Chapter Nine

Down in the Cabinet War Rooms, Vi passed the familiar sign, There is to be no whistling or unnecessary noise in this passage. Farther along, past more offices, she sniffed the air. Masking the familiar stale cigarette smell, a fragrant expensive aroma of good-quality cigars signaled the presence of their most illustrious inhabitant. Mr. Churchill was around. Probably chairing a meeting of his chiefs of staff. Vi had learned he didn’t enjoy these meetings and deliberately sat the generals, in all their military splendor, in a line directly in front of him.

“Like naughty boys at school,” Ethel had said, after she had taken minutes at one of those meetings. “The Old Man really gave them what for. Tore strips off them. I had to edit my notes really carefully to get rid of all the expletives! Talk about making a general squirm.”

The cigar aroma was growing stronger the farther Vi progressed down the corridor. Her sensible shoes made little noise but, as she passed Room 69 – the Cabinet Room – she walked on tiptoe. A sentry with a stern expression stood guard outside the closed door. Vi carried straight on, turning moments later to enter her own office.

Ethel and Nancy were both typing at their noiseless machines, which were not truly silent. Instead of the usual sharp repetitive clack as each key was depressed, a soft, muffled thwump punctuated their dexterity and considerable speed.

Nancy looked over at Vi and winked. Vi smiled, closed the door quietly and sat at her desk.

The first few documents were tedious, almost unintelligible and mostly written in some sort of code. Vi concentrated on the task at hand, pushing away all thoughts of the previous day. She typed the reference numbers, copying them carefully. One error here and the document could end up in the wrong hands, or at least be delayed.

Vi centered the carriage, ready to type the document’s heading, and stopped. She couldn’t have read it incorrectly. There it was, in its author’s neat, slightly sloping handwriting.

Sandrine Maupas di Santiago.

There was no salutation. What followed was sheer gobbledygook to Vi. Its addressee would no doubt understand it, but she had to type up the whole thing. A foolscap and a half of meaningless unconnected words and random numbers requiring a code breaker’s handbook to decipher. Apart from the heading, there was no clue as to the document’s contents.

Of all the work she typed that day, this was the most solidly encrypted, with the exception of its heading.

But why not encrypt that too?

One thing was certain. Whoever Sandrine was, she was certainly attracting significant attention at the highest levels. She had to be an enemy spy, and Vi was sworn to secrecy by the oath she had taken. She couldn’t even tell Tilly about this latest discovery. One girl had been fired from her post upstairs only last week when she had been overheard chatting about work with a friend, in a café down the road. Three years’ loyal service without a blemish on her record and then, that was it. One mistake. But a fatal one. Out on her ear. She was working in a munitions factory now. What was that Gracie Fields song?

‘I’m the girl that makes the thing that drills the hole that holds the ring that drives the rod that turns the knob that works the thing-ummy-bob’

A far cry from the Treasury.

* * *

“You’re very quiet,” Tilly said as the two of them walked home. For once, they both finished on time, although Vi had been told that, from the following week, she could expect to have to work extra shifts, arriving at three p.m. and not leaving until maybe four the following afternoon. Repetitive, relentless typing with scarcely a glimpse of the outside world. How much longer would this dreadful war drag on? But thinking about the future was not advisable. One day at a time was recommended. That’s what her mother said, anyway. It had helped her get through the First World War. Hard though when you really didn’t know what was going to be left at the end of it. Even harder when your current world had turned strange. Vi felt she was constantly looking over her shoulder. That, at any moment, Sandrine and Alex might appear. Or worse.

Eligos.

* * *

Vi and Tilly were Mrs. Sinclair’s only tenants and they ate alone in the immaculately clean and tidy dining room.

“Bit different to Mrs. Harris’s, isn’t it?” Tilly whispered as they tucked into an excellent toad in the hole.

“Mrs. Sinclair’s a great cook though.” Vi couldn’t remember when a meal had tasted so good. “This gravy is delicious.”

Tinned pears and condensed milk finished off their meal and, as she laid her spoon down in the empty bowl, Vi stretched her arms and legs. “I’m so tired. I think that excellent meal has been such a shock to my insides it’s worn me out.”

