China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3)

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘Yes. But I don’t mind you telling me again,’ Claire purred.

  Mitch kissed her. ‘Okay, my turn.’ He took the camera from around his neck and gave it to Claire. He leapt onto the plinth and again onto the back of the lion. ‘It’s a great view from up here,’ he shouted, surveying the square.

  ‘Sit still or the photograph will be blurred.’ Mitch put his hand up to his brow, as if he was Admiral Nelson looking out to sea. He held the pose and Claire took the photograph.

  ‘Boy, it’s cold when the sun goes in,’ he said, jumping down. ‘When does the British summer begin?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Let’s go.’ They ran through Trafalgar Square, scattering the pigeons. Claire let go of Mitch’s hand and, as he turned, she took a snap. ‘Aimée will love that,’ he said, ‘with all the pigeons flying around.’

  Leaving the lions and pigeons behind, Mitch and Claire crossed the road to the National Gallery, walked for a few minutes, and turned onto the Strand. Near the top, a little before the Aldwych, they came to the Prince Albert Theatre. Either the windows were boarded up to protect them from bomb damage, or they had already been damaged, Claire couldn’t tell. ‘My sister works here,’ she said. ‘She started as an usherette, learned the songs and dances and when there was an opening, got a part in the chorus. I’d love to see her on stage, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘She took over from a girl whose boyfriend was a Nazi sympathiser. He’d been a member of the BUF, or something, so…’

  ‘So it’s a scenario the colonel wouldn’t want you to be involved in?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Mitch put his arm round her shoulder. ‘Tell you what, China. When this damn war’s over, I’ll take you to see your sister in the show.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise! Hey, you’re shivering.’ Mitch pulled her closer. ‘Are you hungry, China?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Okay,’ Mitch beamed, ‘I’ve got eggs and ham and bread, beer and-- All sorts of stuff at my place. Let’s go back and have a feast. I’ll make you my special omelette.’ He put his fingers up to his lips and kissed the air. ‘Or we could go to a restaurant if you’d rather?’

  ‘No.’ Claire laughed. ‘I’d rather sample your culinary delights.’

  Leaving the Strand, Mitch and Claire walked through Covent Garden to St Giles Circus, on to Tottenham Court Road and along Oxford Street towards Marble Arch. ‘Is you’re apartment actually in Portman Square?’ Claire asked, as they turned into Orchard Street.

  ‘Corner of Portland and Baker Street. Come on, China, we’re nearly there,’ Mitch said, walking faster until they were almost running. They arrived out of breath and laughing. Mitch took the key to the outside door from his pocket and raced up the steps and Claire followed. ‘On the right,’ he said, stopping to open a grey letterbox – the first in a row of several that was fixed to the wall just inside the door. ‘A letter from Colonel Smith, but it can wait,’ Mitch whispered, unlocking the door to flat number one.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Claire said, entering and turning full circle. ‘It’s so big. My flat isn’t half the size of this.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it. I guess it’s because it’s my home in England. I can hardly pop over to Canada when I get forty-eight hours leave.’ Mitch took Claire’s coat and hung it up in the hall.

  ‘Thank you. Can I use the bathroom?’

  ‘Sure.’ Mitch opened a door on the left.

  In the bathroom Claire took Mitch’s after shave lotion from the shelf. It was French. She took out the cork stopper and lifted the bottle to her nose. She closed her eyes, remembering the night they slept in the hayloft. She put the bottle back, turned the key in the lock and used the toilet. While she washed her hands she looked in the mirror. She looked a mess, which wasn’t surprising; she had been running. She put the comb through her hair, applied a little lipstick and left.

  ‘I thought we’d get warmed up before we eat.’ Mitch handed Claire a cup of coffee and sat with his own.

  ‘Were you here last night?’ Claire asked.

  ‘Yes, looking over some papers that the colonel sent over.’ Mitch got up and crossed the room to the gramophone. ‘What kind of music do you like, China?’

  ‘I like swing, and jazz – all sorts really.’

