The Legend of Nimway Hall: 1940-Josie Page 18

  “Remarkable,” he would have said to Josie, had she been standing beside him. Nearly every square inch inside the profile was covered in copper pennies and other coins. A short-legged wooden pier bridged the entire width of the fuselage just aft of the wings, giving access to the center of the airplane, while a volunteer encouraged donors of every age onto the bridge.

  “These are for my da, from me, my mum, and my baby brother,” a little girl said as she held onto her mother’s hand and tossed three coins toward the propeller. “He’s a navalgator.”

  Clearly, a young family living in hope that their beloved father would make it home from the war, a wife who must know that the chances were heartbreakingly low.

  He recognized two men from Balesborough’s Home Guard unit; father and son electricians he planned to draft into the Auxiliary Unit, if their names weren’t already on the list that Arcturus was to hand over to him today. They stood for a moment in silence at the center of the bridge before adding their coins to the rest.

  “Colonel Fletcher!” With only Molly’s shout for a warning, Gideon was suddenly surrounded by Nimway’s own evacuees, his loyal cadets and the four new ones he’d not yet had time to muster into their band.

  “We’re donating our rosehip money, Colonel,” Molly said, standing at his elbow, proudly rattling a chocolate tin, coins that Josie had paid them for every ounce of wild rosehips they brought to her for the herb cabinet.

  “I’m proud of you all!” He was, that and so much more as he watched them race to the bridge, all the little hands tossing coins and squealing in delight. Children who had fallen lucky into the arms of the lady of Nimway Hall.

  With a half-hour until the live drop, Gideon spotted his men in the field, laboring mightily at their end of a tug-of-war rope, pulling against a team of fliers from the air station. After two more wins, they came away filthy with mud and roaring in triumph. Admiring their fighting spirit, Gideon bought a round of beer from the tap stall, then excused himself and made his way toward the live drop.

  According to his message from Arcturus, the drop would happen near the Coconut Shy. He was to be in the general area by six, wearing a Spitfire badge on the right side of his jacket. He expected no more information than that. A live-drop was, by necessity, a malleable event; anticipating too many details in advance left no room for an agent to react to amend or even abandon a plan.

  He only had to wait, watch, to appear to be a natural part of the goings on. Shouldn’t be any trouble if he needed to have a go with the Shy. He was an ace marksman with a rifle, could land a live grenade inside a tea cup and, by the age of eleven, he’d been banned from every fete in east Kent for the power in his arm and the accuracy of his aim at a coconut.

  The Shy seemed quite popular, with spectators two-deep, and every throw drawing groans or cheers. He stood on the perimeter and watched the action, certain that Arcturus was here, wondering how he planned to make the hand-off.

  His senses were always heightened surrounding a live drop, sounds more distinct, shadows and sunlight more stark, smells and movement more discernible. Rather like having Josie nearby; made him deeply aware of her scent, her laughter, her kiss.

  Another cheer went up and a new contestant stepped to the throwing line. The crowd to shifted in and out of the perimeter, wagers were made and paid, and Gideon adjusted his position for a better view over the heads of the father and two young sons who were standing in front of him, leaving him an unobstructed view of the marquee, the line of mounted coconuts, the new contestant who was warming up his arm in great wide circles, the spectators watching from the sidelines and the four volunteers working the stall.

  He recognized one of Josie’s tenant farmers, Tully, the man’s two grown sons and—as though Josie’s Aunt Freddy’s Orb of True Love had followed them to the fete—Josie herself, holding three balls in her hands, and wearing a red-and-white striped apron that reached nearly to her knees.

  She saw him at the same time, smiled shyly across the distance and waggled her fingers before dutifully turning her attention to the next contestant.

  Three wind-ups and three misses later, Gideon scanned the crowd for anyone who might be his contact, saw no one and left the perimeter to wait for Josie at the edge of the stall.

  “Are you stalking me, Gideon,” she asked as she approached him, slipping the balls into the large pockets and wiping her hands on the apron.

