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Evelyn lay awkwardly on her side in the backseat of Leon’s Citroen, wondering what on earth Miles would say if he could see her. She had never been so exceedingly glad that the likelihood of running into him was nonexistent. Finn was behind her, laying in the opposite direction, doing his best to give her enough room on the narrow seat to be respectable. It was a losing battle, however, and as the car went around the corner, he grabbed her around her waist to keep her from tumbling onto the floor.
“Is this all really necessary?” she asked in exasperation. “We must be away from the café by now!”
“Yes, but there are three black sedans behind us,” Leon said from the driver’s seat. “Without knowing if one of them is your friend, it’s best for you to stay hidden.”
“Ooof!” Finn grunted as they went over a bump in the road.
“Almost there. Just one more turn,” Leon assured them cheerfully.
The turn nearly sent Evelyn flying again and Finn hauled her back with an arm around her waist.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I assure you this is just as awkward for me.”
Evelyn was betrayed in a laugh. “At least there are only the two of us. Imagine if Josephine was here as well!”
“She wouldn’t fit.”
“Ah! Here we are!” Leon announced a few minutes later before coming to a stop. “Stay down another minute while I ensure all black sedans have passed.”
He got out of the car and Evelyn lifted her head to look at Finn. He shrugged.
“He’s conscientious,” he said. “I’ll give him that.”
A moment later Leon tapped on the glass of the back window, grinning. He motioned them out and Evelyn sat up thankfully, straightening her jacket and smoothing her skirt back down over her knees. Leon opened the door for her and she accepted his offered hand to help her climb out.
“We are quite safe from curious eyes,” he told her. “There is only one way back here and I have closed the gate.”
They were in a large enclosed area that looked as if it may have once been the courtyard of an inn. A stone building ran along two sides of the square, and on the third was what looked to be a stable that had been converted into parking for automobiles.
“Where are we?” Finn asked, climbing out behind her and looking around. “Is this an inn?”
“It used to be, many years ago. Now it is a restaurant, among other things.” Leon turned and led them across the pavement to a door a few feet away. “This is the back entrance. We will go through the kitchens, but you will not mind, no?”
“Not at all,” Evelyn said, adjusting her hat. “Is the Captain here already?”
“Oh yes. He’s always here. He rents a room when he’s in port.”
Leon opened the door and they went into a large and bustling kitchen. It wasn’t yet time for the evening rush and the kitchen was fairly empty. The few cooks that were there paid no attention as they went through their domain. They were obviously used to strangers coming and going through the back door, which made Evelyn wonder just what kind of establishment they were in.
She followed Leon into the restaurant with some apprehension, but relaxed when it turned out to be a perfectly respectable dining room. The only occupants were at the corner table, and Leon led them towards it, breaking into a large smile as he went.
“Jacques!” he cried. “How good to see you, my friend!”
Three men were seated at the table with bread, cheese, and wine in front of them, but it was evident that they weren’t there to eat. They hadn’t touched the food, but the bottle of wine on the table was nearly empty. As they approached, all three stood up, staring at Evelyn.
“It is always a pleasure, Leon!”
The man in the corner wiped his mouth with his napkin and nodded to Leon, a congenial smile on his face. Evelyn studied him, pleasantly surprised. He didn’t look like a smuggler. He was dressed fashionably and, while his hair was a little too long for respectable circles, his mustache was neatly trimmed and his chin was smooth. In fact, he looked like the type of man one would find at the theatre with a woman on each arm.
“Mademoiselle Dufour, may I present Captain Beaulieu,” Leon said with a flourish. “Captain, Mademoiselle Dufour and her companion, Monsieur Maes.”
Captain Beaulieu came around the table and took the hand she offered, bowing over it gallantly in true French fashion.
“Mademoiselle,” he murmured, straightening up and smiling easily. “Monsieur,” he added, turning to shake Finn’s hand. “I understand from Leon that you’d like to hire my boat.”
Evelyn glanced at Leon, who smiled and shrugged.
