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‘Thank you.’
Just for a second his expression registered surprise. ‘You’re welcome.’ With that he drew his hat down over the upper part of his face and settled back again, bringing the conversation to a close.
Claudine shifted back into her own corner, closing her eyes, letting her body relax a little. The events of the day seemed unreal, as though she were held fast in a strange and disturbing dream from which she could not awake. Had it not been for her companion the dream might easily have become nightmare. I can take care of myself. She had to admit that the words sounded hollow. Her companion might be one of the most arrogant and overbearing men she had ever met, but he had done her a great service all the same.
At some point amid these thoughts she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew the carriage had stopped and the night was full of voices. She came to with a start.
Glancing out of the window she could see an inn yard and the shadowy figures of the ostlers leading the team away. Then cold air hit her face as the door opened and Duval returned.
‘Where are we?’
‘Just outside St Germain,’ he replied.
‘Are we stopping here tonight?’
‘Only long enough to change the horses. I want to put a lot more distance between us and Paris before we rest.’
For once she had no wish to argue. Minutes later a fresh team was between the shafts and then they were on their way again. Since her companion seemed not disposed for conversation Claudine was left to her thoughts. Between that and drowsing occasionally the next few hours passed in a blur. It was just before midnight when they stopped again at another inn.
Duval bespoke accommodation and conducted Claudine to hers, pausing a moment on the threshold. ‘Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day and we will be leaving early.’ He paused. ‘If you need me I’ll be in the next room.’
With that he left her, closing the door behind him. Claudine let out a long breath. It had occurred to her that he might try to take advantage of the situation in the light of what had already happened, but it seemed she was wide of the mark. He had made no further allusion to it. Perhaps like her he thought it was a complication they do without.
Since she had no belongings with her she was forced to make do with washing her hands and face. Then, having removed her gown she sat down on the bed and emptied her reticule. Apart from the pistol it contained a handkerchief and a handful of coins. At some point in the near future she was going to have to purchase a few necessities. There was nothing to be done about her clothes since the rest were in Paris. She smiled wryly. A few dresses were a small price to pay for her freedom, perhaps even her life. Having replaced the contents of the bag she climbed into bed and extinguished the candle.
The sheets were chilly and she shivered, drawing the covers higher. It was a pointed contrast with the last time, and her treacherous thoughts conjured the memory of a man’s warmth and a lean hard body pressed against hers. Unbidden she lifted a hand to her lips. She could still feel Duval’s kisses there. The recollection caused a pulse of heat in the region of her pelvis, and with it forbidden thoughts. She couldn’t go there, must not go there again. To do so would be disastrous and she mustn’t forget it.
They left early next morning. Thus far there had been no sign of pursuit, a circumstance for which Claudine was devoutly thankful. Now that the immediate sense of urgency was gone and since her companion was still disinclined for unnecessary conversation, she began to look about her with more interest. The carriage they were travelling in was surprisingly comfortable and the driver, Matthieu, highly experienced. At first she had assumed the man had merely been hired for this journey, but now she wasn’t so sure. Although he was courteous and deferential, his attitude towards Duval wasn’t that of a stranger. The relationship was more like master and trusted servant. He also seemed to know the route well; where they could change horses and where the decent inns were to be found. And then there was Duval himself. He was no common adventurer. She never heard him raise his voice, but when he spoke servants leapt into action. His whole manner was that of a man used to command and to being obeyed. He had the upright bearing of a military man but his movements were almost graceful and characterised by a touch of arrogance. Yet in spite of his intimidating manner he spoke like a gentleman.
The light of day had revealed all the details of his appearance to her curious gaze. She could see now that his skin was lightly tanned and the hair that in candlelight looked to be between brown and blonde was the colour of ripe wheat. Moreover, the contrast between the injured and uninjured sides of his face was stark. It reinforced the notion that he must once have been classically good-looking, the kind of man that women noticed. His injuries had changed that significantly: he was not just attractive; the damaged face lent him a sombre and dangerous edge that was both enigmatic and exciting. He roused her curiosity as no other man had ever done.
