I decided, as I sipped my first cup of tea, that I would follow either Fripp or Moray to find out where they held the mysterious meeting. If I lost sight of them, then I’d go to the building I’d seen Moray enter that day.
It was a slow shift that Monday, which meant we had to endure drills and first aid lectures. In the morning we sat through stirrup pump drill. Then it was respirator drill, followed by instructions on how to clean the ghastly things. After lunch was a lecture on dealing with fractures. We all knew how to perform such basic first aid but it was required that we undergo periodic retraining.
‘Reassure the casualty if it appears he is conscious and able to understand,’ said Moray reading from notes provided by the Ambulance Service.
And what if it’s a woman who has been deafened by blast, I wondered.
‘Tell the casualty that you’ll be taking care of him. Loosen any restrictive clothing and—’
‘What if you’re biffed for taking liberties?’ asked Sadler, to general laughter.
Moray ignored him. ‘And remove any jewellery from the affected limb. Place the jewellery in the casualty’s pocket and inform them that you are doing this because of potential swelling.’
Unless you’re a looter, in which case put the jewellery in your own pocket, I thought, looking at Sadler.
I tried to keep Fripp in sight all day. At five o’clock she went to where the bicycles were kept, at one end of the basement garage. Moray joined the cyclists for a short chat about nothing much and then walked with Fripp as she wheeled her bicycle up the dark driveway from the garage to Woburn Place.
I watched them until they were swallowed up by the darkness at the entrance, then I tiptoed as close as I dared, almost to where Moray’s torchlight illuminated a small circle near his feet at the top of the driveway. It also shone on the spokes of Fripp’s bicycle, and her trouser legs. She was sitting on her bicycle and they were talking.
I took cover behind one of the thick concrete pillars that supported the garage roof near the entrance, where I would be out of sight if Moray shone his torch in my direction. It would be difficult to explain why I was loitering in the dark.
‘So, I’ll see you tonight,’ Fripp said, and I could hear her excitement. It mirrored my own. I was right! They were meeting that evening.
‘Be discreet, please, Nola.’ Moray sounded peeved.
‘And Mr—, I mean, my friend – he’s coming too?’
‘Mmmm.’
‘I’ll see you at seven, then.’
There was a squeak as she pushed off and rode away.
Moray turned and swept his torchlight behind him, across the garage floor and the pillar that concealed me. I leaned back and stayed absolutely still as the thin beam continued on past my hiding place. He did a couple more slow sweeps with the torch, then turned and walked quickly out of the garage on to the street.
My heart was thumping. I didn’t dare follow Moray now, and Fripp was already gone. But if I was right, their meeting place was the basement flat in Soho.
I thought about alerting the police, but decided not to when I remembered Jim’s amused scepticism. It was likely that the police would be just as unimpressed, because I simply didn’t have enough evidence of wrongdoing yet.
Very well. I would go to the flat myself, well before seven o’clock, hide myself and see who turned up. At the very least I would discover if my suspicions were correct, that the flat was where Moray and Fripp were meeting. Maybe I would hear something. The blackout would be my cover. A faint prickle of nervous excitement ran over my skin. It was a reasonable plan, I thought. At worst, I would be embarking on a wild goose chase and I would spend a cold few hours in the dark. But I just might be able to expose a nest of fifth columnists and wipe the amused smile off Jim’s face.
I walked to the garage entrance and stood for a few seconds in the darkness before I stepped out and was enveloped by the black velvet of a London evening in the blackout. I took one, two deep breaths as a moist breeze, smelling faintly of brick dust, cooled my cheeks. When I looked up, stars blazed overhead, and a crescent moon rode high in the sky. It partially illuminated my way to the crowded Russell Square Tube station.
