‘Now I have hired you a cook, Mrs Cherry, and a retired manservant, Mr Fleming – they are both our people – but you will need a personal maid. Would you have anyone you could suggest? Someone who was reliable, someone you might have known in the old days, from the old life?’
‘Not a person, Colonel, dotey. But I have a friend who could help.’
‘In that case pursue the matter, if you would. Now what about social contacts? The Office will expect you to entertain a great many of what are usually known as British sympathisers and, let us face it, there are plenty – British-born Italians, Czechs, Free French, Americans, naturally. Will you be able to build up your list on your own? Or shall you need my help?’
Edwina looked down the drawing room at the beautiful furniture, the paintings, the rugs and the statuary, and sighed with regret.
‘I am afraid you will be about to give me my coat now, Colonel. I know no British-born Italians, no Free French, and only one American.’
‘No matter, I know plenty. Ask your American round as soon as maybe.’ He smiled. ‘After all, you have to start somewhere, and it’s always best to start with someone you know. Builds up the confidence; gives you a bit of a boost.’
Edwina looked down the drawing room and smiled. She had passed the test, she had told the truth, and she was still hired.
‘I will leave you now, and let you settle in, but when I return I expect to find you using the place as if it were your own. No need to have your clothes sent round. We have filled the wardrobes, or as your American friend would call them, the closets. I think you will find we have your measurements and, more importantly, that you will like the clothes. I think you will be happy with the overall taste.’
He left Edwina, walking off into the lift, carrying his stick and replacing his hat on his head at a really rather dashing angle.
‘Goodbye, my dear, goodbye. I shall, like the bad penny, turn up sooner than you think, I’m afraid.’
‘Goodbye, Colonel, dotey, and just make sure you are back soon. I shall miss you.’
The colonel passed the ancient hall porter. He knew he had heard what he had just said, and that was satisfying. The colonel wanted him to think that he was one of Miss Carrots’ older beaux, that this was the reason he visited her often. So he made sure to wink at the old man as he passed him, and then to put his stick in rifle style over his shoulder, before walking off, whistling a saucy tune.
Inside the flat, Edwina found it hard not to bolt to the wardrobes in her grand new bedroom. She flung open the mirrored doors and, having looked inside, pulled out one dress after another, each of them the prettiest she thought she’d ever seen. She finally plumped for a beautiful cocktail dress and flung it on the bed, where it lay like a person, its silk skirts flung wide.
‘What a beautiful creature you are, to be sure,’ she told the dress, and then she picked up the elegant telephone beside the bed, and lay back against the silk-covered button-back chair.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine being a great grand lady in this bedroom, nor to imagine being a beautiful spy. And to think that she tried to turn the role down – for it was a role. She was being asked to act out being someone quite different, while all the time staying herself. It was a delicious thought, but she must not let herself become conceited or over-confident. The role could be dangerous too. If she let the colonel down, she could put others in danger. If she became over-confident, she would put herself in danger. She must not be naïve.
‘Gene? How marvellous that you are in. Do come round and see me, won’t you?’
She stared at the ceiling. He was sounding hurt, just because she hadn’t been in touch. Really, men were so difficult.
‘No, I understand, Gene, really I do. But you must remember there is a war on. I was called away. I can’t say more, you understand? But what I can do is give you my new address, and tell you that if you should come round, say at about half past seven, we could dine à deux, Hitler permitting, and then go dancing. I believe my new cook is too-too, with reserves of food that we must never ask about, but del-icious.’
Of course he was coming round like a shot. It always worked with men. Not the promise of dancing, or being alone, but a good dinner.
She replaced the telephone, and then shot off out of the bedroom to go to meet her cook and butler. As she pushed her way into the kitchen the smells were already so delicious she would have fainted with desire if she did not have fitting into her new clothes at the forefront of her mind.
‘Mrs Cherry? How do you do? I am Edwina O’Brien— Dear heavens, I know you!’
