Benedict leaned closer, and his eyes flashed. “Did you say ‘Mathilde’s execution’?”
“Yes. They told me about the guilty verdict in her case, and how they executed her right after, just like they did with Edith Cavell.”
Delia’s jaw dropped. “They didn’t execute Mathilde, Finn. She’s alive and well in this very prison. We met with her just this morning.”
For a moment, the words didn’t register. It was too strange, too impossible. He stared at Delia, the only person in the room he trusted.
“What? Repeat that please?”
“Mathilde is alive. Her trial isn’t until next week.”
“You’re sure? It wasn’t some woman they had dressed up like her to fool you?”
Delia gave a little laugh. “We’re sure. We brought her attorney to the meeting to discuss the charges against her. Yes, we’re quite sure it was Mathilde.”
A shuddering breath escaped Finn, relief warring with anger. He should never have trusted anything the Germans told him. They had manipulated him just to get that lousy photo. They’d lied to him, and he fell for it. He’d been mourning Mathilde when all along she had been right here under the same roof as him.
“What are her odds of beating the charges?” he asked, knowing she was still in a dire situation.
“Not good,” Benedict said. “She was caught red-handed with the illicit newspapers hidden in her house. She has not denied knowledge of them or of aiding in your escape.”
Finn glanced at Delia. “Is there anything you can do for her? Get Bertie to appeal for clemency? Or maybe the Red Cross?”
Delia was about to say something, but Benedict raised a hand, cutting her off. “We’ve come to Brussels to appeal to GeneralRyckman to reopen the Port of Rotterdam. We can’t muddy the waters with personal appeals.”
A tightening in Finn’s chest became painful. He should have realized that Delia was here on CRB business, but he couldn’t stop fighting for Mathilde. “Dee? Is there nothing you can do?”
“We’re meeting with General Ryckman tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll try to—”
Again, Benedict raised a hand and shot her a glare. “Our mission with Ryckman has a single objective,” he reiterated. “Wemustget the port made accessible again to the CRB, and that’s all that can be said on the matter. You only have ten minutes to speak with Delia, so don’t squander your time. I’m sorry we aren’t able to grant you privacy, but please don’t waste these few minutes worrying about Mathilde.”
Delia managed a brave smile for him, and all of a sudden each second felt precious. After weeks of agony, languishing in his cell, God had smiled on him and let him gaze at the most precious sight in the entire world.
“You look good, Dee.”
“Thank you.” Humor and sympathy glowed in her impossibly blue eyes. “I wish I could say the same about you.”
He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “You’re not a fan of the beard? I’ve been aiming for the rugged hero look. How am I doing?”
Her face softened, and she smiled. “You’re pulling it off, Finn. Even in here, you look like a hero to me.”
There were a million things he wanted to ask her. But their time was short, so he got straight to the point of what he wanted to say. “I’m sorry about how things worked out. If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t be so stupidly reckless.”
Her eyes took on a sheen of tears, which made them even more blue. “Expecting you to quit being reckless would be like asking the sun not to shine. It’s simply who you are, Finn.” She didn’t sound bitter or resigned, just loving, and it split his heart wide open. He wished he could give her the world.
“Dee, I want you to have my kite shop.”
She blanched. “What?”
“If I don’t live to see the end of the war, there’s no one on earth I’d rather—”
“Finn, stop,” she interrupted. “You’re going to be fine. Someday the war will end, and then you’ll sail back home and everything will go on like before.”
She was so naive. Anything could happen to a man in prison. Contagious diseases. Violent guards. A quirk of fate in which he could be hauled out of his cell and executed for political purposes. But he didn’t want her to worry about him. He smiled and met her eyes, which reminded him of a cloudless summer sky.
“I hope you’re right,” he said and exhaled sharply. “But if for some reason I don’t make it out of here, I need you to know that I never stopped loving you. I hope you don’t hate me for leaving New York the way I did.”
Delia’s voice was quiet but steady. “Oh, Finn, do you think I crossed the ocean to tell you that I’m mad at you?” She shook her head. There was something fragile yet fierce in her eyes. “I forgave you long before I arrived here. And I’ve never stopped loving you either—not for a single second.”
