Danielle Steel - Echoes

“Did I flirt?” She looked horrified. That had not been her intention. She just wanted to be charming and pleasant, and hoped she hadn't misbehaved.

“Not more than you should have, or I would have been forced to make a jealous scene, which fortunately I wasn't. I forgive you. Also for the lie.” In fact, he had watched her dance once or twice, and seen how graceful and light she was on her feet. Particularly for a Carmelite.

They checked out of the hotel, called a cab, and went to the station. And from there they took another cab, went to Serge's house, and were back in the basement room within an hour of leaving the Crillon. As they walked in, Amadea took off her hat and sat down with a tremendous sigh. She was exhausted by the strain of the last two days. She had been terrified, although she hadn't looked it, every second of the day. Although some of the time, she had had fun with him. Particularly at Notre Dame.

Colonel Montgomery told Serge it was the most successful mission of its kind he'd ever done, and he considered it a huge success. He said that Amadea had been flawless in her performance as an SS officer's wife, and had culled a considerable amount of information herself. As the colonel was, Serge was pleased.

“When are we going back?” Amadea asked the colonel with a tired smile after she had changed her clothes back into her own. She felt a little like Cinderella at midnight. It had been fun wearing the beautiful clothes and staying at the Crillon, but her mind had been rarely off the risk of deportation. She was used to the everyday risk of her life in Melun. This had been far, far more extreme.

He had shed the SS uniform by then as well, and they had both returned their papers to Serge. The passports and papers could be used again with a little fine artwork, and new photographs. Serge returned their old ones as Amélie Dumas, and the schoolteacher from Arles. They both knew they were playing a dangerous game, but they were both adept at it.

“Are you hungry?” he asked Amadea in an undertone, as she smiled at him. They had come to sound like man and wife in the past two days, and it was already a habit.

“I'm fine. I'll eat when we get back. When do we go?”

“In two hours.” He wanted to radio some coded information back to England first.

They left Serge's house without ceremony, and drove back to Melun, just as they had on the way up, in the borrowed car. But this time they were entirely at ease with each other. It really felt as though they were man and wife. She had even slept next to him for two nights, although they had done so like sister and brother. He still remembered her in the peach silk nightgown, and she him in the silly too-small pajamas. He was a tall man, and it was hard to find even trousers long enough for his long legs.

“You did a fine job,” he said to her as they drove back. “A very fine job. You did good work.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” she said, no longer feeling shy with him.

“You can call me Rupert.” They had switched back to French again, just so they did not make the mistake of speaking German if they were stopped. “You know, you talk in your sleep in German,” he said, smiling at her. “That's the sign of an impeccable agent. She talks in her sleep in the language of the mission she is on.” Amadea found it a bit confusing now to be speaking to him in French again.

“I liked speaking German to you,” she admitted. “It's awful to say in these times. But it reminds me of my childhood. I haven't spoken it in a long time.” Not since she'd come to France.

“Your French is remarkable. So is your English,” he said admiringly.

“So is yours.” They both had German mothers, so it wasn't surprising that German was their native tongue. Although he had grown up in Britain with an English father. And she in Germany with a French one.

“I'd like to work with you again,” he said simply.

“I'm not sure I've got the nerves for this kind of work,” she said in French. “Not at the level you operate at. I kept waiting for the Gestapo to come to the door and deport me.”

“That would have been disagreeable,” he said dryly. “I'm glad that didn't happen.”

“So am I,” she said, looking sobered. It had been an interesting experience, working with him. “You know, I keep wanting to tell you how much I admire what you did with the Kindertransport. What an incredible thing to do.”

“It was a wonderful thing. I'm glad we were able to get so many out. I have twelve of them at home myself.” He said it as though admitting that he had a radio, or a lovely plant. As though there were nothing remarkable whatsoever about offering a home to twelve foster children, which was in effect what they were. They all had parents, or had when they left Germany. And those whose parents were still alive after the war would be going back one day. He had already made a decision to adopt the ones who didn't, and said as much to Amadea. He was an extraordinary man. She had seen that in the past two days. And even under extreme tension, which he had been under, too, he had been polite, considerate, respectful, and kind at all times. He had been in constant danger of exposure and arrest at all times, just as she had. More than likely he would have been shot if they were caught.

