Maggie saw David struggling to get free from Gregory. She ran to Gregory and tried to pry his hands off David’s neck. Lilibet, seeing what was happening, crawled over to Gregory, brave as the Prince in Sleeping Beauty. Just as Maggie kneed him in the groin, Lilibet bit down on his ankle as hard as she could. “Good girl!” Maggie managed.
Gregory cried out in anguish and released his grip on David, who fell to the deck, gasping for air. Gregory stumbled backward and fell as well, curling into a fetal position.
“That’s for calling him a poof!” Lilibet yelled into the wind. Maggie was filled with both amazement and sisterly pride.
Before anyone had a chance to recover, there was another enormous blast—the approaching German ship exploded in smoke and lacy white froth. One final detonation, and the ship burst into a ball of orange and red flames, reflected in the gray water. Boothby and the two crewmen watched helplessly.
Gregory managed to turn himself over and whistled through his bleeding teeth and lip. “Goddamned British navy.”
“You want to know a British military secret?” David shouted, propping himself up on his elbows. “We’re equipped with really big guns, you … jerk!” he said, realizing the Princess was present.
Maggie went to Lilibet and cradled her in her arms, keeping her eyes west. “The British are coming.”
“About time, Paul Revere,” said David, before turning back to Gregory. “You’ll have quite the story to tell before they hang you for treason.”
But Gregory was already unlacing his heavy boots and stripping off his mackintosh. “But it seems like such a lovely morning for a swim,” he said, a man with nothing to lose, nothing to live for.
“No!” Maggie screamed. “Don’t do it!” She didn’t know how she felt about Gregory—disgust, hate, pity? But she did know she didn’t want him to die. “You’ll never make it!” Even if he could swim to France, the water was too cold. It would kill him before he could reach the shore.
“But I might,” he said, winking at her with his good eye. “And it’s better than the alternative,” he called back to them before he dove into the sea.
Maggie watched Gregory’s head bobbing amidst the waves. Then he vanished beneath the surface, rising again, choking on seawater. His eyes locked with Maggie’s as he slowly, slowly slipped beneath the surface of the water. She watched him sink into the darkness until she couldn’t see his face any longer.
Oh, Gregory, what a waste, was all she could think, feeling her eyes well up with hot tears. What a tragic, tragic waste of a life.
She, David, and Lilibet, exhausted, huddled together for warmth, until the rubber dinghy reached them.
Chapter Twenty-nine
That day, after being debriefed and arriving back at Windsor Castle, Maggie and David were taken to the Royal Family’s private apartments. They’d been given hot baths, glasses of cognac, fresh, dry clothes, and a chance to sleep. Now up and dressed and looked over by the Royal Physician, they entered the Royal Family’s private sitting room. David’s head was bandaged, as was the wrist that had had the handcuff on it. Maggie looked tired and pale, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
It was a large chamber, but cozy, with buttercup-yellow silk walls, a soft red Persian carpet, and a plethora of needlepoint pillows. The King and Queen were there, sitting on an overstuffed sofa, surrounded by their corgis. Winston Churchill and Peter Frain sat in chairs opposite. Hugh was present as well, sitting next to Frain, a pair of crutches at his side. He and Maggie locked eyes. She smiled and his face relaxed. He tried to stand.
“Please don’t,” Maggie said. She tried to remember her Royal etiquette, making a shaky curtsy. David did the same, with a bow.
“Please, sit down, both of you. You poor dears,” Queen Elizabeth said. Maggie smiled. She sounded just like a mother—which, of course, she was.
“Quite an adventure you two had, heh?” Churchill said, getting up. He gave David a bear-like embrace, slapping the younger man’s back repeatedly, while David winced. Then he kissed Maggie’s hand. “Can’t seem to keep you out of trouble, Miss Hope.”
The King had risen as well. “Jolly good show, both of you. If anything had happened to Lilibet … Well, I just can’t bear to think of it.”
“Well, it didn’t,” said Frain. “And they didn’t get Mr. Greene and Miss Hope with the knowledge they each possess, either. The U-boat’s been captured and the surviving men all taken into custody. I have just one question. What happened to Gregory Strathcliffe?”
