* * *
When Annaand I escaped France less than two weeks ago, I foolishly thought I would travel to Bristol the following day to see my sister. But things were not as simple as that.
First, I was required to debrief. And because I’d spent over two years in France, there was a lot to debrief on, especially regarding what happened with Christian.
Second, Anna and I had not been in the best health, so we were forced to stay in the hospital.
“I heard that bastard baby is a Jerry.” The curt woman’s voice comes from the other side of the door to my private room.
I don’t need to see her face to know which nurse the voice belongs to. This is not the first time I have witnessed the nurse’s scathing attitude towards Anna and me.
No one in the hospital knows why I was in France, but they somehow found out I was there. And they understand the odds of Anna’s father being a German soldier is greater than of him being French.
I cuddle Anna closer, protecting her from the hatred. It was the same hatred I witnessed directed at the Jews by those who clung to anti-Semitic views.
The doctor walks into the room, followed by the nurse who made the hateful comment.
“How are we doing today, Miss Bromfield?” His focus is on the patient chart in his hand. He doesn’t give me even a cursory glance.
“We are ready to leave.” It’s the same reply I have given him during the past week every time he’s asked me that question.
He continues to study the chart. “You and your daughter seem to be doing better. You have both gained some weight, which I like to see. There is no reason you can’t be discharged today.”
Thank God.
The hospital is an improvement over where I’ve been living for the past few months, but I am tired of the scorn I have been forced to endure. The same scorn I faced in France. I’m a single mother with no job and my baby has been branded as a Nazi.
The SOE has agreed I am not a threat to the country and I am not a double agent. I could tell the commander who interrogated me was not impressed a German soldier had fathered my baby, even if Johann had helped me on more than one occasion. Even if he had joined the maquis. In their view, I seduced information from him, the act of which the SOE frowns upon. They cannot fathom that I fell in love with him—and everything he told me was done of his own free will.
I fiddle with the heart pendant Johann gave me. Because of the British Official Secrets Act I signed, I cannot tell Hazel where I’ve been all this time. I cannot tell her about Johann. I cannot tell her any of the truth. I can only tell her lies.
The same lies I will have to tell Anna about her father.
And I hate that. Hate that she will never get to hear about Johann’s bravery. How he sacrificed his life to protect his sister and his mother and his daughter. But I will tell her stories about him. The stories that I’ll be able to share. I’ll make sure she knows what a wonderful man her father was.
The doctor signs our discharge papers, and I gather up Anna’s and my few possessions.
We take a taxi to Paddington station. I almost tell the driver to take us to a different location, only for Anna and me to then take another taxi to the station. But we’re back in London. The enemy isn’t following me. I don’t need to continue practicing the anti-surveillance skills I used in France.
I buy a train ticket for Bristol and walk to the platform. My gaze constantly scans the area for danger, for anyone who isn’t what he or she appears to be. A woman watches me with curiosity, and I have the urge to blend into the crowds, trying to escape the person my mind tells me is Gestapo.
A man brushes past me. I tighten my hold on Anna, her head cradled in the crook of my elbow. My good hand clutches the handle of my valise.
She fusses in my arm.
“Sorry, poppet.” I kiss the top of her head and walk to the nearby wall. It’s only once the wall is behind me, I can breathe a little easier.
I have spent the past two weeks dwelling on what to tell Hazel about Anna. I have to make up a fictitious boyfriend, who left to serve our country and never returned. I have to disgrace Johann’s memory with a lie I don’t wish to tell. Will Hazel believe me? If I tell her my mysterious boyfriend was RAF, will Charles ask questions I cannot answer?
I board the train and locate an empty seat next to the window.
A man approaches me in the aisle, a fedora on his head, a kind smile on his face. “Can I help you with your bag, ma’am?”
“Yes, thank you.” I smile at him in gratitude and take my seat.
I position Anna in my other arm so she can see the sky as the train moves.
The man takes the seat opposite mine. “Hello, I’m Mark.”
