Chapter 8
The Freja lay dark in the mouth of the sea loch, her riding lights hooded, her Danish ensign furled for the night.
From open water, she appeared to be only another trader sheltering from the unpredictable, November Atlantic weather.
From the shore, she would be invisible – a dark blot against the darker sea.
Oskar stood at the rail long after the watch had changed. Through his binoculars, the coastline was unmistakable; even in starlight he knew the curve of that headland, the dip where the burn ran down through the bracken, the faint pale scar where a deer path climbed towards the hilly peaks.
He knew that he was risking his life doing what he was about to.
If he was caught ashore in Britain, out of uniform, while working for German intelligence, he would be treated, not merely as an enemy sailor, but as a spy, and that could mean imprisonment and, potentially, execution.
He knew that the British had already executed one German agent - Carl Hans Lody, who had been captured and shot in London mere days before, and the news had circulated through German naval intelligence like a chill wind.
But he had to see her.
He glanced towards the bridge. The watch officer stood with his back turned, scanning the mouth of the loch. The hills blocked any view inland, and Invermory’s village lights were not visible – every rural community knew to extinguish every single lamp at dusk.
He made his decision without ceremony, moving quietly to the davits and loosening the tackle himself.
The small clinker-built boat touched the water with only a soft slap.
He climbed down the ladder, his boots scraping lightly against the hull.
As did all the crew, he wore a rough fisherman’s jumper beneath a dark oilskin, his trousers tucked into sea boots, and a woollen cap pulled low, nothing that identified either rank or allegiance.
The oars dipped, and he did not look back, the ship receding into blackness as he rowed.
He kept close to the darker stretch of coast, avoiding the beam of the small lighthouse off Gairloch further south, by which the curious eyes of a Royal Navy patrol craft might see him.
Instead, he aimed for the tiny beach that he had known in another lifetime.
The tide was half-flood, easing him inward, the sound of the oars swallowed by the steady wash of water against rock.
When the keel grated softly on the shingle, he paused, listening, hearing nothing but the slow drag of the waves, and the distant cry of a night bird.
He jumped down onto the sand and pulled the boat high, then began to make his way up the few yards of incline to the cottage, its small, sea-facing windows unlit.
He stood for a long moment in the shadows, his heart thumping as he prayed that a British patrol vessel would not enter the loch unexpectedly, and find his ship with one man absent.
The odds ran through him with the clarity of a drill, but, ignoring them, he stepped forward to the front door, the same door out of which he had walked, heavy-hearted, three long months before.
Pressing his thumb to release the latch, he pushed gently on it, but it was locked. He walked round the cottage to where he knew Rachel would lie sleeping, picked a small stone from the ground, and tapped gently on the window, then waited. Nothing.
He tapped again, slightly harder. Inside, faint against the sound of the waves, a fearful voice came. “Who is it?”
He did not answer immediately, for even now, some instinct for caution held him. “Oskar!” he called quietly then.
For a few moments, there was silence, then the curtain whipped back and Rachel’s pale, astounded face peered out at him.
The curtain dropped abruptly, and he heard footsteps running across the floor, followed by the front door bolt drawn free.
Seconds later, she appeared round the side of the croft, stopping dead when she saw him.
She stood there in her long pale nightdress, a shawl wrapped haphazardly around her shoulders, her hair loose and wild from sleep, her dark eyes wide, staring at him in disbelief, for a heartbeat not recognising him.
Then, she did. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oskar!”
He stepped out of the dark, closer to her. “Shhh! Yes, it’s me.” His voice was little more than a whisper.
She stared at him as if he were conjured from nothing, then silently threw herself into his arms, instinctively not crying out again. His strong arms wrapped around her and he breathed in the smell of her hair, the familiar scent of her. After a long moment, she pushed back, looking up at him.
“What – what – ?” she began, incredulous.
“Don’t talk,” he urged, interrupting, his voice low. “Let’s go in. Don’t light the lamp.”
She looked past him instinctively, into the darkness. Once inside, she closed the door silently. “I cannot believe this! Why are you dressed like a fisherman? How are you here? You’re meant to be in Germany!” she said faintly. “At home!”