“It must be quite something to have twelve children at home.”

“It's entertaining,” he admitted with a smile. And it took the edge off his own grief of losing his wife and sons, although it wasn't the same. But it warmed the heart. “They're wonderful children. I speak German with them too. I have eight boys and four girls, from the ages of five to fifteen. The youngest was six months old when they put her on the train. She came with her sister. Two of the older boys are twins. Some families in England only wanted one or two from a family when there were actually more-we did the best we could to keep families together. Some of them have had to be re-placed, but most of the placements have been a success. They get terribly homesick sometimes, poor things. Not my little one, of course. She doesn't remember any other family but me and the other kinders. She's a little vixen. She has bright red hair and freckles.” He smiled as he described her, and Amadea could see in his eyes the love he had for them. She suspected he must have been a good father, too, when his sons were alive.

They reached Melun just after nightfall, and Jean-Yves's aunt cooked them dinner. She did not ask where they'd been or what they'd done, and they said nothing about Paris. It was obvious to her that he was an agent from somewhere else, and one of some importance. They just ate dinner quietly, and talked about the farm and the weather. And afterward, Amadea and Rupert sat in the barn talking until it was time for him to leave.

“It sounds strange, but I had a nice time with you,” he said pleasantly. “Do you miss the convent?” he asked, still curious about her. She was an interesting mix of many different things. Worldly, innocent, beautiful, humble, brave, shy, intelligent, and entirely without pretension. In an odd way, he could see why she would make a good nun, although he still thought it was a terrible waste. He still remembered how smashing she had looked in the white evening gown, and the peach nightgown. He never got involved with other agents. It would have been madness to do so, and would have complicated everything. This was work, not play. And people's lives were at stake.

“Yes, I do,” Amadea admitted seriously, in reference to missing the convent. “All the time. I'll go back when it's over,” she said, sounding certain, and he believed her. He had a feeling that she would.

“Save me a dance before you do,” he teased. “You could teach me a thing or two.”

They walked out to the field around eleven-thirty and met the others. The plane came for him right on time just after midnight. The men who had come into France with him were still on other missions. The plane was just landing as he turned to her and thanked her again.

“God bless you,” she said over the purr of the plane. “Take care.”

“You too,” he said, touched her arm, saluted her, and then hopped into the Lysander the moment it landed. They took off again in less than three minutes, and she stood looking at it for a moment as the tiny plane flew away. She thought she saw him wave, and then she turned and walked back to the farm.

AMADEA DIDN'T HEAR FROM SERGE AGAIN UNTIL TWO weeks before Christmas, and then he came to see her again. She had been doing the same local missions as always. Twice she had rescued men who had parachuted in and were hurt. She had shimmied up a tree and cut one of them down when he got tangled up in the branches, and she had nursed him for several weeks. Her heroism and selflessness were no secret around Melun. The two men she had saved had been British, and the one she had cut down from the tree had sworn he would come back after the war to see her again. He thought she had been an angel of mercy. There was no question she had saved his life.

She was feeling sad before Christmas, thinking about Jean-Yves-the Christmas before, they had been together. But now she felt her religious vocation stronger than ever. She wondered if that had been why he had come into her life. She knew that in time all things were revealed.

When Serge came this time, even he hesitated to broach the mission to her. The request had come from Colonel Montgomery himself. It was of course optional for her.

The plans for the bomb factory in Germany had been advancing rapidly. Faster than the British had expected. And now he needed the technical details that he had not obtained in Paris. He needed Amadea to masquerade as his wife again, as a different officer and his wife this time. The greatest risk of the mission was that it was in Germany. They had to get safely in and out, which would be no small accomplishment. Either of them could easily be killed, and in Amadea's case, if not killed, she would surely be deported. This time Serge didn't even want to ask her, and discouraged her from going. He had to relay the message to her, but nothing more.