Heathersleigh Homecoming (35 page)

 67 
Paris

As Amanda arrived in the station in Paris, she was tired and growing more and more apprehensive. She could tell the war was close. The city was not exactly somber, but it certainly was far from gay and lively. She had never been here before, but this was not what she expected. Soldiers were everywhere.

As much as at some other time she might have wanted to visit the city, now all she wanted to do was get the next train to the Channel. In her present state of mind, Paris was too huge and intimidating.

She looked around on the schedule boards but saw no indication of trains bound for Calais. She walked toward a ticket window.

“Excuse me,” she said to the agent. “I want to go to Calais.”

“Calais, miss—you can't get there without crossing the German line. There's bad fighting going on between here and there.”

“But . . . but then how can I get to England?”

“The safest way is from Cherbourg, miss.”

“Then give me a ticket to Cherbourg.”

“Only one train to the coast a day, miss, and it's already gone. The next will be tomorrow.”

Amanda turned away with a sigh. She walked to an empty bench and sat down with her two bags. She was so tired of traveling. Now she was going to have to spend another night in a strange city.

She glanced up at the big station clock. The hands read three-ten. She would rest just a few more minutes before going out and trying to find a hotel.

She closed her eyes and before she knew it had begun to doze off. She caught herself after a few minutes before she had fallen completely asleep and forced her eyes open. She couldn't go to sleep now. It would be getting dark soon. She had to get out and find a hotel for the night before—

Suddenly Amanda's eyes shot wide open. In a split second she was wide awake, with sleep the farthest thing from her mind.

Across the station only some fifty feet in front of her was walking none other than Ramsay's mistress—Adriane Grünsfeld, or Sadie Greenfield, or even Annie McPool, for all Amanda knew who she really was!

Amanda's heart began pounding both with fury and revulsion. Momentarily she turned away to hide her face. The next instant she was ready to jump up and run straight up and clobber her over the head with one of her suitcases. So many emotions surged through her that all she could do was sit and stare at the retreating form as Adriane, alias Sadie, alias Annie, left the station.

Suddenly coming to herself, on an impulse Amanda jumped to her feet, picked up her bags, and followed. As she emerged into the outside air, she was just in time to hear the beautiful woman giving instructions to a cab man. “L'hôtel Atelier des Prés,” she said, then got inside. The cab sped away.

Without pausing to think what would come of it, Amanda signaled the next cab in sight and repeated the same destination.

A hundred thoughts flooded her during the ten-minute drive, approximately the ninety-eighth of which was the question what was she doing this for? Unfortunately, before she had managed to come up with an answer, the cab had stopped in front of the hotel. Amanda got out, paid the driver, and cautiously walked toward the door, keeping a wary eye roving about. She didn't want to run into Grünsfeld face-to-face! She just might clobber her for real and wind up in jail.

Slowly Amanda entered the lobby. There she was, approaching the main counter!

“Oh, Miss Sadie, you have a message,” said the desk clerk. He handed her a piece of paper.

She read it quickly.

“Can you place a telephone call for me, Charlot?” she asked.

Amanda crept closer, keeping to one side of the lobby and shielding herself from view behind a couple of large potted plants.

All at once her ears perked up. The next moment they became bright red as if to match her anger. Whatever intimidation she may have had about the consequences of following Ramsay's mistress, it was now entirely vanquished at fury over his betrayal.

“Oh, Ramsay darling . . . you're coming here!” she heard Grünsfeld say, “—that's wonderful! But why?”

Amanda tried to catch a peep of the actress through the palm. Obviously Ramsay, wherever he might be, was speaking as she held the receiver to her ear and nodded intently.

“But what makes you think she's here?” she said.

Amanda gasped. They were talking about
her
!

“Will you go to England, then?” asked Grünsfeld.

Again she was silent a moment.

“But how will you—”

A pause.

“Of course. I had forgotten . . . until tomorrow night, then, darling.”

She hung up the receiver and handed the telephone back to the clerk. “Thank you, Charlot. I will take the key to my room now.”

“Yes, Miss Sadie. Will the gentleman be requiring a room when he arrives?”

“You were listening, Charlot!” teased the actress with flirtatious tone.

“Only in hopes of serving you more thoroughly, Miss Sadie.”

