by Pam Lecky
‘But Rob hasn’t asked for anything in particular,’ she replied.
‘I’d imagine it’s only a matter of time. I would stress there is a need for something special to hold his interest. The new variation preferably – do you understand?’
‘He’s not going to know one end of a … from another.’
‘Perhaps not, but I would prefer he is discovered with something that would be of great value to the other side. It will make his downfall more worthwhile; wouldn’t you agree?’
Sarah was puzzled. Why would it matter what Rob was found with as long as they outed him as a German spy? Surely the act of receiving the stolen drawing would be sufficient evidence against him. ‘I don’t have much choice about what I work on, Captain: I have to take the next available … thing, you know what I mean?’ He nodded. ‘But I will do my best,’ she said at last.
‘Good. Does McArthur know when you propose to do it?’
‘I had lunch with him yesterday. We have a plan outlined,’ Sarah said. ‘But until I have the job completed, we can’t set a date for a handover.’
‘Hmm, all right.’ He sighed. ‘When you are ready, phone and leave a message for me here giving me location, date and time. Not my flat, please.’ He flicked a glance around the room and smiled. ‘I pop in here most days. They are used to taking messages for me.’
‘Fine; I will do that. There is one thing that worries me, however.’
‘And what is that?’ he asked, taking a sip of his drink.
‘What will happen at the handover? Will you be there to ensure nothing goes awry? He has mentioned another party being involved,’ she said.
‘Has he now!’ Northcott’s cheek twitched and his jaw clenched. ‘That is an interesting development. His handler, I assume. Did he give you a name?’
‘No, but I didn’t like the sound of this other man. From what Rob has told me, he’s a nasty piece of work. What am I to do if this other person is there? I have no way to defend myself. I would be outnumbered.’
‘Don’t worry about that end of it, Sarah. I will have it all in hand. Let me assure you, it will be the last time our friend and his colleagues get up to mischief in this country.’ Sarah froze as poor Alfie’s fate loomed large in her mind. For a moment she was tempted to bring up Alfie’s accident. Her gut feeling was that Northcott had been responsible. He was ruthless, she was certain of it, and his methods for dealing with problems didn’t sit easy with her. But of course, she had no evidence. Just a hunch. Perhaps when this was all over she could plant a seed of doubt with the Winchester police, anonymously.
‘I hope so. What will happen to Rob afterwards?’ Sarah asked.
‘Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Justice will be served, I assure you,’ he said. ‘There are special court sittings to deal with the likes of him.’
‘If it goes to court, will I have to testify?’
‘All these questions, Sarah. I hope you aren’t getting cold feet?’
‘Of course not, but I want to be prepared.’
‘It is unlikely you will have to testify, mainly because it is best to keep agents out of the limelight. This will be dealt with swiftly and out of the public eye.’
Sarah stiffened. ‘“Out of the limelight”? That suggests our business won’t be complete. You implied this was a one-off.’
Northcott frowned. ‘Did I?’ He leaned across as if to impart something further. Sarah moved forward in her chair. His mouth twitched. ‘Now, drink up, there’s a good girl; I have a dinner engagement with my wife.’
What a lucky lady! Livid, Sarah snatched up her glass and downed her gin. ‘And I have a bus to catch.’
As she passed his chair, he stood and took her hand. ‘Good luck, Sarah.’ His grip was firm. ‘I have every faith in you. You are doing a great job.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, holding his gaze. ‘I wish you a pleasant evening, Captain.’
28
3rd November 1941, Hursley Park
‘Morning, Sarah,’ Gladys called out as she walked down towards her through the coat racks. Sarah had only arrived in the cloakroom a few minutes earlier and was sitting on a bench, deep in thought. ‘Well, did you meet the lovely Paul?’ probed Gladys. ‘I’m dying to hear all about your dilemma.’
‘How do you know I have one?’ Sarah asked, half laughing.
‘Stands to reason. Being courted by one fellow and then meeting a former boyfriend. Bound to produce all sorts of problems. Does Rob know about this clandestine meeting?’
