I returned to the Sinclairs’ croft, ate supper, although I had no appetite whatsoever, and put Eirik to bed. ‘One more story, Mamma,’ he said as I tucked the covers around him and bent to kiss his forehead.
‘Not tonight, lille vennen,’ I soothed him. ‘Mamma has to go out, just for a little while.’
‘Where?’
‘To visit Bertha Sutherland. She has some wool for me so I can knit you another jumper.’ It was the story I’d been practising inside my head as I forced down my food, ready to casually mention it to Elizabeth before I left and hoping she hadn’t found out Bertha was one of the people treating me like a pariah.
He pushed out his bottom lip. ‘But I want another story!’
‘If you’re still awake when I come back, I’ll read you two stories, how about that?’
‘All right, Mamma.’ He snuggled down under his covers, eyes already closing. I kissed him again and left the room, closing the door softly behind me.
‘Will ye ask Bertha if her Arthur wants Donald to take a look at dat calf o’ theirs tomorrow?’ Elizabeth asked me when I told her where I was going.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Ach, you’ll be lucky to get away in under an hour – I’ve ne’er met a woman so in love wi’ the sound of her own voice!’ Elizabeth said, but there was a kindly twinkle in her eye. ‘Don’t you rush back. I’ll keep an ear out for Eirik.’
‘Thank you.’ Suddenly, there was a lump in my throat, and I had an overwhelming urge to hug her. Don’t be ridiculous, Hedda, I told myself. You’re behaving as if you will never see her again.
‘And dear me, I’ll have to lend ye somethin’ brighter to wear,’ Elizabeth remarked, shaking her head at the dark-coloured clothes I was wearing. ‘You look as if you’re off to a funeral!’
I slipped out of the cottage. It was getting dark, although the evenings were drawing out now. I wondered what summer would be like here and if I’d still be here to see it. I felt more like a ship without an anchor than ever, directionless, with stormy waves rolling in from all directions.
As I left the road and began to climb the Haug, the towers at the top loomed like great metal skeletons in the gathering twilight. I approached the croft cautiously, but there was no sign of Charles, so I tucked myself behind the pile of rubble that had once been the end wall opposite the chimney stack. With my dark clothes and my hair covered with a headscarf, I was confident I was well hidden.
Now all I had to do was wait.
As I sat there, the absurdity of the situation struck me fully, and I had to stifle a laugh. All day, I had been skulking around: telling Margaret lies to get into the house; poking around the kitchen, the outhouse and the bedrooms; hiding under the bed; following Charles up the hill…
Perhaps I should have been in Milorg after all, I thought, realising the laughter bubbling up inside me was not because I found this situation funny, but because I was scared. I wondered what my life would be like if I had joined the resistance. Would I have stayed in Norway, working with people like Rolf Rasmussen and his men? If it had not been for Eirik, perhaps that is where I would be: in a snowy forest cabin somewhere, crouched over a radio set as I listened for messages with one ear, and for Germans and their collaborators with the other.
But instead, here you are in Shetland, hoping to catch a spy all by yourself. I felt another burst of hysterical laughter bubble up inside me and pressed my hands against my mouth to keep it in.
I had no watch, so I didn’t know what time it was, but as I sat there night drew relentlessly in and the temperature dropped. Despite the jumper and shawl I was wearing, I shivered. Would Charles Mackay come? And what was I going to do if he did? I had no plan; I was just tired. Now the urge to laugh had faded away my whole body felt drained and heavy.
Then I heard someone clearing their throat. All at once, I was wide awake again, heart hammering. I peered around the heap of stones and saw the faint light from a torch or a lantern with a masked-off beam bobbing as someone approached the ruins.
I drew back, trying to breathe steadily and silently through my nose. Was it Charles, or someone else?
Whoever it was reached the cottage. They were breathing hard after their climb up the hill. I heard them clear their throat again, and then a scraping sound, and what sounded like a fall of dirt or small pebbles.
I peered over the stones again. A figure was standing at the other end of the cottage in front of the chimney stack, pointing a torch at the chimney, about halfway up; the sound I’d heard was one of the square stones being removed. With their other hand the figure was taking something out of the hole.
So that is where he hid it, I thought, watching as Charles turned – for it was Charles; even in the near-complete darkness, I knew it – setting the radio down on another, smaller pile of stones nearby. Tucking the torch awkwardly under his arm, he began fiddling with it. Then, quite clearly, he said, in stilted German: ‘Haben Sie mich verstanden?’
Do you read me?
I remembered the body that had washed up on shore that day Bill, Eirik and I walked down to the bay, and the bodies being brought ashore after they were recovered from the Zetland Princess, and felt hot, prickling anger surge through me.
Think, Hedda, think. My only real option was to go to the station. If I was quick – if I ran – I could get there in less than ten minutes. Five minutes to summon help; ten minutes to get back; would that be long enough? Would Charles still be here?
