The Silent Woman: The USA TODAY BESTSELLER - a gripping historical fiction. Terry Thomas Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ the door behind her and walked down the nine steps to the street. Even from a distance Thomas could tell that Mrs Carlisle was a beautiful woman: tall, slender, and with a mass of red hair. She moved like a dancer. Today she wore a green suit with a matching hat, a tiny thing with a sheer veil that covered her eyes. She stopped outside the front door and pretended to fiddle with the clasp of her handbag while she studied her surroundings, as if looking for someone.

      Thomas stepped back behind the tree so he could watch Marlena X. If the German agent followed Mrs Carlisle, he would follow as well. The bench was empty. Marlena X was gone.

      Damn.

      Mrs Carlisle turned right and headed towards the high street, where Thomas knew she would enter the garden square, just as she did every day. Thomas followed, staying far behind so as not to draw attention to himself. He nearly missed Marlena X, who seemed to appear out of nowhere as she followed the redhead, keeping a safe distance between them, taking her time. Thomas tailed them both. Marlena kept the perfect distance from Mrs Carlisle so as not to arouse suspicion. Marlena knew her job.

      Mrs Carlisle stopped at the gate to the entrance of the square. She pushed the veil up and tipped her face to the sun, as though she were making a wish or an offering of some sort. The angle of her face gave Thomas a clear view of her profile. He took in the well-shaped nose, the perfect cheekbones. He couldn’t help but notice the full lips and the woman’s long white throat. He wondered – once again – what she was up to, only to realise too late that he had been so focused on Mrs Carlisle he had once again lost sight of Marlena X. Never mind. She’s here. I can feel her.

      ***

      The sun warmed Cat’s back as she walked, her tension easing with each step that led her away from the house. Benton would be furious if he knew what Cat was up to. He had wealth untold, but he was stingy with Cat’s pocket money. On more than one occasion over the years Cat had approached her husband about getting a job, but he forbade her. ‘A man in my position cannot have a wife who works.’

      At one point, Cat volunteered at the hospital. She spent her day doing mindless things like arranging flowers, sorting books, and delivering magazines to the patients. The work hadn’t been challenging, but it gave her something to do and an excuse to get away from the house.

      She came to a standstill as she stepped through the gates of the wooded garden square that had become her private sanctuary, a place to escape Isobel’s prying eyes and Alicia Montrose’s relentless pursuit to rekindle their friendship. She stood in the sunlight for a moment and tipped her head back, not caring that the sun would cause her skin to freckle. She said a silent prayer, I want to live my own life, be independent. How do I do this? Give me a sign.

      She saw Reginald just as she stepped onto the sunny green in the middle of the garden square. The old man smiled and waved a hand at her. They had first met at this very spot on a spring day in 1932, when Reginald approached Cat out of the blue and said that he had known her father during the war. Over the next five years they bonded while cajoling the squirrels to take the food out of their hands. Reginald regaled Cat with stories of her father – a cryptographer, who worked for MI5 and served valiantly – and Cat’s mother.

      Cat savoured those conversations about her parents, who died tragically in a motorcar accident in 1917 when her father was on leave. Now she considered Reginald a trusted friend, a small thread to a tapestry that didn’t involve her husband and sister-in-law.

      For some reason, today Cat noticed the hand that grasped the walking stick had grown more gnarled, the hump between the shoulder blades more defined. Sir Reginald’s eyes hadn’t changed a bit, cornflower blue with a penetrating gaze that missed nothing. But his body had aged.

      ‘What’s wrong? You’re wound tight as a spring,’ Reginald said.

      ‘I’m a thirty-seven-year-old woman who cannot have children, lives in a loveless marriage, and sees no escape.’

      ‘Catherine –’

      ‘Sorry. I didn’t come here to discuss my problems. How are you? Lovely day.’

      ‘Can you not leave? Surely your aunt and uncle will help?’

      ‘I need to sort this out on my own.’ She didn’t give voice to her true feelings: I am terrified to leave him. What am I, if I’m not his wife? She put on a brave face and turned to face Reginald. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a woman on a blanket, her child in her lap. Near her, two blonde-haired girls chased each other, their dollies sitting on the blanket.

      ‘I’m grateful to you, Reginald. The work has been a great help, but I’d feel better if you told me what I was delivering and why everything is so secretive. Am I in danger?’

      ‘No danger that I know of,’ Reginald said. ‘I’m sorry. You’re going to have to trust me. Just know that you’re helping in ways that you will never understand. Keep your eyes open. If you need to reach me, just follow the instructions, call the number and use the code word.’

      ‘St Edmund’s pippins,’ Cat said.

      ‘Just use it in a sentence. I’ll be there.’

      ‘All this cloak-and-dagger intrigue is affecting my judgement.’

      Reginald rifled through the briefcase that rested on the bench between them. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Cat. ‘This needs to be delivered today. Hamer, Codrington, and Blythe again – same address as last week. The secretary will let you in and excuse himself, claiming an important meeting. You’re to go to the same office and insert the envelope on the top shelf, just like last time. There’s nothing to pick up today.’

      ‘Will they let me in the door today?’ Desperate for income of her own, Cat had accepted Reginald’s offer of easy employment – delivering packages and on occasion accepting something to return to him – without question. The work was easy, the money a boon. The Carlisle name allowed Cat access to the finest dressmakers, spas, hairdressers – any luxury she could imagine – but other than a small allowance she received from her parents’ estate, Cat had no money of her own. She hated being dependent on Benton, especially since he was so stingy. Her work with Reginald remedied that. The money – which she saved in an envelope hidden in her room – provided the promise of freedom.

      The courier work had been easy enough, and Cat hadn’t experienced any difficulties, until last week. Her instructions had been to deliver a similar innocuous-looking envelope to the firm of Hamer, Codrington, and Blythe. By prearrangement, Cat would be let in the building and left on her own. She was to walk down a hallway to an empty office and deposit the envelope on the top shelf of an out-of-the-way bookcase.

      Instead of being given entrance to the building, a new secretary – a supercilious young man who needed to be slapped – had ushered her out into the street and had asked her question after question, interrogating Cat and growing more and more suspicious when she refused to answer his questions. He wouldn’t even let her into the office. Luckily, after fifteen harrowing minutes, Mr Codrington’s secretary had intervened on her behalf and brought her into the building. As planned, he excused himself, leaving Cat to carry out her assignment.

      ‘They’re expecting you. There won’t be any trouble this time.’ He pulled out another envelope, this one smaller and full of notes. ‘This is for you. You did well last time. Codrington’s secretary told us that you handled the situation like a professional. There’s extra in there for your efforts.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Cat said. She tucked the money in her handbag.

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