It was sunny when I woke, the spring breeze wafting gently into the bedroom. I sighed and snuggled down under the blankets again. It was the weekend—no work—and I had two whole days free to myself. I indulged in sweet memories of Michael holding me close, loving me, possessing me, and the moment’s dreaming was delicious.
After breakfast I went out to the barn and drove out the old jeep I’d found there with a screech of the brakes. The chickens scattered like so many fussy hens, which of course they were.
With the help of one of Herr Euler’s men I’d worked on the jeep and made it presentable. The engine was good and once the mud and mulch were wiped away and all the relevant parts oiled and cosseted the thing was quite presentable.
Herr Euler approved and even presented me with some petrol. He was glad I had something to do in my spare time.
I took my jeep for a run into the country. I had the radio tucked away in a battered old picnic basket hidden under plates and cloths but if ever I was stopped, it would easily be discovered and then I’d be for it.
But at least now I was free to drive miles from the farmhouse and I didn’t feel so vulnerable when I needed to make contact with home. I stopped near a small duck pond and left the jeep. The grass was lush and warm and I sat down and ate my sandwiches of fresh bread and jam. I could have murdered a cup of tea but I had to make do with a bottle of home-made dandelion and burdock pop.
I lay back and closed my eyes and felt the warm May sun on my face. I must have dozed because someone was nudging me and I sat up anxiously. The figure was outlined against the sun; all I could see was a hat and a stick and the bent shoulders of an old man.
‘What is it?’ I demanded in German. He sat down beside me with difficulty and held out his hand towards the bottle of pop.
‘We have to talk.’ He spoke in French and I had a job understanding him. Also I was deeply suspicious and afraid.
‘Speak German?’ I said in my stuttering French. He shook his head.
‘A little only.’
‘Frau Euler, I have been watching you,’ he said. ‘You go out, you stop, you fiddle, you tap, tap, you go home. You spy I think.’
I froze.
‘Your husband’s mother was English.’
‘No!’ This man was dangerous. He was old and rambling, he looked as though he hadn’t washed all winter.
‘Go away,’ I said harshly in strong German, ‘you are mad.’ I made a sign with my finger to my head and he laughed and then I noticed his teeth. They were straight and clean; this was no old tramp. I leaned forward and tugged his beard. It didn’t move but grey grease came away on to my fingers. It smelt like goose grease.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded in German.
He was serious then, his face grave. ‘Tell me, Frau Euler, why do you spy when you are a German lady? Is it because you come from somewhere else: Ireland, Britain—Wales, perhaps?’
I shook my head. I didn’t speak; I had no idea what to say. He obviously had worked for some time finding out about me.
‘I watched you from the time you were shipwrecked and my little boat followed the submarine and saw you landed at Saint Nazaire. One day you had a big round belly and then you were a slim, young, married woman. Who wouldn’t be suspicious?’
‘What has any of it got to do with you?’ I still spoke German, cautious, wanting only to run away back to the farmhouse.
He delved into his pocket and brought out some papers. ‘I could be tortured and shot if I was found with these.’ He handed them to me.
The papers told me he was English, a high-up in the SOE—Special Operatives Executive; an agent. I handed them back.
‘Papers can be forged,’ I said.
‘You should know.’ He spoke in excellent English then. ‘You are not Frau Euler but Miss Meryl Jones, isn’t that so?’ At least in this he was wrong, I was married—to Michael—and this at least gave me a great deal of courage.
‘You are not so knowledgeable as you think you are.’ My tone was scathing.
‘We’ve been watching you closely,’ he said. ‘You have experience of codes and you have worked at the great Bletchley Park. We were going to train you up to join us but you pre-empted us and arrived in Germany in your own eccentric way and you have made an excellent cover for yourself if I may say so.’
‘I am Frau Euler and I have never worked at Bletchley Park, you are confusing me with someone else.’ I nearly said ‘my sister’ but that would have given me away at once. I still refused to speak English.
‘I would advise you to be more careful with the radio equipment—that’s the only concern I have—it could blow your cover. Once you were almost caught. Rhiannon died getting the radio here, or have you forgotten?’
I stayed silent. This man knew a great deal after all; if he wasn’t what he said he was, I was finished.
‘We need that radio,’ he said. ‘Where is it?’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ I got up. ‘Now I’m going and if you try to stop me I will scream and tear my clothes and you will surely be discovered and branded a molester, or worse. Now go away and leave me alone.’
‘Meryl,’ he said, ‘please listen to reason.’
‘Frau Euler, if you please.’ My tone was icy. ‘Why should I believe anything you say to me?’
‘I will be here next weekend, say you’ll come.’
‘Don’t count on it.’
‘Then I will have to come to the farmhouse,’ he said.
‘That sounds like a threat.’
‘Not a threat, a promise. I must have that radio. Big moves are being planned.’
‘What moves?’
He shrugged. ‘See you same place, same time.’ He limped away, the image of an old man again.
‘Wait,’ I called. He turned back.
I caught up with him. ‘Your teeth,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Your teeth are the only thing I have a concern about—’ I aped his words to me—‘they could blow your cover.’ I spun away and hurried back to the battered jeep.
I didn’t sleep well that night. I thought every word of the conversation over and over and by morning was convinced the ‘tramp’ was a genuine English spy. It was, as I told him, his teeth: they were the thing that could give him away. The English, and the Welsh come to that, always brushed their teeth.