Mark Mills - The Information Officer

This they did, their wild cries of release rending the air as the last of the bombers headed for home, chased back to Sicily by a few hopeful shell bursts.

They lay damp and spent in each other’s arms for a long while, lacquered together in the eerie silence, the acrid smell of cordite leaking into the room through the shutters.

“That was … well, like nothing else I’ve ever known,” said Max.

“Did the earth move for you too?”

They laughed weakly and kissed and held each other tighter.

“I told you they couldn’t touch us.”

“They came pretty damned close.”

An enormous explosion had shaken the building to its foundations during the height of the raid —Brr-ummmph! —probably a parachute mine, picked off by one of the Bofors crews before it could land.

Outside, the “Raiders Passed” siren sounded its single note.

“They’ll be back,” said Max.

They all knew the pattern by now. Kesselring would keep the planes coming, varying his targets throughout the night. It was unlikely that Valetta would suffer another assault, but you couldn’t bank on it.

“Maybe you should go now,” said Mitzi.

“Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I want to know why you summoned me here.”

“You know the reason. I know you know, because Lionel told me this afternoon. Apparently he bumped into you at the submarine base the other day.”

“That’s right.”

“And was a jolly time had by all?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How long have you known? Three days? Four? A week? Longer?”

“Hugh told me at the party.”

“And you didn’t think to share it with me?”

“He only mentioned it later, after you and I had talked.”

Mitzi lay silent for a moment. “I’m sorry. It just seems like I’m the last person to hear that I’m leaving the island.”

“You should be glad. Things aren’t going to get any better here for a long while.”

“Alexandria sounds ghastly.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

He had rather enjoyed his time in Alexandria, although his appreciation of the place might well have had something to do with the fact that he’d arrived there directly from Atbara, a desolate, flyblown corner of the Sudan, where he’d spent a miserable couple of months on an intelligence course.

“The bar at the Windsor Palace is worth a visit,” said Max. “Their cocktails are second to none.”

“My God, a bright future beckons with Baedeker’s.”

“I’m just saying there are worse places to be. At least you won’t be pounded to pieces on a daily basis.”

“Lionel’s convinced Alexandria will fall.”

“Then he should have a word with Elliott.”

“Elliott? What does Elliott know about anything?”

“Considerably more than he likes to let on.”

She kissed him tenderly on the lips. “You’re so sweet and trusting.”

A part of him bristled at her condescending tone, and normally he would have reacted. He didn’t because he wanted to steer the conversation back to the question of her imminent departure, and for reasons that showed him to be neither sweet nor trusting.

“Did Lionel say exactly when he’s leaving?”

“Monday. They’re still making repairs to the Upstanding . She’ll be the last sub to leave.”

Four days was nothing. He was going to have to move fast, push things along.

“He said you’ll be staying on for a bit, maybe moving in with the Reynolds in Saint Julian’s.”

“Not anymore. The sea transport officer has booked me on a seaplane from Kalafrana the next day.”

“So what’s this, then? Goodbye?”

“I suppose. And I couldn’t leave without telling you.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“Oh, it’s more than that.”

She lapsed into an unnerving silence.

“Mitzi …?”

She took his hand and placed it gently on her belly. The negligee had long since been discarded, and his palm was rough against the soft skin around her navel.

He was about to speak when it dawned on him.

“I’m thinking something.” He twisted onto his side to face her. “Am I wrong?”

“No. It’s yours.”

“Are you sure?”

“It can’t be his.”

“He was away on patrol?”

“Even if he’d been here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple.”

They had tried and tried to have a child, Mitzi explained, but it hadn’t worked. Leaping to the assumption that she must be to blame for their fruitless efforts, Lionel had dispatched her to a doctor in London just before the war, unaware that she’d already visited two Harley Street specialists, both of whom had given her a clean bill of health. The third was of exactly the same opinion: that everything was in fine working order, and that the fault most likely lay with her husband. She still wasn’t sure why she had lied to Lionel, presumably to protect his over-heightened sense of masculinity, but that’s what she had done, casting herself as the barren wife to spare him the shame.

Conveniently, the war had come along soon after, allowing them to ignore the issue. Neither of them wished to bring a child into a turbulent world. But that, it seemed, was exactly what was about to happen.

“It’s early days still, but it’s the real thing. I know it is.”

Max struggled to find the words. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to have a child, Max.”

“My child? Or any child?”

“It’s probably my only chance.”

“Not if you take another lover.”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t set out to get pregnant by you.”

“An unfortunate slip, then?”

“Rationing.”

“Rationing?” he scoffed.

“Malnutrition. It messes with our menstrual cycles. If you don’t believe me, ask Lilian.”

He had never heard Mitzi mention Lilian’s name before. In fact, he’d had no idea she was even aware of Lilian’s existence.

“From what I hear, you know her well enough to ask,” Mitzi added archly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means please don’t play the saint with me. For all I know, you were seeing her at the same time as me.”

“Well, I wasn’t. And I’m not ‘seeing her.’”

“Call it what you will, I don’t blame you, not after the way I treated you. I hurt you, I know that, but I was confused.”

“And now?” he asked.

“Now? Now I’m wishing I hadn’t told you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you didn’t need to know.”

He lay beside her in silence, absorbing the meaning of her words.

“I’m not ready to throw my family, my friends, and my reputation to the wind.”

“You might find you have no choice.”

“That depends on you.”

“Mitzi, it’s going to look like me.”

“Not if it’s lucky.”

“I’m being serious. I’m dark. Lionel’s fair, and so are you. Two blonds can only produce a blond child—remember your biology lessons?”

“Yes, I remember my biology lessons.”

“So what happens when it pops out with a mop of black hair?”

“Your father’s fair-haired.”

“My father?”

“You showed me a photo of him once. If he’s fair-haired, then the child can be too.”

It was a moment before he responded. “My God, you’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Of course I’ve thought it through. It’s not the sort of thing to be taken lightly.”

She was getting angry now, and so was he.

“What happened to dying with me inside you?” he asked.

“You know how I talk when I’m aroused.”

“Don’t I have any say in this whatsoever?”

“You do now, but only because I told you when I didn’t have to. And if you have any respect for me, you’ll go along with my wishes. When you’ve thought on it, you may find they’re your wishes too.”