He chuckled. “Apparently, I thought correctly.”
“Why did you let me sleep so long? The sun nearly blinded me when I opened the drapes.”
“There’s nothing on the schedule for the day as of yet. I’m reviewing the paper to see if there’s anything of value to transmit. You obviously needed the rest.”
She opened the oven door and pulled out the plate, the tantalizing aroma of the food tickling her nose. If he cooked her breakfast, maybe he was no longer angry with her. “Where on earth did you secure ham?”
“I went for a walk, and the generous farmer at the other end of the village gave me a small slab.”
“I didn’t think anyone had hogs left.”
“Neither did I, but it’s a long story, and suffice it to say I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Of course, now that we’ve partaken, we’re complicit in the deed.”
“Black market?”
“Probably, although I’m not sure how one hides a herd of pigs.”
“That would be a challenge.” She giggled then sobered. “Listen, about last night. I’m sorry I overreacted.”
He shook his head. “No need to apologize. I was rather abrupt in my departure. I feel trapped in this house, and it makes me irascible. A bit like a bear with a sore paw. Not your fault.”
“You’re nice to say that, but I’m afraid it’s my usual knee-jerk reaction of second-guessing myself and assuming you are, too. I continue to carry that into the job, the need to prove I’m capable and worthy.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t they pick that up during the psych evaluation?”
“I’m sure they did.”
“Yet, they still gave me the assignment.”
“Ours is not to reason why the quacks or higher-ups make the decisions they do.” He shrugged. “They’re paid a lot more money than we are, so let’s pretend they know what they’re about. Besides, a bit of healthy rivalry is a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Says the man who lives as if every moment in life is a competition.” She grinned to take the sting from her words then reached for the paper. “Anything in Le Temps worth sending out? We haven’t transmitted for a couple of days.”
“Yes.” He poked at an article announcing a visit by der führer himself. “Apparently, he’s decided a tour of the French countryside is in order. I’m stunned the Germans would allow the release of such information, especially with the assassination attempts in the past, but perhaps their arrogance makes them think they can keep him safe no matter what. We definitely need to pass this information along.”
Her breath caught, and she laid down her fork. “Hitler’s coming here? There will be even more soldiers and gestapo patrolling the area. Should we consider moving on?”
“Not yet. I want to gather more intelligence. In fact, the market today is sure to be reverberating with the news of Hitler’s visit. Head to the square. Don’t say much. Just listen. When you return, we’ll glean fact from fiction before you transmit.”
Emily nodded as she licked her lips. No longer hungry, she pushed away the plate still half filled with food. “I don’t want to waste it, but—”
“Understood. You’ll be great, and I’ll be here when you return.”
She pushed her chair from the table and stood. Opening a canister near the sink, she withdrew their ration book and several coins. “With any luck, I’ll also get something for our supper.” Her heart pounded in her ears. Could Gerard hear that? Why did she have to get skittish when leaving the house? Surely, other agents were also afraid.
Rising, Gerard folded the paper and tossed it on the table. He grasped her arms and bent to meet her eyes. “You are going to be fine. Nerves are normal. I’d be worried if you weren’t apprehensive. As long as you don’t let your feelings overwhelm you, the uneasiness will keep you alert.” He pulled her into a quick embrace then placed a kiss on her forehead, his lips warm and dry. “Now, go get ‘em, champ.”
Her skin throbbed where he’d kissed her, and she stifled the urge to touch it. She studied his expression. Acceptance, encouragement, and another emotion she couldn’t read, mingled on his handsome face. Her training kicked in, and she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and tucked her hair behind her ears. She executed a mock salute and hurried from the kitchen, his chuckle following her out of the house.
She pressed a hand against her heart, skipping beats as if she and Gerard were in high school, and he’d just asked her to prom. Nothing could come of their relationship, if she could call it that. Farce was more like it, but he treated her like a colleague and friend. That was at least something. At home, she was the youngest teacher on staff, and most of her coworkers seemed tolerant of her presence. But here, she was an equal. Two agents on a mission. She took a deep breath. He was right. Neither of them would be the same after the war. Could she go back to teaching high school students day in and day out? If she survived, would she prefer a mundane life rather than excitement and danger?
Her steps crunched on the road. She’d seen so much in her short time in France that she’d never be able to share with anyone. Greed. Cruelty. Starvation. The empty eyes of the oppressed who wondered whether they would ever regain their country’s freedom. The desperate faces of those forced to make terrible decisions such as stealing, collaboration, or prostitution to feed their families. Would her family understand when she came home a different person?
Jostled from behind, she looked up. Villagers mingled with uniformed members of the Wehrmacht on the approach to the market. She hunched her shoulders and ducked her head, allowing her hair to shield most of her face. Slowing her pace to put her near a trio of older women, she fingered the coins in her pocket. Soldiers tended to gravitate toward single young women, probably seeing them as easy prey.
She nodded to the women, and one of them looped her hand through Emily’s arm. “Bonjour. Shop with us this morning.”
“Merci.” Emily sighed. Thank You, Lord, for sending protection, even if it is little old ladies.
They wended their way through the booths, prodding the pitiful-looking vegetables. What would they do over the winter when fresh produce wasn’t available? She purchased a handful of potatoes and small turnips.
“We need to be rid of the Jews when der führer arrives.”
Her ears pricked up. A quarter turn, and a senior gestapo officer came into view. Well over six feet tall, he towered above the junior officer. Blond, blue-eyed, and regal-looking, both epitomized Hitler’s ideal German. She lowered her head.
“How many days do we have?”
“Three or four at the most, so we should begin immediately.” Paper crackled as he withdrew a sheet from his inside pocket. “Start with this list, and I’ll have another for you by tomorrow. These Jews and other undesirables think they can hide behind forged papers, fake marriages, and disguises, but we will find them.”
“Jawohl.” The junior officer clicked his heels, saluted, and marched away.