Chapter 9
J ack checked his watch as the Royal Highlander approached King’s Cross station. His arrival was just over three hours late. It had been an arduous journey from the Highlands of Scotland, and he suppressed a yawn and ran his fingers through his tousled black hair.
Thank God for the overnight service or he wouldn’t have got a wink’s sleep. First, he’d been held up on the road to Inverness because of sudden flooding, so they travelled via single-track roads with hairpin bends and a sheer drop to the glens below.
Remote Scotland could make you weep with its haunting beauty, but it was deadly to navigate, especially in inclement weather. Jack kept glancing at his watch to check his chances of making the train.
Charlie, who had driven him to the station, remarked, ‘A robust military vehicle would be just the ticket here.’
Jack watched him turn the wheel of the Austin, which was a sturdy motor but not designed for the severe demands of Highland terrain. They trundled across more muddy tracks and made slow progress.
Jack agreed with his analysis, but they both knew tearing across the Highlands to Inverness in an army vehicle was out of the question. If they arrived at the station in a military vehicle, his civilian cover would be blown immediately.
The SOE kept its operations strictly confidential, and although there were inevitable whispers about the mysterious goings on at Arisaig, and their official story that it was a commando training school was questioned, agents and personnel travelled disguised as civilians.
Jack didn’t mind the clandestine way of moving around Britain.
It gave him a small, if somewhat tame, reminder of the thrills of his undercover years in France.
Early in the war, he had found it hard to adjust to spending most of his time on the other side of operations at HQ.
During one of the dark, rainy Highland evenings, when working on increasingly complex code puzzles for his class of recruits, it occurred to him he didn’t miss it nearly as much as he used to.
Now he missed being in London with Lizzie, where they’d settled into a comfortable, if somewhat unconventional routine.
To his great relief, F Section had stopped posting her to France, partly because of his recommendations.
Lizzie was her own worst enemy, because she had proved herself so effective as an undercover agent.
It didn’t help that she worked closely with Val, who witnessed her rapid skill development at close quarters.
They all knew they could depend on Lizzie to get the job done … or die trying.
It was the die-trying that tormented him.
Jack objected, pointing out that the more they sent her in, the riskier it became, not only for her, but for their existing networks. He argued that at some point someone was going to recognise her, her cover would be blown, and like him, she knew far too much.
Skilled female agents were rare assets, so he had made it his personal mission to train as many as he could.
That way, Val would have more suitable candidates to choose from.
He readily acknowledged to Lizzie that a seam of self-interest ran through his commitment to the training programme in Scotland.
It wasn’t for nothing he’d agreed to be banished to the Highlands for months, instead of being near the centre of things, where he liked to be.
Near Lizzie.
Jack had recruited her when she was just a naive young Jersey girl, and he saw it as his job to protect all his agents, but being madly in love with Lizzie made it more difficult. Jack shuddered at the thought of the narrow misses she had experienced in France on her various missions.
He inhaled and blew out foggy plumes of smoke as he reminded himself, she was safe in London.
‘For Pete’s sake, man. Open the damn window and let in some fresh Highland air,’ Charlie snapped.
Jack opened the window, and a curtain of cold rain sprayed through the window and splattered onto their faces.
They laughed as the glow of Jack’s cigarette almost fizzled out but valiantly clung to life as he inhaled to revive it.
‘Smoke or rain in your face? Which is it?’ Jack said, arching one dark eyebrow at Charlie. They had become good friends holed up together at Arisaig.
‘Rain, any day of the week. I detest the smell of those nasty smokes.’
Jack rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know what your problem is. For a military man, it’s odd. Besides, Senior Service are mellow. Just as well I don’t smoke Gauloises like in France.’
‘It is just as well, or you would have had to find yourself another chauffeur,’ Charlie said, humour laced through his words.
‘You’re a rare bird, not smoking, that’s for sure.’
‘Well, unlike the masses I value my health. It seems downright stupid to make so much effort staying fit and training agents, and then bang nails into my own coffin on the sidelines.’