“Yes, but we were hoping you would captain it,” she said, turning her gaze back to the Captain.
He smiled enigmatically. “But of course! It goes nowhere without me. Where do you wish to go?”
Evelyn hesitated and he made a tsk-ing noise with his mouth, a comically chagrined look on his face.
“But my apologies, Mademoiselle! Leon told me it was a delicate matter, and I was so distracted by your beauty that I failed to remember. Please forgive me. We will go into another room where we can speak privately.” He turned to look at Finn and Leon. “Please have a seat, gentlemen, and some wine. Our business will take but a moment! Pedro, open another bottle of wine!”
Finn looked at Evelyn sharply. “Geneviève?”
She smiled reassuringly. “It’s quite all right, Finn. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He frowned, but nodded. Evelyn smiled at the captain and he held out his arm, motioning for her to accompany him. They walked across the restaurant to a door behind a well-placed screen, and he stood aside for her to enter.
She walked into a small room that was both office and storage closet, and looked around. A desk was positioned on one side with two chairs before it, and cases of wine and cigarettes were stacked along the wall on the other side. She turned to look at the captain as he closed the door. A feeling of uneasiness went through her, but she pushed it aside. If this man could get her out of France, she could spend a few minutes alone with him.
“Now then, that’s better, no?” he asked, turning to her with a smile. “Please sit down! This is my office when I am in Bordeaux.”
“Your office?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Do you own the restaurant?”
“I do,” came the unexpected answer. “Of course, I have a manager who takes care of the business for me. It’s difficult to run a restaurant from a boat, after all.”
“Yes, I imagine it would be.” Evelyn sat down in one of the chairs as he went around to seat himself behind the desk.
“Cigarette?” he offered.
“No thank you.”
“To business, then! Where would you like me to take you and Monsieur Maes?” he asked, sitting back and folding his hands over his stomach. “Please don’t say Corsica. I’ve just returned, and I’m afraid I was forced to leave in a hurry. It wouldn’t be wise for me to go back so soon.”
Evelyn choked back a laugh. “No, it’s not Corsica. I was hoping you would take us to England.”
“Ah! Yes, that’s much better.” His brown eyes studied her for a moment and she had the uncomfortable sense that he saw much more than was apparent. “What is in England?”
“The king,” she said pertly.
He burst out laughing and sat forward, his eyes still dancing. “So you will not tell me, eh? That’s your business, of course, but I like to know what I’m sailing into. There won’t be a jealous husband standing in port with a blunderbuss, for example?”
It was Evelyn’s turn to laugh. “No. I assure you, there is no jealous husband or blunderbuss in your immediate future.”
“What a pity. It’s been some time since I saw some real excitement,” he said with a wink. “Very well, then. I can convey you and your companion to Plymouth. Leon did tell you there would be a fee?”
“Yes, of course. How much?”
He considered her for a moment. “Twelve thousand francs. Not a penny less.”
Evelyn raised her eyebrow. “I can take an airplane for that amount.”
He smiled and shrugged. “But you are not taking an airplane. You are asking to take a boat. My boat. That is my price.”
“That’s robbery.”
“That, mademoiselle, is good business. You have a demand; I have the supply.”
Evelyn exhaled and stood, nodding. “Very well. I will give you half now and half when we arrive safely in Plymouth.”
She opened her purse and counted out six thousand francs, laying them on the desk. He watched her and, when she was closing her purse, he gathered up the notes and opened the top desk drawer, placing them inside. Pulling a key from his pocket, he locked the drawer and stood up, coming around the side of the desk.
“And what’s to stop me from taking the rest of the money now?” he asked, stopping in front of her and blocking her exit to the door.
Evelyn looked into his face, inches away, and smiled faintly, setting her purse on the desk.
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
He crooked an eyebrow. “Oh? Why?”
Evelyn swept her foot forward, knocking one of his ankles to the side at the same time that her left hand shot in an arc towards his neck, slicing down to land solidly in the crevice between his collarbone and base of the neck. A moment later, his head was pressed down on his desk, face down, and his arms were bent at an awkward angle behind his back.
