Til put my heart and soul into it,’ Schellenberg promised him. ‘But for the moment, let’s concentrate on getting back to the airfield and the Stork. We fly out at once. The sooner we’re at Chernay, the happier I’ll be.’
Chapter TWELVE
THE duty MP usually brought Steiner a cup of tea at eleven each morning. He was five minutes late and found the German by the window reading.
‘There you go, Colonel.’
‘Thank you, Corporal.’
‘I suppose you’d prefer coffee, sir?’ the corporal said, lingering, for he rather liked Steiner.
‘But I was raised on tea, Corporal,’ Steiner told him. ‘I went to school right here in London. St Paul’s.’
*Is that a fact, sir?’
He turned to the door and Steiner said, ‘Is Lieutenant Benson back yet?’
‘His leave is up at midnight, sir, but if I know him he’ll look in this evening. You know what these young officers are like. Dead keen. Looking for that second pip on his shoulders.’
He left, the bolt rammed home and Steiner went back to his seat by the window, waiting for noon as he had on the previous day, drinking his tea and trying to compose himself to patience.
It was raining again and there was fog in the city, so heavy already that he could barely see the other side of the river. A very large cargo boat eased down from London Docks followed by a line of barges. He watched for a while, wondering where it was going and then he saw the girl, just as Devlin had described: black beret and shabby raincoat.
Mary limped along the pavement, collar up, hands thrust deep into her pockets. She stopped at the entrance leading down to the strand and leaned on the wall, watching the boats on the river. She didn’t look up at the Priory at all. Devlin had been most explicit about that. She just stayed there, watching for ten minutes, then turned and walked away.
Steiner was aware of intense excitement and gripped the bars at his window to steady himself. The door opened behind him and the corporal reappeared.
‘If you’re finished, Colonel, I’ll take your tray.’
‘Yes, I am, thank you.’ The MP picked up the tray and turned to the door. ‘Oh, I don’t know who’s on duty this evening, but I’ll be going down to confession,’ Steiner said.
‘Right, sir. I’ll make a note of it. Eight o’clock as usual.’
He went out and locked the door. Steiner listened to the sound of his boots receding along the corridor then turned, gripping the bars again.
‘Now we pray, Mr Devlin,’ he said softly. ‘Now we pray.’
When Devlin went into St Patrick’s he was in his military trenchcoat and uniform. He wasn’t really sure why he had come. Conscience again, he supposed, or perhaps just tying up loose ends. He only knew he couldn’t leave without a word with the old priest. He’d used him, he knew that, and it didn’t sit well. What was worse was the fact that they would meet again and for the last time in the chapel at St Mary’s that evening. No avoiding that or the distress it would cause.
The church was quiet, only Frank Martin down at the altar arranging a few flowers. He turned at the sound of Devlin’s approach and there was genuine pleasure on his face. ‘Hello, Father.’
Devlin managed a smile. ‘I just dropped in to tell you I’m on my way. I got my orders this morning.’
That’s unexpected, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, well, they’re easing me back in.’ Devlin lied in his teeth. ‘I’m to report to a military hospital in Portsmouth.’
‘Ah, well, as they say, there’s a war on.’
Devlin nodded. ‘The war, the war, the bloody war, Father. It’s gone on too long and we all of us have to do things we normally would never do. Every soldier, whichever side he’s on. Things to shame us.’
The old man said gently, ‘You’re troubled, my son. Can I help in any way?’
‘No, Father, not this time. Some things we have to live with ourselves.’ Devlin put out his hand and the old priest took it. ‘It’s been a genuine pleasure, Father.’