by Betty Walker
Patronising beast, Eva thought crossly, shooting the professor an irritated glance, but did not comment. Instead, she stopped in front of one of the larger metal cabinets, captivated by its rows of shiny spinning coils.
‘This one looks fearfully complicated,’ she said. ‘Like it could make you a cup of tea while you’re waiting for a message to come through.’
‘That one’s out of bounds. Best steer clear, Miss Ryder.’ Templeton led her past the rows of desks and machines into the side corridor he’d pointed out before. Tables had been arranged neatly along the wall, stacked with boxes, paper files and other oddments, and the way through was narrow. ‘The training room is this way. You’ll spend your first few weeks down here, learning the ropes and committing various codes to memory. Unless we need you on the Morse code interceptor.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ she said, perfectly serious.
He crooked an eyebrow at her. ‘Trust me, not everyone would call learning strings of codes fun. It can be intricate, back-breaking work, and requires a lot of brain power. But at least you’ve got a head start, already knowing Morse.’
Eva crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping her Morse would pass muster and wasn’t too embarrassingly rusty. ‘Dot dot dot,’ she muttered, ‘dash dash dash, et cetera.’
‘That’s the stuff. I’m sure you won’t have any problems.’
Eva hoped he was right.
She was keen to appear confident and capable in front of Professor Templeton. A modern woman, ready to cope with anything the war might throw at her. But the truth was, she did feel nervous. Some of these machines looked rather tricky, and though she knew they wouldn’t expect a mere trainee to operate them, it did make her wonder how easy she would find this job, working down here in the underground tunnels.
He had made it clear she might occasionally be asked to work night shifts as well as during the day. But what if she got tired and slipped up?
It would be too awful if she made a stupid error with some vitally important message. An error that could cost brave men and women their lives. That was her real fear.
At the other end of the corridor, Templeton pointed to a large crate of rubber gas masks. ‘In case of a gas attack,’ was all he said.
She nodded silently, aware that she might be putting herself in danger by working down here. But no more than being in London at the height of the bombing raids, and she had somehow survived that, she reminded herself, walking with a brisker step. A gas attack might sound scary, but it was no worse than having a house fall on your head.
He opened a door into a smaller room and flicked on the light. ‘This is us, Miss Ryder,’ he said, gesturing to one of a number of desks set with chairs, like a classroom. ‘Please, take a seat.’
She sat down with a smile, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt over her knee. ‘Call me Eva.’
‘Probably best if I don’t, Miss Ryder.’ But Professor Templeton sat down at the next desk, pulling his chair closer. He indicated the blackboard on the wall ahead. Several words had been chalked out in a list at the top of the board, and below them was a series of short sentences. ‘Using just your fingertips, could you spell out those words at the top in Morse code?’
‘Oh, is this a test?’
‘I just need to assess your capabilities, that’s all. No need to be worried.’ He nodded to the blackboard. ‘Try tapping out the first one. Sword.’
She was mesmerised by those dark eyes. ‘Sword …’
‘In your own time.’
She blinked, feeling like she was under a spell, then nodded and tapped out the five letter codes for ‘Sword’, the first word on the list.
‘Excellent.’ There was a faint surprise in his voice, as though he had not entirely believed her father when he claimed she knew Morse code. ‘Now the next one.’
The next word on the list was ‘Cabbage’.
‘Very good,’ he said when she tapped it out correctly. ‘Keep going. Work your way down the list. I’ll tell you when to stop.’
Tap tap tappity-tap. Tappity-tap tap tap.
His gaze had become admiring by the time she reached the end of the list. ‘No mistakes at all. That’s truly impressive. I thought we might be here for hours, but at this rate …’ He sat back, watching her. ‘Now for the short sentences. Let’s see how you are with a complete message.’
She studied the list of full sentences on the board, and felt her heart sink. ‘You want me to tap all that out?’
‘If you would, please.’
‘Very well.’ Eva tapped out laboriously, ‘How much is that doggy in the window?’ and then sat back in triumph. ‘There you go.’
He studied the code, and then shook his head. ‘Nearly right.’
