A Fine Woman

by David George Richards

Chapter Six

  Antibes 1948

  Sister Marie-Thérèse looked at Captain Taylor thoughtfully. “Considering your original reason for searching for this woman, Captain, you seemed rather unaffected by your first meeting with her.”

  Captain Taylor nodded. “Love is like that. Someone you hardly notice or think about when you first see them turns out to be the one person you have been looking for all your life.”

  “And you believe that of this woman?”

  He smiled. “It took a while. It wasn’t until we stopped at La Napoule and I helped to carry her in to the small hospital there that I even noticed what she looked like.”

  “She was blonde and she was beautiful.” Sister Marie-Thérèse filled in the description without hesitation.

  Taylor stared at her for a moment. He couldn’t remember telling her what colour hair the Countess had. “Yes,” he said simply. “She was also very ill.”

  “So you stayed with her in La Napoule?”

  “I didn’t have any choice. When I managed to get through to my division HQ, I came clean and told them the lot. I thought they would chew me out, and at first they did. But when the knowledge of who Trojan was filtered through, I was told to stay right there with her until she could be moved. It was strange, really. All I wanted to do was to get back and do my job. And the only thing Lieutenant Wellman wanted to do was stay right there with her. Instead I stayed and he was ordered back with the men. Even André left. Only Stephane remained in the hospital. He couldn’t walk. I hardly saw him. I spent all my time with Helga.”

  “And that was when you fell in love her?”

  He nodded again. “I stayed close to the Countess for two days. I sat next to her bed almost all of each day. And I slept on a cot in the same room at night. For the first day she hardly moved after they got the bullet out. But then she became more restless. It was probably a mixture of delirium and drugs. She would moan and mutter in German. Sometimes she cried, other times she shouted. Even in the night. The nurses would hurry in to try and keep her quiet. A German voice would not have been well received by the other patients in the hospital.

  “The doctor in charge there had wanted to keep her presence a secret. He was worried about reprisals against collaborators. And some of the staff were not too happy treating her either. I can’t blame them really. The doctor told them she was a prisoner and I was her guard. They didn’t know who she really was or what she had done. But they knew what the Germans had done to some of their friends and relatives. There was a lot of hatred waiting to well up. So I ended up looking after her. I would bathe her face when she became heated, and I would soothe and calm her when she was agitated. Sometimes I just held her while she slept.

  “I was holding her like that on the morning of the third day when she awoke. She just opened her eyes and looked up at me. She said something and all I did was look down at her and smile like a fool. I didn’t know any German. Then an army ambulance turned up and before I knew it she was gone and I was on my way back to my men. I never saw her again.”

  “Did you try and find her?”

  “Yes. And I still am. I know she recovered, and I know she was questioned. I even know where she was questioned and by who. But then things get a lot fuzzier. The war moved on. We went into Germany, and then we found all the camps, and what she had told us turned out to be the tip of a very big iceberg. Her role as a spy for the Allies was quickly overshadowed by her role as a witness to atrocity. Even her escapades as a smuggler were forgotten. And once the proper investigations started she was moved around a lot, never staying in one place for long, and always there were more questions. Who had been in charge at the camp near her estate? Who were the men on his staff? Which division of the SS were involved? Were they all SS? How many trains came? How often? How many trucks in each train? Where were the pits? And how many were there? It must have been torment. But very soon she became just one witness among thousands. She got swallowed up with the rest and I lost track of her movements. By then the war was over and I was in Berlin. I tried to find her, I really did, but she just seemed to disappear altogether. Your Convent was my final lead.”

  “Ahh!” Sister Marie-Thérèse nodded. It was now her turn and there was a pause as Captain Taylor waited for her answer. She decided to delay a little longer.

  “What happened to the young Jewish boy?”

  “Jacob turned up at Moniqué’s house with Bismarck later that first night. He had walked all the way back. Even then he thought everyone at the house would have been captured and killed. He was surprised when Moniqué opened the door. And he was even more surprised when she told him what had happened. He actually fainted.”