Becoming aware of that intense scrutiny he turned from the window and his gaze locked with hers. His good eye was a clear and vivid blue, the blue of a summer sky. Just for an instant it seemed disturbingly familiar. The familiarity wasn’t concerned with him since they’d only met for the first time yesterday; rather he reminded her of someone. An old memory stirred and struggled to surface, but the more she tried to retrieve it the more it eluded her. Then he spoke and the thought disappeared as quickly as it had come.
‘You look worried. Are you?’
‘No … at least not so much as I was. Do you think we are being pursued?’
‘I think we’d have seen some evidence of it by now. All the same we can’t afford to be complacent.’
He was certainly right about that. There were many other things she wanted to ask him too. His manner just then didn’t seem quite so forbidding so she put a toe in the water.
‘How did Fouché’s men find out about Alain?’
‘Someone betrayed him and, along with him, potentially an entire section of the British intelligence network in Paris.’
‘A double agent?’
‘It looks that way,’ he said.
‘Do you have any idea who it might be?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I never knew who Alain’s other contacts were. Do you think he managed to warn them in time?’
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Yes.’ She felt suddenly cold as the full implications became apparent. More than ever she was aware of the narrowness of her escape and, like it or not, of how much she owed Duval. ‘It still begs the question though: why were they betrayed?’
‘For knowing too much. Alain was on to something of great importance but he wouldn’t say what it was until his sources had verified the facts. Unfortunately, they must have aroused suspicion somehow, because the police closed in before anything more could be passed on.’
‘I see.’
‘How on earth did you get involved in this débâcle?’ he asked.
Claudine hesitated. She had never been able to talk to anyone about her clandestine activities. Indeed to have breathed a word of it would have brought ruin and disgrace. At first she had hugged the secret with quiet glee, but as time went on it became something of a liability. The chance to be able to speak freely to someone who understood was almost irresistible.
Duval heard her hesitation. ‘You need not be afraid. Whatever is said here stays here.’
Something in his tone made her want to believe it. She knew so little about him but, in spite of everything, her instinct was to trust him.
‘My brother was with the army in Spain. He was killed at Talavera.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She smiled sadly. ‘Henry had given his life for his country while I was living in luxury and ease far from the dangers he had faced daily. His death made me question the life I was living, and suddenly it seemed shallow and worthless. I wanted to do something for the war effort on my own account but, short of joining the army myself, I could not imagine how.’ She paused. ‘Then I remembered that Peter, one of my cousins, worked at the Foreign Office. I wrote and asked him to call upon me.’
‘I imagine he was surprised by the nature of the conversation.’
‘He was at first, but he had also been very fond of Henry and perhaps that inclined him to listen sympathetically. Anyway, some days later he returned with a colleague, a man called Gabriel Viaud.’
Duval’s brows drew together. ‘Viaud?’
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
‘We’ve met.’ He paused. ‘But I’m interrupting. Please, go on.’
‘I have a property on the south coast of England, an ideal location for getting informants into and out of the country unseen. Viaud asked if I would sanction the use of the coastal access for that purpose. Of course I agreed.’
Duval had been listening intently, his curiosity thoroughly roused. Was she English then? Her spoken French was impeccable. Her use of the first person hadn’t escaped him either and yet she wore a wedding band. The reminder was oddly unwelcome although he had no right to find it so.
‘Did your husband not have something to say about the matter?’
‘I live alone, apart from the servants of course.’
‘You are a widow?’ Unaccountably he found himself hanging on the answer.
‘Not exactly.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s just that I haven’t seen my husband for … some time. He has been serving abroad with the army.’
‘I see.’ It was not unusual. He should have expected it. The knowledge brought him back to earth; she was forbidden fare in every way.
Claudine said nothing. He did not see at all, but she wasn’t about to go into a lengthy explanation of her personal circumstances.
He sensed her reticence and knew he had no right to probe. ‘Forgive me. I digress. You were saying that you allowed your property to be used …’
‘Yes. Then, a few months later, while I was in London, I was approached again by the same gentleman to find out whether I was willing to become more closely involved. The work involved minimal risk—it was merely to act as a courier taking coded messages between London and the coast.’
‘And you agreed.’
‘It was easy and it was something worthwhile, far removed from the giddy social round.’
‘And then?’
