Princess Elizabeth's Spy(83)
“It’s just that song. Lots of old acquaintance not coming back. By next year or the year after, they’ll be forgotten.”
“Or coming back strangers. A friend of mine was shot down in the Battle of Britain. He’s back at work now, but—I don’t know who he is anymore. He’s a completely different person.”
“He is,” Gregory agreed. “Something I know far too well.”
The two men stood at the low stone wall that lined the terrace and looked over the grounds in the light of the waning moon.
“David,” Gregory said, not looking at the other man, “I think you’re very special.”
David moved his hand on the smooth flagstone so that his pinky touched Gregory’s. “And I feel the same about you.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you come away with me?”
David laughed, a hearty laugh that rang out across the empty grounds. “Very romantic, but where could we possibly go? An island in the South Seas, with white sand and palm trees? Live on bananas and coconuts?”
“No, the Japanese have taken those islands,” Gregory said seriously. “I’m thinking more of Argentina. Buenos Aires.”
“Well, I’m afraid the British government might frown on that.”
“I’m not joking.”
David looked at Gregory’s scarred, serious face. He was not.
“The world’s at war, Gregory,” he said, shrugging. “There’s nowhere to run.”
“You have no idea what it’s like. You see the scars on my face—you have no idea how scarred I am inside.”
David nodded.
“Millions of Germans are dead now. Millions of Poles, Czechs, Dutch, French, Norwegians.… Do you know how many Chinese have died since Japan invaded in thirty-seven? And what for?” he asked bitterly.
“The Nazis are evil, Gregory,” David said. “You know that. Hitler’s not just out to conquer the world, he’s set out to destroy anyone he’s declared to be ‘subhuman’—Jews, Czechs, Russians, Poles. The mentally ill. I’m Jewish and ‘like that,’ so I’d have been thrown up against a wall and shot years ago if I lived in Germany under Hitler. At least here I’m, well, relatively free.”
“With that fair hair of yours, you could pass for Aryan. And besides, it all depends on who’s defining evil. Churchill’s just as racist as Hitler when it comes down to it—and to win the war he’ll have to cozy up to Stalin—as if he’s any better than Hitler?”
“Churchill would cozy up to Satan himself if it would defeat Hitler. And I would too.”
Gregory snorted. “At some point the Americans will join, and they’ll die, trying to save us. The Chinese and the Japanese will always be at each other’s throats. The Raj will rise up and slaughter the British in India, not to mention the Hindus and the Muslims.… I’m just … done. Finished. I did my bit—and now I want out.”
After making sure they were alone, David reached up and touched Gregory’s scarred face gently. “I can’t imagine all you’ve been through.”
“They’re sending me back, you know,” Gregory said. “Back to the Royal Air Force. I can still fly, so they want me up there,” he gestured to the sky. “Just the thought of getting into a plane makes me ill. I can’t. I just can’t do it,” Gregory said, grabbing David’s hand. “I mean it. I’m done. I’m leaving. And I’d like you to come with me. To Switzerland.”
“No,” David said, pulling his hand back. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Gregory insisted. “Look, invasion is certain. Churchill will be one of the first lined up and shot—and you and the rest of his staff with him. They’ll take out the present King and put the Duke of Windsor back on the throne.”
“That’s a future I’d hate to see, of course,” David said. “But that’s one of the reasons I’m staying—to make sure it doesn’t happen.”
David looked up at the starry sky, Gregory’s former battleground. “Gregory, you’re a hero. You did your part in Norway. You paid—you’re still paying—for it. It’s hard. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you. But you can’t give up.”
The other man gave a short, bitter laugh. “Of course. I’m being ridiculous. Christmas is hard for me. You must forget I ever said anything.”
“Of course,” David said. But he knew he wouldn’t. Maggie was right. Something was wrong with Gregory.