  There was another pause. Sister Marie-Thérèse finally sighed.

  “You must understand, Captain, that many women come here for many different reasons. Some come merely because of their love for God. Others come seeking redemption. And some wish merely for solitude and isolation. What many of them share is a need for confidentiality. I would not break that confidence lightly.”

  “You can trust my discretion, Sister. I do know everything about her, after all.”

  “Yes.” Sister Marie-Thérèse stared at him across the table. “You said when you began your story that you were in love with this woman, but that she was not in love with you. You said that you searched for this woman for peace of mind, not for marriage. So what exactly would that be?”

  It was a fair question. Captain Taylor shifted his position uncomfortably on the hard chair and tried to ignore the pins and needles in his slowly awakening left leg. “I need to see her again. I need to see that she is well, and above all I need to say things to her, things I was too stupid and unable to say when she first awoke. I’ve even learned to speak German as a result of my protracted stay in Berlin, so this time I will have no excuses. I don’t think anyone has spoken to her about the good things she did, about the risks she took and the help she gave to us.”

  “And you think she would be interested in these things? Do you think she seeks praise and gratitude?”

  Taylor shook his head. “I’m not a fool, Sister. I told you that she didn’t know me. She saw me only the once, and I doubt if she would recognise me. She was an arrogant and spoilt German Countess, she probably hasn’t changed in that respect. She will probably tell me off and send me on my way with a flea in my ear.”

  “It is the result that I think you would prefer. You want her to scold you and berate you. It would mean that, after everything that has happened to her, she had survived intact. You want her to be arrogant and strong. What you don’t want to see is a broken woman.”

  She had hit the nail on the head and Captain Taylor had no reply. For the first time since he had entered he lost his confidence and he looked like a guilty schoolboy found out by the teacher. Sister Marie-Thérèse didn’t relent. Instead she opened him up even more.

  “You have learned a lot about this woman, and each thing you have learned has made you want to know more. From a mere nuisance pulling you away from your duties, she has slowly become a person you wanted to know and be with. You have fallen in love with her from afar, and you did this after you met her. Each thing you learned made you realise how valuable she was and how foolish you had been not to have seen it in her eyes and in her face. You held her in your arms and yet you let such a wonderful woman slip you by. And that knowledge has caused you to search for her, to track her down until you could see her again. And why? Because you wish to have said the things you could not say, because you were ignorant, and you seek the opportunity to say them. You wish to rewind time and recapture that moment when she was weak in your arms. You said that it is not love that brings you here, but that is a lie. You are besotted by this woman.”

  “Is she here?”

  It was a sudden demand.

  “Why is it you, Captain Taylor? Why is it not Lieutenant Wellman? I would have expected him to seek her out.”

  “He’s dead.” It was said too quickly
. Captain Taylor paused before repeating the statement more calmly. “David’s dead. He was killed in the Ardennes during the Battle of the Bulge. Valdez too. The rest are okay. Brannigan’s still in the army.”

  Sister Marie-Thérèse sighed again, but more sadly this time. “My first impulse is to deny you the information you seek. It would be better that way. But I believe it would be best that you know.”

  Captain Taylor’s heartbeat quickened. It was the moment he had waited for, and at last she would give him the answers he sought.

  “Yes, a woman you describe did come to us after the war. She came because she was restless and unsettled. There was nowhere she could call home or where she could find solitude. She was also filled with a deep bitterness that was matched only by her guilt. It was as if she took the whole of the blame for what her countrymen had done on her own shoulders. And mixed in that was the loss of a father she had loved but become distanced from. Like you she wished to rewind time and put right what she had not done. She wished to say things to her father that had for too long been left unsaid. It was impossible. So instead she sought to repay the debt her people owed.

