Treacherous Is the Night

by Anna Lee Huber

  “Of course.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, so I ignored the comment and pressed on. “Then we would return to our room and I would continue to copy until the task was finished in the wee hours of the morning while Alec got some rest. At sunrise, he would return to the Kommandantur early and replace the pages he’d removed, so that the entire new book was accounted for during inspection, which most often occurred in the morning. That’s why he could only remove a few pages at a time and not the entire manual, on the off chance his superiors asked to see it later in the day. In any case, we couldn’t copy many more pages in a day than he removed anyway.”

  I paused as our waiter whisked away our plates, declining his offer of dessert. My stomach was already churning. I couldn’t swallow a bite even if it was the most heavenly concoction on earth. My wine, however, was a different story. I took a long swallow as Sidney tipped the ash from his cigarette into a tray.

  “And you repeated this day after day?” he surmised.

  “Yes. I would rise each day around mid-morning and dress, wrapping the pages we’d copied around the bones of my corset and stroll to a café down the street from the hotel. It was a favorite among the German officers, which was, I’m sure, how it was able to get supplies when everywhere else had none. Though, at that late date, even the German generals were having to go without some things. However, this café also acted as a separate letter box for the British.”

  I could read in his eyes that he was impressed. “A viper at their breast.”

  “I would sip a cup of coffee and enjoy a pastry, and then slip into the water closet where I would remove the pages we’d copied, roll them into a tube and slip them into the hollowed-out handle of a broom stored there. A courier would then collect them and take them across the frontier into Holland.” I smoothed my hand over the tablecloth, approaching the crux of my story. “I made certain to go at a different time each morning, hoping to avoid those officers who made a routine of patronizing the establishment. I kept to myself as best I could, while still appearing as if I was obviously a German’s ‘kept woman.’” I exhaled the breath I was holding. “But sometimes all the care in the world cannot save you from chance.”

  Sidney stubbed out his fag, resting his elbows on the table to lean closer to me.

  I struggled to meet his gaze. “There were . . . certain German officers one knew to avoid. Men of black reputation who cared little about anyone’s wishes but their own.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “I suspect you know what I mean.”

  He nodded, reaching out a hand to take mine. And I let him, craving the warmth and reassurance of his touch, even though I knew very shortly he would snatch it away.

  “I accidentally collided with one such officer, an oberst, when I was leaving the water closet at the café on the second to last day of this assignment. I recognized him immediately, though I pretended not to, and hurried on after a swift apology. Unfortunately, I’d dropped my glove, and he called me back to hand it to me. I spent a tense few moments conversing with him after that, half-afraid he was toying with me and knew exactly what I was up to. But his lewd perusal of my person and suggestive comments soon made it clear he was only interested in me for one thing. He asked me to lunch, and I declined as gently and blushingly as possible, protesting that I was already meeting Alec. But I could see in his eyes that the damage was already done. He’d taken an interest, and that could only spell trouble.”

  “Did you warn Alec?”

  “I tried to. In fact, I was a bit frantic when he came to see me at midday with the last section of the code book. Especially when he told me the oberst had already come to visit him at the Kommandantur, asking about me. But Alec was unconcerned. In truth, he seemed to find the entire matter amusing. He said he was aware of the oberst’s reputation and the fact that he was frightfully persistent, but that he would never pursue me across Belgium, where I would supposedly return to the next day. But I worried anyway.”

  “And you turned out to be correct?”

  I nodded, staring down at where our hands were joined. “About a month later, we learned that Alec was under suspicion, and that an arrest seemed imminent. We could have left him to face the consequences, which would have almost certainly meant a swift court-martial ending in a firing squad. All of us who took on such work accepted the risk. Alec more so than others. But he was an important asset. One we knew possessed even more insights into the Germans than could be detailed in his reports.”

  I hesitated, allowing the soft murmurs of the other patrons and the clink of their silverware to wash over me. They only accentuated the unreal nature of holding this conversation in such a place.

  “I would be lying if I didn’t admit there was also a personal element to it. For Alec had become a friend. One I was never entirely certain of. But a friend nonetheless.” I could hear how tightly strung my voice had become, but could do nothing about it, except lower it to a whisper so that the others in the room couldn’t hear. “I couldn’t sit back and do nothing while the Germans killed him. I’d believed I’d already lost you, and . . . well, there was also a degree of guilt. Though it couldn’t be stated with any certainty, the fact that the oberst was at the center of the questions swirling around Alec seemed to point to the fact that my encounter with the man had something to do with it.”

  “So you went after him?”

  I swallowed and shrugged. “An attempt needed to be made and I was in Holland. One of our best pasteurs guided us part of the way, and helped ensure we made it across the electric wire, and over the border. But the rest of the extraction plan was on me.”

  “And you made it safely to the Rotterdam office?”

