by Leo McNeir
“So the Allies could intercept enemy messages?”
“That’s right, Marnie. The French and Poles did a lot of groundwork, but it’s at Bletchley Park that the computer was developed and the interceptions took place.”
“Even so, your friend’s husband seems to have heard of it.”
“Heard of it? He was there. They had both worked there at the same time but in different sections, different buildings.”
“And they’d never met each other?”
“What’s much more astonishing is that they never talked about their war work throughout fifty years of marriage, and until now she never spoke of it to me, a lifelong friend.”
“That’s incredible!”
“But true nonetheless. You see, people learned not to ask too many questions and they got into a habit of secrecy. And of course, people were different in those days.”
“Because the war was on?” Anne said.
“Not just that. People behaved differently, had different values. I doubt if your generation would understand.”
“I’d like to.”
Winterburn hesitated. “I suppose we had certain standards. They’d seem old-fashioned now. People used to say, an Englishman’s word is his bond or, I give you my word. You’ve heard things like that? They meant something to us. Also, a lot of people had to sign the Official Secrets Act. When my friend signed it, they told her she was bound by it for the rest of her life.”
“And she never talked about it, not ever?”
“That’s the way it was. When you’re up against the most powerful military machine in the world and just about clinging on, you know where your interests and your loyalties lie.”
The old lady looked at her watch and folded her napkin.
“It’s time I was going. Sorry to have prattled on like that, but I thought you should understand the way things were. The man in the grave up behind the churchyard has nothing to do with the war. I’m convinced of that.”
Marnie walked with her guest through the spinney and Anne asked if she could go with them. Danny tagged along on the path behind.
Anne said, “Miss Winterburn, may I ask you something? You said you had two reasons for coming back this morning.”
They emerged from the spinney beside the office barn. Winterburn stopped and looked up at it.
“I wanted to see the place again.”
“You knew Glebe Farm?” said Marnie.
“I stayed here once in the war. We had a series of breakdowns along this section of the canal.”
“I believe you told me you’d stayed in a village at one time, waiting for engine parts.”
“That was where our skinhead friend lived. A makeshift repair didn’t work. We broke down again and ended up billeted here. Two of us slept up there in the attic for three or four nights, on camp beds.”
“My attic!” Anne exclaimed.
“So it appears.”
Anne suddenly dashed past the others and disappeared into the office barn. Marnie was wondering if her friend had been overcome with emotion again, when Anne came out carrying two bundles.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I painted these for you, to remind you of your visit.” She turned the objects round to face Iris Winterburn. They were two watercolours, one of the office barn, the other of Sally Ann, both painted on board. “I didn’t have time to frame them.”
The old lady stared at the pictures for some time. When she eventually spoke, her voice seemed to come from far away.
“It was all so long ago, a lifetime, when I was young and strong, and the world was at my feet. Thank you, Anne. I am very … touched.” She reached into her handbag and rummaged around for some seconds before extracting a small round object. She held it up. “Have you seen one of these before?”
It was a badge made of dark grey plastic. In the centre were the initials IW above two wavy lines, surmounted by the title, National Service. Anne held it in her hand.
“It’s where the nickname came from, isn’t it? Idle Women.”
“Yes. I want you to have it.”
Anne held it out. “Oh no, I couldn’t …”
“Why not?”
“It’s part of your history, your life.”
“I don’t need it. Keep it. I want you to.” She turned to Marnie. “I don’t suppose I shall see you again. Thank you for having me, and for the other things. Good luck for the future.”
Her voice was firm and without a trace of sentimentality.
“I’d have been very glad to have you on my boats in the war.” She looked at Anne. “Both of you. You two would have made a good pair of Idle Women yourselves.”
She glanced at Danny without comment before turning back to Marnie.
“I don’t know if you’ll get to the bottom of whatever’s going on round here, the grave business and so on, but let me give you a word of advice. Don’t drop your guard, not for a moment, not ever.”
Chapter 35
Oxford
At breakfast on Sunday Danny said casually that she thought it was time to go home. She had been uncharacteristically quiet the previous evening and after dinner she had listened to music on her Walkman in the attic room while Anne lay on the bed reading. Over coffee and croissants, Marnie assured her she was welcome to stay at Glebe Farm, but Danny’s mind was made up.
When Anne went off to shower, Danny stayed on Sally Ann, clearing away the dishes with Marnie.
“Danny, I think you felt excluded by Iris Winterburn yesterday. I hope you’re not feeling that you don’t have a place here with us.”
Danny looked dejected. “I’m not sure how I feel, Marnie. You make me very welcome and it’s amazing, I actually want to get on with my studying here, but … I don’t know, yesterday it was as if I was intruding.”
“Not because of anything I said, I hope.”
“No. It was when Miss Winterburn said she would’ve liked you and Anne as crew on her boat in the war. She, like, gave me a sort of look.”
“Danny, she was just being polite to her hosts. And in any case there were only three people in a crew on those boats. Didn’t you realise that?”
