The House of Flowers

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘It was all right, was it?’ Poppy called down to him. ‘I really don’t remember much about it, actually.’

  ‘Three point perfection, hon! Now I only have one question for you!’ Derek stated as he swung her down, still with his arms round her. ‘Will you marry me?’

  His friends and colleagues at once shouted him down, claiming they had first call, a freckle-faced ginger-haired young man dropping to his knees, sweeping off his helmet and demanding not one of her hands in marriage but both of them. Before she knew what was happening, Poppy was surrounded by half a dozen kneeling Australians all beseeching her to be their wife.

  ‘What is all this?’ a voice suddenly demanded out of the blue, as from nowhere the tall and as always elegent figure of Trafford Perkins arrived on the scene. ‘What on earth is all this brouhaha, shilly-shallying and assorted nonsense will someone tell me, please?’

  ‘You mean you didn’t see?’ Derek gasped. ‘You don’t mean you missed the air show?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t, you silly boy,’ Trafford replied, smacking him lightly on the head. ‘I saw every single moment. I simply wondered what all the fuss was about, that’s all.’

  ‘Because she only did it, Traffy! She only bloomin’ well did it! She only bloomin’ took Tiger up and round and round and then down again after only one bloomin’ lesson, that’s what the fuss is all about!’

  ‘You surely didn’t imagine it would be otherwise, Derek, did you? Just remember whom Poppy had as her teacher. Just remember whom you all had. So now let’s all go and get absolutely rotten blotto, shall we?’

  For the rest of her spell at the aerodrome, Poppy spent less time learning about engines than she did flying. She flew whenever possible, and whatever was put her way, spending hours in the air with Derek whom Trafford grudgingly allowed to give her star pupil her final polish in a dual-control de Havilland, Derek finding no need to use the controls other than to teach Poppy how to get out of a stalled spin, an experience that Poppy found exhilarating. By the time it came for her to return to base, as she put it, she had a full pilot’s licence, dexterously arranged for her by Trafford with one of what she called her tame ones.

  ‘It’s all perfectly clean and above board, dear girl,’ Trafford assured her. ‘We just had to speed the process along a little. There’s no knowing when this piece of paper might come in handy,’ she added, handing it to Poppy. ‘There’s always a shortage of flyers – not necessarily in the RAF, you understand, because I imagine one would have to have one of those sex changes we keep reading about in order to join that little mob, but in the civil quarter. Awful lot of us ferry craft all over the place, you know. Test ’em too – I was asked to try out some new hush-hush bit of balsa and sticky paper the other day – flew like a porker, too. Not me, I assure you. The aforesaid wonder plane. Never flown such a crate. Could have built it better myself – but there’s always a call out, you know. Deliveries mainly, but the odd test does come up. If you want, dear thing, I can put your name forward at such times, although I imagine the boss has other plans for you. You could always let me know if you have any free time anyway – and spend some leave up here flying stuff round the shop. You’d enjoy that, I imagine, and I have to say you’re a neat bit of a flyer, too – well taught, natch. But then that’s the main thing. I’m a bit of a Flying Jesuit like that, you know. Give me a girl and I’ll give you a pilot in a week. Have to say—’ She stopped, lit her half cheroot, then smiled her wonderful crooked smile at Poppy. ‘Have to say – though keep this one close to the bosom – you’re the quickest so far, whatever the boys tell you. And I’ll tell you something else, sweetheart. Derek lost not only his heart that day – he lost quite a large chunk of his pay packet, too. About three months’ worth, I hear – but you know something else? First time I haven’t heard him whinge about losing. Pity you’re hitched – he’d have flown off with you.’

  Oddly enough, that made Poppy feel even better about herself.

  Chapter Ten

  Harvey sighed, put his feet in their highly polished handmade shoes on to the desk in front of him, and took another look into his metaphorical net.

  Still only tiddlers, he mused privately. Where are the big boys, one wonders? Where oh where oh where?