“This is me being a lady,” she said calmly. “If you try to rob me, I will no longer be a lady. Do we understand each other?”
Captain nodded and she released him. He straightened up slowly, touching his neck gingerly, and turned to face her. Instead of looking wary or angry, he was grinning widely. A gold tooth sparkled in the light from a lamp on the desk.
“I think we will get along very well together, mademoiselle,” he announced cheerfully, turning for the door. “I will take you to Plymouth. We will leave immediately. I’ve already had my boat made ready.”
“You have?” she asked, picking up her purse and following him.
“But of course! I had a premonition we would come to an agreement, and so we have.” He opened the door and gave her a half-bow, still grinning. “It will be a pleasure to have such a fascinating lady aboard.”
Miles was dozing, his head tilted to the side and resting on the Mae West, when he was almost thrown from his chair as the ship listed suddenly to the side. He looked around in alarm to find all the officers in the wardroom in the same state of startled confusion.
“What the bloody hell was that?” someone demanded.
They had left Dunkirk just ten minutes before after the last of the soldiers had been loaded on. As they pulled away, there was a collective sigh of relief throughout the wardroom. Now they were all staring at each other in alarmed apprehension, some jolted out of their naps like Miles, and others out of their low-voiced conversation. The ship listed again to the opposite side, and Miles grabbed the side of his chair with one hand and planted the other on the wall to keep his balance.
Then they heard the sound of the destroyer’s guns firing above them.
“It’s the bloody Luftwaffe!” the same voice exclaimed in disgust. “They’re bombing the ship!”
Miles sucked in his breath as they listed again. He tried to listen for the sound of bombs, but all he could hear were the ships own guns. How many were there? Were they Dornier 17s? Stukas? Were there fighters as well? The questions clamored in his head as he grit his teeth, watching an officer slip off his seat, falling to the floor as the ship lurched violently.
The door to the wardroom swung open suddenly and a lieutenant gripped the sides of the frame to keep his balance while he looked inside.
“Flying Officer Lacey?” he called.
Miles looked up in surprise. “Yes?”
“Will you come with me, please? The Captain would like a word.”
Miles nodded and stood up, bracing his legs as the ship lurched again. As he made his way to the door and the waiting officer, he felt some relief to be getting away from the side-long stares and outright hostile looks that he’d been ignoring for the better part of an hour. That he was getting the chance to go above deck and get some air was even better. The smell of sweat, dirt and cigarettes was overwhelming in the wardroom and, while he was perfectly prepared to ignore it, he certainly wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to get away from it.
The officer waited for him to go through the door, then he closed it firmly and led the way down the narrow corridor to metal steps. Miles followed, keeping his balance fairly well now that he was on his feet and moving.
“We’re being attacked?” he asked, climbing the steps.
“Yes. They’ve been attacking the ships all morning,” the lieutenant said over his shoulder. “The Grafton’s gone down. The Captain will help pick up the survivors but we have to make it through this first.”
Miles swallowed, his blood running cold. If he’d reached the beach just half an hour earlier, he might have been on the Grafton now.
“Down as in sunk?” he heard himself asking.
“That’s the only down I know of.”
They reached an upper deck and the officer opened a metal door. Fresh air and saltwater met them as they stepped onto the outer deck and Miles took a deep breath. It caught in his throat as he stared out over the railing. Both Stukas and Dornier 17s were swarming in the sky above, raining bombs around the destroyer. As he stared, frozen in shock, one such bomb hit the water next to where they were, sending spray over the side of the railing and causing the ship to lurch again.
“This way!” The lieutenant yelled over the cacophony of noise. Bombs, airplanes and the ships own guns made it almost impossible to hear anything, and Miles had to bend his head forward and strain to hear him. “Stay away from the side!”
He nodded and followed him along the wall until they reached the bridge. The officer opened the door and they ducked inside just as another bomb fell into the water near the bow.
