His Majesty's Hope (37 page)

Chuck nodded, pleased. “You may become a believer yet!”

“Maybe.” Maggie gave a rueful smile. “I am, perhaps, more like our Prime Minister—who says that while he’s not a pillar of the Church, he
is
a flying buttress.”

Nigel cleared his throat. “Today, we celebrate young Griffin’s joining the Catholic faith. But let us also celebrate the fact that we’re together—Christian, Jew, and agnostic. British and German.”

Maggie looked over at David and Freddie and winked.
“Like that” and not “like that,”
she thought. David winked back. After all, Chuck and Nigel, not to mention Ernst, didn’t know David’s secret.

Nigel refilled everyone’s champagne, and Chuck served bread and apple pudding, with mock cream. When the plates were cleared, Chuck smothered a prodigious yawn.

“I think,” suggested Mrs. Greene, “we should leave the young parents now. I’ll take care of the dishes, my dear,” she told Chuck. “You go and lie down while you can.”

“Miss Hope,” John said to Maggie, rising.

Oh, so we’re back to “Miss Hope” now
. Maggie nodded. “Mr. Sterling.”
Well, at least that’s over with
, she thought, her heart thudding.

She realized that the champagne, on an empty stomach with only a few bites of cake, had gone to her head. The room was tilting at an odd angle.
Stop it, room
.

In the foyer, everyone kissed Chuck and Nigel goodbye. “Here are your things, Maggie,” Chuck said, handing Maggie her hat and gloves.

The group made it through the front door, and then with more goodbyes, to David’s parents and Ernst, it was just David and Freddie, and Maggie and John, left standing on the pavement. “Rose and Crown, anyone?” David asked, to break the silence.

“Why, David Greene, I do believe you’re trying to get me drunk!” Maggie said with forced gaiety. She sounded like a tipsy Scarlett O’Hara.

“Since I can’t drink for a while, due to my still-healing liver, someone should do the honors for me.” David offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

At the Rose and Crown, their haunt when they’d all worked together at Number Ten, David ordered drinks. Maggie downed her half-pint, then reached over for David’s and downed that as well. She set the glass down with a thump. Her head was spinning. “Get me another, love?” she said to David. Then, to the group, “I think I’ll just step out for a moment—get a little fresh air.” Freddie, David, and John all rose as she stumbled to her feet.

“Would you like some company, Maggie?” Freddie asked.

“Oh, no, Freddie darling, I’ll be fine. Just need a minute or two. A bit stuffy in here is all.” She put her arm on his. “Have I ever told you how happy I am for you, Freddie?” she slurred. “Love—it’s so lovely to see people in love. I love
love.
” She kissed him noisily and then, carefully, made her way to the entrance.

There, on the bench outside, sat Hugh.

“You!” Maggie exclaimed, managing to sit beside him without falling. “What are
you
doing here?”

“It’s my business to find people, remember?” he replied. “And I wanted to talk to you before you left. I heard about Scotland—wanted to say goodbye is all.”

“Well, well—it seems that everyone in London now knows I smoke, have a bullet lodged somewhere inside me, and that I’m going to Scotland.”

He studied her closely. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve just had a bit much to drink. Not enough food …”

“A deadly combination,” Hugh said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close.

Maggie knew his having his arm around her was wrong. It was
also wonderful. She didn’t know how she felt about him anymore. If she encouraged Hugh, it would give him the wrong idea. She still had feelings for Hugh, but she didn’t want to use him to feel better about John’s breaking things off with her. She was, in a word, confused.

“Maggie, please,” he whispered in her ear.

He smelled good, like bay rum. And it felt good to be held. But, still, it wasn’t fair to him. She was broken. She was damaged. She was of no use to anyone.

“Please,” Hugh repeated, his arms around her, holding her closer.

“No, Hugh,” Maggie said clearly. She was beginning to feel nauseous. The edges of her vision began to blur.
My mother, Elise, Gottlieb, that German boy, the little Jewish girl …

“I love you, Maggie.” Hugh’s lips touched her cheek, then moved to her throat. Maggie felt a sudden panic. She realized how drunk she was, how out of control the situation was getting. This was not going to end well.

“Hugh, I said
no
!” Maggie pushed him away.