“You are a charmer, Charlot. But no, I believe Mr. Halifax will find my room quite suitable.”

“Of course, miss.”

Amanda's eyes narrowed in wrath. If she had tried to speak now, it would have been through clenched teeth. How
could
he . . . how could they both! Didn't she care that he was married? Had she no more scruples than Ramsay?

Already the actress had turned and was ascending the stairway. Amanda waited until she was out of sight, then drew in a deep breath, tried without much success to calm herself, and walked toward the counter.

“Bonjour, monsieur,”
she said in perfect French.
“
Je voudrais une chambre, s'il vous plaît.”

“Will it be just for yourself, miss?”

Amanda nodded.

“For one night?”

“I, uh . . . actually I am not sure exactly how long I will be staying,” she replied.

 68 
High-Ranking Defection

The HMS
Dauntless
anchored off Salonika on the eastern coast of Greece in midafternoon.

Charles had heard nothing more since the strange communication from Churchill. When night fell, however, he kept his uniform on, halfway expecting a summons.

Around ten o'clock he set aside the book he was reading and lay down on his bunk. Soon he dozed off.

A knock came on the door. Charles roused himself and stood to answer it. The hour was one-thirty.

“Commander Rutherford,” said a stranger standing before him in the corridor. “I am Colonel Rawley. I have orders to take you ashore. I believe you have been apprised.”

“Yes, Colonel,” replied Charles. “Just give me a minute to dash some water on my face, make sure I am thoroughly awake, and get my coat and hat.”

Minutes later they were leaving the silent, sleeping ship, climbing down the rope ladder in darkness to a small waiting transport vessel of some forty feet. Once aboard they headed across the calm black surface toward the harbor. Besides the skipper of the small boat only one or two others were present. No one spoke.

An hour later, Charles stood waiting with the colonel in silence under the dim shadow of a bridge over the Vardar.

Ahead out of the darkness, three men approached.

“Commander Rutherford,” said one of the newcomers, “I am General Payne. The army and navy are cooperating on this matter. I have orders here for you from the First Lord of the Admiralty.”

Charles nodded.

“I have been instructed,” the general went on, “to turn over to you, shall we say, our new friend here. You are to take him back to the
Dauntless
, keep him secure and out of sight, and return to England
immediately. Mr. Churchill will be waiting at Scapa to take charge of the matter personally. All is explained in your orders.”

“I understand,” said Charles.

“I have been told you speak German?”

“Well enough,” answered Charles. “Not exactly fluently.”

“It will be sufficient to communicate with your ward, as it were. I also have orders here signed by Mr. Churchill for Captain Wilberforce.”

“Very good, sir.”

General Payne handed him the two sealed envelopes. They saluted and shook hands. The general and his assistant turned and disappeared in the night. Colonel Rawley now led Charles and the newcomer away. The man was dressed in civilian clothes but bore the demeanor—which the thin light accentuated occasionally in his eyes—of a military officer, probably of high rank.

They reached the
Dauntless
a little after three-twenty. Rawley saw them safely on board, then disappeared back down the rope ladder. Charles was left alone for the first time with the man whom he judged to be a German officer. He led him along the deck, then down into the ship, careful to avoid the night crew, and to his small lodgings, where quarters had been prepared in a connecting officer's cabin.

Once safely inside, speaking in German, Charles offered the man something to eat or drink. His guest replied, however, that it had been a long day and all he wanted to do was sleep. Charles showed him briefly around his quarters, then left him.

Once alone Charles sat down on his bed and opened one of the envelopes he had been given under the bridge.

Commander Charles Rutherford, he read,

This will introduce you to Colonel Klaus Spengler, assistant to Generaloberst von Bülow of the German high command. He has come over to our side. The information he possesses could bring this war to a close before summer. He will be in your care to get to Britain as quickly as possible. Keep him in the private quarters next to yours. He is to be seen by no one, not even Captain Wilberforce. Security leaks have already been a problem. I told you when you sailed that you were one of the few men I knew I could trust implicitly. I am more glad than ever that I persuaded you to take up your commission. Little did I know what a significant responsibility I would find myself placing in your hands. I will see you at first opportunity once you are safely back in British waters.

W. Churchill