Danny looked unconvinced. Marnie put an arm round her shoulders.
“I’ve got just two things to say to you. The three of us, we two plus Anne, are the Idle Women of Sally Ann. You’re part of the crew. You know that.”
Danny smiled in a half-hearted way, and Marnie thought for a moment that she was going to become tearful.
“Thanks, Marnie. But I do think I ought to make tracks. My parents are wondering if they’ll ever see me again.”
“I understand.”
“Perhaps I could come back in a little while? I really can study here, despite all the comings and goings. It somehow makes it easier.”
“Come back as soon as you like.”
“You said there were two things you wanted to say. Was that the other one?”
“No. The other thing was that if you left, I’d be faced with complaints from the archaeologists – the male ones at least – about your absence. That bikini of yours …”
Danny grinned. “I wouldn’t like to disappoint them.”
*
Marnie and Danny were on their way through the spinney when Anne came running towards them, waving at them to stop. She held one finger up to her lips for silence and drew them into a huddle.
“We’ve got a visitor,” she whispered. “There’s a car round the back of the archaeologists’ barn. I heard it arrive. I think the driver coasted down the last part of the track.”
“You don’t recognise it?”
Anne shook her head. “Never seen it before, a Golf.”
Marnie looked at Danny. “Any ideas?”
“Nope.”
They skirted round the spinney to approach the barn from the side. Almost immediately they saw the car, parked close to the rear wall. Marnie’s first response was surprise tinged with relief. Anne and Danny picked up on her reaction.
“What i
s it?” Anne said softly. “You know the car?”
“No, but somehow I can’t get excited about a geriatric beige Golf diesel.”
The two girls studied the intruder’s car in the light of Marnie’s assessment. They agreed she had a point. It was about ten years old and gave the impression it had not been washed since the novelty of ownership had worn off about nine years earlier. As they looked on, they became aware of a muffled voice emanating from the barn.
“More than one of them?” Danny murmured.
They strained to hear what was being said, but it was impossible. Anne reached into a back pocket and pulled out her mobile. She pointed at it and then at the barn. The gaps in the speech made it clear; the visitor was speaking on the phone.
Marnie gestured that they should advance. She moved rapidly out from the trees and covered the open ground to the barn in a matter of seconds. When Anne and Danny caught up with her she was standing in the entrance. Inside, sitting at a table, Rob Cardew looked up, smiled and raised his free hand. He brought his conversation to an end.
“So I’ll see you when I see you … okay … then why don’t we get a takeaway? Fine … ring when you’re leaving. See you!” He switched off and put the phone on the table. “Hi folks. Hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“We spotted the unfamiliar car, not your usual Land Rover.”
“No. That’s the university’s. This one is mine.”
“So what are you doing here today? Are the others coming?”
“Just me. Rosemary’s gone in to the lab – she’ll be there most of the day – so I thought I’d catch up on paperwork.”
“Her lab’s open on a Sunday?”
“She has authorisation, her own keys, knows the alarm settings.”
They left Rob to get on with his work. While Danny was packing, Anne received a phone call. She went out to sit on the bench in the courtyard. Donovan reported that his foot was improving by the day.
“Sounds like you’re being sensible.”
“Yeah, just pottering about, taking it easy, tidying up the motorbike, reading.”
“Did you get anywhere with Rosemary’s photos?”
“I’ve developed them, but …”
“No good?”
“Not really. I’ve tried enlarging them, but my equipment isn’t hi-resolution when they’re blown up. I’m going to phone Rosemary after this call.”
“Try her mobile. She’s not at home this morning.”
“You keep her social diary now? I knew you liked to organise everyone, but –”
“Rob’s here. He said she’s gone in to work today.”
Anne was listening to silence.
“Donovan?”
A pause. “I’m here, thinking. Why’s she gone in to the lab?”
“Rob said she had work to do. Why?”
“I had been wondering about taking her images to a studio I know in London.”
Anne heard a voice in her head: don’t drop your guard, not for a moment, not ever.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Donovan. The fewer people who know about –”
“That’s what I was thinking. Anne, there’s an imaging facility at Rosemary’s lab, isn’t there?”
*
Anne tried to act casually on the drive down to Leighton Buzzard. It was not difficult; Danny was back to her normal chirpy self. By the time they drew up outside Danny’s front door, Danny was planning to return to Glebe Farm very soon on the grounds that the atmosphere was conducive to her studies.
Citing the need to tidy up some things in the office, Anne declined the invitation to come in for coffee and excused herself on the doorstep. Danny and her mother waved Anne off, neither of them staying out long enough to notice that she turned left instead of right at the end of the street.
*
The University of Oxford Archaeological Materials Laboratory – known simply as the AML – was situated not far from the city centre in a tree-lined residential street. It had been converted from two late-Victorian houses, and its domestic bourgeois exterior disguised the hi-tech activity conducted within its solid dark brick walls. When Dr Rosemary Goodchild, research fellow in the Institute of Archaeology, left the building, she closed the door carefully behind her after resetting the alarm system.
