by Ellie Dean
He scribbled more copious notes, and when he was satisfied he’d covered everything he leaned back in the chair and lit a cigar, his mind still testing the plans for any holes. His gaze fell on one of the private letters he’d set aside to read later. It wasn’t from a member of his family but he recognised the handwriting, and despite all the other urgent duties he had today, he tore it open.
It was from his friend at the Pentagon, and took less than a minute to read. Coming to the end, he crumpled it in frustration. It hadn’t really solved anything.
34
Bletchley Park
Dolly was well wrapped against the chill wind as she sat at the back of the large house in the pleasant sunshine drinking a cup of tea and smoking a cigarette while she watched the fun and games on the lawn. Some new recruits were being put through their paces by the hand-to-hand combat instructor, while another group dressed in gym shorts and vests were suffering the agonies of a brutal fitness class under the watchful eye of a bellowing sergeant major.
Dolly was glad she didn’t have to go through such torture, and having tired of the sight of so much expended effort, let her gaze travel along the broad terrace to the small knots of men and women who’d come out from their various huts to get some fresh air and eat their lunch. She recognised only a few, for she rarely had anything to do with the decoders, boffins or engineers, and worked mainly in a classroom at the front of the main house. With a nod of recognition to one of the secretaries, she turned her attention to the house itself.
It was a rambling, over-egged pudding of a place – the sort of house designed by a committee that’d chucked everything at it, with red brick vying against white paint, domes, towers, lacy wrought-iron work, and tall chimneys. The park itself was still quite grand with its avenue of lime trees, but previous owners had sold off parcels of land, so there were just a few sheep grazing in the handful of fields, the old farm buildings turned into workshops alongside the new wooden huts which housed those working for the SOE.
Dolly stubbed out her cigarette and stared into the distance, her thoughts returning yet again to the dilemma of what to do about Felix. He might be many things, but she really couldn’t believe he’d break his promise – and why should he? Her absolute rejection of his proposal was surely enough to guarantee his silence, and with all that was going on down in Devon he was extremely unlikely to bump into Carol. There was no reason for him to suspect a hidden motive behind her rejection, yet she was not so naïve as to ignore the fact that he was a clever man with a questioning mind, and that if Carol’s natural curiosity brought them together, it wouldn’t take long for the truth to come out.
She sipped the last of her tea and opened her handbag. Once she’d repaired her lipstick and added a dab of powder to her nose, she snapped the compact shut and eyed the letters that Hugh had sent on to her from London. Carol hadn’t mentioned Felix at all, which either meant she hadn’t seen him, or that she was keeping any contact with him to herself.
The earlier of Carol’s two letters had been heavily censored, but knowing what she did, Dolly could tell she’d witnessed several of the early rehearsals down in Lyme Bay from the hills above the farm, and now all the speculation was focused on an imminent invasion into France. The second letter had been full of news about Betty’s steady recovery, Nipper’s growing reputation as King Rat-Catcher, and Pauline’s rather hysterical letters about Frank planning to go off again, while she was also terrified for Brendon’s safety. Despite Brendon being so reluctant for his mother to know where he was, Carol had realised it wouldn’t be fair to her sister to keep her in the dark, so had replied, telling her he was in Devon – even though she feared she’d probably broken some official secrets act.
Dolly closed her handbag on the letters and thought fretfully about her eldest daughter. Pauline had always been melodramatic, even as a child, and she could remember the temper tantrums and extravagant tears when she’d thought she was being treated unfairly. Unfortunately, it seemed she hadn’t changed.
Dolly knew she shouldn’t feel such impatience with her, for the girl had gone through enough already, but she really did wish she’d pull herself together and realise the world didn’t revolve around her; that the war meant men had to leave, and women were expected to knuckle down and get on with things without making a song and dance about it.
