Commander Yardley had told her that he was recovering from his injury and was being commended—not reprimanded—for his actions that night.
Although she’d always long for the feast of Lachlan’s presence, she savored the tiny morsel of knowing he’d be all right.
Her afternoon stretched before her. She didn’t feel like taking the Underground to the safe house on the outskirts of London, a home used by many double agents off and on. Soon, Cilla would get a flat in town.
She passed the massive red brick St. James’s Palace and entered the greenery of St. James’s Park.
A tame greenery with manicured grass and trees placed just so, and she crossed a bridge over tame waters. Even the clouds seemed tame, puffy and white, floating above Buckingham Palace in the distance.
Cilla rested against the bridge’s railing and addressed a trio of tame city ducks. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to fly amessage to Scotland?” She’d heard of carrier pigeons, but carrier ducks? A giggle burst out.
“Cilla? Cilla van der Zee?” A woman’s voice—familiar, stretching back through the years.
Cilla spun around. A blond woman in a dark blue dress, who looked very much like her cousin Aleida.
“Cilla? Itisyou.”
And itwasAleida. Cilla rushed over and gathered her cousin into her arms. “Aleida! What are you doing in London?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Aleida stepped back, gripped Cilla’s hands, and grinned. She’d cut her hair in a becoming bob. “Oh, it’s wonderful to see you.”
“And you. I heard you and Sebastiaan fled the Netherlands when the Nazis invaded, but no one knows what happened to you.”
But the gentleman hovering behind Aleida’s shoulder with a wide grin was definitely not Sebastiaan Martens.
“Sebastiaan was killed by a German fighter plane.” Aleida tilted her head to the gentleman. “I remarried in July. This is my husband, Hugh Collingwood.”
“What a pleasure to meet you.” Hugh extended his hand and gave Cilla a vigorous handshake. “Aleida speaks highly of you.”
The name ... the voice. “Hugh Collingwood? Of the BBC?”
“Guilty as charged.” His hazel eyes sparkled.
Aleida had done well, but Cilla sobered. “I’m sorry to hear about Sebastiaan.”
A quick shake of her head, and Aleida’s eyes went hard. “He was a cruel man, and he kept me from my parents, from Gerrit, from you. I’ve missed you so.” She grasped Cilla’s hands again, and her eyes filled with liquid warmth.
“I—I missed you too. I tried to see you, but I didn’t realize ... I’m so sorry. I should have tried harder. I should have.”
“It wouldn’t have helped.” Aleida squeezed Cilla’s hands. “But how—when did you arrive in London?”
Cilla chewed her lower lip. Time to test her new cover story. “I was helping Gerrit in the resistance, and I found myself in a bit of trouble. I escaped to Britain last April.”
“Last April? A year ago? Tante Margriet never said—have you seen her?”
“She doesn’t know I’m here.” Cilla grimaced.
Aleida drew back her chin. “You haven’t visited her? Why not?”
“I was afraid the Germans would send an agent to find me, so I went to the far north of Scotland and worked in a lighthouse. I didn’t want to endanger anyone.”
Aleida’s green-blue eyes stretched wide. “Last month—weren’t there two German spies ...”
Cilla nodded. “That’s why I came to London, to Scotland Yard, to MI5. They assured me the spies had nothing to do with me, but they gave me a new name to be safe.”
“Cilla.” Aleida gaped at her. “My goodness.”
“My new name is Cecilia Klaasen. It seemed easy since Klaasen is my mother’s maiden name, and Cecilia is my given name.”