Mrs Cherry put her finger to her lips.
‘The colonel thought it a good thing if we had known each other in the past, if you know what he means? In case we have to work together in an unexpected manner,’ she said, speaking in a lowered tone.
‘Of course I know what he means, but golly! I haven’t seen you since you were in the sixth form at that horribly misnamed school – Angel’s Court.’
Mrs Cherry continued as if she had not heard Edwina speak. ‘We are not to tell Mr Fleming, the colonel said. Mr Fleming imagines that I am a professional cook, albeit he knows that we are both hired by the colonel. At the moment he is out at a secret rendezvous.’
‘How impressive. The colonel or Mr Fleming?’
‘Mr Fleming. If he can bring it off we’ll all be very pleased.’
‘Is it something I shouldn’t know about?’
‘It is something you will soon know about, Miss O’Brien.’
Mrs Cherry’s eyes flickered momentarily, and she made a small movement with her head towards the back door, from which Edwina knew that she was to gather that she had heard the butler arriving back from his mission.
Mr Fleming was of medium height with thinning hair. As Edwina was soon to discover, his habitual expression, no matter what happened, was of implacable melancholy. He was therefore entirely suited to the role of solitary butler-cum-general factotum.
‘There we are.’ He placed a small parcel on the kitchen table, but on seeing Edwina, he gave a small bow. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss O’Brien. Mr Fleming, at your service at all times.’
Edwina shook his hand.
‘I gather you have been entrusted with a mission about which I shall soon know, Mr Fleming?’ Edwina stated, while at the same time she had the uneasy feeling that since moving into Wilbraham Place, she was beginning not just to feel grand, but to sound it too.
‘I have to tell you, indeed I am pleased to tell you, Miss O’Brien, that the mission has been successful. A pound of the best beluga caviar, expressly brought to you by unknown forces working for the government, and also some pure Russian vodka.’
Edwina smiled slowly as she took in both items.
‘Well done, Mr Fleming, well done! If we can keep this up The Place is going to be the talk of London in a very short time.’
Mr Fleming nodded at Mrs Cherry. ‘She will make magic with it, Miss O’Brien, believe me. No one prepares food better than Mrs Cherry.’
Edwina drifted out through the green baize door. She knew that somehow, somewhere, there must be other people, other young women, who would give anything to be in her position, and she knew that she should feel sorry for them, but the truth was she didn’t. The Prime Minister himself had taken account of her that afternoon when she had been waiting for Colonel Atkins. The colonel had said as much. When it came to this particular assignment, they had both remembered her most particularly, and it was certainly not because she was a mousy brunette.
Chapter Ten
Trixie did not know whether she was pleased or not to be pulled out of the production line. It had taken her some time to get over the unpopularity that had come about from being friends with Betty, but now that Betty was long gone, she found that she was gradually being taken up by her fellow workers and was friends with most of them too.
‘What’s up?’ she asked, trying not to look anxious as she hurried after the young woman sent to fetch h
er.
‘I dunno, do I?’ she answered, shouting over the noise. ‘All I know is that the boss wants to see you.’
‘I hope I haven’t done anything wrong,’ Trixie yelled back.
‘I told you, I dunno! I dunno why she wants to see you. I’m going for my dinner break, good luck to you,’ she added, as she nodded towards the supervisor’s door.
Trixie straightened herself, though she didn’t take off her headscarf, tied modishly into a bow at the top of her head, but merely wiped her hands down her boiler suit. She thought quickly. They wouldn’t send a telegram here if it was anything about Father, would they?
‘Ah, there you are, Smith.’
The new supervisor was a great deal nicer than the old one, who had departed in a great hurry, due, it was rumoured, to having got banged up in an air raid.
Trixie gave the supervisor’s desk a quick look. It was a mere flick of her head, but Mrs Teal noted it at once.
