‘It’s all looking good,’ Dr Billingham said, sitting himself down behind his desk and making some notes.
Polly breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Thank goodness,’ she said, smoothing her hand over her bump. ‘I’ll be glad when this one’s out.’
‘And you can tell your mother there’s still only the one heartbeat.’
Polly smiled.
Dr Billingham turned his attention to the calendar laid out on his desk. His desk, like his appearance, was immaculate. ‘Not long now. You’re due in the middle of September, so just another eight weeks to go.’ He looked up at Polly. ‘Trust me, it’ll fly by.’
‘And you’ll take the stitch out before?’
‘I will indeed.’
There was a tap on the door and Polly looked round to see Dr Billingham’s secretary coming into the room with a tea tray.
‘Thank you, Mrs Wilson, just pop it on the table. I’ll manage the rest,’ Dr Billingham said.
Polly smiled at the secretary as she put down the tray.
‘Don’t forget, you’ve got an appointment at half eleven,’ Mrs Wilson said, her words clipped.
Dr Billingham nodded solemnly. ‘I won’t, Mrs Wilson. Mrs Watts will have had enough of me well before then and I will ask her to leave my door open in expectation of my next appointment.’
Mrs Wilson scowled and left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘So,’ Dr Billingham said, as he poured their tea, ‘have you heard from Petty Officer Watts since I saw you last?’
Polly’s face lit up as it always did whenever Tommy was mentioned. ‘Yes, he’s well. Alive. Nagging me to take it easy.’
‘Awful news coming from there last week,’ Dr Billingham said, getting up and handing Polly her tea.
‘The plane crash?’ Polly said. She smiled her thanks.
‘Something odd going on there. A B-24 crashing into the sea just minutes after take-off …’
Polly and the women had read about the crash, which had been reported in most of the national newspapers. The plane had been carrying the prime minister of the Polish government-in-exile, General Władysław Sikorski, and like Dr Billingham had just said, there had been no apparent reason why the plane had crashed, killing all those on board apart from the pilot, who’d had a miraculous escape.
‘Makes me wonder if there was subterfuge involved,’ Dr Billingham mused.
‘I think Tommy might have been part of the salvage operation,’ Polly confided. Tommy had to be careful with what he wrote in his letters, but he had mentioned that his unit had been involved in the clear-up afterwards.
‘He says hello, as usual,’ Polly added, taking a sip of her tea, ‘and as always thanks you for keeping a good eye on me.’
Dr Billingham dismissed this with a wave of his hand.
‘I get paid for it, don’t I?’
His comment sent a wave of unease through Polly. Since Bel had told her the secret of her paternity, she had felt uncomfortable that it was Mr Havelock footing the bill.
‘And how’s Mary? Have you heard any news from her?’ Polly had seen the recruitment slogans on posters: Join the Wrens today and free a man to join the Fleet.
‘She’s doing well. Very well. Never better,’ Dr Billingham said, reaching for his cigarettes and lighting one. ‘Working hard in the capital. Putting that expensive education of hers to good use. Did I tell you she can speak three languages?’
Polly nodded. He had. Several times. It must be lovely, Polly thought, to have a father who doted on you. It was times like this that she missed having a dad.
‘So, they’ve not drafted her to one of the stations on the coast?’ Polly asked. Dr Billingham had told her that Mary was going to use her linguistic skills to intercept and translate enemy signals.
‘No, not yet. But soon. Very soon. And then she’ll be home before we know it. Safe and sound.’
Dr Billingham always said the same thing when he talked about his daughter. It was obvious he was anxious to see her. Polly wasn’t sure how often the Wrens were given leave. She’d love to meet her.
There was a rat-a-tat-tat on the door and Mrs Wilson appeared.
‘You’ve a call,’ she said. ‘Shall I say you’ll ring back?’
Polly finished her tea and stood up.
‘No, please don’t. I’ve got to get off. Back to the office.’ She pulled a face before looking at Mrs Wilson and adding quickly, ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with working in an office.’
Dr Billingham laughed and waved her off.
‘Same time. Two weeks. And do as that husband of yours is telling you. Take it easy.’
Polly would have liked to have told him that she couldn’t do anything else. Filing was not exactly hard work. She’d never thought she would say it, but she missed physical hard work: the aching limbs at the end of a day of welding, and the heavy sleep that came with it.
Polly smiled her goodbyes to Mrs Wilson, who reciprocated with a stern nod.
Just as she walked out into the corridor, Polly heard the secretary shout through to Dr Billingham’s office.
‘It’s Mr Havelock. I’m putting him through now.’
Mr Havelock was sitting in his office with the door closed. He didn’t want anyone listening in on his conversation. The maid was in today and Agatha seemed to be on the prowl.
He shuffled in his chair, vexed – angry. He’d just come back from a break in Scotland to hear the news that had undone all the rest and relaxation of the past ten days.
Why Eddy hadn’t told him before he’d left for his stay with Margaret and Angus, he did not know.
He snorted through his nose, thinking of Eddy’s apologies, backed up by Agatha’s claims that they hadn’t wanted to tell him before he left for fear of spoiling his holiday.
Terrified, more like, that I’d have cancelled the break and stayed put.
‘Richard … Charles.’ Mr Havelock did not like to waste time or energy on greetings, unlike Dr Billingham, who always asked him how he was whenever they spoke.
‘Actually, I’m not good. Not good at all …’
Mr Havelock clenched his fists.
God, the man could prattle on.
Impatience got the better of him and he spoke over him.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me, old chap – it’s that damned Gentlemen’s Club.’
Another pause.
‘Yes, the one I was meant to be getting us both memberships for. Your bonus for looking after the Watts girl.’
Mr Havelock fingered the business card, tapping the corners on the desktop.
‘The Ashbrooke Gentlemen’s Club.’
Dr Billingham tried to say something along the lines that it really didn’t matter, but only got the first few words out.
‘That’s not the point, Richard!’
Dr Billingham managed to ask why membership had been refused.
‘Bloody good question. Why?’ Spittle hit the receiver. ‘It would seem the club is so popular that they have no room for any more members.’ He took a sip of whisky. ‘Have you ever heard the like!’
Dr Billingham managed to speak quickly and suggested that perhaps they were unaware of who he was.
‘That was exactly my initial thought,’ Mr Havelock snapped, rotating his glass tumbler, ‘so I got Eddy to call and make sure they were in possession of all the facts. I thought the place might be run by foreigners. Perhaps some of these bloody refugees they keep letting into the country.’
If Mr Havelock could have seen Dr Billingham, he would have observed his lips tighten and his cheeks redden.
‘Which might well be the case there!’ He continued his rant. ‘The woman Eddy spoke to sounded French. Of course, he made it quite clear to her who I was and she seemed to be well aware of who I was, but she said she was still terribly sorry, “très désolée”, but they were now totally oversubscribed and would call the moment there was a vacancy – a vacancy!’ Mr Havelock let out a noise that showed his disgust and disbelief.
Dr Billingham thought about advising him to try to stay calm for the sake of his blood pressure and not to put himself at risk of a stroke, but didn’t. Instead, he tried to reassure him that really, it was not a problem, they could go to the Gentlemen’s Club on the corner of Mowbray Road. Even though, if he was honest, he had no real interest in going to any kind of Gentlemen’s Club. Not that he would say so. Charles wanted him to be his companion, so he would be one – even if it had been wrapped up to look like it was Charles who was doing him the kindness.
As Dr Billingham continued to listen to Charles’s diatribe, he felt sorry for this Frenchwoman and her Gentlemen’s Club. She clearly hadn’t realised that she had just made a huge mistake, for which she would pay – dearly.