I continued to write to Edward every week, although I hadn’t heard a word from him. I even tried writing to his mother again, asking if she had any news. It took her two weeks to reply which was a terse ‘no news’. Every night I said a prayer for him, and as I lay in bed I tried hard to banish all pictures of him being tortured, or starving or being made to do awful back-breaking work – or dead.
Then, one Wednesday when I was on duty, headset in place, things changed. Sorting the incoming mail was one of Mavis’s tasks and she knew I’d been waiting for a letter.
‘Got something for you,’ she said, trying not to smile.
‘Is it a letter from my mum?’ I asked. ‘Hand it over.’
She produced the letter from behind her back like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. She went to hand it over, then snatched it back at the last minute when I held out my hand for it. She thought it was a great game. This happened twice and I was ready to kill her. I transferred two calls while she was messing about. I could tell the letter wasn’t from home, the envelope was completely different. It had to be from Edward. In the end, I ripped the headset off and chased her, grabbing the letter she was trying to hold over her head.
‘Sorry,’ she said, laughing so much she could hardly speak, ‘’ard to resist teasing you.’
Amanda was the other person on duty and she saw what was happening. ‘Take it to the Ladies’ to read,’ she said, ‘I’ll cover for you.’
Slapping Mavis as I walked past, I ran to the toilet hugging the letter to my heart. The envelope was grubby, with fingerprints and muddy smears here and there. It also seemed as if it had been opened and poorly stuck back down. But I recognised Edward’s handwriting and gently stroked it with my fingers. I opened the envelop carefully, fearful of tearing any part of it. I took out the letter with trembling hands, tears already threatening to spill. It said:
My dear Lily,
I have received a few letters from you although I realise from reading them that you have written more that haven’t arrived. I read and reread your words until I fear the paper will disintegrate. You will never know how much they mean to me. Hearing about your everyday life is such a balm, reminding me that there is life outside where I am now.
You may know that I am a prisoner of war in Plaszow, Poland, although we have been moved around three different camps already. Mother sends Red Cross parcels regularly, although often the guards help themselves before we get them. I hope that you and Mother are keeping in touch. I like to think that one good thing to come from being captured is that you two will find something in common and become more friendly. If she hadn’t already done so, she will learn to love you like the daughter she never had.
We are worked hard here, although I cannot say doing what. We are treated okay, although I XXXXXXX it brings.
But we keep our spirits up and enjoy the comradeship that has grown between us.
Remember the picnic by the stream where you splashed me? It was a beautiful warm day but the water was cold enough to take my breath away. We lay in the sun after our picnic and you snuggled your head on my chest. It was the most wonderful feeling, and I realised that we were meant for each other.
I will write again when I’m allowed to and hope that you are still enjoying your work wherever you are. I was so pleased to hear you have some familiar friends to keep you company.
I can’t wait until we are together again and can begin planning our wedding day.
Yours, with love,
Your devoted fiancé, Edward
I tried and tried to see the words that had been crossed out, but without luck. The other girls had received letters similarly hacked about from their brothers who were fighting. The main thing was, he was alive. Or at least he was when the letter was written a month before. And he still loved me; he still loved me. Just reading his letter brought his face, which had been fading from my mind, back into sharp focus. I had a sudden powerful surge of longing, to be in his arms, to feel secure, to feel the world was a safe place to be.
I spent so long day-dreaming there, in the Ladies’, that Mavis came and knocked on the door. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘It isn’t bad news, is it?’
I unlocked the cubical and gave her watery smile. ‘No, everything’s fine. He’s alive!’ And I walked out into the hand-wash area and spun round like a lunatic, grinning until the muscles in my face started to ache.
* * *
A few days later, Ingrid took over my headset at the end of my shift. I noticed that, unusually, she didn’t have her little book with her. I stood by the door until I saw her beginning to take calls then decided to do some sleuthing. Perhaps there would be some evidence in her little book.
