by Hugh Fraser
• • •
Tegel airport is busy and I get a few looks in my nun’s habit as we walk towards the ticket desk. Greta helped me get the wimple and the veil right this morning and with a pair of horn rimmed glasses to complete the effect, I reckon I’ll be ok if Nick’s got anyone looking out for me at Heathrow. I’m wishing Greta was going to be in London with her good advice and her contacts in the spy trade, but she’s staying in Berlin to continue her pursuit of Heinz.
At the desk, I’m lucky to get booked on a flight that leaves in a couple of hours. Silke buys the ticket for me and we head towards the queue for departures. She’s changed her jeans and sweater for a pencil skirt, a linen jacket and heels. She walks on ahead of me and I see how gracefully she moves. As we near the departures gate she glances back and sees me watching her. She turns and engages me with those beautiful eyes.
‘There is time before the flight. Would you like to have coffee?’
‘Sure,’ I say.
We go across the entrance hall to a cafe and the young waiter, who’s been watching us approach, walks forward eagerly and pulls out a chair for me. We sit down, Silke orders coffee for us and the waiter nods and looks at her legs. She shifts on her chair, pulls her skirt down and he looks embarrassed and toddles off to the counter. We share a smile.
‘Good job you aren’t wearing what you had on in the club last night.’
She laughs and says, ‘You are right.’
‘Do you go there much?’
She shakes her head.
‘Never before. I only went for my grandmother.’
‘You work with her a lot?’
‘Of course.’
She turns her head and stares across the entrance hall. I look at her delicate profile. She seems somehow fragile and yet strong at the same time. She turns to me.
‘I would be dead but for her.’
‘Where did she take you after the camp?’
She leans forward and speaks quietly. ‘I was very young and don’t remember much but I know that after the camp was liberated and burned we were put in a house nearby, then Feliks stole a car and took us to Berlin and we hid in sewers while he robbed money from Gestapo and then took us to Copenhagen. We are there for one year, then Feliks goes to London and grandmother and me come to Berlin, and I have governess who lives with us. Grandmother is sometimes with us, sometimes in London, sometimes South America where she is searching for ex-guards and SS like your man Heinz. Also Russians who did bad things when they invaded.’
‘Does she kill them when she finds them?’
‘Only if she does not have enough proof or witnesses to report them to the authorities for trial for war crimes.’
‘And you helped her?’
‘Sometimes.’
I’m about to ask her what Greta put her up to and hoping she didn’t use her for bait when there’s an announcement over the speakers. Silke listens.
‘That is the call for your flight. You must go.’
She puts some coins on the table, I pick up my suitcase and we walk towards the departure gate. When we get there she hands me the ticket, we say goodbye and I look into those incredible blue eyes. She holds my hand.
‘I hope I see you again.’
Before I can reply she turns and walks away.
I watch her all the way to the main doors then I go through passport control and customs without any problem. When I get to the lounge I think about phoning the school to find out how Georgie is but decide to leave it until tomorrow. I find myself a seat and catch up with Elizabeth Bennet instead.
After a while the flight’s called and I join the queue and try not to get nervous. When I get on the plane I get a window seat so I can look down from the sky again. As the plane rolls forward to the runway and the stewardess gives us the life jacket routine I start to feel scared and I grip the arms of the seat. When the engines rev up and the pilot lets the brakes go and I’m pushed back in my seat with the acceleration I get a rush of fear. Once we lift off the runway and rise up through the clouds I feel myself calming down and when the sun appears above the white carpet of clouds I take a few deep breaths and I feel good.
23
I’m in a phone box on the corner of Maida Vale and Clifton Road, dialling Lizzie’s number. I’m looking at a white builder’s van parked across the road from the flats. The man in the driving seat is pretending to read a newspaper while he watches the building. Judging by his lily white hands he hasn’t done a day’s hard work in his life and I reckon he could well be one of Nick’s mob waiting to see if I’m home again.
