“Why couldn’t we simply talk on the phone?”

Susan noticed a tone of concern in her daughter’s voice. “I want you to learn of this from me, rather from somewhere else. Also, I need to show you something.” She handed her the most recent newspaper clipping.

Clover read the article. “This has something to do with you?”

Susan nodded.

“I knew you had raised war pigeons, but you never said anything about secret messages.” She glanced at the article. “Did you work at Bletchley? I thought you had raised pigeons in Northampton. I had no idea you were involved with intelligence. . . .”

Susan shook her head. “It’s a personal matter, I’m afraid.” Susan uncapped the tin and spread the contents over the table.

Clover’s jaw dropped.

Susan looked at her daughter. “Before I met your father . . .” She handed her an aged piece of paper.

She glanced at the message, then stared at her mother.

Susan noticed how much Clover looked like her father—high cheekbones, small nose, and a swirling cowlick in her bangs. Seeing the resemblance and realizing what she was about to say caused a lump to form in her throat. She swallowed. And for the next hour, she told her everything. About Source Columba. Duchess. Bertie. And how, during the Blitz, she had communicated with an American trapped in Nazi-occupied France.

“My God, Mother.” Clover gave a long sigh.

Susan expected her daughter to be upset. Confused. Perhaps even betrayed by the fact that her mother had once had feelings for another man. But Clover surprised her.

“You were quite fond of each other,” Clover said, glancing at the deciphered messages.

Susan nodded.

Clover clasped her earring, as if the backing had fallen off. “Were you in love with him?”

She paused, surprised by her daughter’s candidness, then nodded.

“Ollie never returned?”

Hearing his name caused Susan’s belly to ache. She shook her head.

Clover held her mother’s hand.

Moved by her daughter’s touch, Susan’s eyes welled with tears. After all, Clover wasn’t a hugger. Even as a child, she had disliked being held, let alone touched. Susan squeezed her fingers. “It was a long time ago, dear.”

“But you wanted me to know?”

“Yes,” Susan said. “I’m tired of keeping a secret. And I wanted you to know, in the event they ever decipher the code and link the message to me. There were few women in the National Pigeon Service. I’m likely the only one named Susan.”

Clover looked at the newspaper clipping. “I’m surprised that Bletchley and GCHQ haven’t deciphered the code.”

“My father’s codebook was from the Great War,” Susan said. “Perhaps they’re focusing on codes from the wrong war.”

“Mother, they cracked the Nazi Enigma machine, for God’s sake. They’ll decipher this message.” Clover released her mother’s hand and smiled. “They’ll be shocked when they read this.”