  “Sister Camellia was headstrong and a nuisance from the start. She came here to serve and to do good things, but even as a novice the constraints of our way of life in our house were not for her. She spoke when she shouldn’t, she forgot her prayers, she interfered with others, and she never obeyed. For all of us here, Our Lord comes first. For Sister Camellia there was always another job or task she had to do. Our discussions were frequent and turbulent, and she often forced me to say many Hail Mary’s afterwards. I should have cast her out, as her behaviour was affecting the other sisters. But I kept her here because I could see the pain within her. In the end the work we were doing in Cyprus seemed ideal for her. In fact Sister Camellia jumped at the chance.”

  Captain Taylor looked crestfallen. “She isn’t here? She’s in Cyprus?”

  Sister Marie-Thérèse paused for a moment and stared off into space. It was as if she hadn’t even heard him.

  “With hindsight it is clear to me that I shouldn’t have let her go. She was only a novice, but to go to Cyprus, to help all those people in the detention camps there who had so little, it was exactly what she wanted. She begged and I couldn’t deny her.”

  “In Cyprus?” Captain Taylor pressed.

  Her eyes focussed on him again. “Maybe I should explain and all will become clear. The British had been given control of Palestine after the First World War, and even during the Second World War, they limited immigration by Jews into Israel.”

  The penny dropped and Captain Taylor breathed out loudly and collapsed back into his chair. “Of course, the British Mandate of 1922. In 1939 they passed a law that limited immigration into Israel to 75,000 in ten years. It was grossly inadequate.”

  “Yes. There was a lot of unrest, particularly after the war. Many Jewish people felt that the attitude of the British did not help their attempts to escape the Nazi persecution in Europe. In fact the law you refer to came into force at the height of that persecution. It couldn’t have been more badly timed, as it hindered many Jews from making a final escape before war trapped them. Many perished as a result.”

  “The British have given up their Mandate. Israel became an independent state in May.” Captain Taylor spoke in a subdued voice. He already knew what was coming.

  “Yes, but it is a little late now. Should I continue?”

  He nodded.

  “Sister Camellia went to Cyprus in 1946. It was at the height of the illegal immigrations when the Mossad Aliya Bet was smuggling people into Israel from all over Europe. Many of the ships they used were inadequate and unseaworthy. But they only needed to make one voyage. Unfortunately, the British, if they are anything, are efficient at naval engagements. Many of those ships were caught and their occupants were interned in detention camps in Cyprus. The conditions inside were not good. There were many volunteers, and Sister Camellia went to a camp in Caraolos near Famagusta. But she did more than care for the sick. When I heard what she was doing, I did many more Hail Mary’s.”

  Captain Taylor shook his head and suppressed a smile. “She was smuggling again.” It was a simply stated fact that he had known from the moment Sister Marie-Thérèse had referred to the British Mandate. What was it about the Countess and smuggling Jews? The thought was an unspoken question but Sister Marie-Thérèse answered it anyway.

  “I suppose she couldn’t help herself. She was a volunteer in the camp, and as a nun, a novice, she was considered as no more than an innocent, so she heard things. She was always quick witted, and she soon began to make contacts with Mossad. They had people in the camps who were training the refugees to be soldiers in the coming conflict. They know that their neighbours won’t accept them in Palestine, so they are already preparing. But that is the future.

  “What Sister Camellia learned she put to good use. She volunteered to pass messages from the outside, and soon she was meeting the ships and boats on the coast at night. She knew many languages, and with people coming from all over Europe, not all of whom could speak good Hebrew, she was an asset. Soon she was heavily involved in the smuggling operations and it wasn’t long before the British began to suspect.”

  Cyprus 1946

  There was no moon that night. The sky was clear and the night was still warm after another hot day. Now the sound of the surf on the deserted beach was calm and soothing. A light flashed out at sea and another light answered it. Soon the shadowy outline of a small boat appeared close to the shore, and a moment later a figure jumped out of the boat and stood thigh deep in the surf. There was a handshake and a wave, and then the figure in the water began to push the boat back out to sea. Oars flashed and the boat moved away. With a final wave the man in the water turned and waded ashore.

