“And you are well short of your complement,” Martineau told her. “However inconvenient, the matter is an accomplished fact. If you would be kind enough therefore to show us to a suitable room.”
Helen was angrier than she had been in years. The ice-cold assurance of the man, the SS uniform and the silly little tart traveling with him, with the tousled hair almost swallowed up by the huge reefer coat.
Guido said hurriedly, “Right, I’m going to have a bath and catch up on a little sleep. I’ll see you all later.”
The door closed behind him. Gallagher still stood by the sink, the knife in hand. Helen turned, pushing him out of the way angrily, washing the potato flour from her hands under the tap. She was aware of the SS officer still at the door with the girl.
Very softly, a voice said, “Aunt Helen, don’t you know me?” Helen went quite still. Gallagher was looking over her shoulder in astonishment. “Uncle Sean?” And then, as Helen turned, “It’s me, Aunt Helen. It’s Sarah.”
Helen dropped the cloth, moved forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, gazing at her searchingly. With recognition, there were sudden tears in her eyes. She laughed unsteadily and ran her fingers through the girl’s hair.
“Oh, my God, Sarah, what have they done to you?” And then they were in each other’s arms.
Hugh Kelso said, “So what happens now? You two have obviously had one hell of a trip just getting to Jersey, so where do we go from here?”
“1 know where Sarah goes. Straight into a hot bath,” Helen de Ville said. “You three can carry on talking as long as you like.”
As she moved to the door. Gallagher said, “I’ve been thinking. Mrs. Vibert’s due this afternoon. It might be an idea to give her a few days off.”
“All right,” Helen told him. “You can take care of it.”
They went out and Kelso said, “What does happen now?” There was impatience in his voice.
Martineau said, “I just got here, my friend, so give me time to catch my breath. When it’s time to go, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Does that include a bullet in the head, Colonel?” Kelso demanded, “If that’s the decision, do we gel to talk about it or just do it?”
Martineau didn’t bother to answer. He simply went downstairs and waited in the master bedroom for Gallagher. The Irishman closed the secret door and shrugged. “He’s had a hard time and that leg gives him a lot of pain.”
“We’re all in pain one way or another,” Martineau said.
As he was about to open the door, Gallagher put a hand on his shoulder. “Could he be right? About the bullet in the head, I mean?”
“Maybe,” Martineau said. “We’ll have to see, won’t we? Now I think I’ll have a bath as well.”
In London, Dougal Munro was just finishing breakfast at his flat when Jack Carter came in. “Some mixed news, sir, about Jerseyman.”
“Tell me the worst, Jack.”
“WeVe heard from Cresson Everything went according to plan, and Martineau and Sarah left Granville for Jersey last night.”
“And?”
“We’ve had another message from Cresson to say the word is the convoy ran into trouble. Attacked by MTBs. They don’t have any hard facts.”
“Have you?”
“I’ve checked with Naval Intelligence. Apparently MTBs of the Royal Dutch Navy operating out of Falmouth last night did hit that convoy, and they claim one merchantman sunk. They were driven off by the escorts.”
“Good God, Jack, you’re not seriously suggesting that Harry and the Drayton girl were on that boat?”
“We just don’t know, sir, and what’s more, there’s no possible way we can find out.”
“Exactly, so sit down, stop worrying about it and have a cup of tea, Jack. You know what your trouble is.” Munro reached for the toast. “You don’t have enough faith.”
Sarah had washed her hair, using some homemade soft soap Helen had provided. She still looked a mess, and when Helen came into the bathroom she said, “It’s no good. You need a hairdresser.”
“Are there still such things?”
“Oh, yes, if you go into St. Helier. The general run of shops still function. The opening hours are shorter. Two hours in the mornings and two in the afternoon for most places.”