  “Just idling while you work, Josie.”

  She was laughing brightly, freely, her gaze glittering as she looked up at him. “You’ll have-a-go at the coconuts, won’t—” she had been smoothing her warm hand across his chest, stopped suddenly, swallowed hard before she continued, laughing lightly “—won’t you, Gideon? Raising funds for the war effort, you know.”

  Pennies to buy a Spitfire; he was ashamed to doubt her. “I’ve a pocket full of tickets. I just may have to.”

  “Good.” Her smile had weakened, a line of worry creased her brow, her breathing shallow and quick. “Then…well, I’d best be getting back to the stall before they miss me.”

  “Will you be free at seven?”

  She exhaled deeply, offered another wan smile. “Yes, Gideon. It turns out that I’ll be free.” She started back into the stall, then turned back, seemed sad all of a sudden, different. “Where will I find you?”

  “I’ll find you.”

  “I look forward to it,” she said with a shy wink that caught him in the heart as she returned to her place in the stall.

  He watched her for a time from an open space where Arcturus surely could see him, could catch his eye or pause beside him long enough to slip a message to him inside a propelling pencil or a cigarette lighter.

  “Join us, sir!” Easton said, with a tug at his sleeve. “Let’s all have-a-go at those bloody coconuts!”

  “Miss Stirling’s there at the side of the stall, Colonel!” Durbridge’s grin was wide, the front of his shirt still streaked with mud. Come along, show her what you’ve got!”

  Why not? A half-hour had passed without contact. Arcturus could be any man connected to the fete, someone local with the ability to move among a variety of people and not be noticed.

  And who better than Mr. Tully, from Lower Farm. Nimway’s orchardist, a veteran of the Great War, a clear-headed member of the Home Guard, and his occupation allowed him access to regular delivery routes throughout the county.

  And there was the very man, running the Coconut Shy, scanning the crowd, taking tickets from all comers in exchange for a trio of balls, his hands repeatedly dipping into the huge pockets of his apron. What better cover for a live drop than that?

  Gideon watched Crossley and Durbridge wage their own personal tournament, until Tully finally called them off and handed three balls to Gideon along with a wink.

  “Best of luck, sir.”

  He needn’t have worried that his arm had lost its teenage accuracy. Tried not to think about the woman who was watching from the stall, failed miserably at that, but threw harder and faster and more accurately than he’d ever done as a youth. Actually cracked all three coconuts and sent one arcing into its neighbor for a record-breaking four-count.

  While the crowd roared and his officers gave him a thumping good razzing, he realized that in his attempt to impress Josie with his prowess, and to convince himself of the rapid progress of his recovery, he had wrenched the injured muscle of his thigh with enough force to break open the incision at its weakest point.

  Not painful enough to worry about now, the familiar dampness at his knee easily ignored until he could tend to it in the privacy of his own quarters.

  Just now he was wondering what the devil had happened to the live drop. He’d been so certain he had found Arcturus in Tully’s exuberant handshake and backslapping congratulations, that Gideon had expected to come away from shying coconuts with more than a model Spitfire. Tully could have easily slipped the list of names for the Aux Unit into his hand as he surrendered his game tickets or with the bal
ls. Nothing.

  Arcturus was an expert in tradecraft, wise enough to abandon a live drop if he sensed trouble. Always frustrating and concerning. But the safety of both agents was always the top concern. Even above the operation itself. Another day. Another drop.

  He took himself away from the Coconut Shy, in case there had been a breach in security and his cover was compromised. The sun would be setting soon and the fete was already being moved indoors by an army of volunteers.

  He’d promised to find Josie, but had lost her in the shifting crowd and the fading light and assumed she would be meeting somewhere with the organizing committee.

  His knee was beginning to stiffen and swell, the open incision scraping against the wool of his trousers, forcing him to move like an old man toward the village hall, where the music had begun behind to seep from the shuttered doors and windows.

