Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

barn. Kelly was introduced to the children, Danni, nearly two, ‘but walking already’, a beautiful child with blonde hair and startling green eyes, and baby Marie, six months old. ‘Uncle’ Dan had to kiss the children as they were taken up the stairs to bed. Kelly was amazed at how quickly the tough Nazi hating wildcat he had known, had become domesticated.

When Élise descended after settling the children down, Raymond opened a Riesling from one of the nearby Moselle vineyards and they moved outside to sit and chat about old times, in particular about how Raymond had landed with the Free French on D Day, and as soon as he could be released from duties after the invasion had found Élise. Raymond described his joy at being reunited with his beloved Élise. Kelly agreed mentally that there was a definite air of domestic bliss about the place. He wondered briefly if this could ever work for him but he doubted it.

Kelly was almost afraid to ask the questions he had come here specifically to ask. This was his last hope in his search for Sybilla.

His search for her had started after the war as soon as he could extricate himself from SOE and then resign his Naval commission which, at that stage, despite his service in SOE, was still active. He had returned to Grense via Kirkenes and had been shocked by the level of damage and destruction wrought by the retreating Germans in what they had called a ‘retaliatory gesture’. It was more like wanton vandalism.

He was only just in time to reach Grense before the winter snow made the route impassable. To his horror the village was all but deserted, with only a handful of people remaining. Many of the old wooden buildings had been burned down and little remained but for the vicarage and a few of the chalets, with the ever-present chapel of King Oscar II looking down as it had done for nearly a hundred years.

A little wooden cottage still stood by the southern slip, deserted and empty, the door swinging eccentrically on the one remaining hinge. Kelly went inside. All the furniture had been removed apart from the simple pine kitchen table, but he closed his eyes and was able to picture it as it once was. He stood by the table in the position where he had once sat. On his left he could see Sybilla and on his right was the large frame of that gentlest of men, Gunnar.

He reached out to Sybilla, but the spell broke and she was gone.

In what had been Sybilla’s room he found a tattered woollen scarf caught on a wooden splinter. He convinced himself that it was the very same scarf worn by Sybilla during their trek up to the ridge in his escape to Russia. He held it to his face but there was no scent of Sybilla, only the disappointing fustiness of mouldering wool.

Reluctantly he dropped the scarf and made his way towards the vicarage. The vicar was accommodating and invited him in for coffee. ‘Yes, he remembered Sybilla, beautiful girl, ran off with a German captain, and poor Hans and Gunnar, killed by the Gestapo, but of course Inga survived.’

Kelly caught his breath. “Do you know where Inga is? It is imperative I find her.” Kelly tried to contain his emotions.

“Why do you want to find her so badly?” asked the vicar quietly, eying Kelly cautiously.

Kelly considered briefly, and then blurted out the whole story, leaving nothing out. The vicar nodded from time to time as he listened. He considered for a moment before nodding again. “Yes, Amundsen told me something of the story before he left for Bergen. He writes me from time to time and occasionally mentions Inga and her family. It is him you need to find. I am not in direct contact with Inga, but I know she is also in Bergen.”

“Do you know where in Bergen Amundsen is?” asked Kelly anxiously.

“I have his address here somewhere.” The vicar was already on his feet and rummaging in his bureau. “Ah! Here it is!” he exclaimed with satisfaction as he turned, brandishing a letter above his head.

There was no doubt that this was the place indicated on the letter given to him by the vicar in Grense; the highly polished brass plaque by the door announced to the world that this was the residence and surgery of Dr Otto Amundsen.

Kelly rang the bell and waited for a few minutes until a young blonde woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform answered the door. “Do you speak English?” he asked in response to her opening statement in Norwegian.

She started slightly and stammered, “Yes, I have a little English. How may I help?”

“I need to speak urgently with Otto Amundsen. It is most important.” Kelly reinforced his message with the tone of his voice.

“He is with a patient at the moment. Do you have an appointment?”

Kelly looked resigned; his voice flat. “No, I don’t have an appointment, but I really do need to see him. It is very important.”

The woman hesitated, turned as if to go inside, then turned back towards Kelly. “You could come back at three. He will be free then. Who shall I say it is?”

“Tell him it’s Kelly!” The woman wheeled inside and closed the door behind her before he could say more.

The time between 10 am and 3 pm dragged. The last time Kelly could remember five hours lasting this long he had been in a stinking little dungeon in Archangel. He knocked on the door at precisely 3 pm. It was opened almost immediately. Standing facing him, dressed in an immaculate pin stripe suit, was Otto Amundsen. Kelly wasn’t sure what to do next, but Amundsen had no hesitation. He stepped forward and warmly embraced Kelly.

“Come in, Dragan. Come in!” He led Kelly into his consulting room where the contrast with Grense couldn’t have been greater. The room was luxuriously appointed with expensive