I took the Tube to Tottenham Court Road and picked my way past the sprawled bodies on the platform to the stairs and up to the street. It was when I stood in the darkness at the entrance that an unforeseen problem with my plan became apparent. Clouds had moved in quickly, and now blanketed the moon. Everything looked completely different in the dark. I knew that Moray had entered a building that overlooked Soho Square, but my sense of direction was vague at the best of times and with no street signs to assist me, and in almost complete darkness, I was not sure I could even find Soho Square, let alone the building. And if I did find the building, how could I identify anyone in the dark?
Commuters brushed past me, their dimmed torches winking at the ground. I stood for a minute or so, wondering whether to slink back to Bloomsbury. But that would be a defeatist’s way. I should at least try to put my plan into effect.
So I set off along Oxford Street. The first corner I reached I assumed was Soho Street, which should lead me straight to Soho Square. A passer-by confirmed that it was and I turned resolutely, giving myself a silent cheer.
A surprising number of people were abroad that night; their torchlights bobbed around me and anonymous dark bodies pushed past me as I carefully walked along the shattered pavements of Soho Street.
Without warning a stockinged leg appeared out of the darkness, lit by the beam of a torch. I let out a muffled cry of surprise as the creature addressed herself to me. ‘’Owbout it, love?’ she said archly. ‘Around the corner for a pound?’
‘I’m – I’m not interested,’ I squeaked. She must have mistaken me for a man, or more probably a boy, in my trousers and mannish overcoat.
She shone the torch at me and gave a shout of laughter. ‘Be orf with ya, lad. Get home to mummy, quick as a wink. There’s tigers ’round ’ere, an’ we lurk in the shadows.’
I edged my way around her, giving her a wide berth but giggling to myself. Propositioned by one of those women. I wished I could share the story with Pam. What a lark!
Behind me I heard her try again.
‘’Owbout it love?’
A man muttered something and she shrieked with laughter.
‘I throws the little minnows back,’ she said. ‘I prefer sharks, like you, darlin’. ’Owbout it? Paradise for a pound.’ But the shark was not biting. I heard his footsteps behind me as I continued my careful walk along the street.
I found it easier to make my way if I ran my gloved hand along the walls of the buildings. I was managing fairly well until I banged painfully into the side of a surface shelter, at which I let out a word that would have shocked my mother.
A low chuckle sounded just behind me, obviously a man. I froze, trying to melt into the corner between the shelter and the building it adjoined. The light of a torch flashed into my eyes. I closed them, and put up a hand to shield my face. The light disappeared and the torch’s owner walked past me without a word. I stood still as his low torchlight disappeared into the darkness. My heart was thumping wildly and I forced myself to calm down. If it was anyone I knew then surely he would have spoken.
Once his footsteps had faded away I edged around the brick obstruction, until I stood in front of a deeper patch of black that was, I thought, the square’s central garden. If this was Soho Square, all I had to do now was follow the edges until I found the grand portico of the building I was looking for, although how I’d recognise it in the dark was still a mystery to me. One thing at a time, I said to myself. One thing at a time, Lily.
Pedestrians pushed past me as I began my groping journey, and one of these assured me that yes, I was in Soho Square. So far so good. I ran my hand along the railings that fronted the buildings and stopped to shine my torch at each entrance.
I was beginning to despair of identifying the building Moray had entered, when the
wailing upward notes of the Warning siren rent the darkness like a trapped animal shrieking for help. As always, I shivered to hear it, then I jumped when a familiar screech sounded right behind me. Surely that is Fripp? I’d heard enough of her shrieks in the ambulance to recognise them. I stopped dead in my tracks and the woman cannoned into me before pushing away roughly. Thinking quickly, I switched off my torch, stepped back hard against the railings, turned my face away from her. ‘Sorry miss,’ I said gruffly.
‘Never mind,’ she muttered, and swung away from me to continue walking. I followed. She carried on for twenty yards or so, and then shone her torch at the building in front of her, revealing the deeply recessed and ornate portico I had been looking for.
I smiled into the darkness. Thank you, Fripp, I said silently. I was sure I would have found the building eventually, but she had made it much easier.