  ‘You’ll like Billie Holiday then. “I’ve got my love to keep me warm…”’ Mitch sang. A second later there was a crackle, followed by Billie Holiday’s distinctive New York American accent. Sad and reflective one minute, strident and forceful the next, the jazz singer’s unique voice filled the room. Mitch took a bottle of cognac from the cupboard beneath the gramophone, put it on the occasional table, and went into the kitchen. Waltzing back with two glasses, he put them next to the bottle and sat down on the settee by Claire. ‘A drop of this will warm you up, China,’ he said, pouring equal measures of the amber liquid into both glasses. He handed one glass to Claire and picked up the other.

  Claire took a sip and a burning sensation hit the back of her throat. It took her breath away. She took a second sip and what tasted at first like a sharp spirit seemed to have mellowed to warm caramel. Rich and smooth, it slipped down her throat. She emptied the glass, put it on the table and laid her head on the back of the settee. Humming along to another Billie Holiday song, Claire closed her eyes.

  She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, but when Billie Holiday stopped singing, she opened her eyes. She looked around. It took her a second to gather her wits. Then she saw Mitch sitting at the dining table with a stack of files in front of him. One file lay open and he was reading a large sheet of paper by the light of a standard lamp, the only light in the room.

  ‘Hi, China. Had a good sleep?’

  ‘I haven’t been asleep,’ Claire laughed. ‘I closed my eyes to enjoy the music. What’s the time?’

  Mitch got up from the table and looked at his wristwatch. ‘Ten-fifteen,’ he said, dropping onto the settee next to her.

  ‘What? Oh my God, I have been asleep. How embarrassing,’ she said, burying her face in her hands.

  ‘I’ve made coffee. Do you want some?’

  ‘I ought to go and let you get on with…’

  ‘What?’

  Claire looked over to the table. ‘Whatever it was you were reading.’

  ‘Oh that. It’s not important. It’s only the date for the drop in France, and a list of what we’re taking.’

  Claire squealed. ‘Are you teasing me? If you are, I swear I shall never forgive you,’ she said, pretending to beat his chest.

  Mitch took hold of her wrists and drew her to him until her lips were almost touching his. ‘They are our instructions, but it’s too late to go through them now. We’ll look at them tomorrow, together.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Do you want me to take you home, China?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I want to stay here with you tonight.’

  Mitch picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you sure, China? Sure you want this?’

  Claire put her arms around his neck and, arching her back, lifted her face until her lips met his. ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said, and kissed him.

  Mitch took off her blouse and kissed her breasts. She tugged at his jumper. He pushed himself up until he was kneeling, pulled the jumper over his head, and threw it on the floor. He was soon kissing her again – on her lips, her ears, her neck. Claire became aroused and beneath his weight unbuttoned his shirt. Still kissing her, Mitch took off his trousers and pushed up her skirt. In a jumble of clothes and bed linen they found each other and made love.

  Claire turned over and opened her eyes. Disappointed that Mitch wasn’t lying next to her, she wiggled out of bed and wrapped a sheet around her. She could smell coffee and hear jazz music coming from the sitting room. Mitch was sitting at the table in boxer shorts reading the documents he had abandoned the night before. ‘Good morning,�
� she said, putting her arms around his neck and kissing his bare shoulder. ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘Good morning, China. I’ll tell you later,’ he said, turning to face her. Pushing his chair back, he pulled her to him and kissed her. The butterflies in the pit of her stomach took flight. She let go of the sheet and it fell to the floor. She lifted her leg over his and lowered herself into a sitting position. Aroused, Mitch lifted her up and laid her on the settee. Without taking his eyes off her naked body, he took off his shorts and made love to her.

  ‘You awake, China?’ Mitch asked when Claire stirred.

  She snuggled up to him and said, ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t want to go back to France then?’

  ‘What?’ She opened her eyes. ‘Of course I want to go back to France. Why?’

  ‘I’ve got to see the colonel,’ he said, pushing himself off the settee and putting his shorts back on. ‘I bet you an English pound you’ll be summoned in to see him later today.’