“If we eat like this every night, we’ll be the size of houses by the end of the month.”

“No such luck for me next week, I’m afraid,” Vi said.

“Are they putting you up somewhere or do you have to sleep in the office?”

“They have emergency sleeping quarters down there. It won’t be for long anyway. Just the odd night now and again.”

“I wouldn’t like that. I like to come home to the same bed every night.”

“Me too, but there is a war on, you know.”

They both laughed. Mrs. Sinclair chose that moment to come in. She gave them a slight smile, which only served to make Vi feel awkward – almost like a naughty schoolgirl. The landlady began to collect up their plates.

“Oh no, that’s all right, Mrs. Sinclair,” Tilly said, grabbing a dish. “Vi and I will do that. We used to at our other place.”

Mrs. Sinclair grabbed at the dish, like a child scared of losing a favorite toy. Her eyes held an almost rabid quality, although why she should react in that way to a simple offer of help was beyond Vi. When the landlady spoke, her tone was clipped and curt. “That’s quite all right, Tilly. I’ll do it. I’m sure you could both do with putting your feet up.”

Tilly let her take the dish from her and the two girls watched as Mrs. Sinclair piled up the crockery and left the room. “I reckon she thinks we’ll break her precious china,” she said.

“Well, it is Royal Albert,” Vi said and winked at her friend. Nevertheless, Mrs. Sinclair’s behavior had been odd. Why get so possessive over some old plates?

“Don’t you think she’s a bit…well, odd, I suppose?” she said to Tilly when they got back to their room.

“Dotty. It’s the war. It takes people in different ways, especially if they’ve been through the last lot.”

“I suppose so.” Vi leaned back on her pillow and picked up her latest book. Dorothy L. Sayers had her sleuth, Lord Peter Wimsey, mixed up in murder and mayhem at a women’s college. Tilly was also reading. Some light romance, probably.

It was still early but Vi’s eyelids started to close, until she could no longer keep them open. Her book clattered to the floor, startling Tilly.

“I’m going to turn in,” Vi said, a huge yawn overwhelming her. “I’ll go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll get changed, but I think I’ll read for an hour or so yet.” Tilly started to unbutton her blouse as Vi took her toilet bag along the hall to the communal bathroom. The sound of dance music, played by a big band, drifted up the stairs. Mrs. Sinclair was listening to the wireless, no doubt. Probably Joe Loss or Geraldo or similar.

Vi closed the bathroom door, used the toilet, and stood in front of the mirror as she washed her hands and face.

The overhead light cast a dim glow, giving her an almost ghostly halo as she brushed her teeth and stared at her reflection. Mrs. Sinclair’s strange behavior kept invading her thoughts. That wildness in her eyes as she snatched that dish back from Tilly….

Her teeth cleaned, Vi rinsed her mouth and dried her face on her towel. She glanced back in the mirror, but instead of reflecting the pale green wall, with black and white tiles running halfway up it, a face swam into view. Close up behind her. Vi held her breath, too scared to move. Like a photographic plate in a developing tray, the image swam before her eyes.

In seconds, the face of a man stared out at her.

That man. Alex.

His lips moved and his voice echoed in her head.

Eligos is waiting….

The image faded and Vi could move. She lurched forward and fumbled with the door, snapped the light off and sped down the landing to their room. She wrenched the door open, dived inside, and shut it, panting as she spun the key in the lock.

“Heavens, Vi, what’s happened?” Tilly was beside her in seconds, guiding her to the bed.

Vi couldn’t stop trembling. “I saw him. In the mirror. Alex. He’s followed us here.”

* * *

Two hours later, Vi still lay curled up, fetus-like, unable to sleep, jumping at every sound. She was sure Tilly thought she had imagined it. But Vi knew. That face she had seen reflected in the bathroom mirror and the man Alex were one and the same.

* * *

“It’s time to get up, Vi. Seven o’clock. Mrs. Sinclair’ll have our guts for garters if we’re late for breakfast.”