Stepping back, down from the white-painted kerb on to the darkness of the road, I watched her torchlight bob down the stairs that led to the basement flat. Two quick raps on a door, a pause and two slow ones. I moved closer to the top of the stairs and peered down. Torchlight flashed on to Fripp’s face, the door opened more widely and she went inside. The door closed behind her.
Heavy footsteps were loud on the street behind me. Moray? I stepped back onto the road, and again watched as torchlight played on the portico and then illuminated the stairs to the basement flat. The man slowly descended. Two short raps, a pause and two slow raps. The door opened, torchlight flashed on to a pale face and the man was ushered inside. I watched the charade play out twice more, as a woman and then another man arrived and entered the flat.
I stood there, gazing into the darkness of the stairwell, deliberating on what to do next. I was right about the Soho flat. Well done, me! I imagined Jim’s surprise when I told him about all this. And then I imagined his response, delivered in an amused tone: ‘But you have no evidence as to what they are discussing in that flat. Perhaps it’s entirely innocent. A Goethe appreciation society perhaps?’
The drone of bombers’ engines and the thunder of guns now filled the darkness. In the distance was the scream and crump of falling bombs. I knew I should run to the surface shelter on the corner but I didn’t want to move. Something reprehensible was going on down in that basement, I was sure of it. But what should I do about it?
I dared not go down the stairs and try eavesdropping through the door. Even if I could hear anything over the noise of the air raid, someone could emerge at any time to find me standing there.
According to the pamphlet about what to do if we found out anything suspicious, we were to go at once to the nearest police officer or military officer, with the facts – not surmise, just facts.
But what facts did I have to give? That a woman from my ambulance station who had expressed defeatist and perhaps fascist views was meeting her friends in a flat in Soho? Jim’s doubts were likely to be shared by the police. Fripp’s father was high up in the War Office, Moray was station officer of the Bloomsbury auxiliary ambulance station. I would need good evidence to convince the authorities that Fripp and Moray were acting against Britain’s interests.
I stood there for what seemed an eternity as the raid raged on. The sky roared with the sound of aircraft and guns, and the ground shook with the impact of bombs. To my relief, they were falling some distance away, and the mobile gun unit was not close enough for shrapnel to be a problem.
In my head I kept running through how I could explain my suspicions to the police, but each time I heard Jim’s calm, lawyerly voice dismissing them as fantasy. And I wasn’t even sure where the nearest police station was.
I was still dithering when the door to the basement flat opened and torchlight shone on the stairs. I hastily stepped back into the darkness of the road as four, maybe five, people emerged. One couple made short goodbyes and disappeared into the night. The other couple lingered.
‘Not much to discuss tonight,’ said a man’s voice. It was not one I recognised. ‘I think he wanted us out of there.’
Then the woman spoke, and it was Fripp. ‘It’s upsetting that Moray thinks we need to stop meeting for a while,’ she said.
‘We’ll lie low, but keep gathering information, like he says,’ he replied.
‘You don’t think . . .’ Her voice rose. ‘I have a lot to lose if any of this gets out. And my father—’
‘Don’t worry. Moray’s just being cautious.’
‘I’ll miss our meetings,’ said Fripp, now in a coy voice.
‘They’re not social occasions.’ The man’s reply was curt. ‘I’ll be off then. Goodbye.’ He walked away into the night.
Fripp stood for a second or two, then flinched at the sound of a falling bomb and scurried off towards the shelter.
Mitchell. The name suddenly came to me. Mr Mitchell was the man who read the book in its original German. That was something. And I knew that the meetings weren’t social occasions and that Mr Mitchell and Fripp and Moray were gathering information and Fripp’s War Office father was involved. None of that is innocent, Jim. Surely even you would find that suspicious.
As I watched Fripp’s torchlight fade into the darkness I came to a decision. I would tell the police about my suspicions. If the meetings were innocent, then Fripp and Mr Mitchell and the others would spend an uncomfortable hour or so being interviewed and they would be released. But if they were indeed fifth columnists – and I felt more strongly than ever that they were – then the authorities needed to know.
