The Oslo Affair

by CW Browning

  “Yes, but Agatha is such an old goat sometimes,” her mother grumbled. “I just know we’re going to rub against each other like wire wool.”

  “At least you’re going into it with the right mind set,” Rob said with a grin. “Less disillusionment that way.”

  Evelyn was surprised into a gurgle of laughter and she grinned at her mother.

  “She’ll be good company for you, and you know it,” she said. “The last time she came to stay you both had a wonderful time.”

  “Right up until she offended the vicar,” Mrs. Ainsworth retorted. “But I suppose you’re right. It will probably do me a world of good. Your father wouldn’t want me to be all alone.”

  “And neither do we,” Rob said, finishing his drink. He set the empty glass on the mantle. “Especially if this war goes on for any amount of time. Shall we go into dinner? I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”

  “You’re always hungry,” Evelyn said, standing. “Don’t they feed you at that airfield of yours?”

  “Oh they feed us, but I don’t think there’s a cook in the county that can keep up with your brother’s appetite,” Miles said.

  “Can I help it if flying makes me hungry?” Rob demanded.

  “Flying? Is that what you call it?” Miles retorted. “Never would have guessed it!”

  Chapter Six

  “Do you think Mum will be all right when we leave tomorrow?” Rob asked, handing Evelyn a glass of wine.

  The three had retreated to the study when Mrs. Ainsworth went up to bed. Evelyn kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up under her, leaning her head back on the worn leather of a comfortable armchair.

  “I think so,” she said thoughtfully. “She’s stronger than she looks. And she’s got Thomas and Millie to keep an eye on her.”

  “When is her sister coming?” Miles asked, accepting a glass of brandy and settling in the other armchair.

  “At the end of the week. I think she’ll be fine until then.”

  “I wish we weren’t going back already,” Rob said. “There’s still so much to be done with the estate, and she won’t have the faintest idea how to cope with it all.”

  “She won’t have to. You’re taking care of it,” Evelyn pointed out. “And there’s always Mr. Ritter, the solicitor.”

  “Oh blast! I completely forgot!” he exclaimed, slapping his palm against his forehead. “I have a stack of papers he needs sent back. Lord knows I won’t have time to do them once I get back with the squadron tomorrow. Miles, you don’t mind if I bugger off and leave you, do you?”

  “Not a’tall,” Miles said. “Take care of your affairs. I’m sure Evie and I will find something to talk about.”

  Rob glanced her sheepishly.

  “Sorry, sis,” he said. “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not!” She got up and went over to him to give him a hug. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Rob nodded, tossed his drink back and turned towards the door.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Miles. Behave yourself,” he threw over his shoulder.

  “I always do!” Miles protested.

  “I was talking to my sister.”

  And on that outrageous remark, Rob disappeared out the door, closing it firmly behind him. Evelyn laughed as she settled herself in her seat again.

  “Should I be worried?” Miles asked with a grin.

  “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” she replied with a devilish twinkle.

  “Mm-hmm.” Miles sipped his brandy and studied her over the rim of the glass. “Do you know what I’ve been wondering ever since I met you?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t guess.”

  “What on earth it is that you do in the WAAF.”

  Evelyn grinned. “I warn my girls to stay away from officers like you.”

  Miles laughed and held up on hand, acknowledging a hit. “Fair enough.”

  “I’m a training officer at the moment,” she said finally.

  Miles set down his glass and pulled out a cigarette case. He offered it to her, taking one for himself when she shook her head.

  “Who do you train?”

  “WAAFs,” came the dry answer, “and don’t ask me anymore. I can’t tell you what I train them to do. It’s classified, even from wealthy flying officers like yourself.”

  “Ah. You’re the one teaching them to take over the world,” he said, nodding wisely.

  “Perhaps.”

  He lit his cigarette and tucked the case away.