After a few rings Lizzie answers and I push threepence into the slot.
‘I’m calling you about the repair that you wanted to the refrigerator you bought from us recently.’
She’s silent for a moment, until the penny drops. ‘Er, yes. What about it?’
‘I could have one of our men over to you this morning, if that would be convenient?’
‘Yes, I’ll be here.’
‘He’s finishing a job in Heath Street in Hampstead at the moment, so he could be with you in an hour or so.’
Another pause.
‘Could he have a look at my Kenwood mixer while he’s here?’
‘I expect he can, but that will be a separate job.’
‘That’s ok, as long as he can fix it.’
‘I’ll tell him about it when he phones in.’
‘I’ll expect him in an hour then.’
‘Ok, goodbye.’
Knowing that I’ve got to be at Kenwood House on Hampstead Heath in an hour to meet Lizzie, I walk along Clifton Road to the cab rank on Warwick Avenue. I tell the driver to take me to the entrance to Kensington Gardens on Bayswater Road, at the top of Queensway. The driver looks at me in the mirror as we drive and I know he wants to ask me what it’s like being a nun so I close my eyes and clasp my hands together on my lap. When we get to the park gate I pay the fare, walk to the ladies’ toilets that are just inside the park, and wait. When a large lady in a straw hat goes through the entrance and down the steps, I follow close behind her and keep her between me and the attendant as I slip into a cubicle. I put my suitcase on the lavatory seat and take off my wimple and habit. I open the case, look through the clothes and put on a grey pleated skirt, a cherry-red polo neck, and my short linen jacket. I put the horn rimmed glasses back on, roll the wimple and the veil up inside the habit and put it under my arm.
I walk into the park and dump the habit in the first bin that I see, then I go across Bayswater Road and along Queensway to Whiteleys, remembering when me and my mate Clare used to nick stuff from there when we bunked off school together. I go up the curving staircase to ladies’ clothes on the first floor and buy myself a beret. I find a changing room, put my hair up under the beret and pull it down until it almost meets the top of the glasses, for maximum cover. I go down to the street, walk along Porchester Gardens to Leinster Square and spot an anonymous looking hotel called the Parkway on the far side. I go across the square, walk up the front steps and into the foyer. There’s no one at the desk, so I ring the bell and wait.
A grey haired bloke in a baggy suit with dandruff on the collar comes out of a room at the back and goes behind the desk. I tell him I want a room, give him the name of Alice Crawford and pay a ten shilling deposit. He gives me the key to a room on the first floor and offers to carry my suitcase up for me. I tell him not to bother, pick up the case, and make for the stairs. When I notice the payphone in the corner of the lobby I turn back and ask him for change. When he obliges, I climb the stairs to the room, put my case on the bed and go back down to the lobby. I’m just about to dial the school to check on Georgie when I remember how quickly Nick was able to get Georgie’s sentence commuted after she put that girl in hospital. I decide not to call in case Dorothea Simpkins has a hotline to Nick and tells him I’ve been in touch from a British phone. I decide to ask Lizzie to try and find out if she’s ok instead. I put the phone down and go up to the room.
The cab drops me on Hampstead Lane and I go through the gate onto the heath and walk along the path through the trees to Kenwood House. The late afternoon sun warms me as I round the corner and go past the front of the house. A group of Japanese come out of the main door chattering away as they walk past me. I see Lizzie sitting on a bench in front of the building at the far end. As I get near her she glances at me and looks away again. I stop in front of her, take off the glasses and she smiles.
‘I told you to jack in your line of work and get yourself a proper job years ago, but I never thought you’d start repairing fridges.’
‘They tell me I’ve got the figure for it,’ I say.
‘I’ll have a look later and let you know.’
I sit down beside her and we have a quick hug. She takes a thermos flask out of her handbag, pours a drink and hands it to me.
I put the glasses back on as a park keeper walks past us with a rubbish sack and a stick with a spike on the end. Lizzie clocks the horn-rims.
