Free Cold Harbour by Jack Higgins

woman. Dead, I’m afraid.” Craig managed to find a cigarette. He lit it and gave Genevieve a tired grin. “There’s nothing like a really great war, that’s what I always say, Miss Trevaunce. What do you always say?”
    She held the baby close. “The uniform,” she said. “It’s not so bad. It should clean up very well.”
    “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a great comfort?” he enquired.
    LATER, DRIVING ON, she felt tired again. The bombing was well into the distance now, but even this area had seen action, glass crunching under the tyres. She saw a streetsign—Haston Place—and Craig stopped outside number ten, a pleasant Georgian terrace house.
    “Where are we?” she asked.
    “About ten minutes’ walk from SOE Headquarters in Baker Street. My boss has the top floor flat here. He thought it would be more private.”
    “And who might this boss be?”
    “Brigadier Dougal Munro.”
    “Now that doesn’t sound very American,” she observed.
    He opened the door for her. “We’ll take anything that comes to hand Miss Trevaunce. Now, if you’d follow me please.”
    He led the way up the steps and pressed one of the buzzers at the front door.

chapter five

    Jack Carter was waiting on the landing as they went up the stairs, leaning on his stick. He held out his hand. “Miss Trevaunce. A great pleasure. My name’s Carter. Brigadier Munro is expecting you.”
    The door stood open. As she went in Carter said to Craig, “Everything all right?”
    “I’m not sure,” Craig told him. “I wouldn’t expect too much at this stage.”
    The sitting room was very pleasant. A coal fire burning in a Georgian grate, a great many antiques on display, all of them an indication of Munro’s original career as an Egyptologist. The room was shadowed, the main light coming from a table lamp of brass on the desk by the window. Munro sat behind it reading some papers. Now he stood up and came round the desk.
    “Miss Trevaunce.” He nodded. “Quite remarkable. Iwouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it with my own eyes. My name is Munro—Dougal Munro.”
    “Brigadier.” She nodded in acknowledgement.
    He turned to Craig, “Good God, you are in a state. What on earth have you been up to?”
    “A little tricky getting through town tonight with the bombing,” Craig told him.
    Genevieve said, “He saved the lives of two children trapped in a cellar. Crawled in and got them out himself.”
    “Dear me,” Munro observed. “I wish you wouldn’t indulge in heroics, Craig. You really are too valuable to lose at this stage and it can hardly have done that damned arm any good. Please sit down, Miss Trevaunce, or may I call you Genevieve? Your sister was always Anne-Marie to me.”
    “If you like.”
    “A drink, perhaps. We’ve limited supplies, but Scotch would be a possibility.”
    “No thanks. It’s been a long day. Do you think we could get down to business?”
    “A little difficult to know where to begin.” He sat behind the desk and Genevieve stood up.
    “Some other time perhaps, when you’ve made up your mind.”
    “Genevieve—please.” He raised a hand. “At least listen to me.”
    “The trouble with listening is that one so often ends up by being persuaded.” But she did sit down again. “All right. Get on with it.”
    Jack Carter and Craig sat by the fire opposite each other. Munro said, “I imagine Major Osbourne has explained the situation regarding your sister?”
    “Yes.”
    He opened a silver box and held it across the desk. “Cigarette?”
    “No thanks. I don’t smoke.”
    “Your sister did—incessantly and this brand. Gitanes. Try one.”
    There was a persistence to him now that she didn’t like. She said impatiently, “No—why should I?”
    “Because we’d like you to take her place,” he said simply.
    He held the cigarette box open and she stared at him, stomach suddenly empty as everything fell into place. “You’re mad,” she said. “Quite mad. You must