The Prime Minister's Secret Agent(88)

“But you have to know, while I will, with all my strength, defend our right to exist against a monster who would destroy everything honorable and good, I don’t love what I do. In fact, I hate it.

“There’s no glamour in it, Sarah. No glory. But I realized during my time here that I’ll do anything to make sure the next generation knows peace.” She turned to K. “Come on, pussycat, pussycat—we’re going to London to visit the Queen!”

“Meh,” was his only response, but he seemed content to ride on her shoulder as she packed her things. And later, as she, K, and Sarah walked up the stairs to the main house, John followed behind with her trunk. Maggie was pleased to see the fuchsia rhododendrons were just starting to burst into bloom.

“I just wanted to say good-bye, Miss Glyn-Jones,” she said to Twelve in the main room as they shook hands.

Then she went down the line, shaking hands. “Good-bye, Yvonne. Good-bye, Charlie. Good-bye, Mr. Fraser and Mrs. MacLean.” Impulsively, she threw her arms around Mr. Burns and kissed his leathery cheek. He smelled of pipe tobacco. “And good-bye, dearest Burns. Thank you for everything.”

Sarah walked to Maggie, now without the help of the cane. The two women embraced. “Thank you for everything, Maggie,” Sarah said.

“You may not know it, but you helped me as much as I may have helped you—maybe even more.” Good-bye, Black Dog.

“Well, I don’t know how that could possibly be, but I’m glad.” Sarah reached to rub K under the chin. “And good-bye to you, Mr. K.” He began to purr, then rumbled even louder as Maggie settled him once again over her shoulders.

“Are you really going to take that animal on the train?” John asked, hoisting up the trunk once again.

“If anyone asks,” Maggie answered, pulling on her gloves, “he’s a fur stole with personality.”


On the train, there was the usual assortment of pilots and soldiers, with their support crews as well—the fitters, the riggers, the mechanics, the crew chiefs. A sign read: PLEASE HAVE IDENTITY CARDS READY FOR INSPECTION. Ads extolled women’s train conductor uniforms and warned TRAVEL AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Maggie and John traversed the swaying corridors until they found an empty compartment. John slid open the door, then hoisted her trunk up to the luggage rack. First class had two lights; there was only one in second and third.

Maggie sat down and K jumped from her shoulders, sniffing at the worn velvet seat cushions, more curious than afraid. “Meh,” he said, looking at Maggie.

“Shhhh,” she admonished. “Remember—you’re a fur stole.”

John sat opposite Maggie, and K turned his attention to him. When John stretched out his lanky legs in front of him, K marched right up them, like a gangplank, and stared into John’s eyes.

John held the cat’s gaze. A challenge went back and forth between the two males, then K jumped down and went to curl up beside Maggie. He watched John through narrowed eyes.

“I know you don’t get this from the papers,” John said, as if they’d never stopped working together, “but the Boss is becoming more and more difficult. I don’t care personally, but he’s losing support in the House. And I’m also worried about his health.”

“Yes, but America’s in the war now. That’s what he wanted—all he’s ever wanted.”

“Yes, the American Eagles have come, just in time to save the day,” John replied drily. He looked at Maggie, who hadn’t taken off her coat or gloves. It was frigid in the compartment. “You must be frozen. Let me get you a cup of something warm.”

He went in search of the woman pushing the tea trolley, leaving Maggie with K and her thoughts. She took out her knitting and had made significant progress on a soldier’s sock by the time he returned with two cups of weak cocoa, two Lund cakes, and The Times. “You’re knitting,” he said, surprised.

“Your ace powers of deduction are just as impressive as ever, Mr. Sterling.” Maggie put down the sock and accepted the cocoa.

“You knit now, Miss Hope?”

“Yes, I knit.” Suddenly she realized it didn’t hurt quite as much to think about Berlin. It still hurt, and probably always would. But not quite as much.

They were silent as scenery slid by: snowy mountains, the occasional dark tunnel, a V of honking geese. There were schoolchildren playing ball, small shaggy ponies, and streams and lacy waterfalls. Maggie watched, stroking K, while John, opposite, read the newspaper.

“Glasgow’s not that far,” said a man talking outside the compartment, to which his companion answered, “Aye, but it’s far enough.”