She was dismayed. ‘I made a mistake?’
‘Only a small one. You gave a long dash there instead of a short one.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Miss Ryder, please take this seriously. Any mistake, however tiny, could cost lives. Sometimes hundreds of lives.’
Eva stared at him, feeling cold. That was precisely what she was afraid of.
‘Hundreds?’
‘Hard to imagine, isn’t it? That you and I, sitting underground here in Cornwall, could influence the course of a battle raging on the continent, or even further afield?’ He spoke softly, but she heard the stress in his voice. ‘These cables stretch globally, remember. Sometimes we’re responding to messages from thousands of miles away. But a single mistake in either deciphering code or sending replies could be fatal, and that’s why it’s our solemn duty to get it right.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said faintly.
‘Try another sentence on the list and see if you can get it right this time,’ he said gently. ‘You weren’t far off with that first one.’
This time, she tapped out the sentence more carefully, furrowing her brow in fierce concentration, and to her relief he gave her a quick smile at the end, nodding.
‘That’s perfect.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But a little too slow.’
‘Oh.’ She felt as though the wind had gone out of her at this criticism. ‘I was trying so hard to get it right, I … I couldn’t go any faster.’
‘You’ll get faster as you get more used to it.’
‘I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the idea of so much responsibility.’ She read the next test sentence on the list, and shook her head, perplexed. ‘And some of these messages are just bizarre. I mean, what are four-and-twenty blackbirds, and why does someone need to bake them in a pie? That’s from a nursery rhyme, isn’t it?’
‘I know some of the sentences must seem odd to you. But the majority of our messages are delivered in a recognised code form, and those receiving them at the other end will usually have a code book to hand that they can check.’
‘That’s fascinating.’
‘In this job, you’ll have to get used to some unlikely wording. Indeed, you may not know what the message you’re sending means, it could be so top secret. But that needn’t concern you. Our chief task at Porthcurno is to decipher incoming messages, deliver them to headquarters, and pass on any replies that come back down the line.’
‘Headquarters?’
‘Electra House, in London,’ he explained. ‘The operators there have to answer to the secret service in their turn. But the important thing is to follow orders to the letter. Literally, in this case.’ He folded his arms and nodded to the blackboard. ‘Better keep going, Miss Ryder. Try the next one. And this time, concentrate on increasing your speed. See how much faster you can go.’
The next hour was spent enjoyably tapping out messages in Morse code, as fast as she could, then listening to Professor Templeton as he tapped out words and phrases for her to decipher. Overall, she thought he seemed pleased with her progress, and certainly she was making far fewer mistakes at the end than when she had started. But he made no attempt to flirt with her, or respond to her smiles.
As he had said, the work was deadly serious, and it was clear duty came first for Templeton, even if that meant ignoring the woman sitting next to him.
But Eva refused to give up hope.
Besides, apart from her secret fears, she was having a fantastic time. She pored over training manuals under his expert guidance and refreshed her understanding of codes and ciphers. Mathematics and logic had always been her favourite subjects at school, but her teachers had barely touched on such delights, the curriculum placing more emphasis on those skills that would make her a good wife and mother, with less time spent on academic topics.
‘Talking of new things,’ she said, as Professor Templeton was packing away the message charts he’d produced from a wall cupboard for her to study, ‘did you know this is my first time in Cornwall?’
‘Mine too,’ he said, closing the cupboard.
‘So we’re both strangers in a strange land.’ She hesitated. ‘I haven’t even seen the beach here yet,’ she said, though she’d caught a glimpse of it from the cliffs, while out on a walk with her father. ‘Porthcurno Beach is supposed to be famous, isn’t it? Popular with Victorian tourists, I believe.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’m from Surrey myself.’ But he turned, smiling at her, suddenly more relaxed than she had seen him before. ‘That was good work today, Miss Ryder. I have some reports to do this afternoon. But we’ll take up your training again tomorrow.’
Oh, for goodness’ sake! Her attempt to lure him down to the beach had flown over his head, it seemed. But Eva was not to be so easily deterred. More training meant more time alone with him. More opportunities to get to know him, and perhaps work out how to attract his attention.