They had chosen a bistro as their meeting place. Anne arrived two minutes before Rosemary came through the door. The place had just opened and Anne had had no difficulty finding a corner table. Rosemary joined her and they placed their orders.
“It’s very good of you to let us do this, Rosemary,” Anne said quietly.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you, and Donovan, of course. Is he really fit enough to drive?”
Anne shrugged. “His choice, his decision. He wouldn’t have suggested this if he wasn’t up to it.”
Neither of them paid any attention to the motorcycle that stopped outside the bistro, or to the rider who pushed open the door while removing his helmet. It was Donovan, a fact that surprised both the people waiting for him. Anne glanced out at the bike. It looked old-fashioned compared with modern machinery, mostly black and steel-grey, with a modicum of chrome-work. The fuel tank was adorned with a blue and white roundel, displaying three letters: BMW.
Donovan went to the counter, pointed at their table and gave his order. He crossed the floor with hardly a trace of limp, wearing leathers and boots. Anne was not surprised that the whole ensemble was in black, including the helmet and its tinted visor. When he sat, he placed the helmet carefully on the floor and came straight to the point.
“Everything set up?”
“Yes. I’m the only person in the lab today.”
“Good.”
“Do you have access to all areas?” Anne asked.
Rosemary nodded. “There’s one security code on the door to my part of the building. The imaging unit is on my corridor.”
Over coffee they agreed that only Donovan would accompany Rosemary back to the lab. Anne would keep watch on the building from her car parked along the street. When they were ready to go, Rosemary gave Anne directions. She set off at once and was already in position when Rosemary and Donovan rounded the corner and approached the building.
Anne felt uneasy, as if she was the one being watched, rather than acting as look-out. As Rosemary and Donovan climbed the steps to the front door, Anne wished she had thought to pop into the loo before leaving the bistro.
*
“This is my room. Perhaps you should leave your helmet in here.”
With its high ceiling and tall windows looking out over a paved courtyard, Rosemary’s office had evidently once been a ground floor reception room in the days of long gowns and frock coats. Now, it was a mixture of study and laboratory, with walls painted in white emulsion and light grey carpet tiles.
The blonde wood desk and chairs at one end of the room were typical of modern design, as were the grey filing cabinets. A workbench extended the full length of one wall, with a single stool parked beside it. On its surface stood a number of instruments, including two microscopes and something that resembled a microwave oven. The walls displayed a collection of black and white photographs in plain glass frames showing excavations in progress.
Donovan set the helmet down out of sight behind the desk. From a small black rucksack he produced a folder, left the rucksack with the helmet and followed Rosemary to the door.
They passed three doors before Rosemary stopped. She knocked twice, waited a few seconds, took a deep breath, went in and turned on the lights. The unit was roughly twice the size of her office and was filled with media equipment and computers, some items looking as if they had been taken from a science fiction film set.
“Oh my God,” Rosemary breathed.
“What?”
“Well, I mean, look at it. I’d forgotten it was so daunting. Do you know how to operate this stuff?”
“I only want to scan in some pictures, convert them to digital and enlarge them. I don’t h
ave to run the whole show.”
“I’ll leave you to it. You know where I am.”
Donovan walked slowly round the room inspecting the equipment. It was state-of-the-art in all departments: scanning, recording, editing, processing, printing, copying. He felt almost intoxicated at the thought that he had been let loose in this treasure trove. It took him two minutes to locate the macro photography system.
Back in her office, Rosemary was finding it hard to focus on her project. Half an hour after leaving Donovan in the imaging unit, she realised she had spent barely ten minutes on productive work. Her subject was the need for a balanced approach when dealing with human remains in excavations. She had written a sentence on the importance of reconciling issues of religious faith with respect for the dead and the concerns of science, and she found herself staring at it. These days, she seemed to spend much of her time thinking about remains found in an unconsecrated grave in Knightly St John.
Donovan meanwhile had no such impediments to progress. He had taken a decision to re-photograph the pictures he had developed in his own darkroom and use the macro digital photography equipment to blow up the images. It took him a short time to come to terms with the technology, and it surprised him that, for such a well-equipped unit, there was so little attention to security.
None of the machinery required him to enter a password. The unit itself was not locked, though the whole corridor was protected by a coded lock on the access door. He had noticed that there were no surveillance cameras either inside the building or on the external walls. He was pondering the significance of that, when he heard the faint warbling of a mobile phone somewhere nearby.
Rosemary jumped when her mobile began ringing. As soon as she heard Anne’s voice, she knew something was wrong.
Donovan heard hurried footsteps in the corridor a few seconds before Rosemary burst into the room.
“Security guards!” she blurted out.
“Where?” Donovan was gathering his things as he spoke, switching off equipment, replacing a cover on the machine he was using. “How many?”
Rosemary pointed over her shoulder. “Approaching the building, two of them. Anne just phoned.”