  In spite of his intense effort to unearth the caochán all roads seemed to be turning into cul-desacs. Yes, he reminded himself this very morning when he was assessing the situation, one has had plenty of good leads and some of them looked as though they were going to prove to be very productive. Yet they had not – they had all ended in apparent dead ends, leaving Harvey Constable as nonplussed as he had been when he embarked on his covert investigation. People meeting people was all very well, but unless he could produce hard evidence that they were involved in sedition and treachery such people remained simply on the suspects list.

  Admiring the craftmanship that had gone into making such a perfect pair of brogues, he turned his toes first inwards and then slowly outwards as if his feet were enjoying a private dance of their own while he ran an imaginary finger down his imaginary list of not so imaginary suspects, only to find himself sighing again with deep internal dismay. All the connections he had tried to make between certain parties were specious and based purely on supposition. That was his major disappointment. He had – as was his way – been utterly diligent in his detective work, not only examining the histories of all persons who had access to Top Secret information but following so many of them that he had practically gone round in circles. He had genuinely supposed that by now he would have come up with the culprit or culprits. Such was not the case. At the moment, other than having a list of several suspects he was empty-handed and apparently no nearer the truth.

  He had therefore decided to broaden the scope of his enquiries and take a look at people he considered to be above suspicion. After all, he reasoned, those closest to the throne are often those with the most reason to betray, because sometimes they feel that they should be the ones wearing the crown.

  He began with Anthony Folkestone, although, of all the people he was about to put under scrutiny, in his personal consideration the major and Jack Ward had to be the least likely to be involved in any treachery. That, however, was not the impression Anthony got when he found himself at the end of one of what Harvey Constable called his little chats.

  ‘That thing on your wall behind you, Major,’ Harvey said, nodding at Anthony’s map cabinet. ‘One has to assume, from the locking device on the front and the substance of what can only be described as a third rate piece of woodwork, that it contains highly confidential information.’

  ‘You would be perfectly correct in your assumption, Captain,’ Anthony replied, deliberately using Harvey’s army rank in order to maintain the proper protocol, a device that also enabled him not to be visibly or audibly riled by his interviewer’s overtly sarcastic tone. ‘I being the only person with a key.’

  Harvey looked at him, raised one quizzical eyebrow, took something from the top pocket of his jacket and positioned himself so that he stood in front of the locked cupboard with his back to Anthony.

  ‘Not a very good lock I’d say, wouldn’t you agree?’

  He stood aside to reveal the doors of the cupboard swinging open, exposing all the highly confidential information within.

  ‘You have a skeleton key, Captain?’

  ‘I have a piece of wire, Major. As used by professional burglars. The sort of lock you’ve employed is child’s play to them.’

  ‘Perhaps so, Captain. But then we’re not in the habit of employing professional burglars in MI5.’

  ‘On the contrary, Major. It is part of many an agent’s training. The ignoble art of pilfering. I should imagine that a very high percentage of bogeys, as the Colonel will insist on calling them, who sit here being briefed by your good self could open and close this cupboard the minute your back was turned.’

  ‘When I am not present in my offices, Captain, they are kept locked at all times, particularly th
is one – the inner sanctum, if you will.’

  ‘The very same criticism applies, Major. It would take one of your fully trained agents but a moment to be in and out of here with what they need to know. If they weren’t able to do so, then I would question their necessary skills very closely.’

  Anthony regarded him steadily, but was unable to comment on an observation with which he found he had fully to agree.

  ‘I shall have maintenance build a much more secure cabinet, Captain. I shall commission it today.’

  ‘I should not mount or keep any visible display at all, if I were you, Major. Other than in your head, or in a properly secured filing cabinet. I am sure you understand?’

  ‘Filing cabinets are also lockable devices, Captain, if you recall,’ Anthony said, containing the small smile of triumph that threatened to appear. ‘So the selfsame criticism would govern them too, I should imagine.’

