“I’m not sure,” she said. “Jersey has changed considerably since those war years. We’re now one of the most important banking centers in the world. There’s a great deal of money here and a considerable number of millionaires. One of them owns de Ville Place now, perhaps I could arrange something. I’m not certain.”
I’d been putting off the most important question, she knew that, of course. Would be expecting it. “And you and Martineau? What happened there?”
“I was awarded the MBE, Military Division, the reason for the award unspecified, naturally. For some reason the Free French tossed in the Croix de Guerre.”
“And the Americans? Didn’t they come up with anything?”
“Good God, no!” She laughed. “From their point of view the whole episode had been far too uncomfortable. They preferred to forget it as quickly as possible. Dougal Munro gave me a job on the inside at Baker Street. I couldn’t have said no even if I’d wanted to. He’d made me a serving officer in the WAAF, remember.”
“And Martineau?”
“His health deteriorated. That chest wound from the Lyons affair was always trouble, but he worked on the inside at Baker Street also. There was a lot on after D Day. We lived together. We had a flat within walking distance of the office at Jacobs Well Mansions.”
“Were you happy?”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “The best few months of my life. I knew it couldn’t last, mind you. He needed more, you see.”
“Action?”
“That’s right. He needed it in the way some people need a drink, and in the end, it did for him. In January nineteen forty-five, certain German generals made contact with British Intelligence with a view to bringing the war to a speedier end. Dougal Munro concocted a scheme in which an Arado operated by the Enemy Aircraft Flight was flown to Germany by a volunteer pilot with Harry as passenger. As you know, the aircraft had German markings and they both wore Luftwaffe uniforms.”
“And they never got there?”
“Oh, but they did. Landed on the other side of the Rhine where he met the people concerned and flew back.”
“And disappeared?”
“There was a directive to Fighter Command to expect them. Apparently the message hadn’t been forwarded to the pilots of one particular squadron. A blunder on the part of some clerk or other.”
“Dear God,” I said. “How trivial the reasons for disaster can sometimes be.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “Records showed that an Arado was attacked by a Spitfire near Margate. Visibility was very bad that day, and the pilot lost contact with it in low clouds. It was assumed to have gone down in the sea. Now we know better.”
There was silence. She picked a couple of logs from the basket and put them on the flre. “And you?” I said. “How did you manage?”
“Well enough. I got a government grant to go to medical school. They were reasonably generous to ex-service personnel after the war. Once I was qualified I went to the old Cromwell for a year as a house physician. It seemed fitting somehow. For me, that’s where it had all started.”
“And you never married.” It was a statement, not a question and her answer surprised me, although I should have known, by then, if I’d had my wits about me.
“Good heavens, whatever gave you that idea? Guido visited London regularly. One thing he’d omitted to tell me was just how wealthy the Orsini family was. Each year I was at medical school he asked me to many him. I always said no.”
“And he’d still come back and try again?”
“In between his other marriages. Three in all. I gave in at last on the strict understanding that I would still work as a doctor. The family estate was outside Florence. I was partner in a country practice there for years.”
“So you really are a Contessa?”
“I’m afraid so. Contessa Sarah Orsini. Guido died in a car crash three years ago. Can you imagine a man who still raced Ferraris at sixty-four years of age?”
“From what youVe told me of him, I’d say it fits.”
“This house was my parents’. I’d always hung onto it so I decided to come back. As a doctor on an island like this it’s easier to use my maiden name. The locals would find the other rather intimidating.”