  Suddenly wide awake, Claire sat up. ‘I’d better go back to my flat,’ she said, ‘in case Vera Halliday rings.’

  ‘Not before you’ve had a cup of coffee and some eggs,’ Mitch said.

  Claire was so excited she didn’t think she’d be able to eat anything, but she ate two eggs on toast. ‘That was lovely,’ she said. When she’d finished eating, she took the dishes into the kitchen.

  Mitch followed her in. ‘China, we can’t let anyone know you stayed here last night.’ The sparkle in Claire’s eyes faded. ‘If Colonel Smith finds out we’re seeing each other, we won’t be able to work together.’

  ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘It isn’t fair!’

  Mitch put his finger up to her lips. ‘It may not be fair, China, but it’s a rule and it’s one the colonel feels strongly about. He thinks if partners are lovers and one of them is caught in a dangerous situation, the other wouldn’t act rationally – and if they didn’t they would put their comrades in danger and compromise the Resistance cell.’

  Claire thought for a second before looking up at Mitch and nodding. ‘I can see how that could happen. So,’ she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, ‘I’ll see you when I see you, partner.’

  ‘We won’t have to wait long, China. There’s a full moon next week. Then,’ he said, putting his arms around her and holding her close, ‘when the tour’s done--’

  ‘I know.’ They kissed passionately, but didn’t speak again.

  Mitch walked Claire to the door and when she opened her mouth to say goodbye he kissed her. As she walked down the steps of his apartment building, she sensed his eyes on her. She was still glowing from their lovemaking and excited because they were going back to France. Before crossing the road, she looked back. He was no longer at the door but watching from the window. She put her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss. Smiling, Mitch saluted.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Holding onto the safety line, Claire beckoned Mitch. ‘I can’t see any lights,’ she shouted above the noise of the Halifax’s engines.

  ‘With the wireless out of action, André might not have received confirmation of the drop,’ Mitch shouted back.

  ‘What if it’s a trap? Jacques wouldn’t have been able to let London know if the drop, or even the Resistance cell, had been compromised.’

  Mitch shook his head vigorously. ‘He’d have gone to another cell, another wireless operator.’ He tapped the shoulder of the engineer, who was on his knees looking out of the door. Claire moved closer to hear what they were saying. ‘The clouds are clearing. We’ve got eighty percent visual.’

  Mitch turned to Claire. ‘We’re near the end of the full moon this month. If we don’t get the wireless crystals to Jacques this drop, the Resistance will be out of contact for three, maybe four weeks. We’re going in.’ Claire nodded that she agreed.

  The Halifax made a broad sweep of the area and came in at a thousand feet. The engineer bellowed, ‘If you’re going, captain, this is it!’ He looked first at Mitch who nodded, and then at Claire who gave him the thumbs up.

  ‘Ready?’

  Claire stood beside the gaping aperture and waited. Her stomach lurched. She always thought she’d be sick before she jumped. She never was. She swallowed hard. The engineer brought his arm down like a whip and she jumped.

  Clearing the plane, Claire began to glide. A second later Mitch was at her side and a second after that she pulled the ripcord. She felt the straps tighten and after being jerked up a little to the left she levelled. Mitch was below her. He had stayed in free-fall longer. Claire saw his parachute billowing on the ground. As her feet touched down a gust of wind took hold of her chute and she began to run. Bending her knees she regained control, and a second later her bottom cushioned the fall.

  Quickly she gathered up her chute. She looked up as several parachutes floated down, the moon reflecting off their silky blooms. She ran across the field. Her fingers nimbly unbuckled the harness and she took out her overcoat. After putting it on she took out Mitch’s coat and helped him into it. She next took her suitcase, basket and handbag from the container while Mitch put in their harnesses and parachutes.

  There had always been a reception committee with the Belland brothers, to help carry the drop and hide it, but tonight there was only Claire and Mitch. She looked around. ‘It’s very quiet, Mitch. Are you worried?’