Jack blew a ring of smoke out the window. Charlie was an impressive man who was popular with the ladies. ‘You make a fair point, but you won’t meet many agents who don’t smoke just to pass the time.’
A loud grinding noise echoed through the window.
‘Oh hell, what now?’ Jack said.
The car juddered to a standstill. Charlie sprung out, and Jack did the same.
‘The wheels are stuck in the mud,’ Charlie said, straightening his large muscular frame. ‘Come on, don’t just stand there smoking like a Senior Service advert. I need you to push.’
It took some time to shift the Austin, but eventually they resumed their rain-soaked journey. Charlie asked after Lizzie. Jack recalled her mentioning Charlie had been especially attentive to her during a training course at a stately home in the early days.
Charlie continued, oblivious to the anguish his words caused, saying he might look her up next time he was in London. ‘She is a bright one. And stunning, too. It’s been quite some time since I saw her.’
Jack swallowed hard as a tight knot formed in his chest. What he wanted to say was, ‘Don’t you bloody well dare look her up,’ but he bit back his angry retort.
Charlie was no fool and would smell a rat if he protested, and it would probably only make him more likely to look her up.
And besides, so what if he did look her up?
Jack trusted Lizzie with every sinew of his being and rebuked himself for his Neanderthal caveman reaction. He was being ridiculous, so instead he replied in a casual tone, ‘Yes, you should. She mentioned what an excellent trainer you are.’
Charlie looked chuffed, and Jack instantly regretted his response.
Idiot. Just calm the hell down.
What he wouldn’t give for the day to arrive when they could openly be together.
The thought reminded him of the sparkling gemstone nestling in the pouch in his briefcase, and a swirl of excitement shot through his stomach as he imagined Lizzie’s face when he revealed the ring and asked her to be his wife.
When the war was over, he would of course formally request permission from her father.
Charlie’s big meaty hands gripped the steering wheel, and the car rumbled along towards the station in Inverness.
Not long now, and they would be together again, alone at his flat.
He’d have to get through the debriefing and the turmoil of seeing her at Baker Street whilst acting as though they were just colleagues.
He would grit his teeth and pretend he didn’t long to scoop her up in his arms and hug the breath out of her.
Their long-term secret relationship was proving more difficult to handle than any of his undercover operations.
His brother Henry knew they were a couple, but he rarely came home, so he couldn’t confide in him.
Not that Jack was the type to need a confidant, which was just as well because he and Lizzie kept their situation between them.
Overall, she struggled with it more than he did, but that added to his angst. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being troubled and would do anything in his power to assuage it.
In his power. They were the key words, and this war was most definitely not in his power.
At the station, the platform guard asked to see his national identity card and railway ticket and studied Jack briefly before waving him through with a hearty Scottish ‘Good morning, sir.’
Jack had a carefully crafted identity for his journey.
He was posing as a civil servant on essential war work.
Travelling as Jack King in his officer’s uniform would attract far too much attention.
Lizzie liked to tease him that he was a magnet for the ladies and his dashing good looks didn’t go unnoticed by anyone.
She said she didn’t know how he was such a legend in the Secret Service when he stood out so much.
When they planned his trip to the Highlands, she’d said as much and he laughed her off like he always did, but Val had shut him down, saying she was absolutely right.
‘We’re not looking to attract a crowd of lovesick drifters on your way up to Scotland. It’ll be bad enough you’ll be breaking hearts right, left, and centre at Arisaig. You know how impressionable young recruits can be, and they love an older mentor.’
Lizzie had buried her face in a pile of papers and fallen silent.
Later that evening when they were lounging in bed at the flat, she said he’d better behave himself during his long stint in the Highlands. She spoke lightly as if in jest, but he could tell Val’s words had shaken her.
He’d kissed her and assured her she was the only woman for him. ‘You could lock me up in solitary confinement and throw away the key, and I’d pine only for you. Every day and forever. There’s no one else for me, Lizzie Beaumont, no matter where they banish me to.’
She’d laughed, and her green eyes sparkled at his effusive gallantry. ‘You could charm the birds out of the trees. Maybe that’s why they call you Raven. You woo me until I’m quite silly with love for you and can’t think straight.’