London Calling

by D. N. J. Greaves

  The next few days were spent much the same way as before, but a subtle difference seemed to have come between them, an invisible barrier that made them more troubled about the events yet to come. They still needed and enjoyed the physical comforts of their mutual attraction, but the carefree abandon that had characterised the first week of their relationship was put on hold. And the last night before their return to London was quiet and subdued, the thought of their imminent return to London looming like an unwelcome shadow on the horizon.

  It had not gone unobserved. On her return at the weekend Vicky had noted their muted behaviour, and wondered if she caught the tail end of an argument between them. Over the following two days the mood had lifted somewhat, but there was still a coolness and reserve between them that was not there before. She had not made any comment, preferring to leave them to sort out whatever disagreement there was between them. After all, it was hardly her business to interfere in a lover’s tiff- it was very much the sort of thing that she was loathe to do. But in the end her concern for her daughter’s happiness was enough to make her tentatively broach the subject, as the two of them prepared dinner that evening.

  ‘So how are things between the two of you?’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Patricia tried her best to sound relaxed and non-committal, but her mother knew her too well.

  ‘Come on, darling, you can’t fool me. I know you far too well.’ Vicky sighed. ‘There’s been a change in the last few days. I have no intention of interfering, but it’s just that I hate to see you looking unhappy. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Who says I’m looking unhappy?’ Patricia snorted, and then turned away abruptly. Vicky put down her mixing bowl, and put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, turning her gently towards her. ‘I’m sorry, mum,’ she sniffed. ’You always did know I was a rotten liar.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Vicky said very gently.

  Patricia tried to smile. ‘There’s not much to tell.’

  ‘It’s Richard, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what’s the problem? Is he married to someone else? I haven’t seen a ring. Or is it that he’s about to leave, going back to his unit and the war, and the chance of never seeing him again?’

  Patricia laughed through her tears. ‘If it was just a case of him belonging to another woman, then I could cope with that. In a way he was - he was married before, but she died. A bit like me, really. But yes, you’re right- he’s going to leave, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.’

  ‘That’s a risk so many people have to cope with nowadays, what with the war.’ Vicky said gravely. ‘Have you fallen head over heels in love with him?’

  Patricia angrily bit her lip, then nodded reluctantly. ‘I never thought it would happen to me again, not with what happened to David, and all the other disappointments since then. And then suddenly it hit me, totally out of the blue. Mum, I’ve only known him a week, but I feel like I’ve known him for ages. We just seem to fit together like a hand and glove, as corny as that might sound.’ She paused, and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve never been one for great dramatics and sloppy romantic rubbish, but then I’ve never had this feeling before, not even with David. I know he’s the one. And it scares me silly that he’ll go soon, and some awful twist of fate will take him away from me forever.’

  Vicky held her close. ‘If he has to go, there’s nothing you’ll be able to do to stop him. Patricia nodded. ‘And if you try to hold him back, it’ll only make things worse. If he really is the one, and if he feels the same way as you, then he’ll come back. Have the two of you discussed this?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘Has he told you the way he feels about you?

  ‘No…Not yet.’ She sighed. ‘Mum, I can’t ask him. It’s still too soon. These things are probably best left unspoken for now. But I’m sure he feels the same way as I do. I’m convinced of it.’

  ‘I see. That certainly helps. In some respects you’re very much like me. We tend to know instantly when the right man comes along. You know what happened between your father and me - your real father, I mean. He was the right man, but unfortunately the circumstances were wrong. I loved him very much, but it wasn’t to be. As you know, other things came between us.’ She stopped for a moment, then pulled her daughter towards her and embraced her. ‘But it doesn’t mean that the same applies to you. My advice is this - clear the air between you before he goes, and make sure he knows how you feel about him. If, as you say, he feels the same way, he’ll come back, and hopefully one day you’ll be together. Then you can come and stay with me again, and next time for much longer. What do you think of that?’