I had no idea. What I did know was that I had to go now. Holding my breath, still watching Charles, who had his back to me, I got to my feet and crept forwards. It was so dark now that I didn’t see the loose stone by my foot. My toe struck it, dislodging it with a clatter, and Charles whirled around.
‘Who’s there?’ he said sharply.
I froze, holding my breath. He grabbed the torch and I ducked down just as he swung the beam towards me. ‘Who’s there?’ he said again, his tone lower, more menacing.
I heard his footsteps as he walked over to the pile of stones where I was crouched like a frightened animal, fists clenched. I closed my eyes, curling myself into a ball, telling myself that if I stayed very, very still, he might not see me. I could hear the blood roaring in my ears; my lungs felt as if they would burst with the effort of not gasping for breath.
I smelled stale tobacco and damp wool – the same stale smell that had permeated his room in the little house on Talafirth’s main street.
‘Hedda?’ Charles said. He sounded startled, and when I opened my eyes and looked up he was standing over me, shining the torch right into my face. ‘What – what are you doing here?’
I got to my feet, brushing grit from my skirt. ‘What are you doing here?’ I challenged him, hoping my voice was not shaking.
He glanced behind him, towards where the radio was sitting on the pile of stones.
I took the deep breath my lungs were begging for. ‘I heard you,’ I said. ‘You’re the spy, aren’t you?’
He didn’t say anything.
‘Charles?’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he said at last, in a strange, cracked voice. He sounded so vulnerable that for a moment, all my pity for him came rushing back and I had to remind myself what he had been doing, all the lost lives he’d been responsible for so far. I had to get help – I had to get help now – but I did not dare move. Charles was bigger than me, and stronger. If I tried to run, who knew what he might do?
‘Why would I not understand?’ I said carefully. ‘How do you know, if you don’t at least try to tell me?’
‘You really want to know?’ He laughed, a harsh, humourless sound, and glanced up at the sky. ‘Hmm. Perhaps she does care.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Oh, don’t play silly beggars with me, Hedda! You must know how I feel about you!’
A wave of horror went through me as, yet again, I remembered that moment in his mother’s house when he’d loomed over me in the corner of the kitchen and leaned towards me. So I hadn’t imagined it – he had been trying to kiss me.
‘I am married, Charles,’ I said, still fighting to keep my voice level. ‘I have a son.’
‘Married to a man all the way over in Norway, who could be dead by now!’
If only that were true, I couldn’t help thinking. ‘I do not know what has happened to him, but the fact remains that he is my husband.’
‘Hmm. Yet you seem quite happy to throw yourself at that radar man of yours,’ he spat.
For a moment, I couldn’t work out what he meant. Then, quite suddenly, I remembered how his face had twisted with pain that day he, Flight Lieutenant Jackson and Hugh Leask had searched the Sinclairs’ cottage, and I realised which photograph he had been looking at.
‘Bill is just a friend,’ I said. My legs were shaking; I sank onto the remains of the wall behind me. ‘Charles, why don’t you tell me why you are doing this? Perhaps I would understand,’ I said carefully. ‘Perhaps, if you told me, I could help you – I know you’ve been through a lot…’
I needed to buy myself some time to think; to work out how I was going to get out of this.
‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Hedda,’ Charles said between gritted teeth. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘I don’t feel sorry for you. I am just trying to—’
He cut me off. ‘What is there to understand? I gave this country everything in the last war – my health, my happiness – and what did I get in return? Nothing! They threw me on the rubbish heap and left me to rot!’
‘So you’ve gone over to the enemy? That makes no sense!’
‘It makes perfect sense to me,’ Charles growled. ‘This government – this country – cares nothing for men like me, so why should I give a damn about them?’
The bitterness in his tone took my breath away. Charles’ mind was broken, I realised – twisted beyond saving by what had happened to him after the last war – and he had lost his grip on reality. It was the only possible explanation.
He grabbed my arm. ‘Help me, Hedda,’ he said. ‘Work with me.’ In the torchlight, I could see the fanatical gleam in his eye, and for some reason that frightened me more than anything.
‘No!’ Perhaps I should have pretended to go along with him, but the words burst from my lips without me even thinking. ‘Never! Let go of me!’ I tried to shake free, but his grip was too strong.
‘I’m giving you a chance,’ he hissed between clenched teeth. ‘You’re an intelligent woman – you must know that if you turn down this opportunity for us to work together, then you leave me with no choice.’
‘N-no choice about what?’ I said, my mind racing. You fool, Hedda, I thought – it wasn’t Anders’ voice in my head but my own, filled with bitter self-awareness. You should have gone to the camp first. You should have insisted on being allowed to pass that message on to Bill, or told Flight Lieutenant Jackson what you thought was going on.
Charles reached under his coat and drew out a heavy revolver. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, in a voice that didn’t sound sorry at all. ‘But if you won’t agree to help me, I can’t just let you walk away – you must understand that.’
And he pointed the gun straight at my heart.