  From silence and calmness the beach now became a scene of agitation as another figure appeared from inland. Sister Camellia, dressed in a white nun’s habit, rushed along the beach with her skirt hoisted up in a most unladylike fashion, her Rosary beads and crucifix jangling. And the army boots that adorned her feet also clashed with the uniform of religious service.

  The man looked round, startled by a hoarse cry uttered in Russian.

  “Yuri! Yuri! You are in danger! Hurry!”

  Yuri smiled at the sight of Sister Camellia. But her warning didn’t go unheeded.

  “What is it, Sister? Why this panic?”

  Sister Camellia slithered to a halt next to Yuri, her boots kicking up the white sand. She dropped her skirt and grabbed him by the shoulders. “The British are here! They know you are coming!”

  He looked shocked. “Then why signal me ashore?”

  “They have a patrol boat waiting nearby! They will board the merchant ship that brought you! We have to get you away from here!”

  She pulled him forward, but Yuri shook his head after a quick glance along the beach revealed lights that pierced the darkness. “It’s too late, Sister, they’re coming.”

  Sister Camellia looked around for somewhere to hide. Up on a hill above the beach was a small house. “This way! You have to hide!”

  She grabbed him with one hand and hoisted her skirt with the other and they ran up the beach together. Yuri questioned her all the way.

  “How did they know I was coming?”

  “Someone in the camp was overheard! Major Thompson is on his way and the roads are already blocked! I only just made it!”

  Yuri swore. “Sorry, Sister, but my arrival tonight was supposed to go unnoticed!”

  “I forgive your blasphemy, Yuri! But I have thought far worse on my way here! And I will have to say many prayers in penance tonight! But first you must be hidden!”

  Two army trucks followed a jeep along the beach, their headlights lighting up the sand. They drew to a halt just below the hill and the soldiers spilled out.

  Major Thompson climbed out of the jeep and saluted to the Sergeant who approached him.

  “Have
the men fan out and search the beach, Sergeant Atkins!”

  “Yes, Sir!” The Sergeant saluted and turned and ran back to the trucks.

  “All right you ‘orrible lot! Spread out and search this beach! I don’t want a single clam left unturned from the water to that there hill! Now move it!”

  As the men began to form a line and cross the beach in a systematic fashion, Major Taylor leaned against the bonnet of the jeep. Still sitting in the jeep was another officer. Major Thompson spoke to him without taking his eyes off the searching men. “What do you think, Harrington?”

  Captain Harrington let go of the steering wheel and scanned the hillside. “I think we’ll have more luck inland. That house up on the hill, maybe.”

  “Yes, I think so too. But I have a feeling our quarry will have been warned.”

  It wasn’t long before Sergeant Atkins returned. He stood to attention and saluted. “The beach is clear, Sir! But Smith and Williams found footprints going inland and up the hill!”

  “Very well, Sergeant, then have the men follow. Search the area beyond the beach as far as the roadblocks. And bring the trucks. We’ll meet you up on the hill.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  The Sergeant went to give the new orders to the men, and Major Thompson climbed back into the jeep.

  “Alright, Harrington, let’s go up and take a look at that house. Take your time, we aren’t in any hurry.”

  The house had once been part of a farm. Now a wealthy family in Famagusta used it as a retreat in the summer and at weekends. Tonight it was empty. As the jeep drove up the road and parked outside the white walled house, Major Thompson wasn’t surprised to see Atkins and some of his men gathered around a female figure in white. He smiled but Captain Harrington was less pleased.

  “It’s that bloody nun again!” he said in annoyance as he pulled the handbrake on with a wrench. “You should have let me arrest her this morning!”

  “Arrest a nun?” Major Thompson shook his head. “Tut, tut, tut, shame on you, Captain!”

