‘It was nothing,’ Juliet said. ‘A delay on the Underground. I don’t know why I even mentioned it.’
‘But it’s exactly the kind of thing I’m interested in!’ he said. He smiled at her. Wolfishly, she thought, a cliché from her mother’s romances, but apt, nonetheless. It depended on whether or not you found wolves attractive, she supposed. He did have a certain vulpine quality – as if he was about to ravish you – and she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Rather brutal, she imagined.
‘Miss Armstrong?’
‘Sir?’
‘Anything else?’
‘No.’
Of course, there had been that rather odd thing last week when she had come across Godfrey in Kensington Gardens. Perry had told her to take the afternoon off – he seemed to want the Dolphin Square flat to himself but didn’t volunteer the reason and she didn’t ask – so she went into town, looked around the shops and had a pot of tea and a slice of walnut cake in Fuller’s in the Strand before going to see Rebecca at the Curzon in Mayfair. She decided to walk home through the parks. It was early evening – the magic hour – and Juliet took a detour around Buckingham Palace as she had glimpsed a bed of red tulips there from the bus and she wanted to take a closer look at them. London was in martial drab and any patch of colour was welcome. It wouldn’t be long probably before they dug them up and planted cabbages or onions instead. It was doubtful that vegetables would lift the heart in quite the same way. Cyril told her that he had seen sheep grazing in Hyde Park and she thought she must try to find them. She thought of Mrs Scaife’s Sèvres. She supposed Hyde Park wouldn’t look much like Arcadia. It didn’t. No sheep, just the platforms for the ack-ack guns being assembled.
In Kensington Gardens she had spied Godfrey Toby sitting on a bench, although it took her a moment to recognize him outside of his Dolphin Square habitat. (He was ‘roaming free’, she thought. A rogue elephant.) She presumed he was on his way to the flat, taking the opportunity to enjoy the spring air before having to closet himself with the informants. There was a newspaper – The Times – beside him on the bench but he wasn’t reading it, instead he was sitting like a contemplative in the cloisters, his hands resting on his knees and his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful in repose that Juliet couldn’t bring herself to disturb him. On the other hand, it seemed rather rude to behave as if he wasn’t there.
Before she could resolve this dilemma, he stood up unexpectedly and walked away without apparently seeing her. He had left his newspaper on the bench. It looked unread and Juliet supposed that he was in such a reverie that he had forgotten it. If she hurried she could perhaps catch him up (Mr Toby! Mr Toby!) and return it to him. Before she could reach his abandoned bench, however, a man came walking quickly along the path. He was large and imposing and wearing a heavy overcoat with an astrakhan collar that made him seem even more large and imposing. He strode past the bench and as he did so swooped up The Times and carried it off without breaking his stride.
Although she had nothing against the purloining of discarded newspapers – why should they go to waste, after all? – Juliet nonetheless felt irritated on Godfrey’s behalf. The man in the astrakhan-collared coat was moving so quickly that he was almost out of sight now. He was going in the opposite direction to Godfrey so there was no way of reuniting him with his newspaper. Nonetheless Juliet trotted after Godfrey, thinking she would at least say hello now that his meditation was over.
She recognized one of his gloves lying on the path – leather, lined with wool, rather worn – and stooped to pick it up. How much more jetsam was he going to discard in his wake, she wondered? Or maybe he was laying a trail like Hansel and Gretel with their breadcrumbs and hoping to find his way back out of Kensington Gardens (and now, thanks to her, he would not be able to). She examined the glove as if it were a clue to something. This was how a woman was supposed to entice a man into noticing her, wasn’t it? (Oh, miss, I think you have dropped something.) It seemed unlikely that this was Godfrey’s motive.
She picked up her pace and managed to tag the sleeve of his overcoat. He turned, looking really quite alarmed, as if he might be about to be set upon by footpads. He held up his cane – rather menacingly – but then he recognized her and the alarm on his face was replaced by surprise.
‘It’s only me, Mr Toby,’ she said. ‘You dropped a glove.’