‘Then, about six months ago, I was introduced to Paul Genet. His department was looking to recruit suitable candidates for overseas intelligence. He knew of the work I had done for his associates; I could speak French and was then entirely unknown to the authorities in Paris. I was ideal for what he had in mind.’
‘I can well believe it. He must have rubbed his hands in glee.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘He recognised a tool he could use for his purpose.’
Her eyes sparkled angrily. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘No?’
The sarcasm was overt, as Duval had intended. Could she really be so naïve as to think Genet hadn’t used her? Part of the émigré population who had fled their homeland during the revolution, he had lost no time in establishing a new spy network, this time providing valuable information for the British. However, he was also working with those who sought to overthrow Napoleon and restore the French monarchy. Genet and his confederates were prepared to use any means to achieve that end.
‘No,’ she retorted. ‘It was my choice. I could have refused.’
‘The adventure could have got you killed.’
‘I was aware of that.’
‘And it didn’t deter you?’
‘No, why should it? The risks were explained and I chose to accept them. Genet is not to blame.’
‘Women should not be placed in dangerous situations.’
Claudine lifted one finely arched brow. ‘And yet men do that to them all the time.’
‘How so?’
‘Men expect their wives to bear children, do they not? Yet there is no more dangerous activity for a woman.’
He frowned. ‘It’s not the same thing at all.’
‘No, on balance, this is much safer,’ she replied. ‘In any case, it’s my life and I’d rather spend it doing something to benefit my country than living some kind of butterfly existence in London.’
‘It’s a laudable aim, but it’s over now,’ he replied. ‘This part of the network is finished.’
‘This part perhaps, but I’ll find another posting eventually.’
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Was this not a close enough brush with disaster?’
‘It was unfortunate, but it’s the nature of the business.’
‘A business you would do well to stay out of in future.’
‘Will you stay out of it in future?’
The tone was quietly challenging, something that rarely happened in the sphere of Intelligence work, and it provoked in him an upsurge of annoyance. ‘This is my occupation, not an amusement that I took up to help me overcome boredom.’
Claudine’s hands clenched in her lap. ‘I do not deny boredom, but I do deny that this is mere amusement.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
‘Genet employs me because I am good at what I do.’
‘You still required rescuing.’
‘And of course no-one else ever does.’ The sarcastic tone was an exact imitation of his. ‘In the entire history of espionage I’m the first.’
‘I don’t know about the first, but I’d wager that you’re the most argumentative.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. A woman mustn’t do that, must she?’
The lowered eyes and dulcet tone didn’t fool him for a minute. Her manner was impudent and provocative in equal measure, the kind of quiet insubordination that would have been easy to deal with in a man. In this case the options were severely limited.
‘I cannot imagine what is troubling you,’ he replied.
‘It doesn’t.’ She eyed him speculatively. ‘May I ask how you came to be involved in all of this?’
He was tempted to refuse; the past was an area he preferred to leave alone. However, she had been open with him to a surprising degree.
‘Originally I was with Wellington in Spain,’ he said, ‘but then I was injured and rendered unfit for active service.’
For a brief instant he was back in the field hospital after Vittoria, lying on the makeshift operating table in the surgeon’s tent where the air was heavy with the stench of blood and sweat and fear. Through the red haze of pain he could hear the screams of the poor wretches under the knife and the saw. He’d lost an eye that day along with half his face and a large quantity of blood from the sabre slashes to his shoulder and arm. They’d stanched the bleeding and sewn him up as best they could. Initially, he had lost much of the function in his left arm, although time and careful exercise had mended it eventually. Nevertheless it was the end of his army career in the Peninsula.
‘Do you miss it?’ she asked. ‘Active service, I mean?’
‘At the time it was a blow, but there is no point in lamenting what cannot be changed.’
He had understated the case. Separated from his erstwhile comrades and the life he had loved it had been like a form of exile. Having to deal with men like Genet did nothing to enhance the experience. Even so, what was the alternative; to go back to England? To go home? He hardly thought he’d be welcome there, given the circumstances. In any case it was too late to mend fences now.
Although she could not follow his thoughts, Claudine sensed the tension in him and sought to change the subject.
‘Have you relatives in England?’