  Harrington wasn’t ashamed at all. “She’s a trouble maker, Major! And you know she’s working with the Israelis.”

  They got out of the jeep and walked towards the soldiers with the nun at their centre.

  “You leave Sister Camellia to me, Captain. The Cypriots value their religion highly, and although we have the run of the place, this is still their country. I don’t want the Pope excommunicating anyone.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Atkins met them halfway and saluted. “The footprints led this way, Sir! Two sets! And we found the lady when we got here! Say’s she’s praying and hasn’t answered any questions!”

  “That’s alright Sergeant. You’ve done a fine job. Have the men take a few minutes rest while the Captain and I speak to the lady.”

  “Yes, Sir!” Sergeant Atkins turned and shouted to the men still loitering around Sister Camellia. “Alright you lot! Stop gawping and get back to the trucks!”

  The soldiers moved away and Major Thompson and Captain Harrington came to stand next to Sister Camellia. They stood on either side of her as she faced out to sea. As Sergeant Atkins had said, she was praying, her fingers passing slowly from one bead to another as she silently mouthed the words of the Rosary as she held her open prayer book. Major Thompson paused for a moment to stare down at the sand and water stained hem of her habit before he spoke.

  “I am sorry, Sister, but I must disturb you. If you don’t mind?”

  Sister Camellia stopped praying, sighed and closed her prayer book. “As you wish, Major,” she replied in English. “What is it you wish to know?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I am often here. It is quiet and peaceful, and the sound of the sea is calming. I feel closer to God in this solitude, surrounded by His skill at creation. I come here to pray, to do my penance and to wish for a more enlightened, tolerant and liberal future. Why are you here, Major?”

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. An insurgent. Someone who intends to cause trouble in the camps. Someone who will talk of freedom and escape when none are possible.”

  “All people deserve to be free.”

  “And they will be, all in good time.”

  “Some people are impatient. And what you are doing is wrong.”

  Thompson sighed. “I know your views, Sister. But the situation isn’t that simple. Palestine is a powder keg waiting to go off. You think we should let all the people go just like that. But what about the Arabs and Palestinians who are already there? Where are they supposed to go?”

  “They can live together, in peace.”

  Thompson now smiled. “Forgive me for saying this, Sister, but people are not that understanding or forgiving. There’ll be war if we don’t do this right, and that will lead to more suffering. Now, where is he?”

  Sister Camellia looked away. “I don’t know who you mean.”

  “That Mossad agent who landed tonight, the one who intends to organise the escape next week.”

  Sister Camellia glanced at the house briefly. It was swift but it told Thompson all he needed to know. He smiled again.

  “Harrington, get Atkins and some men and take that house apart. Pull the floorboards up, everything.”

  Captain Harrington saluted gleefully. “Yes, Sir, Major.”

  Major Thompson watched Sister Camellia as the soldiers noisily broke down the door of the house and bustled in. There were shouts and crashes as furniture was moved aside, and the sound of stamping feet as men in boots ran up the stairs. Major Thompson noticed the sweat beading on her forehead. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and held it out to her.

  “Are you hot, Sister?”

  She took the handkerchief he offered and patted her brow and face. “It is a warm night, Major. Thank you.”

  She handed him back the handkerchief. Thompson took it and put it back in his pocket.

  “It must be warm in that habit,” he said as he glanced down at her long and full skirt. “Do you ever wish for something lighter or shorter?”

  “It would not be proper.”

  “No, I suppose not,” he said as he began to walk around her gazing down at the skirt. “But surely your skirt is more full, heavier, than those of your sisters?”

  “It is the same, Major. None of us is favoured any more than another.”

  “Hmm, it seems fuller to me. Bulkier.”

  Sister Camellia looked him in the eye as he came to stand in front of her. “I find your interest in my clothing both inappropriate and unnerving, Major. Please cease this interest at once.”

