Legends of the Lost Lilies by Jackie French

Author:Jackie French [French, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2021-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

In the past months you have learned charm, seduction and how to keep an excellent table and cellar. I hope you have also learned friendship, the most powerful and underrated force in the whole world.

Miss Lily, 1914

SOPHIE

It was the strangest journey Sophie had ever had, and in a way the most peaceful, despite physical pain that still edged on agony, and despite desperate worry: from personal concerns — Daniel’s reaction to her damaged breasts — to his entire wellbeing, and that of Rose and Danny, and Nigel — as well as for every country caught up in this war.

For the first time in her life she was entirely helpless. Even when she was not in the trunk she could not walk unaided. Though she could speak German fluently she could never be taken for a native speaker, nor could her wounds be taken for anything but what they were — an SS attempt to extract information, thus marking her as someone who had information that might be extracted, and a botched execution.

She had managed with reduced doses of morphine in the past few days, so she was conscious as the car lurched up the still bumpy road to the Lodge — or perhaps in the hardships of war it had become neglected again.

The car stopped. She heard the driver’s voice and then a woman’s, a stranger’s, the tone welcoming, but also officious. This, then, was one of those who ensured that Hannelore was not able to engage in any activities that might hurt the Reich. Even now, Sophie realised, she was not safe. Those who watched Hannelore would surely be suspicious of her, too. Was Hannelore even expecting her? Surely Dolphie would have mentioned that he had phoned her, or even written to her, but any hint might be seen or overheard.

Hannelore’s voice, laughing. Sophie suddenly found that she was crying, from happiness, not pain. Hannelore safe and happy enough to laugh.

The trunk lurched as hands untied it. Sophie bit her lips to ensure she made no sound. Jolting and then an agonising thud. She heard a door shut.

Silence.

She waited, curled in the trunk. Somehow, she had assumed that as soon as she arrived she would be helped out, tended, treated as a guest. But Dolphie had never promised that. Instead he had shaved her head and talked of her masquerading as a servant from a concentration camp. But she could not work. She could not even walk.

The door opened. Footsteps, the clank perhaps of a stove door, one of the ornate tiled room heaters she had seen in Germany before, perhaps, being set and lit. More footsteps. The door opened and shut once more.

She waited.

This had been the longest time she had ever stayed in the trunk, and the roughest journey. Suddenly, unexpectedly, claustrophobia washed through her. The trunk’s air holes must somehow have been blocked. She could not breathe! The sides were shrinking, slowly squashing her.

She wanted to scream, no matter what the consequences, simply to breathe

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