Poor Peggy would no doubt have to take the brunt of it all, and Dolly felt a deep stab of guilt at this, for Peggy had her own family to worry about, and Jim being involved in the brutal Burma campaign was of far more concern than Brendon messing about with boats down in Devon.
She found she’d tensed her shoulders and clenched her fists, and made a concerted effort to quell her irritation. She’d write a stiff letter to Pauline, she decided, and try to get through to Peggy on the telephone tonight to find out how she was coping.
Dolly gave a deep sigh as her thoughts drifted to Pauline’s father. He’d been working as a car salesman in a high-end London showroom when they’d met, and he’d swept her off her feet with his charm, his smile, the fancy clothes and the even smarter cars he drove about in. She’d been sixteen to his twenty and had fallen for it all, but when he’d lost the job shortly after their hasty wedding, his true character had been revealed. The reality of a cold-water room in a tenement and a crying baby had caused tensions between them, and the charm had quickly dropped away into dark moods and angry outbursts which threatened to become violent. It had soon proved too much for both of them, and she’d returned from her typing job one day to find him gone. There’d been no note of explanation, and with some sense of relief, she’d known she’d never see him again.
Dolly had kept tabs on him over the years, for she suspected that one day Pauline might try and find him. She rather hoped she didn’t, for Paul Cardew had achieved very little in life, and was now forced to exist on charity in a Christian hostel, his liver rotted by alcohol – hardly the best role model for a young woman of frail temperament.
‘Mrs Cardew?’
Dolly snapped from her thoughts and looked up at the young girl. It was Jane Fuller from the code room. ‘Yes, dear? What is it?’
‘This came through from Nightingale.’
Dolly frowned, and her pulse quickened as she took the slip of paper, for Marie-Claire wasn’t due to report in until the weekend. The decoded message was short and to the point. ‘Compromised within – moving on. Next transm …’
‘That’s all there was,’ said Jane worriedly. ‘Do you think she was discovered before she’d finished?’
Dolly bit her lip. ‘It’s possible,’ she admitted, ‘but there could be a hundred other reasons if she’s been compromised.’ She gathered up her handbag and cigarettes. ‘Thanks for bringing this straight to me, Jane. Don’t send any reply. It might put her in further danger if the SS have got her.’
‘I do hope she’s all right,’ said Jane, her blue eyes troubled. ‘She seemed such a lovely girl – and so terribly brave.’
‘I didn’t realise you knew her,’ said Dolly tightly.
‘We only met a few times. I can’t really say I knew her as such – she never gave anything away about her life before coming here – but we got along very well, and I liked her.’
‘Do you always pick up her transmissions?’
Jane nodded, her short fair hair gleaming in the sunlight. ‘I recognise her touch, and it was me who sent her new code over with Blackbird. She’d had the last one for too long, and I was worried someone might break it.’
‘Keep an eye out for anything slightly off if she transmits again,’ Dolly warned. ‘The SS could be forcing her to send fake messages.’
‘I do realise that, Mrs Cardew. It’s happened before with other agents.’
Dolly nodded and hurried away into the house before the girl noticed the impact that unfinished message had had on her. Jane and Marie-Claire – Danuta – had never met before coming to Bletchley, despite the fact they’d both once lived at Beach View at different times,
and Jane’s sister Sarah was still there. Dolly had hoped to keep them apart, for friendships made between agents and code handlers had a nasty way of ending in tragedy – but it seemed the girls had met, if only briefly, and she could only hope Jane’s work wouldn’t be affected by what could turn out to be a tragic situation.
She ran up the three flights of stairs to her bedroom, and went straight to the telephone. Shrugging off her coat, she dialled directly to Hugh’s London office and waited impatiently for the call to be connected. It was a secure line, but one was never too sure how secure, so she’d have to be careful what she said.
‘Hugh,’ she said the moment he answered. ‘The Nightingale’s song has been interrupted. It seems there’s a cuckoo in her nest. I need you to investigate.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ he replied smoothly. ‘But it could take time. Where is she now?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dolly fretfully. ‘She has simply flown her nest.’
