‘The Soviets,’ said Jones.
‘Exactly. The agents we have in place now, the ones whose covers are still good, may be even more valuable. The next few years of inevitable confusion in Europe may also be our best chance to infiltrate other areas.’
‘The agreement was for the duration of the war,’ said Jones sharply.
‘I’m sorry.’ James looked at Nigel, not Jones. ‘This isn’t my choice. But England is stretched to breaking point, if not quite at starvation. We can’t waste time and money on a new facility when there is already one set up. The Soviet armies are advancing quickly —’
‘In other words, you are creating a new war as you end the old one,’ said Nigel sharply.
‘On the contrary, we’re trying to stop a new war breaking out, trying to keep the balance —’
‘That didn’t work for the Great War, or this one either. Why do you think it will work now? Don’t you think it might be time to change tactics?’
‘My wife had told me exactly the same thing. Unfortunately she can’t offer a specific strategy. Can you?’ James spoke more sharply than Nigel had ever heard.
‘I want nothing to do with this. I have been fighting wars, or trying to prevent wars, since I was eighteen. Whatever you are planning will not involve me.’
James carefully sipped his tea. ‘Of course. Many of the staff will have to change, of course.’
Staff, thought Nigel coldly. Six years ago the Hall was my home, and the network was Miss Lily’s.
Jones raised his eyebrows expressively.
‘You and Miss Green will be most welcome to stay in your present positions,’ said James quickly. ‘The estate and this cottage, of course, aren’t included in the arrangement, though security checks may still be necessary for newcomers.’
‘Such as my son, the Earl of Shillings? Will he be allowed to visit his estate? Or is he earl of “an arrangement”?’ Nigel kept his voice calm.
‘Of course there’s no need for any security check on your family,’ said James calmly. Because they have already been done, and regularly renewed, thought Nigel, as James added, ‘This won’t last forever, just a few more years. The Hall may even be vacated by the time Danny reaches his majority.’
James stood. ‘Again, I’m sorry. I argued against this, but my area no longer has autonomy. I’ll tell you as soon as there’s news of Sophie, of course.’
Nigel noted that James did not promise news of all Lily’s other friends, who might now be part of this no longer autonomous network.
‘Mr Jones, may I drop you back at the Hall?’
‘Thank you, I’ll walk.’ Jones’s face was carefully blank again. ‘I assume you have no objection to my sharing this information with Miss Green.’
‘Of course not. This concerns her too.’ James looked at Nigel helplessly. ‘Bob — my old friend, I am so sorry. I can only guess what this means to you.’
Only my life, he thought. All I have ever achieved. He thought of the photo of Sophie and the children upstairs, the new photo of Rose and her most beautiful Lily-Anne. Perhaps not all he had achieved. And Sophie would be back soon. Perhaps a new life was still possible.
He shivered at the thought that it might not.
The front door closed, sending a draught into the kitchen. Jones reached across the table and took his hand, his eyes warm with concern. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ said Nigel. He managed to smile. ‘But then I haven’t been since 1939. Will you take James’s offer? It was an offer — I suspect there will be far more profound changes than he would admit in front of me.’
‘Probably not. I’ll have to talk to Greenie. Will there be enough rabbit in the pot tonight if we come up for dinner?’
‘Always. I think we might find a bottle in the cellar, too.’
‘I’ll ask Hereward to snaffle one of the cheeses in the larder. George brought back a nice haul from his last trip to Normandy. He’s asked for leave, by the way — I gather his destination is Paris, and Violette. I still think he should be told about her betrayal of Sophie.’
Nigel glanced at him quickly. Greenie was convinced that was why Violette still had not contacted her parents now Paris was free, though both Jones and Greenie had written to her. Neither, however, had mentioned Sophie, which was probably the best course with George, too.
‘Violette must be the one to tell him. She knows her reasons. We do not.’ Nigel spoke in Lily’s voice, so was not surprised when Jones said, ‘Lily, what do . . .?’ He broke off when he realised he had used the name, then began again. ‘If Lily should return,’ he said carefully, ‘James might find that her friends are loyal to her, and not to whatever department has taken over her network.’