  Patricia squeezed her tightly in return. ‘Thanks mum. I’ll think about it. You know me- I won’t shrink away from doing something if it needs to be done. Your advice has always been good, even if sometimes it’s been hard to follow.’ She put on a brave face, smiled and kissed her mother. Sometimes, in her weaker moments, the thought of the future and what could happen was all too much for her.

  The next day dawned dark and cool. It promised to be a long drive back. As if sensing their mood, the weather had turned greyer, colder with the threat of heavy rain. Already a light drizzle had soaked the area earlier that morning, but by the time they descended for a late breakfast the rains had set in fully. They set off shortly after eleven, kissing Vicky goodbye and showering her with their thanks and best wishes. The wind had increased in force, and the tops of the trees were swaying heavily, buffeted by the mounting breeze. A mist was coming in from the sea, decreasing visibility and slowing them down as the car bucked and bounced its way over the rutted lanes.

  Patricia was sad to say goodbye to her mother, and was unusually quiet for most of the journey back to London. Simon sensed her mood, deciding that the less he said the better, at least for the moment. The driving conditions were tricky enough to merit total concentration by whoever was driving, so they took it in turns, spelling out the distances and gradually easing their way onto better roads as they drew nearer to the capital.

  They stopped for a break somewhere on the outskirts of Winchester. The Red Lion pub lay at the centre of a small village just off the main road. Although it was too late for lunch, the kitchen staff served them a selection of fresh sandwiches while they drank in a quiet corner of the pub. When they had finished, Simon took Patricia’s hand and held it under the table. There was so much he wanted to say, but he was unsure just how to do so without appearing juvenile and weak. A casual encounter had turned into something far more serious and precious. Although his memories of Klarissa were still there, and the pain of losing her still ached from time to time, the sharp edge of his loss was becoming dulled with time and the presence of this exciting and sensual woman. That they were matched for each other was very clear. Their mutual comfort and ease belied the fact that they had only known each other for ten days. Finally, he broke the silence.

  ‘That was the most wonderful week I’ve had, for almost as long as I can remember. Thank you…’ His voice trailed off, hesitatingly. Then he cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I’m trying to say things that don’t come easy to me. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and put you off or…’ He stopped, and muttered to himself. ‘Christ, why do things have to be so difficult?’

  Patricia squeezed his hand. ‘Are you trying to tell me that we feel the same way about each other?’

  ‘Yes. I am. That’s obvious, even to an idiot like me. Even after such a short amount of time with each other. I’m still rather amazed by it all. I just never thought that this would happen to me again- and in such circumstances, too.’

  ‘So what are we going to do about it?’ She looked at him cautiously, almost afraid to take the next step.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s something that’s been on my mind for the last few days, and yours as well, I guess. A lot depends on what happens tomorrow. Let’s talk about it then.’

  She nodded, con
tent for the moment to put off the reckoning for a few more hours.

  They reached her house shortly before seven o’clock, struggling through the evening traffic. As soon as they got there she threw herself into a frenzy of activity, unpacking the car, tidying the house and preparing dinner. Later, after they had made love, she was content to cling silently to him, savouring the closeness of their touch and the intertwining of their emotions. Little needed to be said. Each was afraid to say too much to the other. Words might easily ruin the special way they felt.

  In the morning she rose early. There was a full day’s work in front of her, and she had a lot to do to get the car back to her boss. It was clear to him that she was deliberately keeping herself busy, trying to crowd out the thoughts of what could happen later that day, a necessary distraction to keep her from breaking down. He hurried to wash and dress, reluctant to let her out of his sight. Finally it was time for her to go. She was as ready as ever she would be.

  He held her long and hard, dreading the moment when she would walk out of his life, perhaps never to be seen again. Would it be today? Her response was equally fierce. He could feel her gently crying as he held her close. Never had he felt such a bittersweet moment before, not even during his home leaves to Klarissa, and the thought of returning to the hell of the Eastern Front. He tried to pull her away, to look at her but she refused, clinging to him and averting her face.