  He drew aside the blackout curtain and stepped through the vestibule into the lighted hall. The fete had indeed been brought inside, the flags and banners and bunting, the food and drink stalls, the music and dancing.

  And Josie. He’d found her deep in conversation with an older man who was sitting at the cashier table. Pencils and pages flew as they seemed to be tallying columns of figures and entering the totals into an account journal.

  Rather than interrupt them, Gideon purchased two pint glasses of Nimway Scrumpy, claimed two places for them at an empty table and was about to go fetch her when he turned to find Josie moving toward him, her hair like spun gold, skirts playing against her shapely legs.

  He felt anchored to the ground, beguiled, as she held out her hand and took his when she reached him. “I saw you come in, Gideon. I’m so glad you stayed.”

  “I said I’d find you.”

  Her eyes were misty and studied him a long time. “Yes, but did you find me, or did I find you?”

  “Shall we call it a draw?”

  “A draw, then.” She took his other hand. “Colonel Fletcher, I know I’m a woman and it’s not my place to ask of a man, but would you care to dance?”

  He felt the music thrumming beneath his shoes, the pulse of his wound throbbing more sharply than it had in months, the pleasure of holding her in his arms too enticing to refuse her anything. “I haven’t in long while. Not since college.”

  “Then you’ll have to trust me, sir, to make decisions for the both of us.” She led him out onto the dance floor among the other couples and he lost himself in her enchantment.

  Chapter 11

  Gideon Fletcher was Invictus!

  Josie was still reeling, still couldn’t believe it was true! Even as she waltzed with him among the other dancers, as he held her close and smiled down at her with his beguiling blue eyes. As she smiled back at him, her heart racing with dread, and tried to pretend that nothing had changed between them.

  The live drop with Invictus should have been the simplest of operations. She’d completed more than a dozen since joining MI6 at the beginning of the war, in far more complex locations than her own village. She would have identified Agent Invictus by more than just the Spitfire badge he’d be wearing on the right side of his coat. She’d have known him by his intent, the exchange of glances, an almost imperceptible nod of confirmation. Followed by the precisely choreographed dance of the trade, further confirmation; passing and circling each other in the smallest increments, finally settling into an unremarkable position on a bench or in the press of a crowd. They might even have exchanged pleasantries, or commented on the weather. Ordinary.

  She had planned the live drop with Invictus as she would have with any other agent, in broad daylight, in the midst of a crowd of spectators. Any other agent would have marked her intent, noticed her glances then would have either met her in the wing of the Shy for a face-to-face transaction or allowed her to pass the note to him when they exchanged his ticket for the wooden balls he would throw at the coconuts.

  Simple. Professional. In any other situation, with any other operative, except this one.

  She’d smiled and waved at the man from the stall only because he was Gideon and he was smiling back at her, and he’d kissed her that morning as though he couldn’t get enough of her. She’d been delighted, flattered, when he came to chat her up in the wings, couldn’t keep her hands off him.

  And then she’d put her hand on the Spitfire badge and realized, like a devastating bolt from the sky, that he had shifted it from his left pocket where she’d so blissfully pinned it, to his right.

  Realized, too, that he’d only found her because his gaze had been sweeping the crowd for Arcturus, that he’d come to the Coconut Shy to make the live drop, that of all the men at the fete today, only Gideon Fletcher could be Invictus.

  Feeling gut-punched and too stunned to proceed, she’d called off the live drop in the next breath. Not because it would have been awkward or dangerous to continue, but because Invictus had dismissed her out of hand, had never once in his misogynistic expectations ever considered that she, Jocelyn Regina Stirling—a woman—might just be the Arcturus he was searching for.

  Now that she’d had time to consider the situation, the fact that Gideon Fletcher was Invictus made perfect sense; the clues had been plain to see since the moment they met. A highly experienced intelligence officer of the SOE posted to a farm in rural Somerset. Hadn’t she even remarked to him that his posting seemed unusual?

  His disappearances at all hours, even when his staff had been in the Hall. Good grief, she’d been exchanging messages with Gideon at the dead drop all this time.

