“And no matter what you think, I see you. I’ve always seen you.” He reached for her hand and caught it with his own. “You’re not alone, Estelle.”

Estelle stood and pulled her hand from his and flattened her palms against the smooth ridges of his bare chest. She bent her head and pressed her lips to the heat of his skin, over the spot where his heart beat. “Nor are you.”

“Estelle.” It was a question and a plea all at once.

“Follow me,” she said, and led him toward one of the very nice sofas Jerome had sought.

And for a while, neither of them was alone.

Chapter 12

Chapter
12

Sophie

London, England
30 July 1943

The flat in London’s Orchard Court, just off Baker Street, had not changed in the months since Sophie had first been brought here. Miss Atkins, of the Inter-Services Research Bureau and of a rank that continued to elude Sophie, still sat on the other side of the desk. Her blue-grey eyes were still calm and assessing, her hair neatly styled, her civilian clothing tailored and tidy. At her elbow, the same ashtray still overflowed with spent cigarettes, and her hands were folded over another file she had yet to open.

“Welcome back to London, Celine. You made an impression on your instructors,” Miss Atkins said.

“Madame?”

“Clever, resourceful, lethal with a variety of knives in close combat, a keen shot,” Miss Atkins recited, though she never once looked down at the file in front of her that had Celine—S. Kowalski written at the top, MOST SECRET stamped across the front. “I am told that you took to your training in a way that, quite frankly, astounded men who I’m certain still believe women shouldn’t be serving behind the lines at all.”

“It was good to feel like I was doing something real,” Sophie replied. Something more than translating messages of death and destruction. Her training had provided an outlet for her frustration and guilt, and it had been gratifying beyond words. “It’s been hard waiting for an opportunity, though I’ve tried to be patient.” Sophie tried not to sound too hopeful.

“Indeed,” Miss Atkins said. “Your instructors mentioned that you possessed a rather unnatural patience. They also said you were cold, intense, and fearless.”

“You disapprove.”

“On the contrary. If you weren’t a woman, they’d likely hang an award of some sort on your chest. However, it is the assessment of fearless that gives me pause.” She tapped the file with the tip of her finger. “For fear is what keeps my agents alert and alive.”