PROLOGUE
ON BOARD AN ADRIA STEAMSHIP
The woman on the deck glanced up as a dozen bad-tempered seabirds yelled and hooted.Fool! You fool. Fool,they cackled, hurtling towards her. She ducked, raising a hand to ward them off, but it was the wind snatching at her hair not the birds. She swallowed, tasted the tang of salt on her tongue with a hint of seaweed. Was she safe? It had been a leap of faith to board this ship in Syracuse and the further she leapt, the further away safety seemed to be. She gazed at the shifting ocean. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?
The sun began to set and the ship edged towards land. She gripped the railings, leaning over as far as she dared, mesmerised by something moving in the violet water.
She closed her eyes, felt the breeze cooling her burning cheeks.
The seabirds shrieked again. She raised her head, opened her eyes, and straightened up. How long had shebeen clutching the railings, listening to the voices in the sea? Because now, as the sun finally sank into the ocean, the sky was darkening to a deep velvety indigo, with such a sweep of stars that it stole her breath. And right before her eyes, as the ship slid closer to the island, a glittering scene unfolded as if a curtain really had been raised on a fairy world. Spellbound by the sight of the waters in the Grand Harbour dancing with the reflected lights from hundreds of illuminated vessels, she hugged herself, then turned to her companion.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ she whispered.‘I’mgoing to be all right.’
CHAPTER 1
Florence
England, late August 1944
Jack cursed under his breath, wincing in pain as he attempted to force the window shut, and Florence coughed, her throat dry and sore. Completely jammed, the window resisted, and the acrid black smoke continued to billow in.
‘There’s no point,’ she muttered. ‘Save your strength.’
‘It’ll disperse when we’re out of this damn tunnel,’ he said.
She nodded, leant back against the carriage wall, and slid to the floor where she rested her forehead on drawn-up knees and wrapped her arms around her shins. Anything to escape the smell. Not just engine smoke, but the sour odour of unwashed bodies too, and the cheap tobacco thathung in blue-grey clouds throughout the train and clung to their hair and clothes. Sitting in the corridor like this, crumpled and dirty and trying not to breathe, Florence felt exhausted and not quite able to relinquish the fear lodged in the pit of her stomach.
They’d been stuck in the dim light of the tunnel for more than three quarters of an hour, and they still had another train to catch before they could even dream of arriving at Exeter station where she hoped Jack’s father would still be waiting.
Eventually there was a bone-shaking jolt.
Florence lifted her head and caught Jack’s eye. He nodded as they heard a shrill whistle and a muted cheer from the weary passengers as the wheels turned, clanking and rattling as the train awoke. A thin, uniformed guard climbed over three or four servicemen lying half asleep on the floor by the door, their heaps of kit blocking the corridor. Grumbling to himself, he elbowed his way around the tight group of civilians bunched up next to Jack and Florence and then tripped over Jack’s large, booted feet.
‘Westbury,’ he yelled after he had righted himself and glared at them. ‘All change for Exeter.’
Just as well he had such a loud voice. Not only was it a way to let off steam, but also all the station signs had been removed – so unless you were a local, you had no idea where you were.
Jack scowled when, very soon after that, the train pulled into Westbury station. ‘Typical,’ he said as he scrambled up from where he’d joined Florence on the floor. ‘If I’dknown we were this bloody close we could have just got out and walked.’
‘Don’t think I’ll walk anywhere, ever again,’ she said, and meant it.
He gave her a commiserating smile. It wasn’t easy for him either. As they had made their escape across the Pyrenees mountains, they had both injured themselves. When she’d fallen badly, Jack had reached out to save her, seriously aggravating an old injury sustained when he’d made a bad parachute landing back in the Dordogne. Her legs felt like jelly; his arm was strapped up. Fine pair they were.
As they joined the crowd shuffling towards the open door people pushed and shoved, desperate to exit the hot train and get to wherever they were going. Fatigued soldiers longing to see their families again, no matter how briefly, had perked up, but the worn-out nurses still in their uniforms stared ahead with glazed eyes. Everyone was grey and drawn.
‘Platform for Exeter?’ Jack asked a red-faced platform guard and was told which way to go.
When the crowd were not too far from the waiting Exeter train, Florence heard two men behind her speaking in a foreign language. She froze and Jack, noticing her distress, took her elbow and propelled her forward.
‘It’s all right,’ Jack said quietly, linking arms with her. ‘Only Polish servicemen. Come on, we need to hurry.’
Florence knew the men hadn’t been German but was so tired that logic and common sense had deserted her. She could never reveal her secret, not now, not back homein the Dordogne, nor in the Pyrenees as they dodged Nazi patrols, and not in Franco’s Spain either. Slowly, oh so slowly, they had avoided capture as they made their way under a burning sun from the north to the south of Spain. In Gibraltar they boardedThe Stirling Castlewhich, before the war, had been an ocean liner, but was now a troop ship sailing back and forth between Gibraltar and Southampton.
Jack firmly pushed her up the steps and onto the next train.
‘Frome – Castle Cary – Langport – Taunton – Exeter,’ another station guard yelled.
Florence had a splitting headache from the constant noise and wished she hadn’t been forced to leave France. This dreary worn-out England wasn’t the England she remembered. But it would have been unthinkable to stay in France. Unthinkable. Irrevocably altered by what had happened to her, she prayed that surely,surelyshe’d be safe here.
