Page 26 of The Paris Agent
He retires to his room right after dinner, taking Wrigley with him. There is no light coming from under the door when the phone rings just after eight. It’s my brother Archie, just as I suspected it would be. He’s working for the World Bank in London, having been headhunted to some brilliant economics gig right after graduation. He often calls from the office when he’s working late. Miser that he is, Archie doesn’t like to pay for expensive long-distance calls on his own pence.
“How’s Dad doing?” Archie asks me.
“Sometimes lately he’s seemed a bit better but...” I break off, then ask, “Arch, did you know Dad was in the SOE during the war?”
“Huh? No, he was a mechanic.”
“He was a flight engineer for the RAF and eventually joined the SOE.”
Archie bursts out laughing.
“Lottie,” he says, chuckling. “I don’t know where you’re getting this from, but there’s no way that’s true.”
“It is, Arch,” I protest. “Dad told me himself.”
“You’re trying to tell me Dad was a spy.Ourdad.”
“I know it seems unlikely. But yes, he says he went on secret missions to France.”
“Bloody hell,” my brother says. “Then why is this the first we’re hearing of it?”
“He said Mum didn’t like him to look back on those days.”
“It’ll be an ex-girlfriend,” Archie says immediately.
“Archie.”
“Seriously, Lottie. Mum was always so jealous. Was this before they were married?”
“Yes but I think they were already dating then.”
We both ponder this in silence for a moment, then Archie says, “He cheated on her.”
“He wouldn’t!”
“Maybe he had an affair while he was off in France doing whatever secret things spies did in those days. No wonder Mum spent the rest of their marriage blowing her top if Dad even glanced at another woman.”
“Don’t say that,” I hiss. “Dad is loyal to a fault. I bet Mum didn’t want him thinking about the war because it was hard on the both of them. Dad said he was stuck in France for a year and she had no idea what had become of him for the whole time. That can’t have been easy.”
“Maybe,” Archie says, but he sounds unconvinced. We were born only eleven months apart, which means we’ve been squabbling and fighting for pretty much our entire lives, so I recognize that burning emotion in my chest as defensiveness. If I don’t change the subject now, we’ll end up shouting at one another.
“How’s Carys and Poppy, anyway?” I abruptly change the subject. Mum was livid when Archie came home during his first year at university with a pregnant girlfriend in tow. He was the golden child of the family until that day, the academic whiz who had scholarship offers to CambridgeandImperial College. For a while, we all thought he’d have to drop out of his economics degree to support his surprise family, but Archie found a way to have his cake and eat it too. For two years, he worked nights to put a roof over their heads while he finished his degree during the day, and it’s all paid off for him with this fancy new World Bank job.
“The terrible twos are no joke, Lottie,” Archie says, but then he spends a few minutes regaling me with stories of his daughter’s stubbornness and wit, and I feel myself relaxing again, the moment of tension gradually fading away. “I better go,” he says, after a while. “I have to get home before Carys goes to bed or there’ll be hell to pay. Tell Dad I said hi. I’ll try to catch him next weekend.”
“Okay, Archie. I love you.”
We were not a family who said those words all that often, but since Mum died, I throw it in at the end of just about every conversation. Archie barely misses a beat before he replies, “You too, Lottie.”
I hang up the phone, only for it to ring again before my hand is even off the receiver,
“Hello?” I say, startled.
“Charlotte.” Theo’s bright tone immediately tells me that he has some good news. “I don’t suppose you and your father feel like taking a drive tomorrow morning? Remy has agreed to a meeting.”
C?H?A?P?T?E?R9
JOSIE