“He decided to swim for France, Your Majesty,” Maggie said.
“And?”
“He—he drowned.”
“Good.” Frain nodded. “More paperwork, of course, but that’s that, then.”
The Queen indicated an ornate silver tray with a porcelain teapot, with enamels and gilding, as well as matching translucent bone cups and saucers on the low table in front of one of the sofas. “Please sit down, everyone. Who would like a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Maggie said, taking a seat as the Queen poured cups for both her and David.
“How is the Princess, ma’am?” Maggie asked, accepting the cup and saucer. “Her foot?”
“She’s, well, she’s had quite the time of it. The doctor’s seen to her and it’s just a sprained ankle, thank goodness. She’s resting with Alah now. But she has her grandmother’s strong constitution—and she’s going to be fine.”
“She was very brave,” Maggie told the King and Queen. “She helped save us.”
“Of course she did,” said the King, taking the Queen’s hand and beaming with pride. “She’s our daughter.”
“Mr. Thompson,” Maggie said, “how is your leg?”
“Fine,” replied Hugh. “I’ll be on crutches for a while but expect to make a full recovery.”
“Good,” Maggie said, wishing she could say so much more.
“I must apologize for my role in all this,” the King said. “I knew about Lily’s background and I allowed her to stay at Windsor anyway. If I’d sent her away, as I should have … Instead, I sent away Marta Kunst Tooke, who was completely innocent.”
“And I let my prejudice against Louisa blind me to the fact that it was actually Audrey and George Poulter who were setting up the kidnapping plot,” Maggie interjected.
“All’s well that ends well, then?” the Prime Minister said.
“Indeed,” added Frain. Then, to Maggie and Hugh, “I’ll see you two at my office on Monday morning, after the New Year,” he said. Then his tone softened. “In the meantime, happy Christmas.”
“Thank you,” David chimed in. “Still Jewish, of course. But I do love a cup of mulled wine and those little almond cookies at this time of the year. And the trees are always pretty.”
As Churchill, Frain, David, and the King and Queen began a long political discussion, Maggie leaned over to Hugh. “So, how’s the leg?” she asked. “Really.”
“I’ll live,” he told her. “Just needed a few stitches.”
“That’s good.”
They listened to the discussion for a while, then Hugh said, “So, you’re off to Leeds for a wedding, then?”
“How did you—?” Maggie began, then realized that she’d had to clear her schedule with MI-5 months ago and of course he’d know. “Yes, off to my friends’ wedding. I’m a bridesmaid.”
“Are you, um, bringing anyone? As a date, I mean?”
“No,” Maggie said. She wished she could ask him, but they both knew it wasn’t in the cards.
“Well,” he said, not hiding his pleasure. “Good.”
The next day, after breakfast, Maggie and David packed up their things. From Windsor, they would drive straight to Leeds, for Nigel and Chuck’s New Year’s wedding.
“Merciful Minerva,” David exclaimed, “in all the excitement, I’d nearly forgotten about good old Nigel’s getting hitched.”
“Well, as a bridesmaid,” Maggie said, “I’ve been getting regular updates all fall. Y
ou wouldn’t think Chuck would be so girly about her wedding, but she really did get into the spirit. We might need to start calling her Charlotte Mary.”
They walked past the doors to the nursery. “Do you mind?” she said to David. “I’d like to check in on Lilibet.”
“Of course,” he replied.
Maggie gave a soft knock at the door. Alah opened it. “Oh, Miss Hope!” she cried, falling into Maggie’s arms. “We’re ever so grateful to you, for bringing our Lilibet back!”
Maggie was stunned, and held the woman, patting her back. “She was truly brave,” she said. “A credit to you and Crawfie.”
Alah sniffled. “If anything had happened …”
“But it didn’t.”
Alah wiped at her eyes. “It didn’t. You’re right. Stiff upper lip, Miss Hope. Stiff upper lip.”
“May I see Her Highness?” Maggie asked. “I’m off to a wedding and then, well, I’m not really sure what’s next.”