“I was. I’m…travelling,” he said.
“Travelling? What? At this hour?” she asked, confused.
“I could not come by day.”
“What? What’s going on? Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No.”
“How did you get here?”
“It’s a long story.” In the low glow of the firelight, he looked around. Nothing had changed, the cottage still held the familiar, peat smoke smell that he loved, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, almost tasting it.
“Oskar! You cannot be here!” she whispered. “If anyone sees - ”
“I know,” he cut in. He removed his cap. For a moment he simply gazed at her, his eyes running over every inch of her face, drinking in each feature of the woman he loved. “I had to see you,” he said.
“Where have you come from? Are you here to stay?” she asked then. “How long are you - ?”
“Not long,” he interrupted. “I’m going to be missed. I need to get back very soon. We have perhaps thirty more minutes.”
“Back? Back where?”
“To a boat. It’s not far offshore. To all intents and purposes, I’m serving my country.”
“What?” she asked, shocked. “What country? Germany? You joined up?”
“It’s what I had to do to be able to come back to this coast, to see you.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You joined up just to come back and see me?”
“Yes. It was my only way.”
“I can’t believe you did that!” she exclaimed, shaking her head, incredulous.
“Well, I’m here,” he smiled. “I’m not a ghost.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and lingering. “How have you been?” he murmured then. “How have they been treating you?”
“I told them you went early to report to the authorities,” she whispered, “and that I hadn’t heard anything. That you did the proper thing.”
“That was a good thing to say.”
“I can hide you!” she said excitedly then. “In the unused bedroom! You don’t have to go back! Stay inside in the daytime! We can walk at night, in the pitch dark! We can – ”
“Darling, I do,” he interrupted. “Need to go back. It’s far too dangerous for me not to. Without a doubt, the Germans will find me, and I’ll be executed as a traitor. But I will come and see you, whenever chance allows me!”
She slumped as she realised, nodding. “So, what are you doing on a boat?”
“Just conducting intelligence. Nothing dangerous. Off the west coast here. Remember, I was in shipping in Glasgow. I’ve personally sailed these waters and have made many inspections of the small harbours.
I have knowledge that’s extremely useful to them.
Don’t worry, the boat has been disguised as a Danish trader. Denmark is neutral.”
“Intelligence? What kind of intelligence?”
“They want to know where the navy might be patrolling, where there are fuel depots and wireless stations, where mines have been dropped, tide movement, where it’s safe to hide at anchor, that kind of thing.”
“And you tell them?” she cried, confused.
“I do, but first, I want the British to know what they’re up to,” he whispered.
“What?” She shook her head slightly, confused. “How…how are the British going to find that out?” she asked.
“Someone ashore must tell them,” he said simply.
She stared at him, a long silence settling between them as she realised what he was saying. “And – and – you – you want me to do that?” she asked him then. “To be the relay?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” he replied. “Never that.”
A sudden thought came to her then. “Is that why you’ve come to see me?” she asked, suspicion flashing in her dark eyes. “To use me?”
He looked at her as if she had slapped him. “Rachel – no! Of course not!”
“Then why are you here?”
“Why are you even asking that?” he asked, incredulous.
“Why am I here? Why am I here? I’ll tell you why I’m here: because I cannot chart these waters and pretend that that’s the only reason I advised the German navy to come here.
Because I cannot lie off this coast and not see you.
Because knowledge of patrol routes and wireless stations and fuel depots means nothing if I don’t know if you’re safe!
I’m here because I love you, and you clearly have no idea how much!
Whether or not you want to inform the British, I will come back to you, time and time again I will come back to you during this wretched, miserable war, I promise you, every chance I can get!
I will risk my life to see you, as I have tonight! ”
Her shoulders dropped in defeat, and another long silence stretched. “Alright,” she said then. “I believe you. And if I inform the British, and they go out there and find your boat, with you on it, what would happen?”
“It wouldn’t be good,” he replied truthfully. “But don’t worry about me.”
“Don’t worry about you? But what would happen?” she insisted. “Tell me honestly!”
“Honestly, if the British navy intercepted my boat, they’d board it, and it would be treated as a hostile vessel.”
“And then?”