‘Who’s after you?’
‘Take your pick,’ I say, taking a sip of whisky.
‘How was Berlin?’
‘Complicated.’
‘Was Olga working for the Russians?’
I shake my head and finish my whisky. Lizzie pours me another and I tell her everything that happened in Berlin. When I’ve finished, she shakes her head.
‘You’ll have to deal with Nick sharpish before he finds you.’
‘I know.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I might take a trip to Ringwood.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m thinking that if I can get evidence of the Marquess doing his party tricks with dead girls, I can get him to serve Nick up as a traitor. That way, anyone who might be in bed with Nick won’t know I’m involved and won’t be coming after me.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Can I get a favour?’
‘As long as it doesn’t involve dead bodies.’
‘Can you phone the school for me and make sure Georgie’s ok?’
‘Of course I can. How’s she been getting on?’
‘She smacked a kid for calling her common and put her in hospital.’
‘That’s my girl.’
‘They were going to kick her out but Nick got involved and they put her on probation.’
‘So you don’t want to phone yourself in case he rumbles that you’re here.’
‘Right.’
We have another drink and watch some little kids playing with a toy aeroplane near where their mother sits on a rug, unpacking a picnic. The breeze is puckering the surface of the lake and whispering in the trees. People are strolling about or sitting on the grass near the water and I feel peaceful and calm, like I could sit here forever in the warm sun. I slide my hand into Lizzie’s and she squeezes it gently. After I move a little closer to her, she says, ‘Where are you staying?’
‘Hotel in Bayswater.’
‘Mmmm,’ she says, as she strokes the back of my hand.
‘Come and have a look, if you like?’
‘Thought you’d never ask.’
The park keeper’s heading our way again so we get up and walk past the front of Kenwood House, through the trees to the gate and hail a cab on Spaniards Lane.
It’s gone five o’clock when we get to the hotel. The foyer’s empty so we go to the payphone in the corner and I dial the school, give the receiver to Lizzie and tell her to ask for Dorothea Simpkins and see if she can talk to Georgie. When Lizzie gets through to Dorothea she goes a bit posh and says that she’s calling on behalf of Georgina Walker’s sister, who’s abroad, and that she’s gathered that there was an unfortunate incident a few days ago and she’s concerned about Georgina’s welfare. Could she please have a word with her? In the silence that follows Lizzie gives me a thumbs up, then she thanks Dorothea, puts her hand over the mouthpiece and says, ‘She’s going to try and find her.’
While we’re waiting, the grey haired man who checked me in comes out of the door at the back, gives us a look, goes behind the reception desk, opens a ledger on the desk and peers down at it. He scratches his head, releasing a fall of dandruff, closes the book and bumbles off again just as Lizzie says hello to Georgie and asks her how she is. She listens for a moment, then she tells her there’s someone to speak to her and passes me the phone.
‘Are you ok?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Is the girl you had the ruck with back yet?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Be careful.’
‘They’ve moved me to a different house.’
‘That’s good.’
‘It’s the one Annabelle’s in.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely.’
‘We’ve got an exeat this weekend and she’s invited me to her house to stay.’
‘That’s nice of her.’
‘She’s got a pony.’
‘That’ll be fun then.’
‘Yeah.’
‘How are your lessons.’
‘Ok.’
I hear a voice in the background.
‘It’s tea time. I’ve got to go,’ Georgie says.
Before I can say goodbye, she puts the phone down. I feel a surge of relief, knowing that she’s all right, at least for now. I put the receiver back.
‘How is she?’ Lizzie asks.
‘Pretty good, I reckon.’
As we climb the stairs I tell Lizzie about Georgie’s weekend with Annabelle and the pony. When we get into the room, I lock the door, take off my hat and glasses, slip off my jacket and fold myself into Lizzie’s arms.