  “Unnerving?” Major Thompson asked innocently with raised eyebrows.

  “Yes. I am a lone woman, isolated, and surrounded by you and your men. You could do anything to me. The habit I wear is my only safeguard, and you hint at disrobing me.”

  Major Thompson now feigned shock. “I meant no such thing, Sister! Forgive me for alarming you! Here!” he held out his hand and took her arm. “Let me escort you to my jeep. You could be away from here in an instant. I will have Sergeant Atkins drive you back to your Convent in Famagusta straight away.”

  He saw the look of brief confusion in her eyes as she attempted to back-peddle. “No, Major, I wouldn’t want to put you out—”

  “It would be no bother at all. The Captain and I will travel back with the men in the trucks. Please.” He pulled on her arm.

  Sister Camellia stood her ground stubbornly. “No, no, it is not necessary, Major. I over reacted, please forgive me. I will be quite all right going back to the Convent on my own, I assure you.”

  “A lone woman?” he echoed her previously spoken fear.

  She smiled sheepishly. “I exaggerated. It is often easy to hide behind my femininity. I am sorry.”

  “You wish to stay out here on your own?”

  “I have my prayers to finish. The solitude helps my concentration.”

  He let go of her arm. “As you
wish.”

  The noise from the house continued as the search neared its end. Major Thompson ignored the noise and the house as he watched Sister Camellia open her prayer book once more.

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  She looked back at him in puzzlement. “Excuse me?”

  “I know what you’re doing, Sister.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Major Thompson lost his good-humoured nature. “Oh, yes you do. Now don’t play games with me, Sister. We are both far too intelligent for that. You are here because that man was going to be here. You are either here to meet him, or to warn him that we were coming. I’ll wager my army pension that it was the latter.”

  “This is preposterous!”

  “Is it? You haven’t moved a step since we arrived. You’re hot and sweating even though the night is no more than balmy. There were two sets of footsteps leading up here and yet only you remain. Oh, yes, I know what you do, Sister. And not for the first time. You are a pain in the neck. And do you know why? Because I can’t touch you. You are a nun; if I arrest you there will be a stink that will reach London and Rome. So my hands are tied, as you know damn well. But I can arrest the man you shield.”

  Sister Camellia looked stunned. “You are mad, Major! The sun has touched your head! How can you accuse me of such things?”

  “Then prove me wrong! March away in disgust!” He stepped aside. “Go on!”

  Sister Camellia hesitated, and Major Thompson smiled in triumph as he stepped closer to her. He leaned forward until his face brushed the edge of her hood.

  “I will make a bargain with you tonight, Sister,” he whispered menacingly. “I will leave with my men empty handed. In return you will leave Cyprus. Immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

  Sister Camellia paused for a moment and swallowed. Then she nodded her head.

  Major Thompson stepped back. “Good.”

  The noise from the house subsided as the men began to file out. Captain Harrington came forward.

  “He’s not in the house, Major.”

  “No, I didn’t think he was. But I know where he is.”

  “Where?”

  Major Thompson glanced at Sister Camellia before turning and looking out to sea. “On that ship. He must have been warned before he came ashore.”

  “But what about those footprints up the beach?”

  “Foot prints are foot prints, Captain. Anyone could have left them. It’s a good night for lovers. Forget them.”

  “You could be right, Sir, but we don’t know for sure.”

  “We will do when HMS Saracen catches up with that ship.”

  “HMS Saracen?” Sister Camellia asked innocently.

  “A corvette off shore. As you see, Sister, we are well prepared tonight.” He turned to Captain Harrington. “Secure the house, we’re pulling out.”

  Harrington saluted. “Yes, Sir!” He turned away. “Sergeant! Gather the men! Have that house secured! Bring up the trucks! We’re pulling out!”

  As the soldiers hurried to obey, Major Thompson tipped his head to Sister Camellia.