Not the brightest of rooms at the best of times, our bedroom was already in darkness as I crossed the hall and stood at the threshold. Although the room was so familiar to me after all these weeks as the place nearest to one I called home, I was again aware of how little I knew of my room-mate. Despite being so close to each other day and night, I still didn’t know her well. So, as I stood there, about to search her side of the room for her book, it was as if the belongings I was about to rummage in were those of a stranger. I pulled the light switch cord on the light fitting in the middle of the room and thought about where to start.
The dressing table was one we both used and I knew it wouldn’t be there because I’d have seen it before. I started on her bedside cabinet where an ashtray with half a dozen dog-ends sat on a small pile of Paris street maps. There was a handwritten copy of her duty rota, half folded, tucked under a small glass jar that held some small items of jewellery. The drawer beneath contained only a collection of underwear and a pair of apparently well used and darned stockings. I took care not to move anything and felt like a real spy for a minute.
Opening the cabinet door beneath, revealed a tall box of cheap French talcum powder; a tube of antiseptic cream; a small brown bottle of pills; two or three folded white hankies, and, right at the back, four condoms. I suddenly felt the urge to snigger at this last finding until the awful thought occurred to me that the user of these might be Commander Thomas himself and, instead, I shuddered in mild disgust. I stood and turned to the alcove at the end of her bed and the pitiful collection of uniforms and odd bits of her civilian clothes that hung there on a rail. A quick pat of the pockets showed the book wasn’t there.
I turned back to the bed and, without thinking, tugged at the eiderdown. The book, caught in its folds, flew from the bed and fell with a flutter of pages into the floor at my feet. Guiltily, as if she could hear the noise from the duty room, I noticed that the brown paper covering was starting to come away and I wondered if this was my doing in dropping it to the floor. I inspected the flap of paper that had come loose and saw where it become unglued on the inside of the front cover. I also saw that Ingrid’s name was written in blue pen on the first fly leaf ‘Ingrid Foster’. But there, on the back of the front cover and until now hidden by the brown paper was another inscription in a different hand. ‘Zu unserer süßen tochter. Ingrid Abelsdor. Matty und Papa’. I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle and for a moment felt light-headed. I retreated to my own bed and sat heavily wondering what on earth I had found. My first instinct was to lick the glued seams and press them together again to hide what I had seen. No sooner had I done this than I felt another urge to pull the paper back again to reassure myself that I had, in fact, seen what I thought I had.
Pull yourself together, I told myself, you’ve done nothing wrong. But I grabbed a pen and paper and copied the words in case I should ever need them.
I began searching my mind for what I did know about Ingrid. She gave very little away to anyone and nobody knew that much about her, that much was clear. She was having an affair with a man more than twice her years without ever professing any fondness for him. She rarely went out with the other ATS girls in her spare time, yet seldom went straight back to her room either. So where did she go? I stood, straightened my tunic, turned off the light and stood in the darkened door way. My mind was in such a whirl it was impossible to settle, so I decided to go for a walk before turning in for the night. But first, I returned the book to where I’d found it.
It was never dark in Paris despite the blackout regulations. Narrow strips of light seeped through the doorways of cafés and nightclubs, and reflected the white paint on the road crossings and the white capes worn by traffic gendarmes. The street lights were fitted with dimmers and the posts had a protective covering in case drivers crashed into them. As I walked through a little square I thought how different it was by moonlight. Then the moon properly appeared from behind a cloud, casting shadows that emphasised features I’d never noticed in daylight which seemed somehow threatening. The church on one side of the square had gargoyles where the roof and walls met. The shadows made their horns and noses elongated as if they might come alive at any moment. In my troubled mental state, I imagined German soldiers marching through – the ring of their jackboots echoing aggressively round the old walls.