  “I expect you’re training them to be plotters in the Ops Centers,” he said. “We’ve heard rumors that the men who plot and guide aircraft in battle are going to be replaced by women. All terribly hush-hush, of course.”

  Evelyn was silent, watching him with faint interest and he grinned.

  “Don’t be afraid of me, if that is what you’re doing. I’m not going to bite the hand that guides me, so to speak.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured, sipping her wine.

  “In all seriousness, why did you join the WAAFs?”

  “Why did you join the RAF?”

  “To fly airplanes, of course,” he answered. “I’ve always wanted to fly, since I was a boy. If I’m going to have to do my part in defense of King and Country, then I’ll do so by doing something I love. Now it’s your turn. Why did you join the WAAFs? You certainly didn’t have to.”

  “No, but I wanted to do something,” she said slowly, picking her words carefully. She suddenly found that she didn’t want to lie to the man sitting across from her. She wanted to tell him as much of the truth as she could, even though it would never be nearly enough. “I couldn’t sit by and watch as my brother prepared to fight for his country and not do anything.”

  Miles considered her thoughtfully for a long moment.

  “Rob mentioned that you were in Hong Kong for a few years. I suppose coming back to England and going back into society was rather a bore after that.”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “It was, but you’re the first one to recognize it.”

  “I’m just thinking of how I would feel if I spent time in another culture, another life, and then had to come back to the everyday world in Lancashire. I imagine it’s rather like how I feel when I can’t fly and have to do the familial rounds.”

  She couldn’t answer him. What would she say? That she missed the excitement of practicing her Kung Fu with the local masters? That she had always yearned for more excitement than a well-bred young lady had any right to expect? Yet, when her eyes met his, Evelyn got the distinct impression that she didn’t need to say anything. He completely understood.

  “Of course, then you ended up in Scotland,” Miles continued, the twinkle back in his eyes. “So much for a life of excitement.”

  Evelyn laughed. “Don’t underestimate the Scots.”

  “Or the thrill of teaching your girls to plot,” he said with a wink. “I think I’ll miss you, Assistant Section Officer Ainsworth. I hope I shall hear from you.”

  Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “Would you like me to write to you?”

  “Every pilot likes to get letters from beautiful women. Bragging rights, y’know.” He finished his brandy and set the glass on the table next to the chair. “And I’d like to know how you get on in Scotland.”

  “Then I’ll write,” she said easily. “But the first time you fail to answer, I’ll stop.”

  “That’s a fair trade, in any event.”

  Evelyn finished her wine, suddenly loathe to finish the evening and go up to bed. She was enjoying the easy companionship between them. But they both had an early start in the morning, and the reality of what they were both going back to settled over her.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to have an airplane malfunction on me,” Miles said, his voice quiet.

  Her heart thumped and she met his eyes. “Me too.”

  He smiled slowly and stood, holding his hand out to her.

 
“Perhaps I’ll find a reason to go to Scotland,” he said, helping her to her feet.

  “I’d like that.”

  Evelyn slipped her shoes back on and looked up at his handsome face. The gleam was back in his bright green eyes and his lips curved faintly.

  “Would you?”

  “Of course I would. If I can’t fly, reckless fighter pilots are the next best thing!”

  Miles let out a bark of laughter. “In that case, I’ll make it a priority.”

  She grinned and drank in the sight of him with his eyes alight with laughter and the attractive dent in his cheek. This was how she wanted to remember him: laughing at her with his eyes gleaming in that peculiar way that made her knees go weak. This was the memory she wanted to keep her warm at night in the coming weeks when there was no other warmth.

  The laugh faded and Miles exhaled, his eyes meeting hers.

  “You’ll be sure to write?”

  She smiled and nodded. “I will.”

  His eyes held hers and she felt something very like sorrow well up inside her. With a shock, she realized that the last thing in the world she wanted was to turn and walk out of the room and out of his life. But she knew that she must.