Sarah glanced behind Gladys to see if anyone else was about and lowered her voice. ‘It wasn’t clandestine. You make it sound awful! And no; he does not need to know. It’s none of his business if I meet an old friend.’
Gladys snorted. ‘Old lover, you mean!’
Sarah threw her a stern look. ‘I’m sorry I told you about it now. And I hope you didn’t tell Ruth.’
Gladys took off her coat, shaking her head. ‘What do you take me for? Course I didn’t tell Ruth. But I think you are courting trouble, in every sense of the word.’ Gladys plopped down beside Sarah and gave her a nudge. ‘Come on, spill the beans. Was it all hearts and flowers? Or awkward silences?’
Sarah briefly outlined her encounter with Paul. ‘And so I’m more confused than ever. I can’t get him out of my mind, but I may never see him again.’
Gladys puckered her lips. ‘It doesn’t sound promising, Sarah. Sounds like he wants to remain friends.’ She blew out her lips. ‘That dreaded phrase. You might be best to forget about him and give Rob a decent chance.’
Sarah’s stomach churned at the thought and she blurted out: ‘I can’t see us lasting much longer.’
‘Well, you won’t with that attitude.’ The door opened and a group of girls came in. ‘Come on, best we get to work. We can talk more at lunchtime if you wish,’ Gladys said as she stood.
Despite her assurances to Northcott that she knew what she was doing, Sarah still didn’t know how she was going to pull it off. Racked with doubt, she formulated and rejected plan after plan. There were so many factors to consider; the most important ones being how to take the most recent plans, as Northcott was being so precise about what she should give to Rob, and how to get them out of Hursley Park without being caught. As far as she knew, the originals were logged in and out of the Drawing Office, checked by the Tracing Room supervisor before and after the girls had done their work, and then returned to the Drawing Office safe. Even if she used the excuse of visiting her uncle or cousin, she had no business being in that part of Hursley or going near that safe. The crazy idea of sneaking into the Drawing Office and snatching a drawing from a drawing board when no one was looking brought her out in goose bumps. She wasn’t that desperate yet.
The only viable option was to copy an original schematic. But the tracings she made were immediately taken away once completed. There was one possible technique she wanted to try, but that entailed copying the drawing at her desk in full view of her colleagues. However, she wasn’t sure her idea would work, and she ran the risk that someone in the Tracing Room might work out what she was attempting to do.
She was still mulling it all over on Monday evening after dinner. Her aunt and uncle sat either side of the fire and Martin sat across the table from her, and though her mind focused in on the family chatter now and then, she always came back to the knotty problem of getting that damned drawing. What she was planning was very risky. If she were caught, she’d lose her job and most likely be hauled off by the police to face God-knows-what. What was worse was that the two gentlemen involved were running none of that risk. Both would deny any involvement, she was sure of that. She would be totally abandoned if exposed.
The mention of a new Spitfire mark by Martin pulled her attention back into the room and she realised Uncle Tom and Martin were discussing aspects of the new design.
‘I only hope this newer high-altitude Spit will make a difference and give those blasted German Junkers a run for their money,�
�� Uncle Tom said. ‘If we get it right, the new mark will not only prey on Jerry bombers, but will also protect our own lads on raids over Germany. Which part has Manning got you working on?’
‘The new wing tips. We’re opting for the C type universal wings,’ Martin said.
‘Ah, good choice. They can handle up to eight machine guns. But don’t you have to extend the wing tips like on the Mark VI?’
‘Yep, and we have to integrate thirteen-gallon fuel tanks to the wing leading edges between the wing-root and the inboard cannon bay.’
‘From what Manning said, the main difference from the Mark VI is the cockpit door. My understanding is the pilots didn’t like the fact the fixed version had to be locked in place,’ said Uncle Tom.
‘I’d say not!’ Martin exclaimed. ‘Imagine if you were stuck and couldn’t open it and the plane was spinning down out of control.’ He gave a shudder. ‘It has happened. Poor blighters!’
‘Why do they have to lock them in place?’ Sarah asked.