I walked through the square and back to the bigger streets which felt safer. Although not crowded, couples strolled arm in arm here and there, people walked their dogs, and solitary walkers hurried to their destinations. I’d already learned to rely on my night-sight to avoid falling over objects on the pavement or trip at kerbs, so my mind was free to wander. Should I report what I knew of Ingrid? Did the authorities know that she was really German? Come to that, she might have a German name but have been born in England. Where would her loyalties lie?
Stopping to pet a German shepherd and exchange a brief word with its owner, brought me back to reality, but my doubts soon crept back in. If I reported her, presumably Commander Thomas would be the most senior person who’d have to know about it within our building. Would his lust overcome his concern for the safety of Britain, or would he be willing to turn Ingrid in? I wished my brain would turn off, so I could go to bed and get a good night’s sleep before my early shift next day.
The welcome sound of a Maurice Chevalier song broke through my troubled thoughts and I did something I’d never done before. I went into a bar late in the evening on my own. It was busy, but not noisy, with a strong smell of coffee and Gitanes. A few men eyed me up when I entered, but getting no response, carried on with their conversation. Feeling very daring, I ordered a cognac and sat in a corner sipping it slowly. Gradually, the warmth of the alcohol eased my tension and I decided to think about other things. I remembered life at home with Mum, and hoped she would ditch that slimy boyfriend soon. I thought back to the letter I’d received from Jean who was still enjoying her nursing and courting a doctor. But most of all I thought about Edward and the wonderful times we’d had together. Within half an hour, I felt relaxed enough to head back home. I double-checked that I’d left all Ingrid’s things as they were, cleaned my teeth and fell in bed, asleep within minutes.
The next day we heard that Amiens had fallen to the Germans and that their troops had crossed the Meuse River. It seemed that every day the news got worse, and the Germans got nearer and nearer to Paris.
Marie-Claude at the soup kitchen soon noticed that there were fewer and fewer Jews queuing for food each day. ‘They may be gone, but we’ve got all the refugees from Belgium and Holland instead,’ she said, ‘will this never end? How are we going to get enough food to feed everyone?’
Sure enough the couple I’d spoken to at the flea market no longer came for food, and I was sorry to miss them. I silently wished them a safe journey to wherever they’d chosen to go.
In the office, there was little talk of anything but the German advances. Accurate information was always hard to come by, but I heard from the refugees at the soup kitchen what they’d seen and passed on what I knew. None of it was good.
Bronwyn came to my room one evening when Ingrid was out. ‘Where’s she gone?’ she asked, nodding at Ingrid’s empty bed.
I shrugged. ‘No idea. She never says where she’s going. Have you noticed she seems really unhappy? Dark rings round her eyes and she jumps a mile at every loud sound.’
Bronwyn sat next to me on the bed. ’That’s what I came to see you about. I did a stint following her yesterday. She went into a small hotel with the boss. I sat in a café opposite pretending to read the paper. Just about to give up, I was, when they came out. Must have been an hour later. He came out first, checked up and down the street, then strode away without a care in the world. I waited, then about five minutes later she came out.
‘Not being funny or nothing, but she looked miserable as sin,’ Bronwyn said.
‘Any idea why?’ I asked.
It was her turn to shrug. ‘No idea. I wonder if she’s regretting getting together with him. Perhaps he hits her or something.’
We sat for a few more minutes throwing around ideas for the cause of Ingrid’s misery but had no evidence to go on and could hardly ask her.
‘I had one more bit of news,’ Bronwyn said, ‘I heard we’ll be among the last to go if the Germans invade Paris.’
I felt the blood drain from my face. ‘Are you joking?’
‘No, Mrs Perkins said that they need to keep communications open until the last minute.’
I took her hand. ‘Oh my goodness, Bronwyn. Let’s pray they get their timing right or we’re done for.’
* * *
Summer was progressing as Bronwyn and I sat outside a café on the Champs-Élysées. The horse chestnut trees were vibrant. ‘The smell of these trees reminds me of you-know-what,’ Bronwyn said.
‘You-know-what? What do you mean?’
‘A bit of the other.’ She put her head closer to mine and whispered, ‘Sex.’