  Turning, she went towards the door. What was she doing? She couldn’t just leave without saying goodbye, yet goodbye seemed so final. As if she would never see him again. Evelyn knew she would never be able to say it. But she couldn’t just walk away, either. She’d regret that more than anything.

  She turned at the door and took a long, last look, memorizing every feature. She looked once again into his eyes and smiled wistfully.

  “Take care of yourself, Miles.”

  He nodded and then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

  Aberdeen, Scotland

  November 1, 1939

  Evelyn watched as Bill shouldered his way through the people thronging the narrow, dockside street. She was seated in the back of a black Vauxhall, waiting to board a ship bound for Oslo. If there were nerves, she was trying to very hard to ignore them. Instead, she was concentrating on the fact that the trip had been moved up unexpectedly, resulting in her leaving directly from Scotland rather than London as originally planned.

  When her liaison officer on the RAF base in Scotland had come into her office yesterday morning, Evelyn had been expecting instructions to go to London. Instead, she was handed a train ticket to Aberdeen. When she’d arrived at the station an hour ago, Bill was waiting for her. Aside from saying that the timetable had been moved up, he’d been unusually quiet on the ride to the docks. Now, watching him make his way back to the car with a paper-wrapped package under his arm, she chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. What had happened to make it imperative that she go to Norway a full two-weeks ahead of schedule?

  He reached the car and climbed into the backseat next to her, handing her the paper-wrapped package.

  “This is all your identification and press credentials,” he told her, closing the door. “You’ll be staying in a boarding house run by one of our agents, but you may need those to verify your identity while you’re going about the city.”

  “Are we still going with Maggie Richardson?” she asked, opening the package and pulling out a bill-fold. Opening it, she found identification papers, press credentials for the Daily Mail in London, and over five hundred pounds in krone notes.

  “Yes. That identity is established, and will work well in Oslo.” Bill glanced at his watch. “We have a few minutes before it’s time to board. I suppose you’re feeling rather confused.”

  “A bit, yes.” Evelyn tucked the billfold into her bag. “Why the sudden rush?”

  “Shustov contacted us through the embassy in Helsinki. His scheduled trip to Oslo was changed. He’s there now.” He passed her a business card. “When you arrive, you’ll check in with this contact at the embassy. Daniel Carew. He will let Shustov know that you’re in Oslo with a pre-arranged signal. Beyond that, Shustov refuses any and all other contact, so the assumption is that he will find you.”

  “He’ll find me?” Evelyn stared at him. “I don’t even know what he looks like! How am I supposed to know it’s him?”

  “That’s an excellent question, and he’s already provided the answer. When he does make contact with you, he’ll ask you how the weather was in London when you left.” He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a small notebook. Flipping it open, he thumbed through until he reached a particular page. “Your reply should be the following, word for word: ‘I carried an umbrella because it looked like rain, but left it on the train.’ Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Bill tucked the notebook away again and looked at her. “Once you have the package, let Carew know and he’ll arrange for your return trip.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. You should be back home in no time at all.”

  Evelyn exhaled and nodded. It certainly seemed straightforward enough. Check into her rooms, contact the embassy, wait for Vladimir to find her, and then go home. Her mind inadvertently went back to Strasbourg last summer. That had also been an easy and straightforward plan, and look at what a fiasco it had turned out to be.

  “And everything’s arranged with my posting in Scotland?” she asked. “In case anything comes up? They know what to do?”

  Something like a smile passed over Bill’s face.

  “This isn’t our first time out, m’dear,” he assured her. “Believe me when I say that your liaison officer there is more than capable of taking care of any surprise visitors or family emergencies. You left your pre-written letters to be sent if you’re delayed for some reason? Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about. Should Rob or anyone else drop in, they’ll be told you’re away on a two-day training exercise.”

  They were silent for a moment and then he looked at her.

  “It’s time. Are you ready?”

  Evelyn took a deep breath and nodded, raising her blue eyes to his. “It doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not, does it?” she asked humorously. “I have to get my feet wet sooner or later.”