  ‘No. We were late telling them there was a drop.’ Claire wasn’t convinced that was the reason. She didn’t think Mitch was either, but she didn’t question him; he had more experience than she did. ‘Come on, Claire, put your back into it,’ he said, lifting the end of a large cylinder-shaped container. Claire put her hands under the other end and hauled it to her knees. Jostling it until it was level and its weight distributed equally, she followed Mitch into woods near the farm.

  Between them they carried every container into the densest part of the wood. ‘Cover them with anything you can find,’ Mitch said. ‘I’m going to have a look around.’

  Claire wanted to tell him to be careful; instead she said, ‘Will do.’ She piled sods of earth, brambles, broken branches and sticks onto the containers and when they were concealed, she looked for Mitch. She found him crouching at the edge of the wood watching the farmhouse.

  The house was in darkness, which after curfew shouldn’t have bothered Claire, but it did. The absence of the reception committee weighed heavily on her mind. She touched Mitch’s arm and he stood up. When he turned to face her she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, ‘Something is wrong.’ Mitch nodded that he thought so too. He began to move forward and suddenly stopped. Claire, close behind, almost walked into his back. He turned to her, put his forefinger to his lips, and shook his head. She nodded. The moon appeared hazily through a break in the clouds, giving enough light for Claire to see that the curtains at the windows of the farmhouse were not drawn, confirming something was wrong. She shivered with cold and fear.

  Mitch tapped her again. He pointed to his eyes, and then the barn. Without making a sound he stepped from the wood to the cobbled farmyard, but returned almost immediately. ‘Back!’ he hissed. ‘Get down!’

  Claire hit the ground as a vehicle, its engine at full throttle, roared through the open doors at the back of the barn. As it sped through the barn’s tall front doors, skidding into the farmyard, its half-shaded headlights swept across Claire’s back. She held her breath and prayed she hadn’t been seen. The vehicle came to a screeching halt at the front of the farmhouse. On her stomach, using her elbows and knees, Claire slowly edged her way a little further into the wood. Her heart pounded in her chest as she lay face down in the damp earth and listened. From what she could make out the Germans were part of a field patrol that had been sent to check on unoccupied farms in the area.

  ‘No one here,’ she heard one of them say.

  ‘Shame. I’d have enjoyed a bit of target practice tonight,’ another said, and fired into the wood.

  Claire bit her clenched fist as a bull
et whizzed past her head before burying itself in the ground inches from where she lay.

  ‘Coming out here every night is a waste of time,’ the first German said. ‘We could be in the brothel, eating French tart,’ he laughed.

  ‘You’ll catch something in that place.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go. We have better things to do than idle about here.’

  ‘One minute, Hans, I’m having a piss,’ a different voice shouted.

  Hans muttered something in response that Claire didn’t understand. She lifted her head just enough to see the one called Hans take a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He put one in his mouth and lit it before passing the pack to the other men. Having overheard the banter, the soldier who had relieved himself against the farmhouse wall swaggered over to the well clutching his crotch crudely and making obscene remarks. His speech was slurred and peppered with expletives. He was laughing, which made it difficult for Claire to understand what he was saying. She caught bomb and window, but the gist of his crude remarks was that he had found a virgin at the farm after he’d burned the farmer out and had given her what she wanted. She had begged him to stop, but he laughed in her face saying, “No comprendre le Français” and took her again. Claire turned her head in the direction of the braggart’s voice. Illuminated by a match as he lit his cigarette, his broad plate-like face, stone-cold eyes and pug nose above a drunken slobbering mouth was one she would not forget.

  A few minutes later they clambered into a Kübelwagen, the German military’s version of the US Army’s four wheel drive, and, laughing and cheering, roared out of the yard the way they had come. Claire couldn’t make out everything they had said, but she understood enough to know that their next port of call was a brothel on the way to Bloir.

  ‘Psst!’ Mitch tapped her on the shoulder. She pushed herself up until she was on her knees. He pointed to a small gap between two bushes, and again to his eyes. When he moved, Claire followed. Crouching, she crept stealthily towards the opening. She felt his hand on her shoulder again, her cue to stop. The clouds had cleared and the moon’s eerie yellow light shone down onto the kitchen window. There was no reflection. There was no glass in it.