  “Not the office,” I protested. “I never visited the Rotterdam office. That would have been far too dangerous. Holland was a neutral country, and as such it was populated with not only our agents, but those of many of the warring countries, including Germany. As such it posed a particular challenge, and had to be treated as enemy territory. The Germans, of course, knew where British Intelligence’s headquarters were located, as we knew theirs. So whenever I arrived in Holland, either from Britain or Belgium, I instead telephoned the office and used an assumed name, and they would tell me in code which of the many houses they owned in Rotterdam and The Hague to report to.”

  “So you made it safely to this house in Holland?” he asked, growing impatient. “Without incident?”

  “Yes. Mostly.”

  But I could tell he knew that wasn’t all there was to the story. I could read it in his watchful gaze, in the tautness of his mouth, and the sharp glint in his eyes. I could feel it in the restrained energy in the clasp of his hand in mine.

  He sat back suddenly, pulling his hand from mine. “Then I should think any guilt or gratitude in the bargain should now be on his end,” he declared, pushing his chair back. “Have you finished?”

  The last was added so abruptly, I didn’t have a chance to respond anything but a stammered “yes.”

  The firmness of Sidney’s grip on my arm as he escorted me back to my room left me with no doubt that our conversation wasn’t finished. He’d simply been astute enough to recognize it should reconvene in a place more private. His steps were unrushed, his expression amicable, but I was not fooled. Either Sidney had already guessed what I hadn’t yet confessed, or he suspected something similar. My days of evading the matter were over. I didn’t even try to fight it.

  While he shut the door to our suite of rooms, I switched on a single lamp and crossed toward the settee where I perched at the edge of the cushion, staring down at my hands. The fact that such a lovely sofa, as well as all the other furniture in the suite, had not been requisitioned told me that some German officer had used these rooms as his quarters. I suspected the entire hotel had been commandeered as barracks.

  Sidney stood several feet away, his hands on his hips. He didn’t speak, just watched me.

  I knew it was cowa
rdly not to meet his gaze, but still I struggled to lift my eyes. And when I finally did, it was like being pierced in the heart. Because for a brief moment, he had allowed his mask of impatience and anger to slip and I had seen the anguish underneath.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me what has you wracked with guilt?” he ordered in a carefully controlled voice. His eyes turned to chips of ice. “Or shall I guess?”

  CHAPTER 21

  Though my mouth was dry and my stomach quavered, I forced myself to speak. “On the night we returned to Rotterdam, I . . . I slept with Alec,” I gasped, my voice trembling on the words. I inhaled a ragged breath, trying to fight back the tears burning at the corners of my eyes. “It was only the once, and I . . . I knew it was a mistake the moment it was over.”

  I spoke the last in a rush as Sidney whirled away from me, uttering a curse. He shook his head as if he couldn’t even bear to look at me.

  I slid toward the edge of the settee, pleading with my clasped hands. “I’m so sorry, Sidney. Had I known you were alive, I would never have even considered it.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he queried snidely, turning back to face me.

  “Yes! How can you even think otherwise?” I protested, resentment trickling in to override some of my guilt.

  “Because the two of you seemed quite cozy. And you already admitted you care for him.”

  I rose to my feet. “Not like I care for you. Never that way. And had you not led me to believe you were dead, I would never have allowed him to get that close. I would never have wanted him to.”

  “So this is my fault?” he demanded incredulously.

  “Yes. No.” I clenched my fists in frustration. “Had I known you were alive, I would never have behaved the way I did. But my actions are my own. I take responsibility for that.”

  “So you’re claiming you did what you did out of grief? That you drank, and flirted, and warmed another man’s bed because you were missing me?”

  “I didn’t know how to deal with any of it, Sidney! The war, the work I did, Rob’s death, the loss of all those men—so many friends. And then to lose you . . .” I choked on a sob and turned my head away, fighting back the emotion. “You can’t tell me you handled everything any better?” I accused.

  His eyes blazed with fury, the light of that single lamp making the hollows of his face dark pools of anger. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”

  “Because I didn’t know how. How do you tell your husband that you slept with another man? How do you raise that specter when the state of your marriage is already in peril?” I pleaded with him, trying to make him understand.

  He stared back at me, his emotions so raw, so blistering that I wanted to shut my eyes. I made myself continue to meet his gaze, trying to communicate how much I regretted my actions, how desperately I wanted us to find a way past this. For a moment, I thought he might come to me. That he might take me in his arms. But then he did the exact opposite.

  Lifting his hands as if in defeat, he backed toward the door. “I just . . . I can’t . . .” He shook his head and whirled away. A moment later the door clicked shut behind him.

  I stood staring at the dark wood, my mind blank, as if it could not comprehend what had just happened. My body caught on quicker. My knees gave out and I sank back onto the sofa as a sob worked its way up from my throat, bursting forth. I leaned forward and wept, pressing my hands over my chest as if by force and will alone, I could keep my heart from breaking. Yet again.

  I had cried so many tears over Sidney. When I’d believed him dead in the sucking red mud of the Somme. When I’d discovered he was alive, but he’d placed his quest for vengeance over any devotion he felt for me. Not to mention all the times he’d returned to the front after a few days’ leave. Each departure, each new offensive, each roll of honor printed in the newspapers brought a fresh wave of terror and grief. And now this.