* * *
I was just turning to walk away when the nightmare began. A hand clamped over my mouth and pulled my head sharply backwards as my arm was twisted painfully behind my back. I tried to kick and twist out of his hold, but my attacker was taller and stronger than me and had me off balance. He dragged me with him down the stairs, and tossed me through the open doorway, where I landed heavily on a bare wooden floor as the door slammed shut. For a moment I lay there, dazed and gasping for breath. A light was switched on and I had to shut my eyes against the sudden brightness. When I opened them, Moray was standing between me and the door.
I pushed myself to my feet and glared at him, which he seemed to find amusing. He moved towards me, and I backed up into a sparsely furnished living room, glancing around as I did so, looking for a way of escape. An open doorway to my left led to a small kitchen. The door to the right was shut. I could see no obvious way out, so I decided upon righteous indignation.
‘How dare you?’
Moray gave me his wolfish smile. ‘There is nothing I can say that will not sound as if we are in a bad American gangster movie. Try to understand, Lily, I—’
‘I understand very well that you’re a traitorous Nazi bastard.’
He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.
‘We’ll talk later. For now, I must ask you to rest quietly in the bedroom. I am expecting an important guest and it would be very foolish of you to let him become aware that you are here in the flat.’ He looked at me and frowned. ‘Very foolish indeed. Can I trust you to remain silent? Otherwise I won’t hesitate to tie you up and gag you.’
‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘Absolutely nothing . . . if you promise to keep your mouth shut while my guest is here. If you do not give me your word, then you will be tied up and gagged. I mean that. Will you give me your word that you will keep quiet?’
I nodded. Moray was far too strong for me to tackle on my own. There appeared to be no one else in the flat, and no one had appeared on the street for some time when I was keeping watch. An air raid was in progress, and people were sensibly in shelter. If I screamed, no one would hear me. Moray would probably hit me and then he would gag me and tie me up as he had threatened. I would go along with him for the time being and try to escape while he was with his mysterious guest.
He opened the door to my right, switched on the light, and gestured for me to go inside.
‘Remember,’ he said lightly. ‘Not a word or a sound.
It would be difficult to explain your presence and I really don’t want to have to try.’
I backed away from him into the room.
‘Oh, and by the way, there are bars over the window, so there’s no escape that way.’
He pulled the door shut behind me and I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. For a few seconds I simply stood there with my back to the door, listening to the drone of bombers overhead and the thumping of the guns.
‘Idiot,’ I whispered. ‘Fool to come here without letting anyone know. What on earth am I going to do?’
I had mentioned the flat in Soho to Jim, but I hadn’t been specific as to where it was. No one would know where to look for me if I disappeared. Like Levy had disappeared. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was suddenly very dry. Levy. Had he been here too? And suddenly I remembered the thing I had heard, weeks ago, that Fripp said to Moray, it was in the same conversation as her mention of Mitchell. How could it have slipped my mind?
Something like, ‘I almost fainted when Sadler mentioned Soho.’ Sadler had been saying Levy was blitzed in Soho. And why would she have nearly fainted to hear him say that? Because Levy had been here? Had been killed here? I felt very cold. Deep in my bones I felt cold. And I knew I was right. I had been a fool not to see the connection before. It was time I began using my brain.
I sat down on the bed and took stock of the room. The bed was under the window, which was small and narrow and high up, and covered by a thick blackout blind. The window was the only possible means of escape. Moray might have been bluffing when he said it was barred. I should check, but how? The bedroom contained a wardrobe, a mirrored dressing table and an iron-framed bedstead. I could pull the bed away from the wall and move the dressing table to rest under the window, then climb up to the window.
My thoughts were thrown into disarray when I heard two short knocks, followed by two long knocks. Moray’s guest was arriving. I whirled around to put my ear against the door.
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