Mr. Collingwood pulled a notepad from his coat pocket. “I was told five of you escaped.”
“Yes.” Charlie handed his tray to Norma. “Three weeks ago, I tried to escape with three school chums, but a German patrol shot me.”
“Oh dear.”
Charlie patted his side and winced. “I managed to hide whilst my friends escaped.”
“He developed an infection.” Ivy cut in before Charlie could mention Dr. Tipton or the family that sheltered him. “We haven’t the medications in Jersey to treat him, so we arranged for his escape.”
Mr. Collingwood scribbled on his notepad. “You accompanied him to care for him, Dr. Picot?”
“That wasn’t the original...” Grief pinged at her heart. She could still see the rage in Fern’s eyes. But telling that story would publicly implicate and humiliate her sister, and she wanted to keep the path of reconciliation open, should Fern ever choose to walk it. Ivy swallowed. “Yes, I accompanied him.”
“With three other men?” Mr. Collingwood said.
“One was a stranger to us,” Ivy said, “but the other two are good friends.”
“The best.” Charlie gave a firm nod.“Gerrit van der Zee and Bernardus Kroon.”
Mr. Collingwood jerked his head up from his notes. “Gerrit van der Zee? From the Netherlands?”
“Yes, sir.” Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Gerrit and Bernardus are in the resistance, and they joined Organisation Todt so they could draw maps of German fortifications. Gerrit traced them on silk in secret ink, and we sewed the maps inside my jacket. I was their courier. I worked on a ship and took the maps to my resistance contact in Saint-Malo. I can say that now that Saint-Malo is liberated, yes?”
Ivy’s head swam at the speed of Charlie’s speech. “I think so.”
Mr. Collingwood hadn’t written a word. He kept gaping at Charlie. “Gerrit van der Zee? Did he ever mention cousins named Aleida and Cilla?”
Now Ivy gaped. “Why, yes. How did you...”
Mr. Collingwood sat back with a giant grin. “Aleida happens to be my wife. She and Cilla will be overjoyed. They’ve been quite worried about Gerrit.”
“Cilla?” Ivy frowned. “Gerrit said she’d died.”
“Cilla? Heavens, no. Aleida and I dined with her and her husband not a fortnight ago.”
Ivy and Charlie exchanged looks of wonder. Wouldn’t Gerrit be thrilled to learn Cilla was alive—and both she and Aleida were safe in England?
The correspondent’s grin broadened, and he laughed. “Where’s Gerrit? I simply must meet him. And what a fantastic story.”
Ivy gripped her hands in her lap. “Perhaps too fantastic. I’m concerned the Allies might not believe them. I haven’t heard a word about him or Bernardus since we landed. I have no idea where they are.”
“But it’s all true.” Charlie sat forward, then grunted, pressed his hand to his side, and leaned back. “Gerrit and Bernardus are heroes of the best sort. I owe my life to them. The Allies must believe them. They simply must.”
Mr. Collingwood’s gaze swept between Charlie and Ivy, his expression graver with each sweep, and he tucked his notepad into his pocket. “It’s routine for refugees to be questioned by security and immigration to prevent German spies from entering Britain. I’ll make inquiries for you.”
“Thank you.” Ivy gave him a grateful smile. If only inquiries could prove Gerrit’s loyalty.
chapter
45
Portsmouth, England
Friday, October 20, 1944
Once again, Gerrit sat in an interrogation room.
Over the past ten days, he’d been interrogated by American and British Army officers in France. Then they’d shipped him to England, where he’d been interrogated by a varied stream of officials, both uniformed and civilian. No torture, no intimidation, and plenty of good food, but tiresome.