  Eventually, my sobs diminished, and I collapsed sideways on the settee, gazing forlornly at the door through which Sidney had departed. I wondered, almost idly, if he would ever return, or if he would just leave me here. I’d grown so used to his leaving, though it had been the war and not by his choice, that the event seemed somehow inevitable. As if he had always been meant to be an impermanent fixture in my life, flitting in and out, ravaging what was left of my heart.

  How long I stared red-eyed at the door, wrestling with myself, I don’t know. But at some point, my eyes grew heavy and I fell into a fitful sleep.

  * * *

  My eyes were gritty and my face swollen the following morning—as I hefted my valise and portmanteau, and emerged from the hotel into the dim light of dawn. A ceiling of gray clouds blocked the sun, casting a pall over the day. One that seemed fitting.

  I’d woken sometime before sunrise to find that Sidney had still not returned. That revelation opened a pit in my stomach, and I’d rolled over to stare up at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with what I’d only feared the night before. That our short-lived reunion was truly over, and our war-torn marriage was at an end.

  We wouldn’t be the first or the last couple who wed during the feverish excitement of the war to discover afterwards it was a mistake. But that was no consolation now. No balm to my already battered heart.

  I’d waited two more hours for him to appear, and when he did not, I’d forced myself to dress and pack my things. After all, Emilie was still in danger. She still needed to be found. My wreck of a marriage changed none of that.

  I’d stopped to speak to the concierge, learning that while the train did not go to Quevy, there was a garage just around the corner that also operated a car service the hotel sometimes utilized for their guests. He offered to telephone them, but I declined, not wanting to remain in the hotel a moment longer than necessary now that I’d made up my mind what must be done. Eventually, Sidney would have to return for his things, and as he seemed to be giving me time to clear out before that, I resolved to do so.

  But standing on the pavement now, I felt a profound sense of loss, of aloneness. In the five weeks since Sidney’s return, without realizing it, somehow, I’d grown attached to the comfort of believing I was no longer alone. Throughout the war and especially after his reported death, I’d felt isolated, singular. And the consequences of that loneliness had at times been cold and cutting.

  But then Sidney had come back, and despite the difficulties, despite the uncertainty, he was alive and so was I, and at least there was two of us.

  Now that proved to be a lie. And the yawning reality of it held me immobile.

  How long I stood that way, I can’t say, but the shuffle of footsteps behind me alerted me to the presence of another. I lifted a hand to adjust my hat, forcing movement back into my limbs before I glanced over my shoulder. Only to be staggered by the sight of Sidney standing against the wall, watching me.

  His face was haggard and pale, and his hair kinked and curled, as I knew he hated it, falling over his forehead. But even looking as awful as he did, he was still the most beautiful human being I’d ever seen. That knowledge cut like a knife through my breast.

  He ground out the cigarette he’d been smoking and approached me, his gaze dipping to my luggage. “Leaving me, are you?”

  For a moment, I couldn’t speak, only stare into his deep blue eyes rimmed with dark circles, almost as if he’d been punched. Though the rest of his face was subdued, his eyes gleamed at me with a dozen questions. All I cared about was that there was no trace of disgust or fury.

  “I thought I’d change it up for once,” I finally replied.

  The joke fell flat, and the moment it had passed my lips, I wished I could take it back. It was too soon. But Sidney only tipped his head, acknowledging the truth of that statement.

  “Where did you sleep?” I asked softly, for he looked as if he were about to keel over.

  “I didn’t. I just walked,” he added, anticipating my next question. “Thinking.” He shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve
done so.”

  It wasn’t an invitation to ask questions, but I did so anyway. “The war? The traitors?”

  “Some.” His gaze dipped to his foot, where he pushed aside a stray stone. “But a lot of times it was you.” His eyes searched mine before he murmured. “It was hard not to think about you at night.”

  My chest tightened with the same longing I heard in his voice, and I wanted to reach out to him, to move closer, but I couldn’t. Not when I didn’t know what his plans were. Did this mean he wasn’t leaving me, or was he simply trying to say goodbye?

  He inhaled a deep, hitching breath and glanced at the hotel. “Will you let me fetch my things and then we’ll set off for Quevy?”

  It wasn’t a declaration of forgiveness or a clear statement of intent, but I figured it was the best that could be expected at the moment. Too quick a reconciliation would have seemed false. Better to take it by increments.

  I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “So long as you let me drive for a spell.”

  He arched his eyebrows at this demand, but before he could insist he was fine, I cut him off.

  “You may be alert enough to drive, but I need you to have your full faculties in order to help me unravel this riddle.”

  When he still looked as if he wanted to argue, I arched my chin.

  “Did you or did you not teach me how to drive before the war? And I’ve been doing so for nearly five years in your prized Pierce-Arrow, with nary a scratch.” In a gentler voice, I added, “I can handle her, Sidney.”

  He exhaled, finally relenting. “I suppose I could take a short doss.”

  I didn’t reply, determined he’d sleep the whole way to Quevy, no matter how long it took to traverse the twelve kilometers on these roads.