  “Good night, Sister. And keep safe. You never know who you might meet on the road, and I wouldn’t want you to come to any harm.”

  “I shall be quite safe, Major, I have my guardian angel to protect me. But I thank you for your kindness. Good night.”

  With a brief smile and another bow, Major Thompson turned on his heel and walked quickly back to his jeep. As soon as he got in he raised his hand and waved it forward and the engines burst into life. The small convoy set off down the road and the house was soon left behind.

  Captain Harrington steered the jeep as he turned to look at the Major. “Why did you let her go, Sir?”

  “She’s leaving Cyprus, Captain. And having her out of my hair was more important than catching that Israeli agent.”

  “Do you think she was shielding him?”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised if he was under her skirt all the time.”

  Harrington glanced across at Major Thompson, unsure whether he was joking or not.

  Back at the house, alone at last, Sister Camellia sighed and lowered her prayer book.

  “You can come out now, Yuri.”

  Fingers curled round the hem of her skirt and raised it. Yuri rolled out with a gasp. He was hot and sweaty, but he was also laughing.

  “You are amazing, Sister! You must marry me now! I insist!”

  She began rearranging the skirt of her habit. “You should stop asking me, Yuri! I am a nun!”

  “A novice!” he clarified sitting up. “I asked at the Convent on my last trip. Anyway, now that I have seen what an unusual choice of underwear you have on, you have to marry me!”

  She leaned over, grabbed him by the head and pushed him to the ground. “My underwear is none of your business! Now get up, Yuri! We have work to do and we have wasted enough time as it is!”

  Yuri laughed again as he scrambled to his feet. “You are a hard woman, Sister, but I love you none-the-less!”

  They walked up the road and left the house behind them. Yuri looked around.

  “Where is the car?”

  “There is no car. Roadblocks, remember?”

  He nodded with a sigh. “It will be a long walk.”

  “Good. It will calm you down.”

  He looked across at her. “You don’t like it when I get personal, do you, Sister?”

  “You shouldn’t toy with me. It isn’t right.”

  “I don’t toy with you. You are a very beautiful woman, and you are wasted in that outfit. You are wasted in that Convent. You should be free like all of us.”

  She glanced at him and smiled. “As your people are free?”

  He nodded in understanding. “Yes, I have work to do. And now that the British know I am here it will be a lot harder.” He suppressed a smile. “It was rather difficult to hear much from my hiding place, so tell me, Sister, what exactly did that British Officer say to you?”

  She told him, and when she was done, Yuri was stopped in mid stride.

  “He knew I was there?” he asked in shock.

  Sister Camellia stopped and turned to face him. “Of course he knew you were there! He’s not a fool!”

  “And he did nothing?”

  “He asked me to leave.” She shrugged. “He told me to leave.”

  Yuri looked at the ground. “You can’t leave. We need you.”

  There was a pause that was tinged in sadness. Sister Camellia went back to Yuri.

  “They know what I’m doing, Yuri. I am compromised. Any information I bring to you from now on must be considered suspect. They will follow me. They will watch me. Maybe they have already begun to do this. The breach in our security tonight could be down to me. I am endangering you and the others. It’s over, Yuri. It’s for the best.”

  Yuri looked up and grasped her hand. “Come with me. When the break out takes place you could slip away easily.” She began to shake her head so he simply spoke faster. “No one would notice! You could do it, Sister! There will be confusion and panic! No one will be interested in you anymore! Come back to Israel with me! Please, Sister!”

  From shaking her head, Sister Camellia began shouting him down. “No! No! No! Stop it, Yuri!”

  He finally did as she asked, the despair clear in his eyes. She thought about relenting, but she couldn’t.

  “I love you dearly, Yuri. But I am a nun, a Christian, a Gentile. You have work to do, important work. Here in Cyprus it is just the beginning. When you get home the real work will begin.”

  “You could be with me!” he said with feeling.

  “It is not my place, and you know it!”

