Chapter 1 Cassie #2
I paused for a few minutes at the top, pretending to look in shop windows while I was actually checking out the people walking by.
Then, confident no one was interested in me, I walked back down the hill again.
I waited for another tram to pass by, then I crossed the road and went inside the bookshop.
The young woman behind the counter was serving two earnest-looking Portuguese students when I entered.
She glanced up at me, her eyes widening as she saw me, and gave me a small nod, letting me know she’d seen me, but she wasn’t going to acknowledge me until her customers had left.
I went behind one of the tall bookshelves and waited.
There was a bit of chatter, then I heard the door shut – the bell tinkling – and a second later the woman appeared at the end of the bookshelf.
She paused and then she launched herself at me, hugging me hard.
‘You’re back!’ she screeched in my ear. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
I disentangled myself from her embrace and grinned at her. ‘It’s nice to see you, Lara.’
Lara held me at arm’s length and studied me.
‘You look good,’ she said. ‘As usual.’
I smiled at her. ‘Thanks.’
‘Did anyone see you come in?’
‘No.’
‘Sure?’
I gave her a withering look. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Good.’
‘Did you lock the shop door?’
It was her turn for the withering look.
‘Of course.’
‘I taught you well,’ I said, only half-joking.
Lara gave me a little, affectionate nudge, then turned towards the back of the shop.
‘Bea!’ she yelled. ‘Bea! Cassie’s here!’
‘What was with all the subterfuge?’ I asked. ‘We’re way past all that.’
‘Ah, just habit,’ said Lara, waving her hand. ‘You know how it is.’
I did know, but Lara had never been very cautious – much to my despair. Just as I was about to question her more, though, Bea appeared in the shop.
‘Cassie,’ she said, giving me a hug too. ‘How was England? How are your parents?’
‘England was rainy,’ I said. ‘My parents are … untethered.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Bea said. ‘Losing a child is the worst thing anyone can endure.’ She put her hand on my arm. ‘And how are you keeping?’
Her kind voice made tears spring into my eyes. ‘Fine,’ I said, a little weakly, then more firmly. ‘Fine. I’m glad to be back.’
‘Come upstairs,’ Bea said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
She led the way, and Lara and I followed, up the stairs at the back of the shop and into the flat above. It was where we’d been based during our mission to plant false information in the minds of Germans.
Bea went into the tiny kitchen, and we stayed in the lounge, looking out of the windows at the people scurrying past down below. The sun was beginning to set, dropping down behind the castle.
Lara bobbed up and down on her toes. ‘Are you here about a job?’ she said. ‘Is it a job?’
‘Afraid not,’ I said, frowning. ‘Even I’m not on a job at the moment.’ I told her what Digby had said about making sure I was coping before I was put back into intelligence work, and she looked disgusted.
‘What a bloody waste of your talents.’
I smiled to myself. It really was nice to be home.
Bea came back, with a tray of tea, and we all sat on the sofa.
‘It’s funny being up here and not working,’ I said.
Lara grimaced. ‘I don’t come up here much. Too many memories.’
‘Oh my god,’ I gasped. ‘I can’t believe I forgot.’
I put my tea down and picked up my bag, rooting through it for what I wanted. ‘Here!’
I thrust a bundle of letters at Lara, and then rooted a bit more and found another – slightly smaller – bundle which I handed to Bea.
‘From Otto and Hector.’ I smiled at them both. ‘I saw them in London.’
Lara shrieked and threw her arms round me. ‘You saw Otto? You absolute beast, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now. How is he? Is he eating properly? Are they looking after him? Is he having a hard time? Do people think he’s German? Is he staying in London?’
I stared at her, unsure where to start answering all the questions.
‘I think he’s going to Bletchley,’ I said. ‘But Digby was infuriatingly vague when I asked him. Otto might have said more in his letters. He knew they wouldn’t be censored if he sent them with me.’
Lara looked a bit tearful. ‘But he’s all right, is he? He says he is, but it can’t be easy for him.’
‘He’s fine,’ I said. ‘Happy, in fact. I think he’s so glad to be away from the Nazis and working with the British, that he can deal with the rest.’
Lara nodded, hugging the letters to her chest.
‘And Hector?’ asked Bea. ‘How was he?’
‘Positively jovial,’ I said, remembering how our friend – who was more than just a friend to Bea – had seemed when I caught up with him. ‘He’s going to be allowed to practise medicine again.’
Bea clapped her hands together in joy. ‘Wonderful!’ she said.
‘What else did you do in London?’ Lara said. ‘Were you there for long?’
‘Not really,’ I admitted. ‘I just had to get away from the village for a few days, after the funeral. It was a little suffocating. I went to stay with a friend from school – Katie.’
‘Is London terribly battered?’ Bea asked.
‘Awful,’ I said. ‘But Katie lives out towards the west which wasn’t so badly bombed. Actually, Bea, you’d be interested in what she’s doing. She works for Peacock Books, you know?’
‘Of course,’ said Bea.
‘And you know how they do different colours of covers for the type of book it is – like green for crime, or orange for fiction? Well, now they’re doing a blue cover and guess what it’s for?’
Bea frowned. ‘History? Politics?’
‘It’s for soldiers,’ I said. ‘They’re doing special editions of books – they’re calling them services editions – and sending them out to the troops to keep them entertained. It’s being named the Forces Book Club.’
‘What makes them special?’ Lara asked.
‘They’re smaller, I think?’ I wasn’t completely sure. ‘So they fit in the pockets of their uniforms. And I think they’re choosing books that the forces will enjoy. Lots of requests for crime novels, apparently.’
‘What a wonderful idea,’ said Bea. ‘Peacock is a very innovative publisher, and books are the perfect antidote to the horrors of war. I’ll order a few for us to look at and admire.’
She looked from me to Lara, a little smile on her face. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Would you like another cup of tea, or shall I open the port to celebrate you being back in Lisbon?’
I chuckled. ‘Need you ask?’