‘Then all we can do is wait for her to contact us.’
‘There is a bird leaving the coop tonight. Should I ask them to investigate?’
‘No – and don’t send them to the same nest either. We’ve lost too many already, and can’t risk another.’ He gave a sigh. ‘I know you worry about her, Dolly, but she has to take her chances along with the rest. If she’s able, she’ll sing again.’
‘I’ll cancel tonight’s arrangements and reschedule,’ said Dolly shakily. ‘Please do what you can, Hugh. I really don’t want to lose her.’
‘Dolly, I’ve already said I will, but as you very well know, there are no guarantees.’
She heard the click of a lighter and the sharp intake of cigarette smoke at the other end. ‘Thanks anyway,’ she said. ‘I’ll get on to changing the orders here.’
‘Before you go, there is something I need to discuss with you,’ he said. ‘In fact, I was on the point of telephoning you about it. You’re not going to like what I have to say, but in light of current events, and the depths of your involvement, I think it will do you good to get away.’
‘I’m not going anywhere until I hear from Nightingale.’
‘I’m very much afraid you’ll have to,’ he said firmly. ‘This particular order is non-negotiable, and comes from on high.’
Dolly gripped the receiver. ‘You’re not about to dismiss me, are you?’ she asked warily.
‘Don’t be silly, dear,’ he drawled. ‘You’re far too valuable. But you do need to put your house in order, Dolly, which is why I have agreed to you going down to Carol’s hamlet.’
‘What on earth for? And what do you mean by “putting my house in order”?’ she demanded.
‘This business with the American has gone far enough and needs to be resolved,’ he replied evenly. ‘Your mind hasn’t been fully focused on your work, and this order from above gives you the perfect opportunity to clear the air once and for all.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she retorted.
‘I’ve made certain enquiries, Dolly, and I know far more than you think.’ He paused to draw on his cigarette. ‘Rather propitiously, an eminent group of your colleagues is leaving London tomorrow morning to attend a demonstration, and you’ve been invited to accompany them. It was felt by our esteemed leader that a feminine presence would brighten things up.’
‘I’m not prepared to be his token female – I’m worth more than that,’ she snapped. ‘And just by being there, my security status will be breached. You can’t do this, Hugh. It’s too dangerous.’
‘It will not be compromised – all attendees have the highest security clearance.’
Dolly remembered Carol’s letter describing how everyone at the farm had made a daily trek up the hill to watch the rehearsals on the beach. ‘There are at least two members of my family in the vicinity – not everyone who might recognise me will have such clearance.’
There was a moment of silence. ‘In that case, I would advise you wear one of your splendid hats.’
‘Don’t be flippant,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not prepared to risk jeopardising everything on a bit of straw and net. I refuse the invitation, Hugh. I’m not going.’
‘It’s not that kind of invitation,’ he retorted. ‘You’ll follow orders, Dolly, or there will be consequences.’
She flinched at the unusual sharpness of his tone. ‘I’m not a child to be bullied, Hugh,’ she said tightly. ‘How dare you threaten me like this?’
He gave a sigh. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but those orders don’t come from me – I’m just the lowly messenger. Try to see this as a chance to put things right so you can return refreshed and ready to do what you do best. I’ll arrange for you to stay nearby after the demonstration, and put a car at your disposal. That way, you’ll be free to come and go as you please.’
‘I really don’t like the sound of any of it, Hugh,’ she said fretfully.
‘It won’t be easy, I know, but I’ve always thought of you as a courageous woman, and believe you still are. Don’t disappoint me, Dolly.’
Dolly heard the click as the call was disconnected, and she stared at the buzzing receiver for a long moment before returning it to its cradle. She was furious with Hugh for prying into her private life and using this order from on high to interfere, and could only guess who’d issued the order – but knew she had no option but to obey it.