‘Why, thank you, Miss Armstrong,’ he said, looking rather abashed at his response. ‘I would have been perplexed as to its whereabouts.’ He produced its partner from his pocket and, pulling on both gloves, said, ‘There, now they can’t get lost.’ Why hadn’t he been wearing his gloves, she wondered? The twilight had brought a chill and it was almost dark now. ‘Were you following me?’ he enquired pleasantly.
‘No, not at all. I was on my way home.’
‘Ah. Perhaps I can escort you as far as the Albert Hall?’ He offered his arm and Juliet wondered if they looked like mismatched sweethearts as they strolled through the crepuscular park. Or perhaps something more morally questionable. (You have a bit of fluff, after all, Gibbons. Who would have thought it?)
They chatted inconsequentially, nothing that she could really recall afterwards, except for something about Holland’s neutrality (‘It will not help them in the end’), accompanied by the tap-tap-tap of his cane on the path. They parted at the Albert Hall. ‘Well, that’s me,’ he said, and she only realized when he had left that she had forgotten to tell him about his newspaper. It was hardly important, she supposed.
And yet. The way the man in the astrakhan-collared coat had pounced so swiftly on Godfrey’s Times, almost as if he had been waiting for it. Although at the time she had felt sure that Godfrey really had simply dropped the glove, perhaps she was wrong, perhaps it was a signal of some kind. And his consternation when she had accosted him, as if he was half expecting to be attacked. Astrakhan was the pelt of an unborn lamb, wasn’t it? From his mother’s womb untimely ripped, Juliet thought, and shuddered at the image.
‘Anything?’ Oliver Alleyne asked.
‘No, sir. He never does anything out of the ordinary.’ It was a question of loyalty really, wasn’t it? Or trust, perhaps. She trusted Godfrey in a way that – instinctively – she didn’t trust Oliver Alleyne. ‘Why?’ she asked, her curiosity piqued.
‘Well, no one is entirely innocent of everything, Miss Armstrong.’ An unborn lamb perhaps, Juliet thought. He gave her the full benefit of his rakish smile. He was married, according to Clarissa later, to an actress, ‘Quite well known. Georgina Kelloway.’ (Perhaps that explained his leanings towards theatrics.) Juliet had seen his wife on stage in a Noel Coward play. She had been rather showy, but then the part had demanded it, she supposed. Innocence had not been on offer.
Oliver Alleyne retrieved his hat from the roll-top and said, ‘I’ll be off then.’ The dog woke up instantly and sat to attention expectantly. ‘And, please, as I said, keep this between the two of us, Miss Armstrong. Strictly on the QT. Don’t mention it to anyone.’
‘Not to Perry?’
‘Especially not Perry. Godfrey is Perry’s man.’
‘I’m Perry’s girl,’ she pointed out.
‘I don’t think you’re anyone’s girl, Miss Armstrong.’
He moved towards the door. The dog remained where it was and Juliet said, ‘Sir? Mr Alleyne? You’ve forgotten your dog.’
He turned to look at the dog and said, ‘Oh, it’s not mine. I thought you could perhaps do me the favour of looking after it for a short while.’
‘Me?’ she said, startled.
‘Its name is Lily. Apparently it’s a miniature Schnauzer.’ Rhymes with Mauser, Juliet thought.
The dog, which had been gazing uneasily up at Oliver Alleyne, now turned its attention to Juliet. She hadn’t realized that a dog could look doubtful.
‘The owner has had to go abroad,’ he said.
‘For you? For MI5?’
‘On the condition that we take care of her dog.’
‘A woman?’<
br />
‘The dog is a kind of … ransom, I suppose you could say.’ The dog looked inquisitively at him as if it was wondering about the meaning of the word ‘ransom’. ‘To ensure that his owner returns to these shores. You don’t need to know more than that, I assure you.’
‘I don’t know anything about dogs,’ Juliet said.
‘Well, now’s your chance to learn,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’ll pay. For the food and so on. We’re very grateful. And Miss Armstrong? Do make sure nothing happens to the dog. It’s really rather important.’
She saw him to the front door. He gave her the benefit of the rakish smile again. Its effect was beginning to wear rather thin. ‘And Miss Armstrong – that other business with our friend? Semper vigilans, Miss Armstrong, semper vigilans. Now, don’t let me keep you from your work.’
War Work
-17-
RECORD 7
(contd.)
