The Consequences of Fear, Jacqueline Winspear [most important books to read TXT] 📗

she could do it well; if she stopped one unsuitable young man or woman fromcertain death, then it was a job well done. The whole remit was difficult without having prior knowledge of the prospectiveagents. Hard enough without having affection for both of them. “Is this some sort of trial? A test of my honesty? Of my suitabilityfor this job? Because if that’s what it is, I would just as soon step aside for someone else to do it so I can go back tomy daughter and to doing my part to solve the odd crime a couple of days a week, because heaven only knows your friends atScotland Yard are up to their eyes in a backlog they can’t clear, aren’t they?”

“Calm down, Maisie. Unruffle your feathers.”

“Unruffle my feathers? Robbie, don’t start—”

“Not like you to become so heated, is it?” MacFarlane sighed, leaned toward Maisie and tapped the folders. “I—we—thought you would be able to set aside your prior knowledge of our candidates and give us your best assessment of their continued potential. Even at this late stage and after all they’ve gone through in training, I want to know they are completely ready to get out there and do their bit for our French brethren and the rest of bloody Europe, especially us, because we’re far from being out of the woods with old Hitler. With his luck, he could come walking on water across the Channel tomorrow.” He paused. “Will you see them?”

Maisie pushed back her chair and walked to the window. She looked down at the street and folded her arms in front of her asif to protect her heart. Secrets, secrets, secrets. She sometimes felt as if she would drown under the weight of other people’ssecrets. Even this part of her own life had to be hidden—from her child, her father and stepmother, her best friend and herlover. She was always on her guard, and those she cared for most could only know so much—they could only know part of her,not the whole. And she feared she might lose herself in all the secrecy—it had happened before. She sighed and turned to MacFarlane.

“I’m angry, Robbie MacFarlane, but I’ll do it. Just get someone to bring me a strong cup of tea first, would you? And forgod’s sake have them make it hot and put it in a big mug and not a soppy piece of china.”

“Who do you want first?”

Maisie nodded. “Miss Pascale Evernden.”

 

Pascale was Priscilla’s niece, the daughter of one of three brothers lost in the years from 1914 to 1918. Peter Evernden had been an intelligence agent in the Great War, and while operating undercover in France had fallen in love with a young woman who worked alongside her mother to commit acts of espionage against the occupying army. Pascale’s mother was assassinated by the Germans when her daughter was just a baby; Peter, who had been moved into Germany to gain valuable information for the British, was killed the same year during a food riot—at the end of the war the German people were starving, as were their soldiers at the front.

Peter Evernden had never known he had a daughter. Maisie had uncovered the truth while investigating the supposed death ofan aviator in France during the last war—the flying ace had delivered Priscilla’s brother to the location where he would goabout his work. Pascale had been raised by her grandmother, Chantal, but not only had she inherited her father’s aptitudefor languages—she spoke French, English, German, Spanish and Italian in several different dialects—she was also the imageof her aunt. Since learning the truth of her parentage, Pascale had spent summers with Priscilla, becoming close to the family,and she also took her father’s name. Chantal remained at her chateau, which had been requisitioned by German officers in 1940,and as far as anyone knew, not only was she still alive but even at her age she was an active member of the Resistance. Beforethe war, Chantal had insisted Pascale attend finishing school in Switzerland—she thought the girl too much of a tomboy anda little too wild—and it was from Switzerland that the young woman had made her way to England when Chantal ordered her notto return to France when it came under German occupation.

The second agent Maisie was scheduled to interview was a woman she had known for over twenty years. The candidate, ElinorJones, was beloved by Priscilla, her husband and their three sons and was considered no less than a cherished member of theirfamily.

Now, along with Pascale Evernden’s, her life was in Maisie’s hands.

Chapter 3

The poised young woman who sat before Maisie wore a well-cut costume of black wool barathea, with only the slightest hintof embellishment on the hip pockets, which bore gray silk stitching in the shape of a butterfly. A silk blouse was just visibleas a white edge to the jacket’s V neckline. Her black shoes were polished and she wore silk stockings—which were becomingsomewhat difficult to find in the shops. Her dark hair was twisted into an elegant chignon.

Maisie cleared her throat, took a deep breath and closed the folder on the desk in front of her.

“Pascale—”

“Tante Mai—”

The two women had spoken at once.

“Go on,” prompted Maisie.

“I didn’t know you worked here, Tante Maisie,” said Pascale, addressing Maisie by the name she had been accustomed to usingfor her aunt Priscilla’s best friend.

“First of all, let’s adopt a more formal address while we’re in this building, shall we? And there was no reason for you to know I worked here—no one in my immediate circle, including my family, is aware of my work for this department.” Maisie looked at Pascale directly, remembering the girl she had first encountered as a thirteen-year-old in France, galloping toward her on a black horse before fearlessly clearing a five-bar gate and circling her mount to a halt in front of Maisie. “I know that at the outset of your training you were required to sign forms holding you to the Official