  ‘I love you,’ Simon whispered in her ear. She nodded, unable to speak. ‘I’ll never forget what we’ve shared.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And if I don’t come back tonight, for whatever reason, it won’t be because I don’t love you. And someday I will come back, for good. That’s a promise - if you’ll have me…’

  ‘Yes, silly, of course I will….’ Patricia took a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing. ‘I’m going now. But I don’t want you to remember me like this’, she said, forcing herself away. She wiped her face, tried to smile, failed, then hurried out the front door, slamming it shut behind her in her haste. He stood in the hall, listening to her sounds as she started the car and drove off. A sense of utter desolation and loss washed over him. He stood there for a long time, his eyes unseeing, reluctant to move.

  The Spanish Embassy, Belgravia Place 1300 24/5/1944

  Ruiz checked his watch for the last time. The morning had produced nothing of interest apart from the usual boring diplomatic drudgery, filling in endless forms and checking mountains of paperwork. It was high time to get out of the building and walk up to Hyde Park for his daily al fresco lunch. Moreover, the weather was still enjoyable, to boot. England had been enjoying an almost unprecedented spell of fine spring weather for the last few weeks. Nothing as good as Spain, naturally, but enough to make the prospect of an open-air lunch reasonably enticing, and not the usual chore of bearing up to icy temperatures and sullen grey skies.

  It was also the last Thursday in the month, a day of special importance. Would ‘Rothermere’ turn up? Would there be any more secret information passed over, something of great importance that might affect the course of the war? His superiors had not trusted him enough to discuss the full implications of the report that ‘Rothermere’ passed over to him in April. Of course, it had not stopped him sneaking a look at the contents before he had passed it upstairs, and he could put two and two together- the information listed the deployment and strength of Allied forces based in Great Britain, an exact order of battle that would be invaluable to the Germans and their defence of the Channel coast. And if his contact had any more secrets to divulge, what would they be? Maybe the date, time and location of the landings?

  Martín had casually dropped in to see him during the course of the morning, just to remind him that today could be another ‘drop’ day, another day of a potentially rich harvest of intelligence. The hawk-faced intelligence agent had been his usual charming and humorous self, his deadpan expression perfectly complementing his hatchet faced looks. He had dutifully nodded, promising to do his best and be alert. All the time he felt like saying ‘idiot! Of course I know that today is the day, or in two weeks time, or whenever. You don’t have to remind me!’ Obviously they didn’t trust him enough for him to rely on his own memory! But he would show them. If today was the day, then he would bring home the bacon, more tasty morsels to satisfy the relentless demand for information.

  Ruiz fled down the stairs, nodded to the reception staff as he slipped out of the main front door and turned left towards the Park. His sandwich lunch was already rolled up inside his copy of the Daily Telegraph. He still wore his hat and overcoat, the same combination he had worn at the previous meet. They were perhaps a little inappropriate for the warmer weather, but it was important that should ‘Rothermere’ turn up he would be able to recognize his Spanish contact easily. The heavy coat soon made him feel rather warm, and so he dropped his pace slightly. However, he was not particularly concerned. After all, it would not matter if he was a few minutes late. On their first meet ‘Rothermere’ had turned up just before two o’clock and Ruiz felt certain that this man would do the same again- a creature of habit, perhaps?

  The pavements were busy, but as he neared the Park the crowds thinned appreciably. Nothing struck him out of the ordinary. A man in a dark grey suit was walking towards him on the same side of the street. He appeared to be limping. As Ruiz drew level the man stumbled, suddenly falling to his left. If Ruiz had not put out his hand the man would have crashed straight into him. As it was, he merely stumbled heavily and grasped Ruiz’s outstretched arm in support.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry. Thanks for sticking your arm out at the right time. My knee gave way.’ The stranger smiled at him, rubbing his knee at the same time.

  ‘Think nothing of it, Señor. Are you alright?’

