Jean furrowed her brows again. ‘You know she left Dad a picture of sparrows she’d painted?’
‘Yes, I saw it. I think she was trying to tell him her code name, like a secret message that she wasn’t evil, that she had a plan she was following. But she couldn’t tell anyone the whole story. It was all top secret.’
‘Well, blow me down,’ said Jean as she sat down hard in her chair, staring at all the photographs that Sophie had taken at the records office and the decoded message. ‘So all this time, all this suffering my family went through, and she was serving her country. I can hardly believe it.’
Suddenly there was a rattling at the door. They all turned around, and there was Uncle Tom. ‘You’re talking about Vivienne, aren’t you?’
Jean jumped to her feet, speaking rapidly. ‘Hello, Dad. I thought you’d gone up to have a nap.’
He continued without listening to what she had to say. He stared at Sophie, repeating himself. ‘You’re talking about Vivienne, aren’t you?’
Sophie stood up. ‘Yes, Uncle Tom. She was working for the Special Operations Executive undercover and the Germans—’
Tom interrupted her as he saw Alex in the room. He balled his fists, and the fury was unmistakable in his tone.
‘Him, she went with him.’ He pointed his finger at Alex in accusation.
Sophie realised the confusion. ‘No, Uncle Tom. This is Alex Vonstein. This is his great-nephew.’
‘Don’t listen to him. He took her from here, from her home.’ Tom’s agitation escalated as he hopped from foot to foot. ‘Why did you take her? Why did you take my sister away from me?’
Alex rose to his feet and Jean went to the side of her dad.
‘Dad, this isn’t the same man. This is a relative of his, and you’ve got to calm down. Vivienne was good. They were both working for the British.’
Finally, Jean managed to get Tom to sit down. It appeared it was all extremely confusing for him with his long-term memory being so much stronger than his short-term. But he continued with his animosity towards Alex. ‘I saw you from the bedroom window. I saw you take her and I knew then I would never see her again.’
‘She had a greater purpose, Uncle,’ said Sophie, gently touching his arm. ‘She had to do something that nobody else could do. There was no alternative way to get him out. He was being guarded and he helped save the lives of many men during the D-Day landings. He and Vivienne, they confused the enemy. That’s why they had to stay undercover.’
Tom closed his eyes, trying to take it all in as Sophie continued to tell the story. She didn’t tell them about the execution, thinking it might be too difficult to hear, but she told her aunt how the words in the coded message and the storybook, ‘The Call of the Swallows’, had filled in the missing parts for her.
Suddenly, Tom’s eyes opened wide. ‘I remember that story. She gave it to John before she left. She told him to read that story.’ Suddenly, the relief showed on his face, as if the penny had finally dropped. ‘She was doing the same. She was doing the same as the princess in that story, wasn’t she? I knew she couldn’t have been bad, no matter what people said about her with all those dreadful rumours.’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ said Sophie. ‘And we’re able to put the record straight now. I had a meeting yesterday with the National Archives, submitted all the facts to them. They also had information for us, and if everything works out correctly, they will put the war records straight, and they will honour Vivienne as a spy who laid down her life for her country. You may even get a medal.’
Tom looked at Sophie, his voice cracking. ‘Where is she?’
Sophie spoke softly, taking a gentle hold of his wrinkled hand. ‘Her grave is in Normandy, just outside. Alex and I visited her there and left flowers.’
‘I want to send some.’
‘Yes, we will do that,’ said Jean, stroking his hand.
Tears were in the corners of his eyes as he spoke with real conviction. ‘I always knew, Jean. I always knew she was good. Now I know for sure it’s true. I cannot tell you how happy I am to know the truth.’
‘Let’s get you back to bed, Dad. I think that’s enough excitement for one day,’ said Jean as she helped her dad up.
Then, all at once, it was as if a wall came down and he appeared to forget the conversation. He looked around the room a little bewildered, saying, ‘I can’t remember why I came down, but a nap sounds good.’ He then grinned at his daughter and patted her hand, ‘Ah, look, Alice is here.’
‘This is Sophie, Alice’s daughter. Remember, your great-niece?’ Jean corrected him.
‘Ah,’ he stated flatly, as though the realisation of his dementia had hit him once again. ‘Of course, hello, Sophie. I guess this is your young man?’
Alex nodded, not wanting to add any more confusion, and Jean led him from the room.
Once they’d left, Sophie’s cousin Jamie spoke. ‘This is so unbelievable. You did such an exceptional job putting all these pieces together. I will go down in the morning to the museum and give them the photocopies of this evidence. I think it’s a story that needs to be told, don’t you?’
After they had coffee, Sophie led Alex around the estate and showed him the route Marcus and Vivienne would have taken through the side bushes down to the water. As the sun started to set, they stood on the beach where, seventy-five years before, Vivienne and Marcus had stepped into a fishing boat to pursue a cause bigger than themselves.
‘You can’t imagine,’ said Alex softly, ‘what it must have been like to have the choices they had back then.’
Sophie shook her head, and gently he took her hand and she let him. She wasn’t sure what this was with Alex, but she wasn’t going to hold back. She was going to let it become what it would become.
They stood on the edge of the beach as the sun was setting over the water, and hungry seagulls circled overhead, dropping shells on the stones to crack open for their dinner. Out on the water, a couple of fishing boats were coming in with their evening catch, bobbing on the waves, the brass on their hulls glistening, reflected in the last rays of the day. As the wind whipped up, Sophie closed her eyes and imagined her aunt Vivienne standing on the bow of a fishing boat with Marcus, the man she loved, by her side, heading away across the water to her destiny.
Epilogue
6 June 1944
Marcus stood over the body of the love of his life, struggling to come to terms with what had transpired. Staring at the blood seeping from the wound in her head, mingled with the smell of cordite in his nostrils, it took every bit of his strength to stop himself from retching. There was only one thought that now gripped him, that dominated him: that there was no time to mourn. It had cost Vivi everything to do what she had just done, and now he had to do the right thing. He owed it to her. If he collapsed or broke down, her death would have been in vain.
But it nevertheless took every inch of his strength to turn and walk away from her, to not throw himself on top of her and gather her into his arms and hold her one last time while there was still warmth in her body.
As two guards carried her away, he knew with a vengeance what he needed to do.