‘I know. But I am too tired for networks now. I only want friends.’ Nigel stood. ‘I’d better feed the rabbits.’ He had bought a Flemish Giant rabbit doe in kit two years earlier. Shillings was well supplied with rabbit meat now. He had given up most of his other jobs on the estate. England was safe, and Bob Green could let his aching body rest. And perhaps, when Sophie returned, Nigel Vaile’s aching heart could rest too.
‘You’re sure you don’t want me to stay? I could phone the Hall and ask them to give Greenie a message to meet us here.’
‘I’ll probably have a doze.’ He glimpsed Jones’s pain at the dismissal and realised he should not have pretended to his friend. Pretence had become a habit, and the long parting from Greenie and Jones hadn’t helped. ‘I’m sorry. I need some time to work out what I feel. We’ll talk at dinner.’
‘You’re not alone any more,’ said Jones softly.
Nigel touched his arm gently. ‘I know.’
But when Jones shut the front door and the draught blew once again through the kitchen, he felt more desolate than ever in his life.
Chapter 49
To Stiffen Linen
Grate six potatoes and soak in just enough clean water to cover them overnight. Strain the liquid through muslin, then add three cups of water. Mix well then dip the linen into the liquid at once, or the starch may discolour. Remove, but do not wring out, and hang in a well-aired but shaded spot so that the sunlight does not fade the cloth. Other garments can be dipped in the remaining water, but watch for any that are not colour fast. If the dye begins to run the garment may look slightly patchy or discoloured. Iron linen while still damp, then iron again when fully dry. If this is not possible, spray water lightly, iron, and then iron again when dry.
Advice passed down in the Green family to its daughters
15 APRIL 1945
JONES
Jones opened the door of their room and watched the woman who had been known to most people for the last five years as his wife, although Greenie had refused to marry him many times, the last shortly after the daughter he had not known they shared was restored to them. Jones had not asked her again.
She sat in an armchair by the window, embroidering the bodice of a dress she had made from an old silk gown found up in the attics, to give to Violette when they were finally reunited. The garment seemed an odd gift for one of Paris’s most celebrated couturiers, but Greenie and Violette’s relationship had always had an element of competition, including in their genius for dress design. Greenie’s skill had been kept for Lily, Sophie and herself. Violette had thrust hers into the world’s most fashion-conscious city.
Jones loved his daughter, but it was difficult to find a context for that love when his daughter had made it clear long before the war that she saw no role for parents in her life.
This dress, perhaps, was a way for Greenie to say, ‘See, your talent comes from me,’ as well as to show Violette a mother who had put in over a hundred hours of close needlework to create it.
Violette would accept the dress, of course. She would even exclaim at its beauty, try it on and say that she adored it. Lily had trained Violette well in the arts of showing gratitude. But Jones feared that after that the dress would be thrust into the back of a cupboard.
Gree
nie smiled as she sewed. Her face was gentle while she did this sort of work, but rarely otherwise, especially not when armed with pistol or stiletto. Jones still did not like to remember what that knife had done to the man who had poisoned the well in Palestine, killing those children before the adults realised they must leave the village . . .
Greenie looked up. The smile vanished, but her look stayed soft as it usually was when she spoke of Lily-Nigel. ‘You’ve told him?’
‘Yes. We’re going up there for dinner.’
‘Good. He’s been alone too much. I’d never have left him if I’d known how long we’d be away. How is he?’
‘Terrified they will find evidence of Sophie’s death, but I’m not sure he even knows how scared he is. You know how he is.’
Greenie nodded. She did indeed know how he was. She and Jones had both loved Lily-Nigel longer and possibly more fully than they had loved each other. In his role as occasional butler, Jones had often heard Miss Lily instruct her students on the many kinds of love. He sometimes thought that the three of them had shared them all, with the exception of Eros, shared only between him and Greenie, although . . .