‘I can’t wait,’ she said, returning his smile warmly.
‘You can join the other trainees in our next session,’ he said, dashing her hopes of another intimate hour or two in his company. ‘No reason why not. Some of the lads are more advanced than you at signals training. But you’re clearly a very bright young woman, and with a little extra study you should soon catch up.’
‘Extra study,’ she repeated in a hollow voice, following him back into the corridor.
‘Don’t worry, you won’t be at a disadvantage with the men.’
‘Won’t I? When they’ve already been here for weeks, training with you?’
‘That’s a fair point.’ He hesitated, running a hand through his springing hair. ‘I could help with that, I suppose. Talk you through some of the more advanced techniques before you meet the other trainees. We could schedule an hour after dinner tomorrow night.’ He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. ‘For, erm, study purposes.’
‘I study best in the open air,’ she said, lying blithely. She rather liked the thought of spending a warm summer’s day outside with this man. ‘It’s this dratted heat. It stops me being able to concentrate.’
‘I see.’
‘Maybe we could take a little walk down to the beach?’
Professor Templeton gave her a searching look, then said, to her surprise, ‘Yes, why not? Though I’ll need to clear it first.’
‘With my father?’ Her voice was a squeak of disbelief.
‘Good God, no.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I meant, with the officer on duty tomorrow night. The beach itself has been mined in places and is guarded against enemy attack. But we might be able to approach it, at least.’ His gaze met hers, and she felt suddenly breathless. ‘Assuming you aren’t worried by a little danger, Miss Ryder?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Violet could hear birdsong nearby. She rolled over with a groan, heavy-eyed and confused. What was going on? It was already daylight and her aunt had not yet come up the stairs, banging a saucepan with a ladle and demanding they get up to start work. Then she realised she could not hear the distant lowing of cows, and when a vehicle rattled loudly past her window, she sat up with a start, abruptly remembering that they had left that awful farm and moved in with Hazel Baxter and her boy three days ago.
It had been the height of luxury to spend three whole days in Hazel’s lovely old cottage, sitting out in the sunny back garden and sometimes helping with the housework in return for their bed and board. She didn’t know when she and the girls had last enjoyed a proper holiday. But after labouring for weeks on the farm, rubbing shoulders with her short-tempered aunt and uncle, this short break had left all three of them rested and restored.
Best of all, Hazel had told them the good news over dinner last night … Their identity papers had passed muster and they could finally start work at Eastern House.
‘Morning, Aunty Vi,’ two cheery voices chirped, and she turned her head, blinking away sleep.
Alice was sitting on the edge of the bed she was sharing with Lily, her older sister carefully plaiting her hair. Both girls stared at Violet’s head.
‘Bird’s nest hair?’
Always the diplomat, Lily bit her lip. ‘Not too bad. Though it could probably do with a comb-through.’
Hurriedly, Violet licked her fingers and smoothed her disobedient hair down into some semblance of order.
‘You’ve been asleep ages,’ Alice complained, though she did not seem too upset. ‘I’ve been downstairs already but nobody’s about yet. So I came back to bed.’
‘And woke me up,’ Lily said plaintively.
Violet swung her legs out of bed, feeling more rested than she could remember for ages. ‘I slept so well. What time is it?’
Lily nodded to the small mantel clock Hazel had given them when they moved in, after setting up a spare trestle bed next to the bed Charlie had given up, decked out with sheets and blankets and makeshift pillows. They were all sharing the son’s bedroom, while Charlie very kindly had moved downstairs to sleep on the sofa. It was obvious that Hazel doted on him, and why not? He seemed like a nice boy, polite and helpful, though he became a little shy and tongue-tied around the girls.
‘Nearly half past seven,’ Lily said with a grin, her face lit up with pleasure. ‘Imagine that, Aunty Vi. I like staying here with Hazel. She cooks nice grub, and we don’t have to get up with the bleedin’ lark!’
