Page 11 of Never Tear Us Apart
Chapter Ten
‘So, you see the problem we have, Miss Borg?’ General Gort tells me as he leans back in his chair, stroking his impressive moustaches, a pipe smouldering in one hand.
‘Can’t possibly afford to let any intel get back to Axis HQ in Sicily, so we must take every possible threat seriously, no matter how .
. .’ He gives me a lingering look. ‘. . . unlikely.’
Before reaching the general’s smoke-filled office, Christina led me through a series of elegant and regal rooms bustling with activity. Quiet and intense men and women were labouring over matters of life and death with all the laser-focused concentration those kinds of stakes demand.
Now, as the general waits for my defence, I catch Christina’s eye and read the note of caution. Christina seems to be the expert on navigating this world; I’d be a fool not to heed her.
‘I’m not a spy,’ I say. ‘I got lost and, as you can see, suffered a head injury, and now everything is a little fuzzy. I’m not sure what happened to my papers . . .’
‘ Well, that’s not good enough, is it? ’ The general slaps his hand on the desk. ‘I’ve got a lot more important things to deal with now than a little lost English girl who can’t keep hold of the most basic items. I should probably just send you off to the prison and have done with it.’
Perhaps he wants me to cry. I’m not going to cry; I’ve dealt with so much worse.
‘What I did at the shelter was foolish; I could have got two other people killed . . .’
‘Not just any person,’ the general tells me. ‘Flight Lieutenant Daniel Beauchamp is our best pilot. He’s taken down nigh on twenty enemy aircraft here and saved dozens of lives by doing so. Damn fine man, for a Canadian.’
‘Oh, Canadian – I see,’ I say.
The general scowls at me.
‘It’s just that I thought he was American.’
‘Men from all over the world have come to Malta to fight, madam,’ he tells me.
‘Americans, Canadians, Free French, South Africans, Polish, and of course our own chaps are the best of the lot. There’s nowhere in the world where pilots risk their lives hourly like they do on Malta, and . . .’ He checks himself.
‘I realise that, and I just want to say that I really am truly sorry. I lost my mind for a moment, but I’m better now, thanks to Miss Ratcliffe and the doctor. I swear to you that I am not a spy.’
‘And is there any reason why you appear to be dressed like a navvy?’
This man really is quite something.
‘Clothes shortage, I expect,’ Christina jumps in helpfully, looking up and down at my cut-off jeans and T-shirt.
‘Some days, I wonder if I shan’t have to start wearing brown paper bags – my frocks are all but worn to threads as it is.
I admire Miss Borg, not bowing to the impulse to keep up appearances during wartime. Good for her, I say.’
I feel a rush of warmth for her.
‘There’s the other thing,’ Gort mutters.
‘The other thing, General?’ Christina asks him.
He gestures at me.
‘Ah, I see.’ Christina gives me an apologetic look. ‘You do look very well,’ she says. ‘Very well indeed, considering that food is so scarce.’
It’s just sinking in that by ‘well’ she means ‘fat’, when someone new arrives.
‘It runs in the family, you see.’
I turn around to see an older, rather short gentleman in a threadbare three-piece suit and round, wire-rimmed glasses. He is almost entirely bald except for a ring of neatly trimmed silver hair.
‘Hello, my dear.’ He addresses me directly. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you.’
Sensing I should not allow my shock to show on my face, I smile weakly.
‘Oh, my Professor Borg is your Professor Borg. Well, how lovely.’ Then Christina catches herself as she remembers that my Professor Borg was a woman. But instead of mentioning that, she simply smiles, repeating, ‘Lovely.’
‘Of course – I am her cousin. You sent for me yourself, Miss Christina. Professor Borg at the university was summoned. Here I am.’
‘I didn’t put two and two together – silly me.’ Christina looks from me to the gentleman, clearly wondering what is going on. She’s not the only one.
‘Well, there are many Borgs on Malta, my dear. And, General, if I may,’ this other Professor Borg goes on, ‘you will see that I am still rather rotund, despite not having seen pasta in months. My mama always used to say to me, “Salvatore, you are as wide as you are tall.” A family trait, I suppose.’ He chuckles, patting his belly.
‘Well, there we are, then,’ Gort says, standing up abruptly. ‘Miss Ratcliffe, this woman is clearly this man’s cousin. We will need to see her papers, of course, Professor Borg, at the earliest convenience. Where do you live, sir?’
‘I used to live in Senglea, but now . . .’
‘Yes, now?’ Gort barks impatiently.
‘Well, I have a makeshift place in Valletta, General. The young lady is my responsibility. If her father were still alive, he would be cursing me for failing his daughter, and let me promise you, you never wanted to be on the wrong side of that formidable relation of mine.’ He shudders theatrically.
‘Why, I remember one occasion when . . .’
‘Right, well, that’s that matter closed,’ the general says, already halfway out of the office. ‘Take better care of the girl, Professor. She is clearly rather delicate of mind. Don’t let her wander off and get hysterical again.’
‘You have my word.’ Professor Borg bows slightly at the waist.
Christina ushers us out of the office, and we follow her in an awkward silence outside.
‘So, you are Cousin Kathryn, Sal?’ she asks the old gentleman, crossing her arms as she frowns at him.
‘Ah yes, Cathrinus, my formal name,’ he says without missing a beat. ‘Though I go by Salvatore. Sal more often, as you know, my dear.’
‘And what do you call her?’ Christina asks.
My eyes widen. There’s no way he can know my name.
‘Maia,’ he replies at once. ‘She was named for one of the stars in the Seven Sisters, you know.’
How did he know that?
‘I see . . .’ Christina seems unconvinced as she turns to me.
‘I like you, Maia, and I don’t think for one moment you are a spy.
But I also know something fishy when I smell it.
It would be better for you both to come clean so that I can stop worrying about you.
But in the meantime, I’ll be keeping an eye on you and your charming Cousin Kathryn .
’ She says the last two words in a mocking tone, making it clear she doesn’t believe us, but also isn’t going to argue.
She pauses before adding, ‘Count on it, won’t you? ’
‘Miss Christina,’ the professor implores her, ‘I swear to you that I am here to take care of Maia, and you have my word of honour that we pose no threat to Malta.’
‘I choose to give you the benefit of the doubt,’ she says. ‘For now.’
‘Christina.’ I take her hand impulsively. ‘Thank you. For everything.’
‘Don’t make me regret it,’ Christina says.
‘For some reason, I feel like you and I have already met, even though I know we haven’t!
And while you’re thanking people, you should probably find Danny Beauchamp and thank him for saving your life.
Don’t leave it too long. Danny’s an ace, all right, but we lose so many of our boys fast round here.
You never know when it might be too late.
’ She says this matter-of-factly, as though it is a completely normal thing to say, then looks down at an elegant gold wrist-watch.
‘It will soon be time for the one o’clock raid, and I’m due at work.
Make sure you stay in the shelter this time, Maia. ’
‘I will,’ I say, desperately trying to get my head around what is going on. I look up at the sky, so serene and clear. It seems impossible that so much violence and death can be concealed in the blue.
Professor Borg nods and bows, and then he turns to me. ‘Shall we?’ He gestures for me to follow him.
I fall into step beside him. After all, I have no idea what else to do.