Vi struggled up in bed and shook her head, trying to rid it of the sleep that had eventually claimed her. By the time she made it downstairs, Tilly was already finishing a boiled egg and about to start on the golden toast, margarine and marmalade.

Vi’s appetite had deserted her and she struggled to get half a slice down, but she did manage two cups of strong black tea.

“I don’t know how you can drink it like that,” Tilly said.

Vi yawned. “I need something to wake me up.”

“I heard you tossing and turning.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you awake.”

“You didn’t. I kept waking up. I had such strange dreams, really disturbing. I kept seeing that man, you know…Alex. Or my mind’s image of him anyway. Clark Gable really. It must have been what you were telling me. Seeing him in the mirror.”

“He really was there, Tilly. I’m not making it up and I know I didn’t imagine it.”

“I never said you did. It’s only that….”

“That, what?”

“How could he know you were here? I mean he associates you with Mrs. H., not here.”

“Maybe he followed me. Maybe he isn’t human, I don’t know.”

“Are you going to tell Miss Brayshaw?”

“How could I? She’ll think I’m barmy. If it hadn’t happened to me – to us – I’d think it was barmy. No, we need something more…credible.”

Tilly drained her cup. “We’d better get moving. Being late will do us no good at all.”

* * *

“Miss Harrington.”

Vi looked up from her typing to see the owner of the clipped voice. A tall, straight-backed woman in her late fifties peered at her from behind round tortoiseshell spectacles that gave her the impression of an earnest owl. Her iron-gray hair was caught into a neat bun at the nape of her neck and she put Vi in mind of a stern schoolmistress.

“May I help you?” Vi asked.

“Mr. Glennister wishes to see you on a matter of some importance, if you would care to come with me.”

The whispers behind her, though indistinct, told Vi that Ethel and Nancy would have something to gossip about. She followed the woman out of the office and down the corridor.

“My name is Miss Harvey,” the woman said. “And I am Mr. Glennister’s private secretary.”

“May I ask what Mr. Glennister’s role is? They neglected to tell me when he interviewed me.”

“No, you may not,” Miss Harvey replied.

Vi knew better than to push the point. Last time, Vi had met Mr. Glennister in Miss Brayshaw’s upstairs office. This time, Miss Harvey led the way past the officers’ mess where, judging by the distinctive aroma, cabbage appeared to be on the menu today. Vi caught a swift glimpse of a sign that read Fair. She found it reassuring to know what the weather was doing up there. A lovely spring day, probably. Blossom on the trees. Birds singing as if there wasn’t a war on. Yet another beautiful day she was missing. Those carefree days she used to take for granted seemed so far off. Unreal.

Reality hit back as she followed Miss Harvey through a doorway guarded by an armed soldier who checked their ID, and into a corridor Vi hadn’t been down before. Here, the only sound was the lightest tap of their shoes on the concrete floor. The air smelled stale and, despite the clanky air conditioning, choked with cigarette smoke – even more so than in her own familiar corridors.

Vi found herself wondering what lay above them. They seemed to have walked for half a mile or more. There was no sound of traffic, but she never heard it where she worked either. A sudden wave of claustrophobia swept over her and she felt nauseous. Just as she thought she would have to tell Miss Harvey that she needed to be sick, the woman stopped in front of a door and knocked.

A male voice she recognized called, “Enter.”

Miss Harvey motioned to Vi to follow her as she opened the door and crossed the threshold.

The room was small, in common with the other offices. Big enough to allow for work to be done, too small to be comfortable. In the corner, a simple iron bedstead, with a neatly made-up bed, spoke of a man who worked far longer than normal office hours. Judging from the tiny bit of striped flannel peeking out from under the pillow, the bed was in current use.

The man looked up from a paper he was in the process of correcting or editing. He held his pipe in his left hand, while a gold-and-black expensive-looking fountain pen took up his right.

“Miss Harrington.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sit down. That will be all for now, Miss Harvey.”

“Very good, Mr. Glennister.” The secretary left, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Now, Miss Harrington, I expect you’re wondering why I have called you here today.”

“I am indeed, sir.”