‘To facilitate high-altitude flying, the cockpits have to be pressurised and sealed. If you lose pressure, the pilot can pass out.’ Uncle Tom looked across at Martin. ‘In the new model, they’re putting in a newly designed sliding mechanism on the cockpit door. Should be easier to use and safer for the pilots. They are also upgrading the air pump, which will be a significant improvement.’
‘Why?’ Sarah asked. This sounded like just the thing a Nazi would be very interested in.
‘Air is pumped into the sealed cockpit to keep the pilot conscious at high altitudes,’ her uncle explained.
‘So without the sealing of the cockpit and the air pump, it would not be possible for the Spitfire to go to the higher altitudes?’ she asked.
‘That’s it exactly,’ said Tom.
Martin glanced at Sarah and smiled. ‘Sorry. We shouldn’t be talking shop, but you should be getting the drawings in the Tracing Room later this week.’
‘Great,’ Sarah answered, putting down her book. ‘I’ll look out for them. Actually, I find it fascinating to know that minor changes can make such a difference to performance.’
‘Aye, they do,’ said Tom. ‘We have to stay one step ahead of Jerry because whenever they get their dirty hands on a downed Spit, they copy our technology if it suits their needs. Of course, the same is true for us. The Germans are fine engineers, it has to be said.’
Martin gave a snort. ‘That’s about the only good thing one can say about the blighters.’
‘Very true, son. But isn’t it grand?’ Uncle Tom said with a beaming smile. ‘The possibility of both your names being on the same plan for posterity. I couldn’t be prouder.’
‘Ah, Dad, stop that,’ Martin laughed.
Aunt Alice put down her knitting and glowered at Martin. ‘And why shouldn’t we be proud of ye? Sure aren’t you both contributing hugely to the defeat of the enemy? I don’t know why you always underestimate what you do, Martin.’
Sarah’s gut twisted in uncertainty about what her contribution would be, ultimately; she only hoped her aunt was right.
29
4th November 1941, Hursley Park
The next morning, Sarah arrived at Hursley Park slightly earlier than usual in the hope she would be first into the Tracing Room. Once she had left her coat and bag in the cloakroom, she made her way to the office, but to her dismay, Miss Sugden was already at her desk. Sometimes, Sarah wondered if the woman ever went home. She was married to her job, just like the Dragon.
‘Good morning, Sarah. How are you?’ the supervisor greeted her as she approached her desk. Miss Sugden handed her a schematic. ‘Isn’t it nice to start the day with a new one?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Sarah answered with a smile, marvelling at the woman’s enthusiasm. As far as she knew, Miss Sugden had worked at Supermarine for over ten years. Would you not get bored doing the same work day in, day out? Sarah wondered. She moved across to the table which held the tracing cloths. As she reached out to pick one up, the door opened and Gladys and Ruth burst into the room, chattering away. This was Sarah’s chance. While Miss Sugden welcomed them, and while all three were distracted, Sarah slid a second tracing cloth from the top of the pile, and made for her desk. She sat down, breaking out in a cold sweat.
Gladys soon joined her and sat down at the adjacent desk with a sigh. ‘How are you, Sarah? Fancy going for a drink after work? I can’t bear the thought of another evening in that dreary flat. Ruth is driving me barmy with her constant whining about Martin.’
‘Sorry, Gladys, I’ve promised to help my aunt tonight. How about some other evening?’
‘All right. There’s no new film on this week, so let’s make it Friday.’
‘What about Friday?’ Ruth enquired as she sat down on the other side of Gladys.
‘Drinkies, after work in the King’s Head. Want to come?’ Gladys asked.
‘Sure,’ Ruth replied, looking past Gladys to Sarah. ‘Will Martin be there?’
Gladys rolled her eyes at Sarah. ‘Are we not good enough company for you?’
Ruth pouted. ‘You’re a pig, sometimes, Gladys, you really are.’
‘Ladies, shall we get started? Plenty of time to chat at lunch,’ Miss Sugden interrupted from the top of the room.