‘It’s all right, no telegram, Smith. Not bad news. No, nothing like that, dear. You’re wanted in London. They’re waiting for you.’
Trixie stared at her. ‘Who wants me in London?’
Mrs Teal leaned forward. ‘I don’t know, dear.’ She looked suddenly both impressed and frightened at the same time. ‘A car came for you; it’s waiting out there.’ She nodded to outside the factory. ‘Tell them to take you home to change. You don’t want to go to London in your factory things, do you?’
‘But it could be anyone.’ Trixie looked stubborn. She had been brought up never to get into a stranger’s car, not ever. ‘Anyone at all.’
‘No, dear.’ Mrs Teal pushed a card towards her. It bore a name with letters after it, and when Trixie turned it over, it said, ‘I have recommended you to Colonel Atkins’, and it was signed ‘Caro Garland’.
‘You know her, I think?’
‘Oh yes, I know Miss Caro, all right,’ Trixie agreed. ‘But I wonder what she’s doing recommending me to this Colonel Atkins. I haven’t any military experience.’
‘Whatever it is I should hurry along, dear. Can’t keep the military waiting.’
Trixie did hurry along, and by the time she was stepping out of the discreetly official car to dash into her lodgings to change, she had relaxed enough to realise she was enjoying herself. A chauffeur’s daughter being driven, coo, coo, look at her! She even heard someone saying, ‘Cor, look at her,’ as she stepped out of the back of the motor.
And whatever Miss Caro was up to, knowing Miss Caro and her mischievous ways, it was sure to be something Trixie would enjoy. Perhaps she might not even have to go back to the factory. Perhaps she was on her way at last.
‘Betty Thomas!’
The caller waved to her, and despite feeling more tired than she thought she had ever felt in her life, Betty waved back. It was her new friend at the Park, Mary Mullins.
‘I hoped with all my heart that I’d catch sight of you, seeing that it’s four o’clock, and the end of your watch.’
Mary slipped her arm into Betty’s and they started to walk down the wide paths towards the lake where various military figures were busy fishing, taking advantage of the evening rise.
‘Phew, what a business this decrypting and filing is. It has my poor head in a spin, it really does,’ she said, looking round her with the air of someone who had just been born. ‘I don’t know about you, but I have half a mind on my work, and half a mind on what’s happening over there, which means I am less than useful at it,’ she confided, lowering her voice. ‘There was a terrible hurry on last night, telegrams and messages flying in all directions. Night watch is meant to be four until midnight, but I didn’t hit my bed until the birds were waking up and yawning.’
Betty was silent as they walked along enjoying the sunny, cold air, the sun beginning to sink down into its early spring bed with a sweet pink glow that was reminiscent of the inside of shells.
‘I keep thinking, if I make a mistake, what will happen? It will cost someone, or many people, their lives,’ Mary went on, leaning down on Betty’s arm, hurrying her along as they breathed in the fresh air – air not filled with the dust of filing cards and that rang with the song of birds before they retired, and not with the shrill sound of telephones.
Betty remained silent. She knew exactly what Mary meant about worrying. She too could not help worrying about their work, so much so that she went to bed at night turning over and over in her mind what she had done, just in case she had done it wrong. To make a mistake would not just be disastrous, it would be calamitous.
‘You stare at what you do, you do it, but then you keep on worrying and worrying and thinking and thinking. Where was the agent who went under the code name of Grey Fox? Why have his radio messages suddenly stopped? And then the dread of seeing “Goodnight Sweetheart”. And you go to bed knowing some brave creature has been blown, and praying and praying that they are dead, and not captured.’
Mary was not exaggerating. Even as you did your work, the facts behind what you were doing – well, they bit into your imagination – why was there nothing more from the one that calls herself Jezebel, or the Ladybird, or the Old Crow, or whoever? The shifts were long – seven hours without a break was normal.
