Betrayal

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Betrayal Page 44

by J. Robert Janes


  The simple things that could never be. Mary knew this. They had four days and that was all. Getting permission to return to Ireland to settle the house had been nigh on impossible until the prime minister had intervened.

  ‘You’ve friends in high places,’ he said, a reminder.

  ‘Not friends, just people who want to help because …’

  ‘Och, I know you can’t tell me where you’ll be going, but I will wait and keep the house for you.’

  He could be so archaic when he wanted, would see her tears and shed his own. ‘This war is going to take years, Hamish, but I’ve this feeling inside me that in the end things will turn out for the best.’

  Had it been but the kindest of lies? ‘They’re going to send you into France, and I know this, know exactly what you’ll have to face and do. Mr. Churchill had no business …’

  She touched his lips to silence him, said ‘Hush, my darling, I will come back, you’ll see, and so will you.’

  Together they walked to the car and Hamish drove down the hill to the house, they sitting here for a moment more in the gathering darkness.

  He’d a fistful of one- and five-pound notes, the counterfeiting so good it would have been extremely difficult to tell the difference if one didn’t know that the banks had all been alerted.

  ‘Ria will take these to someone who will see that they get into the right hands. Men died for these, Mary, but maybe if others know that the Nazis are swindlers, they’ll want to keep quiet about it and will let us come home someday.’

  The light of a storm lantern lit up the car. The waiting had been too patient. ‘These goings on,’ clucked Ria under her breath but beamed as the doctor got out and went round to hold the door open for his wife.

  ‘Ah and sure them blackout regulations can be set aside the moment, Doctor. ’Tis terrible glad I am t’ see the two of you home and safe. Now it is, it surely is. William, be sharp with them bags. Bridget … Bridget, girl, didn’t I tell you to curtsey?’

  There’d be no dust. No thoughts of anyone bothering them.

  Mary found herself hugging the woman. It was as if she had come home, as if she would never have to leave.

  1 One hundred fathoms equals 640 feet.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by J. Robert Janes

  Cover design by Neil Alexander Heacox

  978-1-4976-4155-6

  Published in 2014 by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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