D. No, I just wondered.
G. It’s a bit far away to go, isn’t it?
T. Yes, it is really. I haven’t been able to think of anyone else who would be interesting.
G. Can you think of anyone who’s died (?Could not be sure of this sentence)
T. No. (laughs) Not that they’d be any good, would they? It’s a pity that man had died, isn’t it?
G. … (inaudible)
D. What man?
T. … (?)(laughter)
G. Yes, a great pity that. He would have been a very good man.
T. Yes, quite useful.
G. What was that telephone number?
T. BUNTINGFORD (?)214 BUNTINGFORD (HUNTINGFORD??) is the nearest telephone exchange (three words).
G. And he definitely said –
T. Yes, yes.
Following a directive from above, every effort had to be made to conserve paper, so Juliet now abbreviated names to initials, and typed on both sides of the paper. Less to dispose of if they won the war, she supposed, and less to destroy if they lost. (‘Everything will have to be got rid of,’ Perry said. ‘We shall burn the building down if necessary.’)
GODFREY goes out to buy sandwiches. TRUDE and DOLLY conduct a frenzied search for microphones. Shrieks of laughter. GODFREY returns with sandwiches and asks them if they have conducted a ‘thorough search’. More laughter. They seem to believe the Gestapo is recording their conversations (not MI5). They comment on the quality (‘good’) of the sandwiches.
(Biscuit interval.)
D. I forgot to say – I’ve got a £5 contribution from MRS BRIDGE. For the Gestapo fund.
G. Oh, it leads to all sorts of trouble with bookkeeping and so on. They don’t want funds from outside sources. Paperwork, you know.
Juliet burst into laughter.
‘Miss?’
‘Oh, hello, Cyril, I didn’t see you come in. They’re giving Godfrey money for the “Gestapo fund”.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Lord only knows. Something their collective fevered imagination has dreamt up. It was a fiver to boot.’
‘We could all go have a good night out on that, miss.’
The very word ‘Gestapo’ seemed to excite the neighbours. Betty and Dolly in particular were always asking to have a look at Godfrey’s ‘Gestapo card’ – the Gestapo identity card supposedly issued by the ‘Berlin Polizeidirektion’ in ’38. MI5 had a very good forgery department, needless to say.
He spoke good German, indeed to Juliet’s ear it sounded fluent. He had spent some time there when he was younger, he told Juliet. ‘Heidelberg. And the war, of course.’ What did he do in the war?
‘This and that, Miss Armstrong. This and that.’
Trude would sometimes converse in German with him, although her German wasn’t very good. (She liked to think it was, of course.) Betty and Dolly loved it when he spoke German, it reassured them of his legitimacy, and of theirs too. They were servants of the Third Reich and Godfrey was the proof of that.
-18-
RECORD 7 (contd.)
They talked quietly about people but little could be heard consecutively. At about 14.45 they spoke of when VICTOR might be expected. 16.05 TRUDE went out to buy something and returned. More chat. TRUDE returned.
RECORD 8.
16.25
TRUDE and EDITH talk flippantly to GODFREY about what they should do with his body if he died. TRUDE said that it was just as well that he hadn’t died, as yet. GODFREY laughed. They both talked jokingly about the disposal of the body.
T. I have a good idea for where you can hide a body. We can put it down a coal hole in the pavement.
(Laughter all together)
G. Which coal hole?
T. The Carlton Club
(Laughter.)
G. And what should I do if you die?
T. Same thing!
E. We could soon fill up the coal holes!
T. With Jews!
The doorbell rings. GODFREY goes to answer it. GODFREY returns.
G. Here’s VICTOR.
‘Did you listen to this yesterday, Cyril? The bit where they’re talking about how to dispose of a body?’
Cyril laughed. ‘The coal hole at the Carlton Club? We’ll know where to look if Godfrey disappears.’
‘Quite clever, I suppose.’
‘You’d want to do it just before they had a big delivery of coal, wouldn’t you? And then the body wouldn’t be discovered for a long time. Not so good at this time of year, I suppose, with the warmer weather on us now.’
‘You’ve given this a considerable amount of thought, Cyril.’
‘I have. I’d be happy to put that Trude down a coal hole. She’s a nasty piece of work.’