‘I think he’s scared of what will happen if Sophie is found alive, too.’ Greenie interrupted his thoughts. ‘She’s never been told the truth, not really, despite all they’ve shared. Or maybe because of it,’ she added reflectively. ‘There are the children to consider, too. Sophie will almost certainly tell them about Lily and Nigel when she returns, if she returns, rather than waiting.’
‘They’ll be kind,’ said Jones. ‘They’re their parents’ children after all, and brought up by a kind stepfather.’
‘It’s not kindness that’s needed. It’s acceptance. Can Rose and Danny accept the truth?’
‘Can Sophie?’ He sat in the chair next to her. ‘It’s been hard sharing with Sophie, hasn’t it? It was just the three of us for so long.’ It was the first time either of them had ever expressed that aloud.
‘I like Sophie,’ said Greenie. ‘I always have. But, darling, we didn’t share with Sophie. We had the crumbs that fell from Sophie’s table. No, I’m not bitter, truly — those were still good years. But after the war it can finally be just the three of us again, living here.’
‘You know it can’t be, love,’ said Jones softly. ‘Too much has changed, will change.’ He told her of James’s other revelation. ‘What do you think?’ he asked at last.
‘No, no, and no. This instructor business was all very well as a stop-gap till the war ended. But we’ve always worked by ourselves, for ourselves. I’m too old for another enemy, another war on the horizon. It’s not as though we need the money.’
No, money was not an issue. Nigel had taken care of that decades earlier. ‘It would mean we could stay here.’ Jones gestured to the suite that had become their home. ‘The cottage would be a bit cramped for the three of us.’
Greenie grinned at him. ‘I was born in a cottage, but I’m bloody well not going to die in one. We’ll build ourselves a great mansion on the estate, the kind that looks like it’s been there five hundred years, for you, me and dear Uncle Bob, and maybe Mrs Goodenough too, with a dozen kitchen maids.’
Jones laughed at her enthusiasm. ‘You’ll have a lady’s maid instead of being one?’
‘I’m not having a stranger rooting round in my knicker drawer. No servants living in. We’ll fill the house with all the Shillings treasures, and I’ll have a great big sunny sewing room, and you and Bob can fill the cellar with the best of the Bordeaux. There can even be a drawing room for Lily, with a lock on the door that only we have the keys to, and parchment-covered walls and an apple-wood fire — the Ministry can go jump if they expect to keep getting the produce from the estate. What do you think?’
‘Hereward might want to come too.’
‘Every mansion needs a butler.’ Greenie met his eyes. ‘I’m not leaving here, darling. The Hall perhaps, but not Shillings. But we’ll live here on our terms, and damn them all.’
‘You won’t be bored?’
She considered. ‘Strangely, no. I feel as though I’ve finally come home, the home that it should have been. Not another of the Green daughters going into service with the Vailes.’ She gave an impish grin. ‘Darling, don’t you realise the fun we can have, you and me and Lily? I could even take her place now and then, as we did in Berlin, and really confuse people.’ She met his eyes. ‘I want a home that’s mine, and yours and Lily’s, of course. Maybe I’ll even plant a rose garden. But mostly I don’t ever want to take orders again. I’ve been a lady’s maid for the whole bloody British empire, giving it a nip and a tuck here or a polish there. No more.’
For a moment Jones could almost see it. A house rising from Shillings stone. The present airstrip would be perfect; nor had the Ministry acquired that land when they took over the Hall, but assumed that the resources of the estate would be available, just as they had been in the decades Lily had wrought her network here.
A house — or mansion — with no lovely ladies, no intelligence agents, entirely private, where Lily would be cherished and protected. Surely James owed her that. Her country owed her . . .
No, Lily had given freely to her country and not for recompense. James was correct: the war had almost broken England. The next years of peace would be harsher and hungrier even than the war. Despite the obvious anger today, Lily would never compromise a crumb that might help the endeavours at the Hall. When it came to it, the Ministry would almost certainly requisition the airstrip, and forbid any new work locally that might compromise security. And Jones suspected Greenie already knew it.