“Officer Lacey, sir!” The lieutenant announced.
A tall imposing man turned from the panoramic window to look at Miles. He waved him forward, lowering the binoculars he was holding.
“Officer Lacey!” He greeted him with a nod, waving him forward. “I understand you’re a pilot?”
“Yes, sir. With 66 Squadron,” Miles said, walking forward to join the Captain.
“I’m Captain Dennings.” The Captain introduced himself briefly and turned to look back out the window. “Do you know what those are?”
“Yes, sir. Dornier 17s and Stuka dive bombers.”
“And the ones over there?” he asked, pointing. “You can use these if you need to,” he added, holding out the binoculars.
Miles shook his head. “No need, sir. Those are Me 109s. They’re escorting the Dorniers. The ones coming from over there: they’re Hurricanes. They’re going for the Stukas.”
The Captain nodded and motioned to the lieutenant who was still standing near the door.
“Good. I wonder if you would mind going up and giving our gunners a hand?” he asked, looking at Miles fully for the first time. “They can’t tell the difference between ours and theirs. They don’t know which ones to shoot. It was pretty straight-forward until the fighters showed up, but now they need some help with identification. I’m afraid they haven’t had to tell them apart yet.”
Miles nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“I have to advise you that if those fighters get close enough, they’ll aim for the guns. It’s dangerous up there. Are you still willing?”
“It’s no more dangerous than anything else I’ve done today,” Miles said with a grin.
The Captain broke into a smile. “Good show. What do you fly?”
“Spitfire, sir.”
“Well, I’ll do my best to get you back up in one. We need all the help we can get.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Captain nodded and saluted. “Good luck, lad. And thank you. Lieutenant Brown will show you to the gunners.”
Miles saluted smartly and turned to leave. As he stepped out of the bridge, a high-pitched wail sent a bolt of fear shooting through him. Images of bodies jerking on the beach flashed into his mind, and he sucked in his breath. Forcing the memory away, he looked up to find one of the Stukas in a steep dive, aiming for their ship. He was in perfect position to hit midship. Miles stared in horrified fascination as the deadly machine drew closer, the wailing scream heard over the sound of the guns. Before he could get his bombs away, a Hurricane shot into view, firing directly into the exposed belly of the bomber. The Stuka came apart in a fire ball, and the Hurricane spun upwards to go after another one.
“Huzzah!” Lieutenant Brown cheered, turning to grab Miles’ hand in his excitement. “I thought we were done for,” he exclaimed, pumping his hand in his enthusiasm. “Thank God for the RAF! Was that one of yours?”
“No, but I’d buy him a pint if I knew who it was,” Miles replied, relief making his legs weak.
“Come on. Let’s get you to the guns before we shoot one of our own!”
Miles nodded, following him back down the deck. His shoulder throbbed from the excited handshake he’d just received, but he barely noticed the pain. Relief was still mixing with adrenaline, making him feel both shaky and invincible at the same time. Along with it came a feeling of immense pride. Fighter Command was up there, and they’d just saved this destroyer and thousands of men onboard from a sure hit from a Stuka. Despite what the army thought, they were making a difference.
And he couldn’t wait to get back up there with them.
Evelyn walked next to Finn along the pier, eyeing Captain Beaulieu’s boat. It was the only one at the end of the dock and, as Leon had said, it was a large fishing trawler. She suspected that the nets hanging at the sides had never been used, but that was none of her concern. It looked to be a solid vessel, and it would take her and Finn to Plymouth. That was all that mattered.
“Please let Pedro carry your case,” Captain Beaulieu pleaded. “I don’t feel comfortable with a lady, and guest, carrying her own luggage.”
“Thank you, but it is quite light, and I like to keep it with me,” she said with a smile.
He shook his head and threw his hands up in the age-old male expression of hopelessness.
“As you wish, mademoiselle.”
Finn looked around the pier as they walked. “Yours is the only boat docked,” he said.
