Chapter 47
Lizzie said her goodbyes to the staff and took one last look at the elegant Legation building as the car drew away.
Tom accompanied her on the quick trip to the train station, saying they should behave exactly as they did when she arrived.
‘I’ll miss you,’ Tom said as he escorted her to the platform, carrying her small suitcase. ‘It’s been good having a confidante.’
‘I’ll miss you too, Tom. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done.’ Then Lizzie drew nearer to his ear and whispered, ‘Let us know if you hear from Angel.’
Tom promised he would. They were both worried about The Lavender Network and still hadn’t received a message from Hannah or Lev.
Lizzie kept telling herself they must just be lying low, and it was too dangerous for them to access their radio, but the fear that something terrible had happened sent chills through her whenever she thought of it.
The journey from Bern to Basel was comfortable, and like when she had arrived in February, she admired the farmland and neat buildings from the train window.
The fields were now lush green, and the hedgerows were festooned with vibrant flowers bobbing in the breeze.
The white peaks of the Alps gleamed in the distance and then faded away.
It wasn’t long before the train rolled into St. Louis in Basel, and Lizzie tensed at the prospect of the imminent border crossing. Stay calm. You did it before, she reminded herself.
Tension gripped her chest, and she breathed deeply before reaching for her suitcase and leaving the train on the heels of two young women and a soldier in Swiss Army uniform.
She had crossed the border before, but not with a spy camera loaded with incriminating film. Dusk was enveloping the sleepy town, and the air turned cool as Lizzie approached the barrier, her heart slamming so fast she felt dizzy.
‘Papers,’ said the smooth Swiss-accented voice of a border guard, stretching out his hand.
Her papers lay ready in her pocket, and she withdrew them immediately and presented them, breathing softly, trying to slow the rapid hammering in her chest.
If he searched her, it would all be over.
Even if they let her through because of her Legation status, they would confiscate the camera.
Visions of Voss and Pemberton in Bern, somehow realising she and Tom had duped them, assailed her, as she fought to keep her face expressionless and not show the panic that spiralled through her as the guard examined Elizabeth Gale’s papers.
She and Tom had discussed her using a new identity to leave, but it was too short notice, and they decided the benefits of her diplomatic cover outweighed the slight risk Voss would have second thoughts and come after her.
‘Wait here,’ the man said, and then turned to the other border guard, signalling something she didn’t catch.
Lizzie’s stomach dropped as she watched him. Where was he going? She ran through her options and realised she had none. Her fingers brushed over the outline of the Swiss Army knife still in the lining of her coat pocket.
Tom had refused to take it when she had tried to return it to him that morning at the apartment. ‘Keep it for your travels. Just remember to hand it into wardrobe at Baker Street.’
There was no room in her life for holding onto fond keepsakes, anyway.
They would only elicit awkward questions from the people in her life who believed she was a translator, not an SOE agent.
She wondered whether her mother and sisters had even heard of such an agent.
It was sad, but when the war was over, she would have nothing tangible to remind her of her missions.
God willing, she and Jack would have each other.
And the Beaumont family would be reunited with their far-flung family members, many of whom were behind enemy lines in Occupied France and Jersey.
That was the most she could hope for, and considering what they were up against, it would be a miracle if it came to pass.
Lizzie prayed without moving her lips that the guard would allow her through. Soon, let her be on the Lysander aircraft as it lifted into the French skies and transported her home to England.
The guard still didn’t return, and the other one glanced at her and waved the next person on after a swift check of his papers.
Lizzie gulped, struggling to swallow. Now she wondered whether she might need to use the knife, but even as her fingers brushed the lumpy shape, she knew it would mean certain suicide.
Attacking armed border guards would seal her own fate, and they would shoot her dead.
Minutes seemed like hours, and she saw the guard speaking on the telephone through the window in the small hut near the barrier.
What if Voss had changed his mind and put out an order for her arrest? Just as the thought flitted through her mind again, a German army truck rolled up on the French side of the border and two soldiers jumped out.
They appeared to be changing shifts, and it was probably just routine, but Lizzie could barely breathe. She hadn’t even made it through the Swiss border yet, and she still had to get through the Germans to make it into France, where hopefully a Resistance contact awaited her in the shadows.