He watched her gaze out the window, at the gardens that should be spring-like but were still mud and dull rhododendron leaves, as if the sun could not return to England until peace was declared.
‘This is what Sophie could never share,’ she said at last. ‘Oh, Sophie loves Shillings, but her bones aren’t made from its soil, its soul. Her ancestors never walked these lanes, generations of them, even before there were lanes, perhaps.’
Jones found Greenie was looking at him now and not the gardens. ‘Give me your hand,’ she ordered.
‘Why?’
‘Because as you said, things will change. For once in your life, can you obey orders without question?’ She took his hand in hers. Again Jones was struck by how much she resembled Lily, though Greenie’s hands were smaller, and Jones had never been quite sure of her original hair colour.
‘My dear Mr Jones,’ said Greenie formally. ‘Will you do me the honour of marrying me?’
He stared. ‘What, now?’
‘You are supposed to clasp me in your arms and say, “My life’s dream come true at last.”’
He lifted her hand, and kissed it. ‘My life’s dream come true at last. But why now?’
‘Because now we are no longer working for James there may come a time when we need to prove we have the right to manage each other’s affairs, and because I love you.’
‘Thank you for adding that,’ he said drily.
‘Idiot. You know I always have.’
And while you still have a roving eye, you no longer wish the rest of you to follow it, thought Jones, but had the sense — at last — not to say it aloud. And this plan, at least, was possible, a blossom growing from the rubble of their former lives.
‘I want a big wedding,’ said Greenie dreamily. ‘After the war is over and we can plan it properly. All my family, and Violette of course. She’d have to come to her parents’ wedding.’
Cunning, thought Jones, staying tactful.
‘Violette can make my wedding dress. She’ll like that. We’ll fill the church with flowers. At least no one has rationed those. Mrs Goodenough will perform her usual miracles no matter what the shortages . . .’
‘What about all those who have assumed we are married already?’
Greenie shrugged. ‘Nothing they can do, as after that we will be married.’ She met his eyes. ‘And Bob will walk up the aisle with me and stand w
ith us while we say our vows.’
And stay silent, thought Jones, for that is the one bond between the three of us that no matter what can never be.
‘It sounds perfect,’ he said, and kissed her again.
Chapter 50
Stupidity is not a matter of intelligence. I have known people content with simple lives who were wise, and educated men and women whose every decision was foolish. Stupidity is eyes that refuse to see, hearts that fail to feel for others. We must teach wisdom to the young, for once a person has accepted stupidity, they may not risk admitting the failure of their lives by choosing to see what they have previously refused to acknowledge.
Miss Lily, 1937
16 APRIL 1945
SOPHIE
The crystal set had muttered news of Allied troops advancing into Germany. But that news was spoken in English, for those who spoke English to believe. The German news on the wireless each night and morning still spoke of German victories, of new weapons unleashed.
So she was not prepared for the lorry that arrived without warning one afternoon — the soldiers who loaded statues, paintings, both new and Hannelore’s, the bottles from the wine cellar, the jars of carefully made preserves — everything, it seemed, that would fit in one medium-sized truck and one black car, leaving enough room for Herr Stauffen and Schmidt too.
Freedom was nearly here. She only had to live.
She watched the black car drive away from the hall where once she’d waltzed with Dolphie, then hurried to the kitchen as the soldiers fastened ropes around the looted statues in the lorry. It seemed she had been forgotten. Good.
The obvious food had been taken. She clambered up on a chair to gather the strings of dried mushrooms, nettles, herbs . . .
A grey-uniformed soldier appeared.
‘Frau Müller?’
So I am not invisible, she thought. ‘Ja, ich bin —’ she began. Then she saw his pistol.
She leaped the moment he pressed the trigger, so the shot went wide. She jumped towards him, which he had not expected, so his second shot missed as well. Nor did he expect a small, starved tiger cat to attack him with fingernails for claws, strings of dried mushrooms looped around his neck so that when he pushed her off and struggled up he found that his own force had strangled him. The more he moved, the tighter the noose grew.
Legends of the Lost Lilies Page 36