“Of course,” Alah said. She went to Lilibet’s bedroom door and knocked. “Miss Hope is here to see you!”
The door popped open and Lilibet and Margaret both burst out. “Oh, Maggie,” Lilibet said, hopping to her on her good leg and wrapping her arms around Maggie’s neck. “It all seems like a dream now, doesn’t it?”
“A bit,” Maggie said, smiling.
“Were you really on a German submarine?” Margaret demanded. “Because sometimes Lilibet likes to tease me.”
“We really were,” Maggie answered. “Cross my heart.”
“Maggie,” Lilibet said, taking her hand and leading her over to the sofa, “I want to thank you—and Mr. Greene—for everything.”
Maggie blinked back tears as she sat next to the young woman. “It was our pleasure, Your Highness. And now you and Margaret have a wonderful Christmas and New Year.”
“Will you be back in January?” Lilibet asked. As Maggie searched for an answer, the girl suddenly realized, “You—you weren’t here to teach me maths, were you.” It was more of a statement than a question.
Maggie smiled. “Well, that’s partly why I was here,” she said. “And you have to admit it came in handy.”
“The code—” Lilibet began.
“Yes,” Maggie finished. “So, keep working on your maths, all right? And I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Someday.”
The day of Chuck and Nigel’s wedding dawned clear and sunny. Maggie awoke from her trundle bed, set up in Chuck’s old room, and spent a moment looking out the window, watching the gray turn to bright white and then, finally, a bright azure.
“Wake up, sleepyhead, it’s your wedding day!” she said to her old friend, still fast asleep.
Chuck groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. “Five more minutes …”
“Up!” Maggie pulled the duvet off.
Chuck sighed and turned over, a dreamy smile on her face. “It really is today, isn’t it?” She looked over at her wedding ensemble, on a hanger over the door. It wasn’t a white dress—not enough rations—but it was a lovely portrait-neck burgundy silk suit that Chuck’s mother had done over with an ivory lace collar.
“It’d better be,” Maggie said, sitting down on the corner of Chuck’s bed. “I don’t think my back can stand that trundle bed any longer.”
Chuck sat up. “Now, just because it’s not a featherbed in a castle.”
“Oh, please. Living at Windsor was like ‘camping in a museum,’ as Crawfie used to say.”
“Well, I hope it wasn’t too awful. I’m so glad you came a bit early—dealing with all of the wedding plans, plus the family and the future in-laws—or, as I like to call them, ‘the outlaws.’ ” Chuck rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s just say I’ll be glad to finally be married.”
“And you’re going to be a beautiful bride.”
“Nigel thinks so, at least, and that’s all I care about.” Chuck rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She wasn’t a conventional beauty, but she was handsome and her intelligence and wit gave her a sparkle that drew people to her.
“Well, we might as well start by getting you some tea and breakfast,” Maggie told her. “Don’t want the bride fainting away, now do we?”
“Is it going to be strange for you, Maggie? I mean, without John?”
It was, but Maggie didn’t want Chuck to spend even a moment of her day worrying about it. “It’s hard. Every day is hard. But life goes on. And I know he’d be so happy to see you and Nigel finally tie the knot. So, I’m fine, darling. Really.”
Maggie was dressed and putting on Chuck’s lipstick when Sarah arrived.
“Kittens!” she squealed, putting down her valise. “You both look ravishing!”
“Sarah!” Chuck and Maggie chorused, running to the slender, glamorous woman in the smart cherry-colored suit and matching turban. “You’re here!”
“Without a moment to spare,” she said. “The Ballet’s in Liverpool this week. The damn train kept breaking down. I’ve been up all night—never thought I’d get here.”
“Well, you’re here now,” Maggie said, “and that’s all that counts.”
“Plenty of time,” Chuck said.
“My, aren’t you calm for a bride-to-be!” Sarah exclaimed.
Chuck motioned to the glass of Buck’s Fizz Maggie had made for her. “That certainly doesn’t hurt.”
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Oh, may I have one?”
“Of course,” Maggie said, mixing orange juice and champagne. “Let’s have a toast.”
