The Spy’s Wife by Fiona McIntosh

Author:Fiona McIntosh [McIntosh, Fiona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781760895013
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia
Published: 2021-11-01T16:00:00+00:00

‘It’s a favourite spot for him . . . but for me too, and I thought you’d like it,’ Jean said, leaning in as if she were saying something that only women could share. ‘Don’t be scared. Hiding in plain sight is the only way.’ She sat back and gave another sigh. ‘You’ll find Munich is a wonderful city, especially in the summer. Now, tell me all about you and . . . Max, is it? Congratulations again, by the way.’

Evie played along, making nonsense conversation for a few minutes, and Jean kept up her side of the charade. When they’d been chatting for a while and everyone had forgotten the newcomer, Jean suddenly pulled her chair around, putting her back to Hitler and his friends. ‘I want to show you some photographs,’ she said, pulling out an album. ‘I hope you’ve brought me some from the wedding.’

Heads together, Jean began pointing at random photos in the small book she’d opened. ‘Here’s Wolfgang all grown,’ she said, before dropping her voice. ‘It must be urgent,’ Jean said, ‘for you to use the scarf.’

Evie shrugged and knew to keep smiling. ‘Gosh, he has grown.’ She dropped her voice. ‘I attended an event yesterday. It was a cocktail evening. Lots of men in uniform, so very much the high-ranking Nazis, including Julius Streicher.’

The slightest lift of Jean’s eyebrow clued Evie that she’d made the right decision by signalling for contact. ‘Oh, do tell, you mischief-maker!’ she chuckled, as though Evie had just opened up a new line of gossip.

Jean’s pot of tea arrived.

‘Firstly, he wishes to have me interviewed.’

Jean didn’t overreact.

‘Max says it’s protocol.’

Jean nodded, checking no waiter was close enough to overhear. She spoke fast. ‘Possibly so. But don’t drop your guard or get cornered. Hold the line of whatever backstory London has crafted. Don’t deviate from it or embellish it. It’s why it’s there – as full protection. And here’s Franz . . . still so handsome, no?’

Evie nodded and smiled.

‘And by the way, if something goes wrong, we met in Paris at the Sainte-Chapelle, admiring the stained-glass windows. We shared a drink at a nearby cafe. I had absinthe. You had a coffee with milk.’

‘Max?’

‘He had absinthe too. And I said to call me when you arrive in Munich and we’d meet. Now, what else?’

Evie pointed to a photograph and chuckled for the benefit of onlookers while she muttered, ‘I observed him saying to Max that he’d failed them. That they needed the information’—she dropped her voice and leaned right in to whisper, as though saying something particularly poisonous—‘if they are to invade Britain.’

Jean sat back and laughed lightly. She picked up her cup and took two sips. Evie could tell from her companion’s gaze that she was trying to digest the shocking information, as though considering how to respond and not just what to say next but how to proceed. She took some time pouring her tea, adding lemon.

She sipped. When Jean finally replied over the rim of her cup, her tone was admirably light.

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