  “The nerves will pass,” he told her. “You’ll be just fine. I’ve told you before that you’re a natural. Some people were made for this kind of work, and you’re one of them. Keep it simple and remember your training. You’ll be on your way home in no time.”

  RAF Duxford

  November, 1939

  Miles let out a jaw-cracking yawn and looked around as a fresh burst of laughter erupted behind him. He and a few of the other pilots had come down to the pub for a drink after a long day in the air. Rob was at the end of the bar with two others, teasing the barmaid, but Miles had chosen to keep the new pilot company. Given the amount of raucous laughter coming from the other end, it appeared to be the quieter of the options, if not the most amusing. The Yank was busy reading a letter from his sister back in the States, and a long day being cramped in the cockpit was catching up with Miles.

  “She’s out of her mind.” Flying Officer Chris Field muttered, looking up from the letter in his hand. “She says she’s going to marry that Casanova I told you about. The one with the flashy car. She says she wants to be a millionairess.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “Not at all.” Chris folded the letter and shoved it back into its envelope. “Our family’s got enough dough ourselves. But that’s no reason to go and get hitched to the guy.”

  Miles sipped his pint and glanced at the man beside him.

  “It’s quite possible that she loves him, old boy.”

  Chris let out a jaded laugh and motioned to the pub landlord for another pint.

  “Not Elizabeth, old boy. She’s my sister and I love her, but she’s got a heart of stone.”

  “Hallo Lacey! Come and bear me up!” A voice called down the bar, interrupting them. They turned to look at the pilot standing next to Rob. “Rob has the gall to suggest that I don’t know a thing about women!”


  Miles raised an eyebrow. “Well how should I know, Slippy?” he demanded. “Do I look like a bird to you?”

  More laughter erupted from the end of the bar as Slippy protested loudly.

  “Oh I say, that’s jolly unfair! You’ve known me longer than anybody! What about that time in London at that delightful club? You remember? The one with the excellent brandy?”

  “All I remember is that you spilled brandy down my best jacket and then stood on the table to recite the opening stanza of Macbeth!”

  Slippy grinned, unabashed. “Did I? Well, ladies love poetry, don’t they?”

  “Good Lord, Slippy, you’re worse than I thought!” Rob exclaimed, handing him a full pint. “Clearly you’re beyond my assistance. I wash my hands of you!”

  A smiling landlord set a full pint before Chris and took the coin that he handed him. He looked at Miles’ glass.

  “You all right, lad?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  He nodded and turned to make change for Chris.

  “Have you heard from your WAAF?” Chris asked, lighting a cigarette.

  “Got a letter from her just today, as a matter of fact,” Miles said with a nod. “She’s been sent to a base in Northumberland for a training course. Can’t tell me where exactly. It’s all terribly hush-hush.”

  “Where is she normally?”

  “Scotland.”

  Chris frowned. “I didn’t know we had bases in Scotland.”

  “Coming from the colonies as you do, I’m not very surprised,” Miles said, pulling out his cigarette case.

  “Hey, I’m helping you poor slugs out, aren’t I?” Chris pointed out good-naturedly.

  “So very kind, I’m sure.” Miles lit a cigarette. “She writes that it’s bound to be gloomy. She says there’s a hospital nearby for pilots and for me to drop in if I get in a jam.”

  “Very hospitable of her.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?”

  Before Chris could answer, a bread roll hit him on the back of the head. Getting up quickly, he picked it up from the bar and chucked it back towards the group at the other end. It bounced off Slippy’s shoulder and Miles grabbed his pint, diving out of the way as another roll flew by. The barmaid squealed and ducked behind the counter as bread began to fly and bodies began to crash into each other. Miles swallowed the rest of his bitter and ducked out of the way as Chris flew past his shoulder to catch another bread roll. Three pilots charged after him, turning the food fight into an impromptu game of rugby in the nearly deserted pub.