Page 104 of The Last Night in London
“Well, imagine living most of your life holding on to some burden, something for which you believe you need to be forgiven. You plan on taking it to your grave. And then, just when you think it’s too late, you see the opportunity to unburden yourself. To perhaps make dying not so hard to contemplate.”
“But she could have chosen anyone—you or Arabella, for instance.”
“True. But maybe she chose you because you’re blood related. Or she just saw an opportunity to help someone avoid the same mistakes she’s made.”
I stopped walking and faced him. “Just stop right there. Regardless of what Precious does or doesn’t think, you can’t make assumptions. You know virtually nothing about me.”
A cool breeze lifted the hair from his forehead, making him look somehow boyish. Vulnerable. “I know you more than you think.”
I turned away and resumed walking, faster than before. “We’re not talking about this now.”
“Later, then?”
I shook my head vigorously. “No.”
“All right. But can we talk about something else? We have about eight blocks to go.”
“Depends—about what?”
“I didn’t get to tell you earlier because of what’s happening with Nana, but Mother heard from Hyacinth Ponsonby. About Graham. We found him post–nineteen forty.”
I slowed down. “And? Where was he? What was he doing?”
“Do you want the official title or what he was actually doing?”
“They’re not the same thing?”
“Not exactly. After Graham was shot down over the Channel, his injuries prevented him from returning to the RAF, so he secured a position in the War Office. He was assigned to work in the map room in Churchill’s basement war rooms.”
“How did he do that? Doesn’t a person have to know someone to jump from flying planes to that sort of position?”
“Well, he came from an aristocratic family, but you’re right. One doesn’t ‘get a job’ at the War Office without some sort of background. Or, as you said, knowing someone. Apparently, Great-uncle Graham had both. Hyacinth, bless her, did some digging into his life before the war. She discovered that he read Persian and Arabic at Christ Church, Oxford—apparently he was quite proficient with foreign languages; his government files show that he spoke at least six, including German.” He raised his eyebrows at this last. “He also learned to fly at Oxford, as a sort of hobby, I suppose. Following Oxford, he joined the Diplomatic Service and was sent to Burma. He also flew while he was overseas. His earlier training meant he was able to jump through some of the basic RAF training requirements. He flew his first mission—reconnaissance, not actual fighting—in December nineteen thirty-nine, after joining the RAF in July of that year.”
“Smart guy or a fast learner?” I asked.
“Most likely both. I am related to him, after all.”
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t laugh, and rolled my eyes. “That was his official position. But what was his real role post–nineteen forty?”
He turned to me and grinned. “It’s what we suspected.”
I stopped in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, making Colin stop, too. “Get out! MI-Six? Like James Bond?”
“Close. MI-Five. Roughly speaking, MI-Six were our spies overseas, whereas MI-Five operatives were here in England looking fortheirspies. Graham’s ‘cover,’ so to speak, was the War Office.”
“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t expect that. Although...” I smacked my forehead, remembering the box of purses. “Was one of the languages he knew Czech?”
“I believe so. Why?”
“Arabella and I found a scribbled note on the back of a Savoy menu, stuck inside one of the old purses. We found it right before Precious collapsed, so I completely forgot about it until just now, when you said ‘MI-Five.’ It was written in Czech, and it said something like ‘You’re in danger—run.’ According to the translation app, anyway. Maybe Eva was Czechoslovakian?”
He rubbed his chin. “Could be. There were a lot of Czech refugees in England during the war, so it’s certainly possible. But why the cryptic note?”
“There’s no way of knowing, is there? Unless Precious tells us.”
Our eyes met in mutual understanding. “Then we’ll wait until she fully recovers and ask her.” Colin spoke so matter-of-factly that I could have almost believed the world would unfold the way he predicted.
We resumed walking. “So, when did Graham die?” I asked.