“Yes. I prefer to keep my boat separate from the others. I pay for the use of the entire pier,” the Captain said, glancing at Evelyn. “Nothing is too expensive if it ensures my own comfort.”
“Touché,” she murmured with a chuckle.
“How long will it take to cast off?” Finn asked, and the captain shrugged.
“No more than fifteen minutes. Ten if we hurry.”
“Shall we say ten minutes?” Evelyn asked after a glance at Finn’s face.
“For you, mademoiselle? The world!”
Evelyn smiled. Despite everything, she was suddenly enjoying herself immensely. The Captain was amusing, the sun was warm and bright, and she was on her way home after almost a month away. She had been sent to Belgium with the instructions to be quick in case Hitler moved at last. Now Belgium, Holland, and Luxembourg had fallen, and France was all but lost. The smile faded. Once again, she had been caught in the German’s path. At this rate, she would begin to think that she brought the Nazis with her!
“Tell me, Captain Beaulieu,” she said, looking up at him. “What will you do if the Germans come to Bordeaux?”
He glanced at her and the charming smile that had been on his face since she met him an hour ago disappeared.
“I will do what my family has done for generations,” he said promptly.
“And what is that?”
“I will make the best of a bad situation.”
Evelyn was just opening her mouth to respond when she heard a sharp intake of breath beside her. She turned her head to look at Finn just as he threw himself into her, throwing her to the ground.
It happened so quickly that she didn’t even have time to take a breath. One minute she was walking between the captain and Finn, and the very next minute she was hitting the wooden planks, her suitcase flying from her hand. Evelyn grabbed for it, her heart in her throat as it skidded towards the edge of the pier. Just before it went over the edge, the captain grabbed it. She sucked in her breath in relief only to have it knocked right back out when Finn landed on top of her.
“Uunh!”
She grunted and winced as her head hit the pier with the force of his body impacting hers. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Captain Beaulieu yell and boots pounded along the pier, causing the wooden planks to vibrate.
“Finn!” she gasped. “I can’t breathe! Get off of me!”
Finn rolled off her, clutching his shoulder. “Apologies,” he gasped, his face pale. “It was all I could think to do.”
“All you could think—” Evelyn began angrily, pushing herself up onto her arm. She stopped suddenly and her eyes widened as Finn’s slid closed. “Finn? Finn!”
Evelyn leaned over him, patting his face. She looked down and saw blood covering his chest and the gasp turned to a cry of alarm.
“Captain!” she cried, twisting around to look for him. “He’s bleeding!”
“I know,” he said, his back to her.
Evelyn suddenly realized she and Finn were surrounded with the captain’s crew and that every one of them was holding a gun. The weapons, however, weren’t pointed at her or Finn, but were facing outside the circle.
“What’s happening?!”
“Someone tried to shoot you. Pedro, get her to the boat! George!” A massive man turned in response. “Carry the monsieur aboard and take him to Philip. Richard, you come with me. Everyone else, make sure nothing happens to either of them until I return!”
Evelyn listened to the calm orders and shook her head as if to clear it. Her mind was spinning and she looked down at Finn in a daze. He was covered in blood, his eyes closed and his body still. She had no idea what was happening, but when Pedro bent to help her up, she allowed him to gently pull her to her feet. As soon as she was out of the way, George bent down and picked up Finn’s motionless figure. He tossed him over his shoulder like a bag of grain and Evelyn gasped, wincing. Finn didn’t stir. And then she was being rushed along the pier in the center of a group of men, unable to do anything but hurry along with them.
“My case!” she cried suddenly. Without a word, Pedro held up the suitcase and she exhaled in relief. “Thank you,” she said automatically, not expecting a reply. She didn’t even know if the man had heard her, moving as fast as they were.
She looked at Finn’s head, bouncing against the giant’s back. His dark hair was hanging down, swaying with the movement of his head, and she bit her lip, her gut tightening. Was he alive? She didn’t know. All she knew was that he had just saved her life.
But from whom?