  Harvey glanced at him briefly then strolled to the window to look out, hands clasped behind his back, fingers flapping up and down like a butterfly’s wings. Then he suddenly laughed, and shook his head.

  ‘The trouble with anything like this is that all the time one lives on the very cusp of farce, don’t you find?’ he said, turning back to Anthony and strolling across the room to retake his seat by the desk. ‘You’re absolutely right, of course. If my dedicated thief can get into your map cupboard he can just as easily get into your filing cabinet, or even – although with a lot more difficulty – possibly into your safe, since I imagine that like everyone else you keep the papers you finally don’t want anyone to see under proper lock and key.’

  ‘I’m not really prepared to answer that question, Captain. I think you understand the reason why.’

  ‘If it’s a matter of discretion—’

  ‘It’s a matter of protocol, Captain. As I am sure you will appreciate.’

  ‘It’s a matter of you trying to put me in my place, I’m beginning to think, Major.’

  ‘I can’t say I enjoy having my integrity questioned. Nor my loyalty.’

  ‘I am simply doing what is required of me. What is required of you – as you are quite well aware, Major – is that you will say nothing of this interview afterwards. Because this interview has not happened.’

  ‘I am perfectly well aware of that, Captain. But that does not prevent me from expressing my opinion. And my feeling is that I strongly resent being under this sort of suspicion.’

  ‘And I assure you that you are not alone in your sense of righteous indignation, Major. There is not one single person under the roof of this wonderful house who is not under suspicion.’

  ‘Does that include your good self, I wonder? Captain?’

  ‘Knowing the ways of the Colonel, Major, I am quite sure I come pretty high on his list. After all, in some departments and by certain people I am not regarded as the right sort of material myself. Certain parties would be only too happy if they could build a case against me and have me removed from the Service. But that is really neither here nor there. We have to leave aside any sense of grievance. I am quite sure the Colonel has already informed you that we have a very serious breach of security here, and we must discover how this information is being leaked. It is vital. More than vital.’

  ‘Rather you than me, Captain. Now if that will be all, I have some rather important work to get on with.’

  ‘Moi aussi, Major. And quite off the record – at this stage of proceedings, any help would be most welcome. Good day.’

  Harvey collected his notes, files and books and with a polite smile to Anthony left him to get on with the business he had in hand. In the outer office Miss Budge wished him a polite good day, which Harvey acknowledged with a nod before placing his files on her desk and pulling up a chair to sit down opposite her.

  ‘A few general questions, Miss Budge,’ he explained. ‘We haven’t really talked to each other, have we? If you would be kind enough to spare me a little of your precious time?’

  Harvey deliberately gave her no chance to reply, since the question was academic, Miss Budge having no choice in the matter. He then explained that everything they discussed was of course highly confidential and covered by the OS Act, and forbade her to talk to anyone else about these matters after he had finished with her. He also informed her in general terms of the enquiry he was conducting, without specifying the exact reason for the investigation.

  ‘I have asked that we are not disturbed during this interview,’ Harvey told her, opening a file in front of him. ‘Marjorie is in full charge of affairs while we’re talking, so you don’t have to worry yourself with any administration. I see from your records that before the outbreak of war you worked for the Service in the field, as an active agent operating in Spain, Germany and France. That is correct, is it?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Miss Budge replied, her hands folded neatly in her lap. ‘I worked undercover in all three countries.’

  ‘Spending most of your time in France.’

  ‘I had quite a long term in Germany too, sir. Trying to identify any possible sympathisers.’

  ‘Dangerous work.’

  ‘I think most field work is that, sir. Although oddly enough I felt more at risk in France, since I was never utterly sure quite whose side certain of the French bourgeoisie were really on.’

  ‘I know just what you mean,’ Harvey agreed with a polite smile. ‘Although once you make friends in France, you make them for life.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Did you make any friends in France?’

