“I know. I’m sorry.” Charlie’s gaze softened. “We’d always planned that I’d join the practice, and when you had children, you could practice part-time.”
Fern turned back to her stew and clucked her tongue. “You needn’t worry about that. Ivy isn’t having children.”
Ivy gaped at her older sister. “I’m only twenty-five. I’m hardly a spinster.”
“All the eligible men abandoned the island.” Fern lifted one dainty shoulder. “Unless you want to marry a Ger—”
“Never!” Women who dated enemy soldiers might have newclothes and extra food, but they were shunned and despised for good reason.
One corner of Fern’s mouth buckled. “You had your chance at Oxford. Such a shame.”
Warmth rose up Ivy’s neck, and she averted her gaze.
“The more I think about it...” Fern stirred the stew. “Charlie is right.”
“Fern!” Ivy said.
A triumphant smile rose on Charlie’s face. “Of course, I’m right.”
“Yes.” Fern gave a sharp nod. “I’ve been concerned about Victoria College all summer, ever since the Germans took five of the masters as hostages. They wouldn’t have done so unless the men were subversive.”
“Subversive?” The Germans had arrested prominent citizens to force the surrender of two brothers who criticized the German seizure of wireless sets.
“They’re not subversive,” Charlie said with a sigh. “That’s not why I’m leaving school.”
“For the money.” Fern’s spoon banged around in the pot. “Not only will we save his school fees and add his wages, but he’ll travel to France. He can buy goods we can’t buy here, like medical supplies. You always complain about shortages, Ivy.”
Ivy didn’t care about that. She cared about Charlie. “What would Dad and Mum say? They’d be heartbroken. What would you do if one of your boys left school?”
“My boys aren’t here.” Each word a pointed barb. “Neither are Dad and Mum. I’m the eldest, and I say Charlie takes the job.”
Charlie’s expression—instead of brightening at Fern’s support—darkened. “It isn’t your decision. Either of you. It’s mine. I’m old enough to leave school. I’m old enough to take a job. And I’ve done so.”
With Dad gone, Ivy was the caretaker of the family dream. And it was slipping through her fingers.
chapter
3
Saint-Malo, France
Monday, September 14, 1942
The hotel room door opened, and Bernardus sauntered in.
Gerrit sprang up from his chair. “Where have you been all night? We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
With a sly smile, Bernardus adjusted the black “Organisation Todt” armband around the sleeve of the despised brown uniform. “Becoming reacquainted with an old girlfriend here in Saint-Malo.” He held Gerrit’s gaze hard.
Gerrit blinked. Bernardus had memorized a list of contacts along the French coast provided by his resistance network. Since OT hadn’t informed them of their destination before their month-long training near Frankfurt, Bernardus had come prepared for many possibilities, apparently including this “girlfriend.”
Gerrit beckoned to the middle of the room and lowered his voice. “And?”
“All is well.”
“Do they know where we’ll go? This area seems unlikely.” Saint-Malo lay at the base of a deep bay bound by Normandy to the east and Brittany to the west, with the approach guarded by the ChannelIslands. If Gerrit were a British general, he wouldn’t invade at Saint-Malo. Erecting fortifications would be wasteful.
Bernardus shrugged. “Since they gave us travel orders to Saint-Malo, we’ll be nearby. At least I can visit my girlfriend. She is rather lovely.” An impish gleam brightened his light eyes.