‘I could never do what they’re doing over there,’ Betty confessed at last. ‘Sometimes I just want to bring them all home, and give them a slap-up lunch – you know, roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, and all that, tell them they’ve done enough, but that’s not what we’re here for, is it? And they wouldn’t come. They believe in what they are doing – that even if they have to sacrifice their lives, they will have been saving the world from a new darkness, and we have to believe that too, even though we’re only here to do the decryptions, file the cards in and out, not think too much, because it slows us down.’ She paused, the look in her eyes changing from pensive to dreamy. ‘As a matter of fact I wish I hadn’t said that.’
‘What?’
‘Roast beef. I can hardly remember what it tasted like.’
‘Oh, I know what you mean. Dear Mother of all that’s holy, if we have any more baked trout, fried trout, potted trout, or any other kind of trout from that lake over there, I think I will find I’m growing fins and a tail.’ Mary’s eyes too turned dreamy. ‘Come to think of it, now you mention food, I’d give an awful lot more than I would like to admit for just a taste of my ma’s boiled bacon with some of her special parsley mashed potatoes and golden roast turnips. Oh, and to see a great slab of golden Irish butter on the table in front of you – wouldn’t you give your eyeteeth for that?’
Betty looked at her. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but if you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you go home to Ireland when you could? After all, it is your home country.’
Mary smiled, and shook back her long blonde curly hair.
‘For the same reason that those boys and girls are battling their way through France over there, putting their lives on the line every hour of every day, for the very same reason as them, bless their hearts and souls. I hate bullies worse than sin. A dark age indeed it would be if we let the fascists in. A fine thing that would be if we all fell into that kind of slavery.’
They walked on in silence for a few minutes.
‘Sometimes before the war seems like one long beautiful dream, doesn’t it?’ Betty said at last.
She thought back to those gentle days. Even the boredom now seemed entrancing; when afternoons seemed to be somehow just a little too long, and going to sleep at ten just a little too early, and waking up to the song of birds that had already been busy from first light vaguely irritating.
‘Certainly the pre-war days seem like a dream, but perhaps when peace comes again we’ll look back on these days now as being brighter and better, because we were all needed, so? Because we were all pulling together, being one people rather than many?’
‘It doesn’t seem possible, but maybe you’re right.’ They turned back, their short attempt at exercise now finished as they he
aded towards their billets.
‘I do hope it’s not going to be trout again at dinner,’ Mary moaned.
Trixie’s eyes had once more grown immensely round, and the look in them had become immensely serious, which was understandable since the sight confronting her was shocking.
She turned to her companion. ‘I do believe that nothing I have yet seen in the war, nothing is so dreadful as this, Miss O’Brien.’
Edwina had the good sense to look embarrassed. Of course this Trixie person, Caro’s childhood friend, was right. It was a very, very shocking sight, and she was not proud of it, but there, what could they do? When all was said and done, they were at war, and you had to do some pretty funny things in war.
‘I know, I know, Miss Smith, and I share your opinion, of course I do, but it was Colonel Atkins’s orders. He is the boss and this is how he said it should be. He chose everything himself, and with great care, d’you see? He chose it all.’
‘Then he should be shot!’
It was Edwina’s turn to look shocked.
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I certainly do. Why, there are children out there who are hard put to find a crust off a loaf, and look what we have laid out here.’ Trixie pointed an indignant finger at the buffet table. ‘Whole salmons! Chickens! Vol-au-vents with real pastry! Iced cakes with twirly bits! This is a feast fit for King Solomon, Miss O’Brien, and even he would never have touched it at a time like this, when all of us could end up dead or in a chain gang.’
Trixie was so cross, Edwina could see it was time to guide her out of the dining room, and into the drawing room.
‘And that’s only luncheon, Miss Smith, you know?’ she said, solemn-faced. ‘You should see what Mrs Cherry has laid on for the dinner party tonight. It would shock the ribbons off your camiknickers.’
Goodnight Sweetheart Page 24