“I am aware of the work you currently do and that you have made a good start. The PM is pleased with your accuracy and efficiency, along with the calm way you approach your tasks.”

“That’s very kind of him, sir.”

“Yes. Indeed.” Mr. Glennister cleared his throat. “Now, Miss Harrington. I understand that, until recently, you have been sharing lodgings with a woman by the name of Sandrine Maupas di Santiago and you and your friend, a Miss Layton, who also works here, have expressed serious concerns about the activities of this woman.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“You believe this Santiago woman is an enemy spy, don’t you?”

Vi took a deep breath. “Well…we have no proof, you see, it’s just that her comings and goings seem strange. Unusual. Her whole attitude has been quite aggressive, and that man she consorts with—”

Mr. Glennister shot forward in his seat. “Man? What man?”

“I don’t know anything about him really. Sandrine – Miss Santiago – calls him Alex.” Vi stopped, aware Mr. Glennister was only half listening. He was busy scribbling notes down on a sheet of foolscap.

He stopped and looked up. “Can you describe this man? Height, looks, any distinguishing features?”

“Yes. He’s around six feet tall, fairly slim, dark hair, slicked down with Brylcreem or something similar. His face is sort of…craggy, I suppose you’d call it. To be honest, he reminded me a lot of Clark Gable.”

“Clark Gable? The American actor?”

“Yes, that’s right. He could almost be his double. They say we all have one, don’t we?” Shut up, Vi. You’re gabbling. She clenched her hands in her lap.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Miss Harrington. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Was that an attempt at a smile on Mr. Glennister’s face?

“Since you left your previous lodgings at….” He turned over some sheets lying in a neat pile next to him and searched down them. “Ah yes, Boscawen Walk. Since you and Miss Layton left there, have you seen this man again?”

Vi hesitated. He would never believe her. “No, sir.”

She wished he wouldn’t stare at her so hard. She was sure he could tell she was lying, but what could she do? Risk him disbelieving everything she had said by telling him something totally impossible?

“And, to the best of your knowledge, has Miss Layton ever seen him?”

That was much easier. “No, sir. And I am certain she would have told me if she had.”

Mr. Glennister scribbled some more notes, screwed the cap back on his pen and once again laid it down in precisely the same place as before.

After some moments, during which Vi had almost memorized the pattern on the rug at her feet, the civil servant leaned forward again, elbows on the desk.

“Thank you for your co-operation, Miss Harrington. I need not tell you that our conversation has been in the strictest confidence. A need-to-know basis only. This means I would prefer it if you refrained from discussing our meeting with Miss Layton.”

“I understand, sir.”

“I may ask to see you again but, in the meantime, should you see or hear anything of Miss Santiago or this man – Alex – kindly tell Miss Brayshaw immediately and she will make sure I am informed.”

“Yes, sir.”

He stood, signaling the end of their interview. He extended his right hand to her and, for an instant, his shirtsleeve rode up his arm a few inches. Just enough for Vi to spot a tattoo she hadn’t seen before, on his inner wrist.

There surely couldn’t be two of them, could there? Both here? Both with that stylized Odal’s rune inked onto their arms?

It took her twice as long to get back to her office, as she managed to take two wrong turns and ended up in the kitchen. An orderly set her right and she gathered she wasn’t the first person to get lost.

“These corridors all look the same,” she said.

The orderly laughed. “You’ll get used to it,” he said. “We all do…in the end.”

Vi quickened her step, anxious to return to make a dent in her in-tray before lunch. She passed an open door and caught a quick glimpse of the occupant before he shut the door.

It couldn’t be…. She leaned against the wall, momentarily winded as if someone had punched her in the stomach. He couldn’t be here. Not HERE.

She forced herself to take deep, even breaths and then retraced the few steps back to the now firmly closed door. There was no name plate. Just the room number. 338.

That in itself was more than a little odd. Vi wasn’t sure how many rooms there were precisely but she had never seen triple figures. Either side of that room were ones marked 81 and 82.

She sped back to her office and arrived, slightly breathless.

Nancy and Ethel looked up.