  “You think you will face prejudice from my people after what we have endured? And after what you did? You worked with the French Resistance in the war! You smuggled Jews across Europe from Germany itself, how could you think that?”

  “And how did you think I got away with it, Yuri? I’ll tell you how! Bec
ause I am German! And not just any German! My father was a General in the Wehrmacht! He helped plan Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of Russia in 1941! And later he was on Hitler’s staff in Berlin! He was one of the masterminds behind the massacre of your people, Yuri!” She suddenly pulled back the hood from her head, revealing her short cropped blonde hair. “I will be a German woman with Nazi connections living among Jews as the wife of a Jewish leader! Are you mad, or just stupid?”

  She uttered the final question in German and Yuri was left cold. He just stared at her when she had finished. Helga expected to see that look in the eyes of others, but seeing it in his eyes hurt her deeply. More deeply than she had imagined. But it was a test that had to be applied. She turned away and pulled her hood back into place. She walked away without looking back. Slowly, Yuri followed her, quickening his pace until he was next to her again. Neither of them spoke. They were both too ashamed.

  Antibes 1948

  Sister Marie-Thérèse sighed in a rather sad fashion. “The very next day I received word that Sister Camellia was leaving Cyprus and would return to the Convent. But it was already too late.”

  There was something final about that statement that worried Captain Taylor. “What do you mean?”

  “In the past, Sister Camellia faced danger from the Nazis in her own country and here in France. In Cyprus the British would never have considered having her shot even though they could have proved her involvement conclusively. They merely asked her to leave. No, as she well knew, the risk she faced was from the very people she was trying to help. She was a German woman, helping Jewish refugees who had come from slums and ghettos where some of the worst acts of violence outside of the camps had been committed. They hated the Germans even if many of them were German themselves. Sister Camellia was wise enough to know this. She hid her origins, even though it wasn’t in her nature. But once her true nationality was revealed, her nun’s habit did not protect her.”

  Captain Taylor now felt completely cold. He just stared at Sister Marie-Thérèse as she continued.

  “You must forgive them, Captain. They had endured the worst that man can inflict on man, they had been caught at the moment of their escape, even in sight of Israel itself, and now they were back in another camp. And although this was not a death camp, the barbed wire and wooden huts made it look the same. It is not quite clear how the others in the camp became aware of her true nationality. Maybe in his sadness and shame Yuri had spoken of it to someone he thought he could trust; someone in whom that trust was misplaced. I don’t exactly know who did it or why, but they came to her that very night with wooden clubs.”

  “I don’t want to know,” Captain Taylor said quickly. “Not the details. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  Sister Marie-Thérèse nodded solemnly. “The people who did it were apprehended and punished. The refugees in the camp were embarrassed and dismayed by the display of violence towards a woman of God. And those she had worked with made them feel worse by explaining what she had done during the war. Some of the people wrote to me afterwards expressing their regret. I have many letters that you could read if you wish, even ones from the British passing on their condolences. Do you wish to see them?”

  He shook his head and didn’t reply.

  “What happened is tragic, ironic, but I believe it was what she would have wished, a final release. I’m sorry, Captain. I did say that my first thought was to hide the truth, but you would only have gone on searching. It is best that you stop and go on with your life. It is for this reason that I have told you this. I’m sorry, Captain, I see that this has shocked you deeply. Do you wish another drink? Some more tea?”

  “No.” He picked up his hat from the table, his fingers trembling. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, Sister. I should be leaving.” He stood up shakily, his half numb leg almost giving in. He suddenly wanted to leave and be away from here; from the Convent that had filled him with such hope of success but now felt empty and cold.

  Sister Marie-Thérèse also got to her feet. “As you wish.”

  Captain Taylor left in subdued silence. Sister Marie-Thérèse watched him go and then stood by her large desk as she thought for a while. Finally she came to a decision and picked up the receiver of the phone on her desk.