Sarah had managed to place both tracing cloths on top of the drawing before the girls had joined her. It was a gamble, but she hoped if she leaned hard enough on her pen, the drawing outline would imprint on the second cloth. She took her time setting up, securing the tracing cloths over the original with drawing pins, then cleaning the top surface. All set. Although the tracing cloths were generally robust, she didn’t know if the added pressure would damage the top copy and raise suspicion. With some trepidation and a prayer, she took up her pen, dipped it in the ink and began.
The drawing she was working on was complex, and it was well into the afternoon before Sarah was happy enough to slow her pace. She hoped to co-ordinate the end of the job with going-home time. At one point, Miss Sugden walked past, then stepped in between Sarah and Gladys’s desks.
‘That line isn’t consistent in width, Gladys. I suggest you go over it once more,’ she said, peering down at Gladys’s work and pointing at one particular section.
‘Very good, Miss Sugden,’ Gladys replied meekly.
Sarah broke out in a sweat again, every nerve end dancing. Please, God, don’t let her look at my board. Make her move on!
After a few heart-stopping moments, Miss Sugden moved away, and Sarah realised she had been holding her breath. Keeping her head down, she released it slowly and unclenched her pen. I’ve aged ten years today. I’m not cut out for this malarkey.
With a few more strokes of the pen, she completed the tracing. Now for the tricky bit. Sarah loosened the pins securing her work but remained hunched over the drawing as if still working on it, waiting for an opportunity to slide the second sheet out. She didn’t have long to wait. Five minutes later, Gladys rose from her seat with a finished tracing and original in her hand. Keeping her eyes on the other girls, Sarah gently tugged the underlying tracing cloth down into her lap and quickly folded it over several times, before guiding it up the sleeve of her jumper. As Gladys walked back down the room towards her, Sarah picked up her drawing and tracing and headed for Miss Sugden.
As usual, the supervisor examined the tracing but, to Sarah’s relief, didn’t appear to notice anything amiss. She smiled up at Sarah. ‘Very good, Sarah.’ Then she consulted her watch. ‘Twenty past five; hardly worth your while starting a new one. Since you were early this morning, why don’t you head off now?’
‘Thanks very much, Miss Sugden. See you tomorrow.’ Sarah escaped out the door before the supervisor could change her mind.
Sarah could not believe her bad timing. As she scurried down the path towards the gates, she heard Martin calling out to her. She had to stop and wait, all too conscious of the tracing up her left sleeve. Every time she moved, the blasted thing crackled.
‘Hello there
,’ he said as he caught up with her. ‘Early release for good behaviour?’
‘Funny! But yes, actually. I’m a star tracer, or didn’t you know? One day there will be a plaque on the wall in my honour.’
‘I wouldn’t be getting too big a head about it, kiddo. The Dragon is bound to take you down a peg or two at some point.’ Martin tucked his arm through hers and Sarah cringed. It was her left arm. ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’ he asked, glancing down at the sleeve of her coat.
‘That’s the arm I broke,’ she said. ‘On days like this, when it’s cold and wet, it aches something terrible. If I keep it straight, it doesn’t hurt quite as much.’
‘Sorry, am I hurting you?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s not too bad, but take my other arm. It will be more comfortable.’
Martin obliged, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
As soon as Sarah gained the privacy of her bedroom, she pulled the tracing from her sleeve. So far, so good. But had it worked? Holding the unfolded sheet under her bedside light, she twisted it around, hoping to see an outline of the drawing. The surface was frustratingly smooth. She tried a different angle, then groaned. It hadn’t worked. There was barely any impression left on the sheet. Totally despondent, Sarah slumped down onto the bed. Now what was she to do? She couldn’t risk using more pressure on the top cloth; she’d go through it for sure, and might even damage the drawing underneath. That would be an absolute disaster, and she would be caught red-handed.
Jumping up, she paced the room. She’d have to think of another way of getting a copy. If only she were clever enough to draw something, just make it up; but she was useless at that sort of thing, and besides, if it wasn’t on tracing cloth as she had told Rob, he and his friend might be suspicious. She glanced down at the cloth in despair. Now she had the added problem of having to dispose of it. She couldn’t risk it being found in the house.