‘Language, Lily,’ Violet warned her with a click of her tongue, but without much heat. The girl was getting a bit old to be told off for colourful language, and it wasn’t like Violet herself never used the odd swear word. ‘All the same, let’s not be late for work on our first day. Better get washed and dressed.’
Lily made a face. ‘If I can get to the wash bowl over Alice’s mess.’
‘My books are not mess!’ Alice complained.
‘Well, do your best,’ Violet told them, yawning as she stretched out her arms, ‘and Alice, do pack your books away for now, there’s a love. You can’t read them all at once.’
Yes, it was a bit of a squeeze, Violet thought, glancing about the cramped cottage bedroom with a feeling of resignation. And the work at Eastern House wouldn’t pay very well, according to what Hazel had told them. Though that was assuming they could even get work there for more than a few days while other members of staff were off sick. But it would be a thousand times better than slaving unpaid for Aunty Margaret and Uncle Stanley. With all the horrors that had involved, she reminded herself, including poor Lily’s assault in the barn.
And the girls seemed much happier here.
Violet only hoped her usual bad luck wouldn’t strike again, like it always seemed to, and spoil things for the three of them.
Downstairs, Violet popped to the outside lavatory, which to everyone’s relief did not involve picking their way through a nettle patch, as it had done at the farm. Returning to the kitchen, she found Hazel at the stove, an apron wrapped about her waist and a pan sizzling cheerfully on the flame.
She was uncomfortable to see her cooking, given how much hospitality they had already enjoyed from the woman.
‘That’s not for us, is it?’ she asked, peering over Hazel’s shoulder at the sausages spitting in the pan. ‘I
thought we agreed we’d each cook our own food. You’ve done enough, putting us up like this, and your poor boy having to sleep on the sofa. It wouldn’t be fair on you to do all the cooking too. Though I must say,’ she added with a grin, her tummy rumbling, ‘those sausages smell tasty.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind. Besides, it’s cheaper to cook all the food at once.’ Hazel looked pale, but she flashed her a brief smile. ‘Oh, before I forget, these are the last of the sausages until I go shopping with the new ration books.’
‘Thanks for the reminder, love. I’ll bring them down to you.’
‘Thanks.’
Violet paused in the doorway. ‘He’s a fair geezer, that Cotterill bloke. Thought he was going to turn us away. But you sweet-talked him nicely.’
‘Me?’ Hazel shook her head, and pushed the spitting sausages about the pan with a long-handled fork. ‘I didn’t do a thing.’
‘If you say so.’ Frowning, Violet studied her new friend’s averted face. ‘You all right, Hazel? You look a bit peaky.’
‘I … erm …’ Hazel grimaced. ‘It’s just the smell of these sausages, first thing in the morning. I can’t stand …’
She clapped a hand over her mouth and rushed out of the back door into the garden. Seconds later, Violet could hear the sound of retching from outside. She could also hear sofa springs from the sitting room next door, and then the shuffle of heavy footsteps. The lad, no doubt, getting up for his breakfast.
Hurrying to the back door, she closed it and returned to the stove just in time for Charlie to pop his head into the kitchen. The young lad had not dressed yet, still in striped pyjamas and a pair of battered-looking slippers.
‘Hello, Miss Hopkins,’ he said, yawning sleepily behind his hand.
‘Call me Violet. Or Vi, if you like.’
He grinned. ‘I was looking for Mum. Do you know where she is?’
Violet turned a sausage over before it burnt, careful not to let the spitting fat scald her.
‘Popped out to the loo,’ she said casually.
Definitely a nice lad, she thought, watching as he shrugged and helped himself to a cup of water. She had been impressed by his helpfulness when they all trailed in after Hazel that first evening. Young Charlie had set to work willingly enough, soon shifting his things downstairs to the sofa and fetching up the trestle bed from the shed. But she’d also noticed he was a bit sniffy with his mum at times, and guessed there must be some ongoing quarrel there. Charlie was in his mid-teens though, so that was no surprise. At his age in the East End, he’d probably belong to a gang, and be out fighting or worse most nights. Here in Cornwall, she could tell he was chafing at the bit and desperate to be free of his mother’s apron strings.