Cold Harbour. Jack Higgins

else I need to know?’

      ‘Message came in concerning Cold Harbour, sir. Seems the OSS had problems yesterday. One of their agents knocked off General Dietrich, the SD chief in Brittany. Due to bad weather, their Lysander pick-up had to be aborted, so they asked us for help.’

      ‘You know I don’t like doing that, Jack.’

      ‘Yes, sir. Anyway, Commander Hare got the message direct, went across to Grosnez and picked up the agent concerned. A Major Osbourne.’

      There was a pause and Munro turned in astonishment. ‘Craig Osbourne?’

      ‘Looks like it, sir.’

      ‘My God, is he still around? His luck must be good. The best man I ever had at SOE.’

      ‘What about Harry Martineau, sir?’

      ‘All right, point taken, and he’s another bloody Yank. Is Osbourne at Cold Harbour now?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Right. Stop at the nearest phone. Call the CO at RAF Croydon. Tell him I want a Lysander within the next hour. Priority One. You hold the fort here, Jack, and handle the Anne-Marie Trevaunce affair. I’ll fly down to Cold Harbour and see Craig Osbourne.’

      ‘You think he could be useful, sir?’

      ‘Oh, yes, Jack, I think you could say that,’ and Munro turned and looked out of the window, smiling.

      Craig Osbourne sat on a chair by the sink in the large old-fashioned bathroom stripped to the waist; Schmidt, still in his Kriegsmarine uniform, the medical kit open on the floor, sat beside him and worked on the arm. Julie Legrande leaned on the doorway, watching. She was in her late thirties and wore slacks and a brown sweater, blonde hair tied back rather severely, a contrast with the calm sweet face.

      ‘How does it look?’ she asked.

      ‘So-so.’ Schmidt shrugged. ‘You can’t tell with gunshot wounds. I’ve got some of this new penicillin drug. It’s supposed to work wonders with infection.’

      He primed a hypodermic and filled it from a small bottle. Julie said, ‘Let’s hope so. I’ll get some coffee.’

      She left as Schmidt administered the injection. Osbourne winced slightly and Schmidt put a dressing pad in place and bandaged the arm expertly.

      ‘I think you’re going to need a doctor, guv,’ he said cheerfully.

      ‘We’ll see,’ Craig told him.

      He stood up and Schmidt helped him into the clean khaki shirt Julie had provided. He managed to button it for himself and went into the other room as Schmidt repacked his medical kit.

      The bedroom was very pleasant, a little shabby now and much in need of decorating. There was a bed, mahogany furniture, and a table and two easy chairs in the bow window. Craig went and looked out. There was a terrace with a balustrade below, beyond that an unkempt garden, beech trees, a small lake in a hollow. It was very peaceful.

      Schmidt came out of the bathroom, his medical kit in one hand. ‘I’ll check you out later. It’s me for the bacon and eggs.’ He grinned, a hand on the door knob. ‘And don’t bother reminding me I’m Jewish. I was corrupted by the great British breakfast a long time ago.’

      As he opened the door, Julie Legrande entered with a tray bearing coffee, toast and marmalade, fresh rolls. Schmidt left and she came and placed the tray on the table at the window. They sat opposite each other.

      As she poured coffee she said, ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again, Craig.’

      ‘Paris seems a long time ago,’ he said, taking the coffee cup she handed him.

      ‘A thousand years.’

      ‘I was sorry to hear about Henri,’ he went on. ‘A heart attack, I understand?’

      She nodded. ‘He knew nothing. Died in his sleep and at least he had that last eighteen months in London. We have you to thank for that.’

      ‘Nonsense.’ He felt strangely embarrassed.

      ‘The simple truth. Would you like some toast or a roll?’

      ‘No thanks. I’m not hungry. Another cup of coffee would go down just fine, though.’

      As she poured, she said, ‘Without you, we’d never have evaded the Gestapo that night. You were a sick man, Craig. Have you forgotten what those animals did to you? And yet you went back in the truck that night for Henri when others would have left him.’ She was suddenly emotional, tears in her eyes. ‘You gave him a life, Craig, the gift of those last few months in England. I’ll always be in your debt for that.’

      He lit a cigarette, stood up and looked out of the window. ‘I left SOE after that affair. My own people were starting OSS. They needed my kind of experience and to be honest, I’d had enough of Dougal Munro.’

      ‘I’ve been working for him down here for four months,’ she said. ‘We use it as a jumping-off point, safe house, the usual thing.’

      ‘You get on with Munro, then?’

      ‘A hard man.’ She shrugged. ‘But then it’s a hard war.’

      He nodded. ‘A strange set-up, this place, and even stranger people. The pilot, for example, Edge, swaggering around in his Luftwaffe uniform playing Adolf Galland.’

      ‘Yes, Joe’s quite mad, even on a good day,’ she said. ‘I sometimes think he really imagines he is Luftwaffe. He gives the rest of us the willies, but you know Munro – always ready to look the other way if a man is truly excellent at what he does. And Edge’s record is extraordinary.’

      ‘And Hare?’

      ‘Martin?’ She smiled and put the cups back on the tray. ‘Ah, Martin is a different story. I think I’m a little bit in love with Martin.’

      The door opened and Edge entered without knocking. ‘So there we are. All very tête-à-tête.’

      He leaned against the wall and put a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Julie said wearily, ‘You really are a rather unpleasant little rat at heart, aren’t you, Joe?’

      ‘Touched a nerve did I, sweetie? Never mind.’ He turned to Osbourne. ‘The boss has just flown in from Croydon.’

      ‘Munro?’

      ‘Must want to see you bad, old boy. He’s waiting in the library now. I’ll show you the way.’

      He went out. Osbourne turned and smiled at Julie. ‘See you later,’ he said and followed him.

      The library was an imposing room, its walls crammed with books from floor to a ceiling of beautiful Jacobean plasterwork. A log fire burned on the open stone hearth and comfortable couches and leather club chairs were ranged around it. Munro was standing in front of the fire, cleaning his spectacles carefully as Craig Osbourne entered the room. Edge leaned against the wall by the door. Munro adjusted his spectacles and looked at Osbourne calmly.

      ‘You can wait outside, Joe.’

      ‘Oh, dear, so I’m to miss all the fun, am I?’ Edge said, but did as he was told.

      ‘Good to see you, Craig,’ Munro said.

      ‘I can’t say it’s mutual,’ Craig told him and he moved to one of the chairs and sat down, lighting a cigarette. ‘We go back too far.’

      ‘Don’t be bitter, dear boy, it doesn’t suit.’

      ‘Yes, well I was always just a blunt instrument to you.’

      Munro sat opposite. ‘Colourfully put, but apt. Now then, what about this arm? I understand Schmidt has had a look at it?’

      ‘He thinks I might need a doctor, just to make sure.’

      ‘No