  And now, with soft music playing to the beat of her heart, as she gazed up into his eyes, blue and lit by an inner fire, as he held her close against his chest and smiled down at her with those fine lips, she wanted nothing more than to kick him in the shins. Or higher.

  “You surprise me, Gideon,” she said instead, to this man of way too many surprises, “you dance very well for not having done so since college.”

  “You’re too kind for saying so, Josie, considering.” He was actually a very careful dancer, held her close but didn’t travel far with her in his arms, rarely turned, and then only slightly. A sheen of perspiration had begun to collect at his temples and on his close-shaven upper lip.

  “Are you feeling all right, Gideon?” He was pale, blinking and breathing deeply.

  “Not getting enough sleep.”

  “You and your men do come in late every night. Stomping up the backstairs.”

  “Sorry about that. Night work suits us for security purposes.”

  There was the gaping breach between them. “Tiring work, keeping secrets from civilians.”

  Whatever dodgy excuse Gideon had been about to make was interrupted by the arrival of her father, looking fresher, smarter this evening that he’d been when she’d seen him eight hours before. Where did he get the energy?

  “Care if I take a turn around the floor with my darling daughter, Colonel?” Her father seemed in a fine mood, had checked in on her from time to time during the fete and now spun her away from a smiling Gideon, who gave her such a conspiratorial wink she wanted to haul him aside and tell him exactly what she thought of him and his bloody prejudices.

  “Everything splendid between you two, Josie? Gideon seems off his feed and you’re looking—can’t say exactly how, but I’ve seen you happier.”

  She had been blissfully happier—not that long ago. “Let’s just say that I’m feeling invisible at the moment.”

  He laughed. “Impossible, my Josie Bear! You are the center of every circle, the spark that makes that man’s heart keep beating.”

  “I doubt that, Father,” she said as the mayor stepped onto the stage, “and it looks like it’s time to sit.” She took his hand as the music faded and the other dancers began leaving the floor.

  Gideon was waiting for her at their table. His staff officers were standing about in their boisterous good cheer as she approached with her father.

  “Lt. Colonel Fletcher,” her father said, with a click
of his heels as he offered Josie’s hand to Gideon, “I return your partner to you, none the worse for our foxtrot.”

  “You put us all to shame, Edward.” Gideon’s gaze lingered softly on Josie, though his smile seemed almost forced.

  “But now I must join my fellows at the Home Guard table. You’re all a bit stuffy for the likes of us.”

  Gideon and his men seemed to adore her father and always made room for him in their company, sought him out for games of chess, and bridge, and visits to the pub. Men as fine as Gideon. She’d shared many conversations with his officers over the past weeks, mostly in passing, but had enjoyed their wit and banter, learned about their homes and families, their adventures in the war, and yet she felt older and much wiser than any of them.

  Gideon himself was oddly quiet, standing bolt upright behind the chair he’d kept for her, smiled as he held the back and gestured for her to sit, which she so badly wanted to refuse. She was his colleague, his equal in all things. Yet, in his single act of rejection, she’d been reduced to being his date.

  It was impossible not to sense him behind her as she sat and they listened to the mayor present prizes for the ‘best’ and the ‘most’ and the ‘biggest.’ Impossible not to feel the searing heat of his hand through the gabardine of her dress as he caressed her shoulder. Very hot, clammy, as though he’d become overheated.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen of Balesborough Parish, it’s time to announce the sum raised today for our Spitfire campaign.” Lots of cheering, hooting. “And who best to make the announcement than the organizer of the fete, our own Miss Josie from Nimway Hall.”

  She disliked this moment at the end of every local event, when she was recognized for doing exactly what anyone else would have done in her position as lady of the Hall. Which nearly everyone in the parish did every day of this terrible war—they willingly gave their all.

  Gideon bent down to whisper, his large hand on her shoulder, hot as before. “You’ve got a major success on your hands, Josie. Let them love you for it.” He gave a brief squeeze to her upper arm then let her go.