Chapter 71

Since when can you drive? ” Osla asked Mab as they motored out of York.

“My husband taught me. ” Mab took a sharp bend with confident speed. “He’s Australian; grew up eight hundred miles from anything important and four hundred miles from anything at all, so he learned to drive in the cradle. ”

Osla slanted a glance at her. “What did you tell him about this day trip? ”

“Visit to an old friend. The best lies have the most truth. ”

“That’s certainly true. ”

They exchanged guarded glances as the Bentley halted at a four-way stop. Maybe we can get through this day without flashing any more claws, Osla thought.

“You didn’t used to wear trousers, ” Mab said with a glance at Osla’s sleek red slacks. “They made you look squat. This prolonged rationing is such a blessing for some people. . . ”

“You’re not in Casablanca, ” Osla shot back, “so stop wearing your hat over one eye like a third-rate Ingrid Bergman. ”

Mab glared. As they climbed up into the high moors, Osla outlined the route to Clockwell. “About a two-hour drive. ”

“And when we get there? ” Mab steered the Bentley round a bend. “How are we getting in? ”

Osla outlined her plan. “The matron on telephone duty shouldn’t have told me so much, but I detoured her onto a nice long gossip about the royal wedding, and there’s really nothing most women won’t tell you right now in exchange for royal wedding gossip. I let it slip that the bridal bouquet would be myrtle and lilies, and I tell you, that woman was mine. ”

“Is the bridal bouquet going to be myrtle and lilies? ”

“How the blithering hell should I know? I made it up. As for getting admitted to visiting hours without identification—” Osla ticked through the last details. “If they double down on us, we start up the waterworks. We’re so distressed to be coming here, doctor, please, we’ve come all this way. ” Osla dabbed an imaginary handkerchief. “It’s amazing what men, even doctors, will do to get weeping women off their hands. ”

“You can cry on command? ”

“Of course. Frightfully useful. ”

A pall fell over the car, maybe just a cloud sliding across the sun. “What do you think will happen? ” Osla heard herself ask.

Mab stared straight ahead. “We’ll realize Beth’s mad as a hatter and be off the hook. ”

“That’s what you hope will happen. Rather beastly of you, too, ” Osla couldn’t help adding.

“I’m a beastly person, Os. That’s been made abundantly clear lately. By you, by my—” She stopped, jaw set.

“In some ways, I’m glad you’re beastly. ” Osla curled her feet beneath her. “If Beth’s not mad and not lying, we’re going to have to put things right. I’d much rather have a cast-iron bitch on my side for that fight than a fainting ninny. ”

“Get your shoes off the seat! ”

Osla ignored her. “Who do you think the traitor is? ”

“Maybe it’s you, ” Mab suggested.

“Do shut up. The traitor—”

“Look here, do we have to go on saying the traitor? I feel like I’m in an Agatha Christie novel, and not in a good way. ”

“I’m floored at all points here trying to imagine a good way to be in an Agatha Christie novel. ”

“You’re the corpse in chapter one, ” Mab suggested, smirking.

The car was winding further into the fells. “You’re very nearly enjoying this, ” Osla observed. “That must have been quite the up-and-downer with your husband, if you’re on the verge of enjoying a drive to a lunatic asylum with me, darling. ”

That got her a withering look.

“Just the glare, no quip? You’re losing your touch, Queen Mab. ” Maybe Osla could enjoy this moment too, just a bit. “If I call the traitor the informer instead, will you keep glaring? ”

“I will allow informer. ”

“Topping of you. What if the informer is. . . someone we know? ”

“If Beth knew them, ” Mab replied grimly, “we probably do, too. Odds are it’s a woman. ”

“How do you figure that? ”

“There were more of us at BP. And people don’t suspect women. ”

“Don’t talk slush! ” Osla snorted. “We can’t walk off alone with a man without being called fast, we can’t check into a hotel without suspicion we’re there for hanky-panky—”

“People suspect women of hanky-panky, ” Mab corrected. “But they never suspect women of espionage. No one thinks women can keep secrets. ”

“What are the three fastest means of communication? ” Osla quoted the old joke, then she and Mab chanted the answer together: “Telegraph, telephone, tell a woman! ”

“You have no idea how I hate that joke, ” Mab said.

“Darling, I have a very good idea. ”

They fell silent. The car scraped past an elderly farm truck trundling along an exposed spine of country road, mud splatting across the windscreen. “Why did you settle in Yorkshire of all places? ” Osla asked.

“Because my husband got a job here, and because it was far away from London and Bletchley, ” Mab said shortly. “Because it had no memories at all. ”

Osla twisted the big emerald around her finger. “You said you had a family now. . . ” Oh, blast, she couldn’t ask if Mab had children, given the phantom that was little Lucy, hovering between them—it would drive the knife in to the hilt.

“I have twins, ” Mab said unexpectedly. “Eighteen months old. ” The flash of love through her face was the first softening Osla had seen since clapping eyes on her yesterday.

“I’m happy for you, ” Osla said honestly. “What are their names? ”

“Edward—Eddie—and Lucy. ”

Osla felt the phantom glide of a little girl’s wrist wrenching out of her grip. “Mab. . . ”

“Don’t. ”

Osla looked straight ahead to the road twisting down the slope. “Go on hating me, ” she said. “I hope it helps. ”

“I don’t hate you, Os. ” Mab’s eyes were invisible behind her huge sunglasses. “I try not to feel much of anything these days—love or hate. I love Eddie and Lucy, because you can’t help loving your children, and that’s how it should be. But it’s easier if I don’t feel much of anything for anyone else. ”

“Easier to do what? ”

“Endure. ”

They motored on in silence.

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