‘She is a bit,’ Juliet agreed. ‘I wouldn’t want to come across her in a dark alleyway.’
The ribbon on the Imperial needed changing. Juliet wondered how much more she could get out of it before the neighbours’ words faded into nothing. The march of time would do the same one day. They would all succumb to it, all fade into nothing eventually, wouldn’t they?
-23-
RECORD 9
GODFREY counts out change.
G. And two threepences make 5/6. How long does it take you to get through to Liverpool?
V. Five minutes (25?) sometimes. From a box in St James Street Post Office – Whitehall 4127.
G. How much does it cost?
V. About 2/6.
Much rustling of paper, making several minutes of conversation inaudible.
19.50
Observing that it was raining, GODFREY suggested that they should go to the Italian restaurant across the road and he would join them later with VICTOR.
TRUDE and EDITH leave.
‘He’s quite chummy with them, isn’t he?’ Cyril said, reading over Juliet’s shoulder.
Who was looking closely over the content of these conversations? Obviously it should be Perry, but he often read Godfrey’s own reports rather than face the tedium of the transcriptions (Juliet could hardly blame him). Recently she wasn’t sure that he was reading anything as he seemed mired in gloom. (Apologies, Miss Armstrong, the black dog has got me in its teeth.) Again, she thought.
‘They do go out quite a bit afterwards,’ she said to Cyril. There was the Italian restaurant across the road that Godfrey seemed to favour, and a Swiss one too that was nearby. And there was a pub they all liked – the Queen’s Arms – although he tended to go there with the men rather than the women. ‘I wouldn’t call it “chummy” exactly,’ Juliet said, putting the dustcover on the Imperial. ‘I presume it’s all part of the job, to make them feel at ease with him, you know?’
‘Yes, but we can’t record them, can we, miss? Not when they’re eating their spaghetti.’ He said the word derisively. Foreign food had no part in Cyril’s vocabulary, being, as he was, an eel pie and mash boy from Rotherhithe.
‘No, I suppose not.’ She stood up and fetched her coat. ‘You’re early, aren’t you, Cyril?’
‘No, miss. I expect you’re late. Have you heard the news?’
‘Churchill’s to be PM? Yes.’
‘Where are you going tonight, miss?’
‘I’m going to the cinema, Cyril,’ Juliet said, peering in the inadequate hall mirror to check that she was putting her hat on straight.
‘What to see, miss?’
‘I don’t know, actually. I’m going with a friend, she’s chosen the film. Does this hat look right to you?’
‘You look smashing, miss.’ He was sweet on her, she knew.
‘Yes, but the hat?’ She frowned at her reflection. She didn’t suppose Cyril knew much about women’s hats. ‘What time is Godfrey due?’
‘Six o’clock.’ Godfrey’s routine had become more complicated recently as he had started seeing the neighbours during the day as well. (‘They have so much to say.’) He had begun, too, to knock on their front door with his cane, a coded rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat-TAT to show he had arrived.
Lily had been following Juliet around hopefully as she got ready to leave.
‘Sorry, we’re not going for a walk,’ she said to the dog, crouching down and giving it a compensatory kiss on the top of its silky head.
‘You’re coming home with me tonight, Lil,’ Cyril said to the dog. ‘We’ll have fun and games, eh? Silly Lily,’ he said, tossing a knitted golliwog that had been made by his ‘Gran’, a mysteriously powerful matriarch who had raised Cyril in the absence of his rather feckless-sounding parents. Gran knitted feverishly on Lily’s behalf – a pixie, a teddy bear, a policeman, and many other woollen toys which the dog had joyfully torn to bits. Lily had proved a welcome addition to their little Dolphin Square club. Despite her rather grumpy appearance, she was a cheerful creature, eager to please and quick to forgive. Cyril came earlier every day so he could rough-house with Lily on the autumn-leaves carpet, and Perry spent a lot of time investigating her canine nature, setting up little behavioural experiments. (‘Now, Juliet, I want you to go and stand behind that door and say the word “walk” in a neutral whisper – no intonation – so that I can see how she responds.’) Sometimes the little dog looked at Perry with such curiosity that Juliet wondered if perhaps their roles weren’t reversed and it was Lily who was making a study of Perry.
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