard was on to him. Grace
was in peril as long as Becke thought he was unknown to the authorities. Once he became aware his identity was known, there would be no reason for him to come after her. The big question was: did he know? And if he did, would he assume they found the letters and change his plan to meet the intercept. That scenario would make all Grey’s preparations for naught?
His injury had almost healed and when he returned to the flat Grey took a hot shower before dressing for dinner. He’d made arrangements to take Grace back to the Savoy that evening to make his apology. She had been civil but distant since their quarrel at the Park. He wanted to mend his fences, settle this bloody murder investigation, and get back to MI6. His specialty was uncovering subversive activities, not chasing killers.
The Savoy’s crowd was light and they were once again seated in the Grill Room. This time, Grey asked for a table away from the band so they could talk. After serving drinks, the waiter took their dinner orders and hovered nearby.
Before getting down to his apology, Grey told her about Aubrey’s broken engagement.
An incredulous expression passed over her face. “She refused to marry him because he’s Jewish? He must be devastated.” She shook her head and held him in a sad blue stare. “It’s best he found out what kind of an elitist snob she was before he married her. I had no idea Aubrey was Jewish, but what difference could it possibly matter if you love someone?”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Grey felt inexplicably pleased she felt that way.
The waiter brought fresh drinks to the table. As he walked away, Grey spoke. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about my rudeness the other day. My defenses go up whenever my mother comes into the conversation. I should have handled your comments with more tact. Truly, I have tried to forgive her, but the barriers are always there whenever we’re together.”
Grace stared into her tea cup then looked up. “Apology accepted. As you said, it really isn’t my concern. I just couldn’t stand by and watch the hurt in her eyes without saying something.”
He finished his tea and a wave of dizziness swept over him. A late reaction to his leg wound?
The waiter appeared at his side. “You don’t look well, sir. May I call a taxi for you?”
“No, I have my car outside, thank you. I’ll feel better in a moment.”
The man watched him closely for a moment, then nodded his acceptance of Grey’s refusal and moved on to the next table.
Grey glanced at Grace. She seemed to be in trouble as well. Food poisoning? “Grace, are you alright?”
She folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “Not really. I feel a little dizzy for some reason.”
The waiter reappeared at Grey’s side. “You really don’t look like you can drive, sir. I’ll get that taxi. You can pick up your automobile tomorrow.”
Grey nodded his assent and the solicitous waiter walked them outside into the cold night. A car pulled to the curb. The driver got out and helped the waiter seat Grace in the back-seat then returned for Grey. The last words he remembered was hearing the waiter ask for his address, then telling the taxi driver to take good care of them.
***
Grey eased one eye open. The room’s lighting was dim. Only the bedside lamp burned. He recognized his bedroom in 3C. He glanced at the clock. Five o’clock in the morning. He’d only had tea last night, but his head felt as if he’d consumed massive quantities of alcohol.
He tried to sit up. A weight on his left side held him in place. When he turned to investigate, he looked into the face of Grace Sullivan. Her head rested in the curve of his arm, blond hair spread across the pillow next to him. Her body snuggled against his.
A dream?
No. She was very real.
“What the . . .?” He slipped his arm from under her head. She didn’t stir. His trousers lay beside the bed and he quickly slipped into them. Snatching his robe from the armoire, vision still blurred, he stumbled to the kitchen on decidedly unsteady limbs. His throat and tongue felt like dry leather.
He heated water, then made a pot of strong coffee and added three teaspoons of sugar to his cup. Sod rationing. The occasion called for a stiff drink or strong, sweet caffeine.
A long sip of the hot brew burned his throat, but it helped clear his thoughts. He took the cup to the table and collapsed into the chair, a staccato beat pounding his temples. A large manila envelope with his name in large block letters sat propped against the table’s centerpiece.
The envelope hadn’t been there when he’d left last night.
He removed a dishcloth from a cabinet drawer and picked up the package. The metal clasp opened easily and he dumped the contents on the table. A number of photographs fanned out against the table top, along with a typed note. The black and white pictures were of him and Grace in his bed, obviously unclothed.
He read the note:
DROP THE VIDAL MURDER CASE OR THESE LOVELY PHOTOGRAPHS WILL BE ON THE FRONT PAGE OF EVERY TABLIOD IN LONDON.
