24. Angelique
October 1943
France
Dr. Hubert movesa kitchen chair to face mine. “Johann, sit here. You are to hold on to Angelique and do whatever it takes to keep her from moving her arm. Rosita will do her best to keep it pinned down, but the calmer you keep Angelique, the easier everyone’s job will be.”
What Dr. Hubert doesn’t say, I read in his eyes. Their actions combined might make the doctor’s job easier, but my pain will not be any easier to bear.
Johann sits on the chair. He cups my face with his hands and kisses me. It’s long and deep and passionate, and for a moment I forget the throbbing in my hand.
He pulls away too soon. “I love you.” His voice is rough and raw, smooth and embracing. It gives me a strength I wouldn’t otherwise be able to find in myself. “Remember that. I love you and will do whatever I can to protect you.”
“I know,” I whisper. And I do. “I love you too.” I turn to Dr. Hubert. “I’m ready.”
I bury my face in Johann’s chest. His shirt smells like him—reminding me of the man who is strong, brave, and kind. I breathe in the scent, allowing it to ground me.
Johann holds me tightly to him, his arms embracing me. Rosita attempts to use her body weight, which is featherlight due to the declining war rations, to pin my arm to the table.
Dr. Hubert cleans the wound, and a sharp sting torments me. I release a hissed breath.
Next, he begins to reset the bones. An excruciating, white-hot searing pain explodes in my hand. A pain worse than when Christian crushed it.
I whimper and scream into Johann’s chest. He holds me tighter, his muscles taut against my body. With each scream I muffle into his chest, his muscles grow more tense.
“You’re so brave and beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear. “So very brave.”
I don’t withdraw into another time and place like I did while being tortured. I let the real Johann be my strength, the full moon that gives rise to hope.
I wobble in and out of consciousness as the doctor works, the pain greater than my brain can endure.
“I’m almost finished,” Dr. Hubert says after what feels like several lifetimes. Johann’s shirt is wet against my cheek from all my tears and the sweat that dampens my brow and upper lip.
Another bite of hot pain shoots up my arm. I’m wavering on the wall again, close to crashing on the side of oblivion. Despite what Johann is saying, I’m not sure I will last much longer.
Dr. Hubert positions my hand on a board and ties it into place. Johann releases me, and my arm is secured across my chest with a sling.
Rosita puts her hand on my other arm, the touch gentle and comforting. “You need to rest now. Do you have somewhere to stay?”
I shake my head. “It’s not safe for me to return to where I was living.”
If the Gestapo has destroyed the Cashmere network like Christian claimed, I have no way to contact Baker Street and alert them to what has happened. And all my money and the gold compact Major Buckmaster gave me are hidden in the farmhouse. I have nothing except the clothes I was arrested in.
“You can stay here while you recover,” Rosita says. “Your injured hand will need to be exercised several times a day while it’s healing so you do not lose full function of it. I can help you with the exercises. I used to be a nurse.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You can stay in our guest room,” Dr. Hubert offers. “There is no reason for the Gestapo to search for you here. And if they do come, we have somewhere safe where you can hide. They won’t be able to find you.” He turns to Johann. “But you will need to get rid of that car and the uniform.” He eyes Johann speculatively. “Or are you planning to return to the German Army?”
“No. Even if I wanted to, I’ll be executed once they piece together that I was responsible for Angelique’s disappearance. And even if they don’t figure it out, my troop could be sent to the Eastern front soon.”
“Yes, but if it weren’t for those things, would you return to the German Army?” Rosita presses, leaning towards him, concern and urgency in her tone.
“No. My home was Austria, but that changed once Hitler came into power. I am not interested in fighting for him.” Johann smiles at me, his love for me shining bright in his eyes. “I have someone else I want to fight for.” He rests his hand on my lower belly, and the heat of his palm spreads throughout me. “Two someones I want to fight for.”
“What about your mother and sister?” I ask, my voice hushed. They are the reason he joined the Army. Has he given up hope they’re still alive? Like Dieter had?
“I hope they escaped from Austria and ended up far away from Hitler’s reach. I hope one day, once the war is over, I will be reunited with them. And I hope one day my mother gets to meet her first grandchild and my wife.” Johann’s warm and generous smile is almost enough to make me temporarily forget the war and everything else we’re facing.
“But I also know I was a fool in believing that by joining the Army,” Johann adds, his smile fading, “I was somehow protecting them.” Sadness dulls the hope in his eyes.
My heart splinters for him. Splinters at everything this war has cost him. “I hope I’ll get to meet your mother and sister one day soon.” I hope they’re alive. I try to give him a reassuring smile. A smile no doubt dented from the pain hammering my wrist and my hand.
He brushes his thumbs under my eyes, catching the tears from my pain, and turns to Rosita. “I’ll stay with Angelique until she falls asleep. Then I’ll take the car as far away as possible so the Gestapo and Milice don’t find it anywhere near here. And I’ll destroy all evidence linking us to it.”
Rosita nods her approval. “When was the last time you ate?” she asks me.
“I’m not sure I can keep anything down right now.” And I’m not hungry, the pain and morning sickness hindering my appetite.
She looks to Johann for whatever answer I didn’t give her.
“She hasn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. Before I left the house. I doubt she was given anything after she was arrested.” He doesn’t need me to confirm that he is correct.
“You should really eat, Angelique. For the baby’s sake. Even if it is just a small amount for now. You need to keep up your strength.” Rosita gets up, goes to the larder and the sink, and returns with a glass of water and a small piece of bread. “It is probably for the best if you do only have small amounts to begin with. Until we’re certain you can tolerate food.”