  ‘Yes.’ But the man had not let go of his arm. Suddenly he stood up straight, put his hand in his pocket and pulled out something metallic that briefly gleamed in the sunlight. Something hard was rammed none too gently into his left side. Ruiz winced.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb your lunch in the park, Señor Ruiz, but I need to talk to you first. Do not make a sound - no running or trying to sound the alarm. I have a silenced pistol next to your ribs, and it’s loaded. The slightest move in the wrong direction will make me pull the trigger, and that will be the end of Señor Ruiz.’

  Ruiz felt a wave of panic well up inside him, rising to his throat and interfering with his breathing. He gasped, looking into the determined steely eyes of his assailant. He struggled to speak, but the man beat him to it.

  ‘Don’t worry too much, Ruiz. I don’t want to hurt you in the slightest. But I won’t hesitate to act if you’re not cooperative. Do exactly as I say. Carry on walking just in front of me. At the next junction turn left, then walk up until you see an alley on your right. We’ll turn in there. You and I are going to have a quiet chat. Move!’

  Room 98, Top Floor, Stanhope Hotel, Park Lane 1310

  Menzies put the telephone down and glanced through the curtains across Park Lane and out towards the greenery that was Hyde Park. The watch across from the embassy had reported in - Ruiz had left the building on time and was following his usual itinerary up towards his favourite park bench. A quick scan through a pair of high-powered binoculars confirmed that everything was in place. Everything looked normal; nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He had taken the precaution of putting a team in position around the Albert Gate entrance to the Park. Another was located discreetly in the vicinity of the bench where the first ‘drop’ had taken place. MI5 was on call not far away- three carloads of agents were scattered around the periphery of the Park, ready to respond instantly, a mobile reaction force for use at a moment’s notice. His role was to remain here and coordinate the whole operation from his lofty vantage point, a command post overlooking the entire area.

  The room and most of the adjoining floor had been ‘borrowed’ from the hotel for the past six weeks. The only problem had been in agreeing a suitable level of compensation that the hotel ow
ners demanded. Government rates were not quite what a private establishment commanded let alone expected in compensation, but the penny-pinchers in His Majesty’s Treasury would have to sort that one out, leaving him to concentrate on the details of Operation Matador.

  He felt a thrill of excitement, mixed with a minor amount of apprehension. In the next hour it should be possible to seize O’Malley and the mole in one fell swoop and permanently eliminate this potentially catastrophic intelligence leak. That is, if all went according to plan. The fact that O’Malley had slipped his tail twice previously was still a concern, but this was where the meet would take place and everything was in position. Nothing had been left to chance. As if to confirm this, he looked over to his right. The long barrel of a bolt-action sniper’s rifle stood on a stand, poking its deadly muzzle towards the Park, a massive telescopic sight mounted on it, perched like some malignant myopic parasite. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. It would be most regrettable if he was forced to give the order to open fire.

  Hyde Park 1320

  George Johnson was not a happy man, and he knew the reason why. It was nothing to do with state of the war, or the lovely weather, or his non-existent love life. It wasn’t even that much to do with the bollocking he had received from Menzies, after the suspect had given his team the slip, just over two weeks ago. That was not a particularly pleasant experience. His boss had been well and truly displeased, but after all nothing was absolutely certain in life. Apart from death, rain and taxes. The first two Johnson could cope with; the last was a pain in the arse, but unfortunately an unavoidable part of life, unless he went to live in a hut on some tropical island. No, the reason he was unhappy was quite clear – indeed, there was no mystery whatsoever. Ruiz was late.

  Johnson’s job was to lead the team loitering casually, but with serious intent, around the southernmost entrances to the park. Ruiz invariably came this way on his lunchtime visits to the location not far from the Serpentine. But he should have been here by now. The route he took would normally see him walking onto the Brompton Road by way of Wilton Place, and then turning right into the Albert Gate, and hence the park. Indeed, it was the only sensible way unless one wished to walk quite a lot further. Ten minutes was more than enough latitude- he sensed that something was wrong. The operation was not going to plan. Better report him.