Though the memory was still vague, Grey realized the car the waiter deposited them in last night wasn’t a taxi. They’d been set up. The tea at dinner must have been drugged.
Grey filled another cup, added liberal amounts of cream and sugar, and took it into the bedroom. He had to break the news to Grace.
Making sure she was completely covered, he shook her gently. “Grace, you need to wake up. Don’t be alarmed. You’re in a strange place but you’re unharmed.”
Her eyelashes fluttered, then her gazed settled on his face. Her eyes widened as recognition washed across her face. She sat up quickly and clutched the blanket to her chest. “What . . . what are you doing here?”
He handed her the coffee. “Perhaps you should drink this before I explain.”
She gulped down two sips and set the cup on the bedside table. “Tell me.”
After he opened the clasp, he handed her the envelope along with his handkerchief. “Use this.”
She carefully removed the letter and one photograph, closed her eyes, and with shaking hands shoved it back inside, then read the note. Her voice became softer, lower. “Blackmail?”
“In a manner of speaking. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get me to drop the Vidal case.”
Face pale, blue eyes misty, she said, “I can’t let these be published, Grey. My father is a federal judge. It would destroy his career. He’s on the short list for the next vacancy on the Supreme Court.”
“It wouldn’t do my career a lot of good either. The Home Office frowns on agents seducing young American girls. At least publicly. Not to mention your own reputation would be ruined.”
“My reputation is the least of my concerns.” She blinked then closed her eyes. “My father has worked hard all his life and just as he’s about to reach the pinnacle of his career, I’ll be responsible for ending his dream. I know we can’t let someone get away with murder, but . . . oh golly.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.
Grey stood abruptly, almost knocking over the chair. His face flushed with heat. “Make no mistake, Grace. This is not your fault. It’s the work of a demented killer and spy who’s trying to use us to get away with murder. But that’s not going to happen.” He tossed her clothes to her from off the floor. “Get dressed while I go make some arrangements. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
“You have a plan?” she asked, a tinge of hope in her voice.
“I do indeed. We will get married. Today.”
Her head jerked up and she stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. Those photographs lose all credibility if we’re man and wife. Instead of being infamous, they become invasion of privacy. No newspaper would touch them.”
“But . . .”
He held up his hand. “I didn’t expect you to like it, nor do I, and if you have another suggestion, I’ll certainly hear you out. It would be in name only.” He hesitated for a moment. “Unless you want it otherwise.”
When she didn’t respond, he gave her what he hoped was a r
eassuring smile and continued. “After the war we can get a quiet divorce, but in the meantime, if you’re on board we really must hurry.”
She gave her head a slight shake and closed her eyes again. After a long pause, she nodded.
“I’ll call C,” he said.
Due to the early hour it took a while to connect with the DG, but he finally answered and Grey explained the situation. Minutes later, he returned to the bedroom. Grace was dressed, her expression one of resignation, which he could certainly understand. “We’re all set. Do you have anything white for the occasion?”
“I have a white silk cocktail suit and hat that will serve. I’ll go next door and get dressed.”
“Good. Fortunately, I still have the rings I had planned to give Cynthia. They belonged to my grandmother. I hope you don’t mind wearing them.”
“Under the circumstances, it doesn’t matter,” she said. She picked up her handbag and stepped to the door.
He stopped her. “Grace, there will be photographers. You’ll have to try to smile. The announcement will be in all the papers tomorrow.” As an aside, he said, “Hopefully, this foul fog will keep the Jerries away.”
***
Grace eased into her flat, hoping not to wake Bunny, and headed for the shower. No matter how hard she scrubbed, the hot water and lavender soap couldn’t wash away the dilemma she faced. A fake marriage to a man who shunned women had disaster written all over it. She didn’t dislike Grey. In many ways she found him attractive and charming . . . when he tried. But he was by no means the ideal groom. At least not for her.
The one photograph she had seen skittered into her thoughts and she blushed, horrified that others had seen them. If they were ever made public, how could she ever explain them to her family? No one would accept the truth of what really happened. She had to believe that what she and Grey were doing was the right choice.
She dressed in the white suit and settled the tiny hat on her head, not exactly what she had dreamed of as her wedding trousseau, but then this wasn’t her dream wedding.