The three women raised their glasses. “To Chuck,” Maggie began. “A beautiful bride and a beautiful woman, inside and out. We wish you a lifetime of happiness.”
They clinked glasses.
“To the honeymoon!” Sarah said, with a sly smile.
They clinked again.
Then, “To friends,” Chuck said. “War, bombs, rationing—my engagement—I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“And you’re going to need us.” Maggie smiled. To Sarah, “I don’t know if you’ve met her in-laws yet, but they make the Germans seem like Beatrix Potter’s bunnies.”
Holy Trinity Church was small and stone, with a sharp Gothic bell tower pointing heavenward. The young women and Chuck’s parents parked in the lot, then walked in the cold, crisp air, past the graveyard with its gray lichen-covered headstones, to the entrance. They passed over the threshold and waited in the vestibule for the organ music Chuck and Nigel had chosen, Purcell’s “Welcome, Glorious Morn.” The sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, making them glow and casting reflections of sapphire, ruby, amethyst, and emerald on the hard wooden pews.
Chuck’s mother proceeded down the worn stone aisle, followed by Maggie and Sarah. There was a pause and the small group in the first few rows of the church rose as Chuck took her father’s arm and began the walk down.
Nigel waited for her at the altar, smart in his RAF dress uniform, still a bit barrel-shaped, but thinner now, his face showing more angles and planes. As Maggie took her position at Chuck’s side, she managed a glance at the congregation in the pews. David was there, looking handsome.
Maggie looked away, back to Chuck and Nigel, as her heartbeat quickened. She was overwhelmed with conflicting feelings—happiness, relief, longing, anger, and anguish, all at once.
The ceremony was short, solemn, and sweet. And after it was over, the bride, groom, and wedding guests walked over to the wedding luncheon, held in the back room of Anthony’s, the town’s finest restaurant. In the small room, tables were pushed together. The guests sat down as waiters brought in trays of champagne coupes, for the toast. As soon as the speeches were made, waiters brought bowls of steaming parsnip soup and trays of dainty-looking sandwiches—cucumber, ham, and mustard, mock crab salad. The drinks began in earnest—pints of beer, shandies, and gin-and-tonics pink with Angostura Bitters and glistening ice cubes.
Maggie found herself caught up in the swirling joy of the day, raising her glass to Nigel and Chuck’s health and happine
ss for at least the fifth time. It was infectious and there was no way she could resist.
“You doing all right, love?” Sarah asked.
Warmed by a glass and a half of shandy, Maggie answered, “I’m fine. Really. It’s Chuck and Nigel’s big day and I couldn’t be happier.”
Chapter Thirty
Back at David’s flat in London that evening, Maggie telephoned Hugh at the office. “So, we don’t work together anymore, do we?”
“Well, technically, we both work for MI-Five, yes. But, to the best of my knowledge, since the Windsor case is closed, I’m not your handler anymore. So, yes—and no.”
“Well, David’s going to be out and I’m going to try and cook something tonight. If you happen to be passing by—”
“I’ll be there,” Hugh interrupted.
From across the room, Mark laughed.
Hugh grinned and mouthed, “Shut up.”
Over dinner, Maggie’s attempt at Potato Jane, a bake of potatoes, leeks, cheese, and bread crumbs, and vinegary red wine, the two had their first somewhat normal conversation. “You have the advantage, though,” Maggie said, “because you know more about me than I know about you. You have my file.”
“You’re more than your file.”
“Well, I know you’re a Chelsea Blues fan.”
“How did you know that?”
She smiled. “You wear blue socks on game days. Also, you play the guitar.”
“No.” This time he smiled, and reached for his wine.
“No?” Maggie was surprised. “You have calluses on the tips of your left fingers, but not your right.”
“Cello,” Hugh admitted.
“Ah. A lovely instrument. Very soulful.” Then, “So, what did I miss?”
“You know most of the other details. My mother raised me. I ended up at Selwyn College, at Cambridge, for a degree in theology. And, for a while I thought I wanted to be a priest.”
“Catholic?”
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