Stiff from sitting for so long, Margot stood up and was ushered by her employer from the room. As she reached the door, Madame Armande turned to look back at the German officer and they exchanged a smile.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nethercote, Elmsleigh, Kent
May 1941
Jeremy was sitting on a chaise in the conservatory, propped up on pillows, a white chenille rug over his knees. The conservatory was at the back of the house, a glass-domed addition to the morning room with white wicker furniture and tropical plants. There were orchids everywhere, and the sweet scent of jasmine hung in the air. The windows looked out on the lawn with the tennis court beyond it. White clouds moved across the sky, sending shadows over the manicured grass. An arched arbour was covered in early roses, and roses also climbed the brick wall that hid the kitchen garden. Jeremy turned at the sound of footsteps. His face lit up as they came toward him.
“My God. My two favourite people. How splendid.”
“You’re looking wonderful, Jeremy,” Pamela said. In truth he looked pale and awfully thin. He was wearing an open-necked white shirt or pyjama jacket. With his hollow cheeks and dark curls on that sea of whiteness, he looked as if he ought to be a Romantic poet—Lord Byron on his deathbed, perhaps. Pamela crossed the tiled floor to him.
“I couldn’t believe it when they told me you’d come home. It’s like a miracle.”
“Don’t go all dramatic on me, Pamma,” he said. “Come and give me kiss.”
Ben hung back while she leaned over Jeremy and kissed his forehead.
“I’d expect something less chaste than that,” Jeremy said, laughing. “But not with Ben watching. How are you, old man? It’s good to see you.”
He held out his hand, and Ben shook it. Jeremy’s eyes shone with genuine warmth as he grasped his friend’s hand.
“Welcome home, old chap,” Ben said. “And I must agree with Pamma. It’s a miracle that you’re here.”
“Actually, it was quite miraculous, when you think of it,” Jeremy said. “I certainly beat all the odds.”
“Do tell us all the details,” Pamma said. “I only know what I read in the newspaper.”
“Not much more to tell, really.” Jeremy looked a trifle embarrassed. “We planned a breakout from the damned stalag. Someone must have ratted on us because they were waiting for us in the woods at the end of the tunnel. They opened fire and mowed us all down.”
“Golly!” Pamela exchanged a look with Ben. “Were you shot, too?”
“I was lucky. The shot went through my shoulder. I flung myself into the river and lay there as if I was dead. I let the current take me, then I hid under some rushes on the bank. I heard them go away, laughing. Then I swam and drifted for as long as I could. I found a piece of driftwood and let that carry me along for a while. Then my stream joined a river in an area where boats were moored. I managed to haul myself on board a low barge—one of a string of barges going upstream—in the dead of night. And can you believe my luck? It was carrying vegetables. I hid myself among the cabbages. It would have been brilliant, but the wound in my shoulder had become infected. I think I was half-delirious most of the time.”
“You poor thing.” Pamela touched his shoulder gently.
“It wasn’t too much fun, I can tell you. We went upstream for a couple of days, then I heard someone speaking French. I decided we were either in France or Belgium. Either way, it was better than Germany. So I made my exit in the middle of the night and struck out westward. Couple of narrow escapes, but eventually my luck held. I bumped into a chap who was with the Resistance. He sent out messages, and they got me across France to a waiting boat.”
Jeremy looked from Pamela’s face to Ben’s.
“Quite an adventure,” Ben said.
“Not one I’d care to repeat,” Jeremy said. “But fear is a great motivator. I knew if they caught me, they’d shoot me.”
“So what will you do now? Will you go back to flying?” Ben asked.
“I’m being given a desk job until I’m deemed fit to fly again,” Jeremy said. “The bullet damaged the muscles in my right arm, and I’m a bag of skin and bones. I need building up first, but that will happen rapidly here. Mother is spoiling me, as you can imagine, and Mrs. Treadwell is a wonderful cook. My God. How I dreamed of meals like this when we got our slice of black bread and watery soup.”
He stared past them, out of the windows. “I suppose I can’t be too impatient to get back to work. It will take a while. I can’t help thinking about those other fellows. The ones who broke out of the stalag with me. All mown down in a hail of bullets. And their families, wondering how they are doing. Not knowing they are dead.”
He turned back with an attempt at a bright smile. “But here I am. Exactly where I dreamed of being. And look at you, Pamma. God, you’re lovelier than I remembered. More grown up.”
“I am two years older,” Pamma said. “And I’ve had my twenty-first, so I am officially an adult now.”
Ben shifted uneasily at the long glance that passed between them. “I should go and leave you two in peace,” he said.
“Would you, old chap?” Jeremy said. “I’m dying to kiss her, you know.”
“Of course,” Ben answered, trying to keep his voice light. “I’ll come and visit you again soon.”
“Do. That would be splendid. I’m anxious to hear what you’ve been doing. Anxious to get back to normality. The last year has been like a bad dream, and now I’ve woken up.”
“I’ve been doing nothing thrilling, I’m afraid,” Ben said. “Good to have you home again.”
“Ben, you don’t have to . . .” Pamela called after him, but he was already heading back into the darkness of the room beyond. He let himself out.
Jeremy looked at Pamma and eased over to make room next to himself on the chaise longue. “Come here, you delectable creature,” he said.
“Which is your bad shoulder?” Pamela asked as she sat beside him. “I don’t want to risk hurting you.”
“All patched up and healing nicely, thank you,” he said. “Here.” He slipped his arm around her neck and pulled her toward him. “God, I’ve dreamed of this moment,” he said. His kiss was hard and demanding, his lips crushing against hers so fiercely that she almost cried out in pain. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and his hand fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. One of them broke off with his persistent tugging and went bouncing across the tiled floor. His hand forced its way inside her blouse, his fingers worming inside her brassiere to cup her breast. As she felt his fingers on her warm flesh, seeking her nipple, she pulled her face away from him.
“Jeremy, not here! Anyone can see us.” She laughed nervously. “I’m as anxious as you are to pick up where we left off, but . . .”
He was still looking at her hungrily. “The only people who might see are working for my father, and they are paid well to keep their mouths shut.”
She sat up. “I’m sorry. It’s a bit too much too soon, Jeremy. I’m so thrilled to see you again, but we had never gone this far before, had we? And it’s been so long . . .”