  ‘Not really, sir. But then I’m not a very gregarious type. I don’t have many friends. In fact I sometimes think I prefer dogs, sir. Been like that ever since I was a little girl.’

  ‘Quite right too, Miss Budge. I’m a cat person myself.’ Harvey smiled again and then consulted his file once more. ‘You were a highly regarded agent, Miss Budge. All sorts of good mentions here – and recommendations.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘If you hadn’t been so badly injured in the field . . . ?’

  ‘I hope I would still be active, sir,’ Miss Budge replied without hesitation. ‘In fact I would very much hope so, sir.’

  ‘It was your idea to apply for a desk job?’

  ‘I was recommended, as it happened.’

  ‘Says here you applied.’

  ‘I had to make a formal application, sir. That’s perfectly correct. But I was recommended to do so by my Section Head.’

  ‘None other than our Miss Lavington, I see.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘You were pretty badly hurt in that scrap, were you not?’

  ‘I mended, sir.’

  ‘Broken leg, shot twice, once through the chest, once in the back. Took a bit of mending, I’d say. In fact I see here you were off games for nearly a year.’

  ‘I suffered some problems, sir. So I was told. Took some time to mend.’

  ‘Yes,’ Harvey agreed. ‘That’s in your report as well. Hardly surprising. Being betrayed isn’t the most comfortable of experiences. Nor I imagine is being shot in the back.’

  ‘My fault really. I should have seen that one coming, sir.’

  ‘Your betrayer. He was – as the French have it – a copin?’

  ‘He was someone I had been working with for some time, yes. Although this wasn’t in France, sir. This was in Germany.’

  ‘But your companion in arms was a Frenchman. Was he not?’

  ‘Quite correct, sir. Hervé Dumas.’

  ‘Working undercover – like yourself – as a German.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Harvey sat back for a moment to stare intentionally into space, lighting himself a cigarette as he did so.

  ‘How come he got to shoot you in the back, Miss Budge?’

  ‘Because he was a rat, sir. It happened at a rendezvous – a meeting I had with someone – a German – someone I was quite sure was a British sympathiser – and it was a trap. I had no idea Hervé was even there. But he was – and
I was caught between them both, one in front, one behind. And then Hervé shot my contact – betrayed us both, in fact.’

  ‘You were lucky to escape.’

  ‘I only escaped because I killed Dumas.’

  ‘Even though he had shot you first. From behind.’

  ‘He came round in front of me, sir. After I had fallen. I fell all the way down the stairs.’

  ‘Ah,’ Harvey said. ‘It doesn’t say anything about that here. It’s a little bare – as these reports are inclined to be. It simply says you sustained two bullet wounds and a broken leg in an engagement with the enemy.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  Harvey noted that Miss Budge had turned quite white at the recollection, and that her whole body seemed to be trembling.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I know this must be quite wretched for you.’

  ‘It’s all right, sir. It’s just that I haven’t really spoken about it since my return to the fold. As I was saying, Dumas came down the stairs and round in front of me, as I was lying on the floor. I think he assumed I was dead – and to make sure he was going to put another bullet into me anyway. He can’t have seen my gun or he’d have delivered his coup de grâce. As it was he gave me just enough time to shoot him, which I did.’

  ‘And well done too,’ Harvey said, closing the folder. ‘Little wonder you came to your desk job so highly recommended.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. But it’s no substitute for the real thing,’ she replied, permitting herself a smile for the first time. ‘I’ve always been a bit of a loner, sir.’ She stopped. ‘It can be a little too social at Eden Park.’

  ‘I’m sure. But my advice to you is to stick it out, because although I’m quite sure you find your job boring compared to being in the field, we’re not going to be able to win this wretched war without a bit of pen pushing. I know what I’m talking about. They’ve stuck me behind a desk indefinitely as well. So I know how you feel.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Harvey reopened her file as if to check something.

  ‘You went home to convalesce, right? Oop north?’