Suddenly, there was a tall figure standing beside her. “The lady isn’t interested.”

It was John, glowering. Hugh stood and met his gaze.

Maggie couldn’t take any more. “I think I’m going to throw up,” she announced. Her stomach contracted sharply, and she doubled over. She stayed leaned over, not sure if she could right herself without passing out. Not sure if she ever wanted to right herself. Then her stomach contracted again.

When there seemed to be a pause, John gently gripped Maggie’s arm, helped her up, and led her to the adjacent alley. “If you’re going to be sick, at least do it here,” he murmured, one arm around her shoulders, fingers gripping the bare skin of her arm, the other hand holding back her hair. Hugh followed behind.

Maggie vomited again. And again. When there was absolutely nothing left to expel, she slid down against the brick wall.

“Here,” John said, taking out his handkerchief and handing it to her.

“Thanks,” Maggie muttered, wiping her lips and chin, exhausted. Too exhausted to feel shame, but not too exhausted to realize that shame would eventually come. She noticed Hugh was still there.
And both of my former beaux witnessed this display? Perfect. Absolutely perfect
.

Maggie groaned, then looked up at John. His face was impassive, dark eyes staring down. Hugh was pacing. She let her hot, throbbing head fall to her hands. “I’m sorry,” she moaned.

“I’ll take it from here,” John told Hugh.

“No, I’ll take care of her,” Hugh countered.

“I
said
I would do it.”

“Who the hell are you?” Hugh demanded.

John’s nostrils flared. “John Sterling.”

Hugh’s jaw dropped. “The …” He gathered his wits. “You’re the one we thought—you were dead.”

John gave a grim smile. “Reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated.”

“And you two are back together now?”

“No!” Maggie managed from the pavement. “No. We are
not
together.”

“Well, then
I’ll
get her home,” Hugh said.

“No.” John’s teeth clenched. “As I said, I’ll take it from here.”

“Please, please, both of you—just leave me alone …”

“Watch her, while I get her things,” John told Hugh.

Maggie wasn’t conscious of much, but she was coherent enough to be glad her growing headache eclipsed her humiliation. “So, that’s John,” Hugh said, finally.

“Yes,” Maggie managed.

“I see.”

Finally, John returned with her hat and gloves and a glass of water. “Drink this,” he admonished. Maggie shook her head. She much preferred to be in pain. Being in pain meant she didn’t have to think. “Come on now,” John demanded.

Maggie took the glass, but it slipped from her hand, spilling water into her lap. She heard voices, as though from far away. “So is this what you do now? Get drunk and make a spectacle of yourself? Is this what you and Hugh did together, while I nearly died in Berlin?”

Maggie moaned, “No …”

“Watch it,” Hugh countered. “It’s only since you’ve broken her heart that she’s been like this.”

“I?” John spat. “I broke
her
heart?”

“Yes, and now she’s broken mine. Are you happy now?”

“Happy? Who the hell is happy these days?”

John grabbed Hugh by his tie and punched him in the face. Hugh staggered back against the wall, then regained his footing. Suddenly the two men were grappling with each other in the alley, like boxers in a clinch.

“Boys!” Maggie tried to rise. “
Really
now. This is getting ridicu——”

It felt warm in the alley, so very warm, and the yelling and punches were very loud. Her head hurt. She felt her stomach lurch again, and the alley started to tilt. She knew she was about to faint, and sure enough, she was back on the ground, this time with her cheek pressed to the pavement.

Before blackness closed over her, she heard John—or was it Hugh?—say, “Bloody hell!”

Maggie opened her eyes. This time it was dark. And hot, and stuffy. But at least she was clean, in her nightgown, and in her own bed.

The blackout curtains were in place, but her door was open, and she could see the light infiltrating the rest of the flat. She had no idea how much time had passed.

Her head hurt. Her body hurt. Her soul hurt. She tried to sit up, groaned, and sank back down again. A voice said, “Drink this.” She squinted and focused enough to see David perched on the striped armchair, holding out a glass of water for her to drink. Obedient and weak, she took the water, drinking it all down.

“Good girl,” David said.

She handed the glass back to him, exhausted by the effort. He had a pot with a cozy over it, next to a mug. He took off the cozy and poured, then handed the steaming, fragrant tea to her.

