“Pick a painting that you took off the living room wall in that Paris apartment. One of the landscapes that I’m fairly certain actually belonged to my grandmother. Whichever one catches your fancy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gabriel scoffed. “Each of those paintings is worth a significant sum.”

“And they mean nothing to me. I look at them, and I feel nothing.”

“I will not let you do that.”

“Then sell me this painting.” She turned and looked him squarely in the eye. “All the practicality and common sense that you just boasted of—I can’t think of a better way to demonstrate them. A sale will save you the hassle of transporting it to Norfolk to be hidden away. That manor must be running out of rooms three generations later, no?”

Gabriel scuffed the floor with his toe and looked distinctly awkward. “I…”

“Please.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“If you insist, I will sell it to you. I do not wish to argue.”

“Good.” Lia felt absurdly pleased. “And I’ll buy the ballet dancer too.”

“You’re shameless.”

“No. Captivated. Moved.” She set her hands on her hips. “We can talk price on the way to Norfolk.”

Chapter 14

Chapter
14

Sophie

Bedfordshire, England
1 August 1943

Tempsford Hall sprawled elegantly, surrounded by lush greenery. Sophie immediately pictured dignified Victorian ladies and gentlemen in lavish dress and dashing hats speaking about nothing more important than the pheasant served at luncheon. In her vision, there were carefree children running and playing across the lawns, balls bouncing ahead of them, puppies barking at their heels.

Silly, Sophie knew, but just for a moment, she wanted to imagine Tempsford Hall in a happier, more tranquil time. Before it became the staging ground for agents flying out of the nearby airfield. Before the people who crossed its grounds wore uniforms and walked quickly with grim purpose while casting suspicious glances at newcomers. Before its guests and residents were continually deposited into enemy territory.

“How are you feeling?” Sophie asked the man walking beside her as they entered the house. Gerard had said nothing on the journey from London.

In fact, in the time they’d spent together since they’d been given their orders, Gerard Beaufort had spoken only rarely to Sophie and only when absolutely required.

“Hungry,” he snapped.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was wondering if you had given any more consideration to how we might best—”

“God’s teeth, woman, I’ve made my expectations of our…partnership clear. I don’t need you pecking away at me incessantly for the next two weeks until we depart.” He jammed his hat farther onto his head and then cursed when it slid too far down his brow. “I don’t need you at all, in fact,” he mumbled, shoving the hat back up his forehead.

“I understand that you might be anxious—”