• • •
When I wake up, it’s dark outside. I turn on the bedside light, look at my watch and see that it’s seven o’clock. I’ve slept since Lizzie went home more than twelve hours ago. Before she left she gave me the phone number of a photographer called Dom that she knows in Wimbledon, who deals in cameras and can tell me about what I need for the Ringwood job. She said she’d tell him to expect a call from Angela. It’s too early to phone him so I have a wash, get dressed in what I was wearing yesterday, put on the glasses and go downstairs in search of breakfast. The old boy’s been replaced by a small, neat looking woman with her hair in a bun, who gives me a bright smile. I ask her if I can have breakfast in my room and she tells me that I can and gives me a menu. I ask for scrambled eggs, toast and coffee, and she nods and scuttles off through the door behind her. I go back to the room, lie on the bed, open my book and enjoy Elizabeth telling Darcy where to stick his marriage proposal.
After I’ve eaten, I go downstairs to the payphone and dial the photographer’s number. A bloke answers, and when I say I’m Lizzie’s friend Angela, he asks me when I want to come over. I say as soon as possible and he tells me he’ll be free in about an hour, if I can get there. I tell him I can and get the address from him.
Back in the room, I take my Smith and Wesson out of the suitcase and consider whether to hide it somewhere, or take it with me. I change into my ski pants and slide it into the back of the waistband. I put money and lock picks in my pockets, put on my hat and glasses and go downstairs. The lady wishes me a good day and I walk down the steps and along the pavement. A cab comes round the corner and pulls up a short distance away. A young couple get out and I wait while the man pays the driver and hear their American accents as they pick up their cases and walk away. I give the driver the address and settle into the back seat. I take out my compact, look at my face in the mirror, dab some powder onto my cheeks and put on some lipstick. Just as I’m about to close the compact I catch the reflection of a white van that looks familiar in the mirror. The van follows us as we turn onto Bayswater Road and when we stop at the traffic lights at Notting Hill Gate and it pulls up close behind us. I can see a pair of hands on the wheel that could well have been the ones I saw holding the newspaper outside my flat yesterday morning.
As we get to the roundabout just before Shepherd’s Bush Gre
en, I rummage round in my handbag, then I lean forward to speak to the driver.
‘I’m awfully sorry mate, but I’ve come out without my purse. I must have left it on the dressing table. Would you mind if we went back so I can get it?’
‘That’s all right love,’ he says, as he steers the cab round the roundabout and back the way we’ve just come. Back on Bayswater Road, I look in the compact mirror again and the white van is three cars behind us.
When we get to Leinster Square, the driver asks me where I want him to stop. I tell him to go to the far corner. When he stops the cab the meter’s showing one and ninepence. I step out of the cab, give the driver half a crown, tell him I’ve changed my mind and walk round the corner into Garway Road just as the white van pulls into the square. I go down the first set of basement steps and stand where I can just see the road. While I’m waiting to see if the van’s still on me, I’m thinking that if Nick knows I’m in town, the sooner I get to Ringwood and try and sort this mess out the better.
After five minutes there’s no white van so I reckon I’m all right. I come up the steps and see a narrow road opposite. I walk along it and into a yard with garages. There’s no one about so I go to the garage at the far end, pick the mortice lock and open one of the doors. There’s a grey Standard Ten inside and a workbench with packing cases and some sacks underneath it. I go in and lock the door behind me. The Standard’s doors are locked so I take a long screwdriver off the bench and put a pair of pliers in my back pocket. I slide the screwdriver blade in between the top of the window and the door frame and force the window down far enough to reach inside and get hold of the handle. I open the door, get in the driving seat and use the screwdriver to prise off the panel under the ignition keyhole. I find the two red wires, cut them both with the pliers, strip the ends and twist them together. I get hold of the two brown wires, cut and strip them, then I touch one to the other and the engine fires up first time. I look along the bench for some tape and get lucky again. I tape up the bare ends of the wires, put the tools under the seat and unlock the garage door. I drive the car out, lock up again and pull out onto Garway Road.