Maggie swore never to mock the British penchant for tea again. “Thank you, David,” she croaked. Her voice sounded like she hadn’t used it in years.

“Of course,” he said.

Freddie appeared in the doorway and leaned on the frame. “Does it live?”

Maggie tried to smile. “It does,” she replied hoarsely. “I assume
I have you two gentlemen to thank for getting me back here in one piece? Thank you.”

Freddie blew a kiss and walked on.

“I must admit, Mags, you gave us quite a scare there,” David told her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that drunk. To be candid, I don’t think I’ve
ever
seen you squiffy.”

“I know, I know …”

“Well, you won’t get a lecture from me, although, in future, I do advise lining your stomach first and then alternating your drinks with glasses of water.” They listened to the faint noises of Freddie rattling dishes in the kitchen. Finally, David said: “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“What happened? John? Hugh? Your mother? Berlin? Your AWOL father? Schrödinger’s cat? Any of it?” He smiled. “Pick one—dealer’s choice.”

Maggie sank back down into the pillows and pulled the sheet over her head. “No,” she moaned. “I don’t want to talk. I
never
want to talk.”

“When you’re ready, then,” David said. “And I think a loud cry would do you a world of good, too.”

She poked her head back out from under the sheet. “I can’t—I can’t cry.”

“Maybe not now,” David said, rising and moving to the door. “But you will. And John, however pigheaded and obtuse he might be, isn’t angry with you. He’s just—well, he’s just angry. He’ll calm down in time. He’ll be able to see your side of things, too.”

“David?” Maggie called, as he left the room. “How did things work out for you? With your parents and Freddie and the apartment and all that?”

“It appears there’s one happy ending, at least for now. While all
my schemes and ideas came to naught, and my parents still disapprove of my relationship—they refer to it as a ‘friendship’—with Freddie, they’ve decided to turn a blind eye, and let things go on as before.”

“Really?” Maggie said, pulling the sheet down and propping herself up on her elbows. “What changed their minds?”

“Ernst, actually,” David said, smiling. “As you know, it’s a trifle difficult to get Jewish immigrants into Britain, let alone German Jews. But I was able to pull a few strings—and since Ernst is a surgeon and wants to be an army doctor, the Government has cleared him for medical duties.”

“But you’re still not married,” Maggie pointed out. “And not in any position to have a child.”

“Talmud, Sanhedrin 37a states—
For this reason was man created alone, to teach thee that whosoever destroys a single soul … Scripture imputes guilt to him as though he had destroyed a complete world. And whosoever preserves a single soul …, Scripture applies merit to him as though he had preserved a complete world.
”

“So, in other words, you saved the world.”

David shrugged. “I do what I can.” He sat down on the edge of her bed. “You know, Maggie, I’m never going to love women. And while I realize it’s the road less traveled, it’s a great relief to know who I am. And to be who I am. And while it’s still dangerous, at least, as long as I mind my own business in public, Freddie and I should be all right.” He stood. “Oh, and your father rang.”

“You mean the always-ambiguous father I scarcely know?”

“That’s the one! I assured him you were recovering.”

“I don’t want to talk to him. About anything. He warned me not to go—and would just love to be able to say I told you so.” She gave David a grim smile. “I used to think I knew everything. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“It’s been a crazy few years, that’s for sure. With more crazy to
come. But we’ll keep buggering on, as the Boss says. And maybe, someday, things will be all right again.”

“What is it your people say? ‘From your lips, to God’s ears.’ ”

“When you’re well enough to come out, I’ll make you some toast.”

“Thank you, David—for, well, for everything.”

That evening, Maggie took the Tube to Euston Station, where she would catch the overnight train to Fort William, and then on to Arisaig, a small town on the western coast of Scotland. Arisaig was the home of one of the SOE training camps. This time, however, Maggie was returning to be an instructor, not a student.

The train platform itself was dark, illuminated only by a few blue bulbs of blackout lights. It was a hot, sullen night. The sky lit up every few minutes with flashes of lightning, and she could hear the distant rumble of thunder. Finally, the train pulled up in a cloud of steam and shriek of brakes. She handed her two tagged suitcases to a uniformed porter and climbed aboard.