‘Thanks, Bob,’ she said as she dismounted from the Triumph.
Bob switched off the engine. ‘I hope you’re not going to let one little setback beat you.’
She gave a half-hearted smile. ‘Did you know he didn’t want to see me?’
‘No, but I’m not surprised,’ said the engineer. ‘Like I said, Sam’s pretty down. Don’t give up on him just yet.’
‘I’ll see,’ said Fitz, her gaze dropping to the ground.
‘Hey, that’s not like you. Where’s that gung-ho spirit you’re famous for?’
‘It seems to have deserted me. Goodnight, Bob.’
Chapter 30
The following morning Fitz woke feeling much better than she had the night before. When she’d got back to Bignor House, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Sam and his rejection of her. It truly was painful and, she had to admit, somewhat unexpected. Yes, she had been prepared for Sam to be feeling down and pretty sorry for himself, as he had every right to, but to point blank refuse to see her. That had not been on any horizon she’d been looking at.
When she’d gone to bed that night, she had lain awake for a long time going over and over the quite frankly ghastly situation. If only she’d let herself love Sam sooner and had told him how much she cared about him, then he might not have turned her away. But now, would she ever get the chance to tell him what a stupid fool she’d been and that he was the best thing to ever happen to her?
Fresh tears erupted. She hated feeling so helpless. Not being able to control the situation was her biggest fear and that fear had ironically led her to the very same point. She had gone full circle but missed her chance to break the cycle. Missed her chance to love and be loved.
Love. She loved Sam. Fact. She had never been in love with a man before so why was she squandering her chance at happiness now? He was the only man who’d made her feel like this and she had pushed him away. Now she’d come to her senses, he didn’t think he was good enough. How wrong could a person be?
What was it Bob had said? Where was her gung-ho spirit?
Where, indeed? Geraldine Fitz-Herbert wasn’t one to be beaten so easily. Fitz reminded herself of all the times she’d come up against adversity or authority. Had she just lain down and rolled over? No, she had not. She had always fought hard for what she believed in, for what she wanted and for what she loved. Why should Sam Carter receive any different treatment?
She had already booked her and Yvette two train tickets to Cambridge. They were off to Badcombe House to visit her father and Camilla.
Much as she was desperate to go back to try to see Sam, she had to think everything through. It would be her one and only chance to convince him they had a future together. She needed to ensure everything was in place so he couldn’t argue with her.
Her mind was whirring furiously as she jumped out of bed, washed and dressed.
She wanted to be prepared for when MI6 got back in touch. If she wasn’t going into France as a spy again, she still wanted to make a significant contribution to the war effort and working at one of their secret locations doing something so top secret, she really had no idea what, only that it involved her linguistic skills, then that’s what she would do. It felt good to have a plan.
The train ride to Cambridgeshire took several hours, but her father had sent his car down to the station to collect her and Yvette. She had warned him she was bringing a guest with her but that was all she had said.
Now sitting in the Armstrong Siddeley, it glided through the gates of Badcombe House and up the gravel driveway. Fitz was surprised, not to mention flattered to see her father come out onto the steps to greet her.
‘Geraldine,’ he said warmly, embracing her in his outstretched arms. Fortunately, the bruising on her face had gone down a lot and she hoped her father wouldn’t notice. She’d applied a littlemore make-up than she had the day before and with his eyesight not quite as sharp as that of her friends, she hoped she’d get away without him noticing.
‘Hello, Geraldine.’ It was Camilla.
Fitz forced a smile to her face and greeted her stepmother. ‘Hello, Camilla. How are you?’
‘I’m very well, thank you. So nice to see you.’ Camilla almost disguised the frown on her face as she looked at Fitz but didn’t quite manage it. ‘How are you?’
‘Very well, too,’ Fitz replied. ‘I’ve got someone with me.’
‘Oh, yes. Your father said you were bringing a guest. I wondered if it might be a young man,’ said Camilla.
‘It’s not a young man,’ corrected Fitz. ‘It’s a young girl. She’s nine years old. She’s French and her name is Yvette.’
Both adults looked bemused. ‘Oh. Yes. Right. Jolly good,’ blustered her father.
Fitz went back to the car. Hesitantly and gripping firmly onto Fitz’s hand, Yvette stepped out onto the driveway. ‘You’ll have to speak French to her,’ Fitz informed her father and Camilla. ‘She doesn’t know any English.’
‘Welcome to Badcombe House,’ said Fitz’s father in his clear and fluent French. He stepped forward and held out his hand which Yvette dutifully shook.