“Once we’ve got you settled in the guest room,” Dr. Hubert informs me, “I’ll check on your baby.”
Rosita puts the plate and glass in front of me. I take a hesitant sip of water and a tiny bite of the bread. When it appears that I can keep them down, I slowly drink half the water and eat several small mouthfuls. The queasiness strikes again, forcing me to stop.
Rosita leads Johann and me to a spare bedroom. She leaves and returns with a water jug and a clean nightgown. “I assume since you got her in the motherly way,” she says to Johann, keeping her expression free of what she thinks about that, “you are able to help her undress and put the nightgown on?”
One side of his mouth tilts up. “I should be capable of that.” His smile softens to that of gratitude. “Thank you, Rosita, for everything you and your husband are doing for us.”
“You are welcome. But please don’t make us regret it.” She nods and leaves the room.
Johann helps me out of my soiled clothes, taking his time. The splint makes things challenging, but he undresses me without hurting me too much.
He takes the washcloth, dips it in the water, and bathes me. The way he tenderly caresses my body distracts me enough so the pain in my hand isn’t quite as intense. He lightly kisses my body as he works, further trying to distract me from everything going on. Distract me from the knowledge he will be leaving soon.
He then helps me into the nightgown and into bed.
Dr. Hubert enters the room and has me lie on my back. He covers my lower body with the thin blanket and pushes the nightgown high enough to expose my belly.
He takes a few moments to examine my flat tummy with his hands, asking me questions to gauge how far along I am in my pregnancy. “As far as I can tell, things are progressing well. You and the baby just need to rest now.” He smiles kindly at me.
“Thank you,” I say, returning his smile, mine filled with gratitude. He nods at Johann and leaves us alone in the room.
I lie on my side, my hand supported by pillows. Johann strips off his clothes and climbs under the bedcovers with me. His hot body cradles me from behind and his warm hand rests on my belly.
Despite the pain in my hand, exhaustion tries to pull me under its spell once more. I fight the urge to close my eyes and give in to it. As soon as I fall asleep, Johann will leave, and I don’t know when I will see him again.
“Will you come back once you’re rid of the car?” I ask. Please come back. Please come back safe.
“I will. As soon as I can. If it weren’t for that, I would not leave you. But Dr. Hubert is right. I cannot stay here, even if the car is hidden in the barn. It’s too risky. It needs to be dealt with first.” He kisses my shoulder, but something about his voice warns me he’s not telling me everything.
“You’re not coming back right away. Are you?” The two words linger in the air like smoke after a bomb explosion.
For a heartbeat it feels as though he’s going to brush off my concerns, and I glance over my shoulder.
He slowly shakes his head. “I want to fight to make sure the world is a better place for our child to grow up. This, the world Hitler is working towards, I cannot let that happen. If there is some way I can help your side, I will.”
“And if you can’t?” I swallow the emotions that threaten to choke me.
“Then I’ll come back to you sooner.” He brushes a kiss on my lips, branding them with a promise. A promise I pray he can keep.
“Where will you take it? The car?” My voice crackles with building tears.
“As far away as what’s left in the petrol tank will allow. South and away from any areas heavy with patrols. The farther away the better.”
“What if someone catches you?” I don’t say it out loud, but I have a feeling he knows what I mean. By now the Gestapo will be wondering who helped me escape. I don’t know how well Johann covered his tracks—if there is a record at the prison that he was the man who claimed to be moving me to Avenue Foch.
If the Gestapo figure out it was Johann, they will be looking for him, the Austrian traitor among them.
His life will be in as much danger as mine is.
“No matter what happens, Angelique, I will fight my way back to you. I will find you.” He kisses the shell of my ear. “But you need to promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“If I’m not back by the time you are well enough to travel and you find a way to return to England, you need to go.” His hand cups my belly. “For our baby’s sake. Promise me that.”
“I promise.” I don’t have the strength to argue otherwise. “But please come back to me. I’ll be lost without you.”
He kisses my shoulder again. The touch of his soft lips forever marks me as his. “I promise I’ll come back.” He’s quiet for a long moment, and I already miss his deep, resonating voice. “Do you really have a sister?” he asks.
“Yes. I do. Everything I told you about her is true. What I didn’t tell you is that she is married to an RAF pilot and is hoping to one day have lots of babies. If she has her way, our baby will have lots of cousins to visit.” I leave things hanging about which country we’ll end up in once the war is over. First, we have to survive it.
“The people who helped Oskar and his family escape the country. Can you contact them? Will they be able to help you return home?”
I shake my head wearily. “It’s not safe for me to try to communicate with my contact. It will only put her in danger. She was the one who made the arrangements to help them.” And this is assuming the Gestapo hasn’t captured her.
“Do you know anyone who can contact England to get you back home?” His thumb caresses my belly, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“No. Not if what the agent who double-crossed my network said is true. I only knew two or three members at most, and it’s impossible for me to contact them now, even if they haven’t been arrested.”
If the Gestapo got their hands on a wireless-radio crystal and the operator’s key codes, Baker Street might have no idea the network has been corrupted.
If we’re lucky, Baker Street will recognise that the operator’s signature doesn’t match their normal one. Each operator signature is as unique as their fingerprints. If someone is masquerading as a wireless operator from the network, Baker Street could figure it out. But if it doesn’t…if for some reason they ignore the irregularities, thinking it’s just the operator’s mistake…
I don’t want to think of the repercussions. For now, I’m stranded in an occupied country, pregnant, and the Gestapo is searching for me. They are relentless hunters, and things won’t go any easier if they find out I’m pregnant.
That will only make the game of taunting their prey more enticing.