“You look as if a ghost leapt out at you,” Nancy said, laughing.

“Who’s in Room 338?” Vi said.

“338?” Ethel looked at Nancy. “There’s no such room.”

“But there must be. I was there. I went past it. There was a man in there, but he shut the door before I could get a proper look at him.”

“Sorry, Vi. You must be mistaken. There is definitely no Room 338 down here.”

Miss Brayshaw entered. “What’s going on here? Or should I ask, why is nothing going on here?”

“Vi was just asking,” Nancy said, “about Room 338. She saw someone in there, or so she says.”

Ethel snickered.

Vi sank down in her seat and wished she could disappear under the desk.

“Room 338? Wherever did you get that idea? There isn’t one. Never has been. Now come on, everyone, get on with your work. I want those in-trays emptied. And the PM’s around, so quietly if you please.” Miss Brayshaw left them, pulling the door closed behind her.

At her desk, inserting carbons between sheets of copy paper, Vi inwardly seethed.

Three typewriters made their constant muted thwumps and carriages whirred as they were manually returned. Cogs ratcheted as fresh sheets of paper were inserted and wound into them. Printed sheets and carbons rustled as they were deposited in their allotted trays. Occasionally, a well-worn sheet of carbon would be screwed up and tossed into a waste bin at the side of the owner’s desk – the noise like scrunched-up tissue paper.

The hours ticked by, measured by the circular wall clock, its second hand moving round and round the Roman numerals.

Vi took her lunch break at one, as Nancy and Ethel returned. She had barely exchanged a word with them since the incident over the apparently non-existent Room 338. Right now, Vi wanted to be on her own. She wanted to retrace her steps.

She reached the end of her corridor and stopped. To the left? Or the right? Why couldn’t she remember which way she had come? It had only been a couple of hours earlier.

Vi decided on turning left and looked up at the door numbers. Satisfied she was proceeding in the right direction, she hurried. Her lunch break was only half an hour and she couldn’t be late back.

She reached Room 69, guarded as always. Except…. When she passed it earlier, there had been no guard on duty. It hadn’t registered at the time because she was still in a flap about the man she had seen. Maybe the guard was only there when the PM was around. But no, Room 69 was the Cabinet Room and was always guarded. Vi hurried past him, to the next room. There was the sign. Number 81. Next door should be….

She stared up in disbelief. Where the number 338 should have been, number 82 was there. Only a short expanse of wall separated the two rooms. There was not enough space for another room – not even enough for the short, narrow passageway she had noticed before. She stood and stared at the two doors, willing the room she knew had been there earlier to somehow miraculously reappear.

“Something I can help you with, miss?”

Vi realized the guard was addressing her. She must look highly suspicious, standing there, with some stupid expression on her face, no doubt. “No, sorry. I got myself a bit…lost.”

“Where are you trying to get to? I can direct you. I’ve been here a few months now. Know my way around pretty well.”

Vi forced a smile. “Thank you, but I’m fine now. I know where I need to go.”

“Best get off there, then.” His polite way of telling her to get lost, but at least he was civil about it.

“Thank you….” She counted the stripes on the sleeve of his khaki uniform. “Thank you, Sergeant. There is one thing….”

“Yes, miss?”

“Were you on duty earlier this morning? Did you see me come past at about nine and then return a few minutes later?”

“I’ve been on duty since eight o’clock this morning. Yes, I saw you come down here with Miss Harvey. I don’t recall seeing you go back this way though. Maybe you took the long way round.” He pointed down the corridor past Rooms 81 and 82.

Had she? He was still watching her; a frown had appeared on his face. She would have to let it go, for now at least.

“Thanks again, Sergeant. I’ll be getting back now.”

“That’s the ticket, miss.”

There wasn’t time for lunch now. Vi settled for a cup of tea, which she took back to the office. Maybe the sergeant was right. Maybe she had gone ‘the long way round’ as he called it. That would explain how she ended up getting lost.

Ethel and Nancy stopped talking as soon as she opened the door. Let them think what they liked about her. She knew the truth. The only problem was she hadn’t a clue how the truth could actually be happening.