Page 78 of The Paris Agent
“You don’t have to be a doctor or even a woman to understand how taxing pregnancy can be on a woman’s body. Does that look like a body capable of the demands of pregnancy and childbirth?” Drusilla says, pointing toward the photo.
“But... I believe she was hospitalized in early 1942,” Theo says urgently. “Perhaps she had a child and you didn’t know—”
“That photo wastakenin early 1942,” Drusilla interrupts him. “Yes, she was hospitalized—she had surgery to remove a significant ovarian cyst and her body just would not heal. That’s it. She wasn’t physically strong enough at that point to bear a child. Whyareyou asking me this?” Her gaze narrows. “And how did you come to hear about my daughter, anyway?”
“Part of Theo’s work is looking for the children of the SOE agents who served,” I say, surprised at how easily the lies are rolling off my tongue. Drusilla nods and closes the album, giving us a thoughtful look.
“It must have been very difficult for those women to leave their children behind to go to war,” she murmurs. “Just as it was very difficult for those of us left behind to learn our children were gone too. I only wish Jocelyn’s sacrifice meant something. To know that she is gone, all for nothing, haunts me to this day.”
I understand senseless loss better than I might have, once upon a time. We thank Drusilla for her time and walk slowly back to the car.
“Not her, then,” Theo says lightly.
“No, it doesn’t seem so,” I say. “Are you okay?”
He assures me he’s disappointed but otherwise fine, but when I offer to come in to his flat for a while to keep him company, he tells me he needs some time alone to think.
“This is a nice surprise,” Dad says. I can’t remember a thing about the drive back to Liverpool but I find myself in his office at the main branch of his workshops. I’m sitting opposite his desk, my foot tapping impatiently against the floor. Dad peers at me, frowning. “Unless this isn’t a social visit.”
“When I asked you about Josie Miller a few weeks ago,” I blurt, “you said she was one of the best women you ever knew.”
“She was.”
“I hate to ask you about her again, but I have to know.” I suck in a breath. “Dad. Was she competent?”
“What a strange question,” Dad says, startled. “Why are you still thinking about this?”
“Theo and I found Josie Miller’s mother,” I say, and then it all trickles out—how easy it was once we knew Josie’s real name, how Drusilla lives so very close to Theo’s flat and how it felt like the universe was smiling upon us because before we knew it we were in a room with her. I tell my father just about everything except for Theo’s real motivation for trying to find Josie’s family. That still does not seem like my story to tell.
The words tumble out of me in a rush, and when I finally trail off, my father pinches the bridge of his nose as if he is developing a headache. He sits back in his chair, and then he slides down it, until he is resting the back of his head in the middle of the backrest. For a long moment he sits in silence, staring up at the ceiling of his office.
I am an adult, fully grown and independent, but I feel like a child waiting for a scolding after confessing a schoolyard sin. When my father finally speaks, his voice is so faint I have to strain to hear it.
“I remember barreling into my parents’ house without knocking when I was about your age. I caught my parents kissing rather passionately in the lounge. They were fully clothed and it was all appropriate, but I remember feeling so confused at the affection they had for one another, and the fact that even after all of those years of marriage they still seemed to want to express it like teenagers. To me, they were just my mother and father, and I knew them only through that lens. I sometimes forgot that they were also human.”
“I know you’re human, Dad,” I protest. He sits up, and rubs his eyes.
“It was such a shock to me when my parents died, Lottie. You have a taste of this now that your mother is gone. While your parents are alive a part of you remains a child. But once they are gone...”
“Everything feels different,” I finish for him, throat suddenly tight. “Like your safety net has disappeared.”
Dad nods sadly. Since my mother died I feel I have been thrust into adulthood in a whole new way, and I am unprepared and floundering. Perhaps the bitterness I have struggled with for these months is rooted in a childish sense of injustice—I needed more time with her. Ideservedmore time with her.
“I’ve been in love three times in my life,” Dad says suddenly. His gaze meets mine. “I loved your mother first. But you remember I told you I walked the escape line with a friend? Well, that was Josie—”
“So you and Josie Miller did have an affair while you were dating Mum?” I gasp.
“No. God no,” Dad says hastily. “At first, we just shared a special friendship, forged through an incredibly difficult moment in our lives.”
“Good.” I exhale.
Dad pauses, then says reluctantly, “I don’t think your mother ever really believed that though. It didn’t matter how many times I assured her otherwise—she wanted me to cut off contact with Josie from the minute I came back to the UK the first time. I loved your mum, but I needed my friends more than ever at that point in my life, and I just couldn’t push Josie away.”
“You broke up with Mum when you joined the SOE, didn’t you?”
“I did. She was furious with me, but I figured by the time I came back from France, I’d run into her at a pub or the post office and she’d be holding hands with some other bloke and it would break my heart, but I’d be happy knowing she was happy. I knew I had to join the SOE, but I couldn’t put her through another period of waiting, so I let her go.”
“Andthenyou fell in love with Josie,” I whisper. He nods.