The camera was tiny but felt like it was burning a hole in her waistband.
Her locket lay next to the cool skin of her chest, and her fingers caressed it briefly like a talisman.
Her suicide pill was hidden inside, should she need it.
The sobering thought hit her she did in fact have a deadly option should it come to that.
Anything to stop the Gestapo torturing her until she revealed her hard-won secrets that would endanger their networks in France.
The border guard changed position inside the hut and Lizzie saw him emerge and acknowledge the German change of guard with a salute. These bastards were working together, and thought the Allies must be idiots if they bought into their Swiss neutrality tale.
Finally, the soldier returned, still clutching her papers, and asked her where she was travelling to.
Lizzie said in a beguiling soft voice, ‘I’m returning to London via Lisbon. It’s a terribly long and dangerous trip. Is everything in order, officer?’
‘It’s irregular for someone British with diplomatic status to pass through here, so I had to check.’
‘I understand,’ Lizzie said, her heart still thumping, but her smile sweet.
The border guard slowly passed her papers over and released them into her hand.
She breathed. ‘Sorry for the delay. Have a pleasant rest of your trip, Miss Gale.’ His English was heavily Swiss-accented, but Lizzie had never been so relieved to hear broken English and felt like cheering as he stood aside and waved her through.
Instead, she walked soberly across the border and stopped in front of the German barrier. One down, one to go.
‘Good evening,’ the German soldier said. ‘Papers, please.’
Lizzie replied in German, and he studied her papers and promptly returned them to her. She thought she was safe until his eyes moved to her case. ‘I need to search your suitcase.’
Lizzie passed it to him, and he opened it up on a makeshift table, and she watched as he rifled through her clothes. There was nothing in the case to incriminate her, not even in a secret compartment, but the camera still seemed to burn into her flesh through the concealed pocket at her waist.
She watched as he ran his fingers through her underwear. Then the other German soldier called out to him to hurry as a small group arrived. The soldier shoved the contents back inside and closed the case, depositing it at her feet. Then he moved aside and indicated for her to pass.
Lizzie’s legs were like water, but she inched forward, gripping her case and thanking God for the reprieve.
There had been a few terrifying minutes where it had seemed like she might not make it into France.
Dusk had morphed into a twinkling star-studded sky, and her heartbeat gradually slowed as her feet crossed onto French soil.
Late that night, after sheltering in the same courageous farmer’s home as on the way in, he drove her to the coordinates of Tom’s assigned pickup spot.
The moon cast an eerie glow across the field and the air smelt pungent.
It wasn’t long before she heard the familiar hum of the Lysander overhead, and Lizzie thanked the nameless farmer once more.
‘à bient?t!’ he said, using the affectionate term her Jersey grandparents often used. See you soon.
The Lysander lifted off the ground as soon as she boarded and swept her away into the skies.
Jack wasn’t in the aircraft like the last time, and the tug of disappointment was sharp in her chest, but she settled onto the hard bench and gazed out the canopy as the small plane buffeted on the night winds towards the Channel.
Only a few hours and they should land at RAF Tangmere, where perhaps Jack would be waiting. Lizzie pulled her coat closer, tiredness creeping over her cold skin, and the chill of the cabin and the hard surface of the bench made it impossible to get comfortable.
Her thoughts circled back to Pemberton, and she hoped he still believed he had outplayed her, and she was ignorant of his betrayal.
She imagined him arriving in London after she and Tom reported him, thinking he was taking a nice little trip home courtesy of the Legation.
Upon his arrival, they would arrest him, and he would pay for his vile actions.
Lizzie nodded off and dreamt she was in Jack’s flat in London. When she awoke, she caught sight of the foaming channel below and then the plane crossed the jagged cliffs and scrambled for the Sussex air base as the pink-hued sun shimmered on the horizon.
‘Welcome back to Blighty, miss,’ the pilot called out to her with a cheerful smile after they rumbled to a halt and the watery first light filtered across the airfield.
Jack wasn’t there to meet her as she’d hoped, but she was in England and would see him soon.