Riedel’s smile deflated. “Another time. Good night.”
“Good night.” Gerrit closed the door and leaned back against it.
His breath tumbled out.
The only light in the room came from his desk, under the configuration of glass and paper and silk and clamps. Obviously not for writing letters.
Had Riedel seen any of it?
Gerrit threw the lock and returned to his desk, but his heartraced and his hands jittered. He’d have to calm down before resuming work.
He jammed his hands back into his hair. What if Riedel had entered before Gerrit had reached the door?
A groan carved out a hollow in his belly.
Riedel might be friendly, but he was a Nazi.
chapter
16
St. Helier
Friday, March 5, 1943
When Ivy entered the surgical ward of General Hospital, Dr. Harold Tipton stood at a patient’s bedside by the window with nursing sister Kitty de Puy, one of Fern’s best friends.
At a bed to the right, hospital chaplain Canon Clifford Cohu of St. Saviour’s Church prayed with a patient. The canon looked drawn, no doubt due to the arrests of many in his parish on charges of owning a wireless and spreading news from the BBC. Indeed, the canon himself was known for cheering patients with British news.
To the left, Mrs. Le Huquet lay in bed, her leg up in traction. She’d suffered a compound fracture when hit by a speeding German motorcycle. However, the surgeon, Mr. Halliwell, had done a fine bit of work.
Canon Cohu lifted his head and smiled at Ivy, his blue eyes bright. “Good morning, Dr. Picot.”
“Don’t talk to her.” Kitty glared at Ivy. “Her sister works for the Germans.”
Ivy’s stomach caved in, curling her spine, and she struggled tostand tall. Over the past two months, she’d endured some snubbing, but now a wave of compassion crested over the mortification. Fern had lost one of her oldest friends.
A redheaded physician nearing forty years of age, Dr. Tipton slipped a chart onto a hook on the foot of the bed. “Yes, I’m afraid Dr. Picot can’t be trusted.”
“Is it true?” Mrs. Le Huquet’s voice warbled.
Fern’s decision had stirred up a whirlwind in the Picot household. Would it never subside? Dozens had left the practice, but losing Mrs. Le Huquet would hurt deeply, and Ivy made her way to her patient’s side. “My sister is indeed working for the Germans, against my advice. I do not approve. However, I’m not her mother but her sister, and her younger sister at that.”
Canon Cohu rose and set his hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “I trust you.”
“Thank you, Reverend.” Her voice came out in a whisper, trailing the middle-aged man as he left the room.
Mrs. Le Huquet frowned, and her eyebrows tented. “I’m sorry about your sister. That must be difficult for you.”
Ivy picked up the chart, settled into a chair, and set her medical bag beside her. “I’m not here to receive sympathy but to give it. How is your pain?”
The widow fiddled with the braid over her shoulder, of equal parts black and silver. “I won’t lie. It hurts, but I’m thankful to be alive.”
“I’m thankful too. You’ll be in hospital a few weeks, so enjoy the extra rations.”
One corner of Mrs. Le Huquet’s mouth turned up. “That is indeed a benefit.”
“A benefit that’ll continue. When you go home, I’ll order extra milk rations to help heal the bones.” The irony of milk rationing on an island famed for its cows!