‘Damn the man,’ she muttered crossly. ‘Damn, damn, damn them all.’
The anger died as a wash of dread swept through her at the thought of having to face Felix, and the daunting prospect of the ensuing fallout that might leave her bereft of both her daughter and the man she loved. The thought galvanised her into action. She snatched up her coat, stuffed her cigarettes in her pocket and ran down the stairs, her heels clattering on the bare wood.
The wind was colder now the sun had begun to sink behind the surrounding trees, and she shivered as she headed for the main office to reschedule this evening’s flight, see if there had been any further communication from Marie-Claire, and prepare for the long journey back to London.
But it wasn’t the brisk wind that chilled her; it was the thought that her past had finally caught up with her. The gossamer strands of that web of lies were in tatters, and now there was no escape.
35
Devon
Carol and the three girls stood back with Millicent Burnley to admire their handiwork. The little-used boxroom between the farmhouse kitchen and bathroom had been transformed and now looked twice the size and very welcoming.
Where there had once been piles of boxes, suitcases, mouldering farming magazines and assorted bits of furniture cluttering up the space, there were now freshly whitewashed walls, a scrubbed and varnished floor, pretty floral curtains to match the counterpane on the single bed, and a brightly coloured rug Pru had made by using a crochet hook to pull strips of unwanted material through the threads of a potato sack.
Carol had lent a dressing table and padded stool, and Ida had come back from the farmers’ market one day with a chest of drawers loaded into the wagon, which she’d set about cleaning and painting until it looked as good as new. Millicent had sewn the curtains and bedspread, and not to be outdone, Maisie had painted a surprisingly good series of little watercolours depicting the farm and its surroundings, which now took pride of place on one wall. Mrs Claxton had commandeered an army jeep and a young GI to bring Betty’s belongings over, and had spent some time folding her clothes away and sorting all her books into alphabetical order on the small bookcase she’d taken from Betty’s room at the pub.
‘We’ve all done a splendid job,’ said Carol. ‘And Betty will love it. I can’t thank you enough for offering her the room, Millicent.’
Millicent tried not to look too pleased with herself but didn’t quite manage it. ‘Mrs Claxton and I agreed she couldn’t be doin’ with’m stairs at the pub. It’s no bother ’aving’m here until she can manage on her own again.’
Carol smiled, for although Millicent had s
aved the day, she’d also be receiving payment from the government for Betty’s board and lodgings – but it was a bit uncharitable to think like that. She patted Millicent’s arm. ‘It’s time I went to fetch her. Anyone want to come with me?’
‘They’m got work to do,’ muttered Millicent. ‘No time fer gadding about.’ She regarded Carol with some warmth as the others went moodily back to cleaning out the chicken run and pigsty. ‘You’m be careful driving. Yanks think’m own the roads.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ Carol assured her. She checked that the precious photograph of her father was tucked away carefully in her handbag so she could finally show it to Felix, then grabbed her coat and hurried off, with Nipper scampering eagerly at her heels.
Nipper loved going out in the car, and as Carol drove away from the farm, he stood on the passenger seat with his front paws on the dashboard, mesmerised by everything he saw, his tail going like a metronome.
Carol smiled at his antics, for she too enjoyed these trips. It was an absolute joy to be driving again after her own car had been garaged for the duration, for Betty’s little motor was quite nifty in comparison. It had also made life so much easier once Betty had been transferred to the cottage hospital, which was stuck out miles from the nearest station or bus stop.
There had been a very real worry that she wouldn’t be allowed to use it, since it had a special licence for a disabled driver, which also provided extra petrol coupons. And if permission had been refused it would have meant not seeing Betty again until she was discharged. Carol had discussed the problem with Jack Burnley and, to her enormous relief, he had proved his mettle by using his status as local councillor to get a short-term licence to cover Carol until Betty was fit to drive again. It was proof, once more, that even the most unlikely people stepped up to the mark when they were really needed.