I was so stunned I didn’t know how to reply, and sat there feeling stupid.
‘I keep forgetting your lack of knowledge. Ignore me,’ Bronwyn said, ‘let’s talk about something else. You know we have to pay extra to sit in the front row like this. Mind you, it’s a good opportunity to see and be seen.’
Still bemused, I looked down at our none-too-smart clothes and decided we had no reason to want to be seen. But it was great having a bird’s-eye view of the people walking by. Better to watch them than to take in the newspaper headlines we saw in the newsagent stand next to our café. The war news was still all doom and gloom. Hundreds of thousands of people fleeing not only from northern France but from Belgium and Holland. All trying to get away from the unstoppable German army. Every day we saw more of them passing through Paris. They obviously didn’t have confidence that the French government would stop the Germans invading the capital city.
Bronwyn and I watched a family go by, their smart car laden with their belongings. The parents looked harassed and the children were crying.
‘I wonder where they’ve come from?’ Bronwyn asked. ‘I wonder where they’ll end up?’
We lapsed into silence again, then returned to our most common topic of conversation. Would we get out of Paris in time if the Nazis invaded? We’d go round and round in circles, tormenting ourselves because we didn’t know the answer. We knew we’d be among the last British forces people to leave the city, because communication was vital, but how late would they leave it?
‘Let’s talk about something more cheerful,’ Bronwyn said. ‘Didn’t you get a letter this morning? Was it from Edward?’
‘No, it was from my mum and there was fantastic news. She’s dumped that awful bloke she was seeing. The one who tried to get fresh with me.’
Bronwyn pulled a face. ‘He was a bad ’un for sure. Did she say what made her see the light?’
‘Someone told her he was two-timing her, seeing another woman from the street where he lived. Worse, he’d been spotted trying to touch up the woman’s daughter who was only thirteen.’
She groaned. ‘Oh God, I hope someone cuts off his bits – disgusting man. I don’t know how they can live with themselves.’
We were making ourselves depressed again, and gloomily looking round when Bronwyn suddenly perked up. ‘Hey! There’s Ingrid. Let’s follow her. It shouldn’t be too difficult; she’s wearing her favourite yellow jumper.’ Ingrid was hurrying along the street, confidently, as if she knew her way by heart.
We threw some francs on the table and followed her from the other side of the road.
It was much easier to follow her than we expected. Ingrid was focused on where she was going, and never glanced our way. We simply had to dodge round other pedestrians, prams, dogs and excitable children. We were feeling very smug and even giggling a bit at our spying skills when it all went wrong.
Without warning, Ingrid went into a Metro station.
‘Damn, we’ll lose her!’ Bronwyn cried.
Narrowly avoiding cars, bicycles and horse drawn carts, we ran across the road after her. Not knowing where she was going we bought tickets to the end of the line, then hurried on.
Following Ingrid was harder now. We were walking along the same passageways, but there were enough people around for us to always stay back out of sight. More than once we gave silent thanks for that yellow sweater.
Ingrid walked onto the platform, and stood without any sign of being aware of us. We held back, and when she got on the train, waited until the last minute and then ran into another carriage just before the doors closed.
I could hardly speak, I was so out of breath, yet we’d only hurried about five feet. My heart was thumping and I felt it might choke me any minute. Bronwyn saw my distress. ‘Take a few deep breaths, cariad,’ she said.
She was right, it did help. ‘How can I be so out of breath?’ I asked.
She grinned. ‘Not being funny, but it’s just tension. Following her was fun, but it might be really serious.’
I nodded. ‘And who knows what we’re going to find.’
At each station we peered through the window to see if Ingrid was getting off, but she stayed on until Place de la Bastille. Darting around like frightened fish, we dodged behind people as we got off, looking under arms and round shoulders to keep that yellow in sight.
The Metro was beautiful, a style I’d learned was art nouveau, with a graceful arch over the entrance and exit with lots of panes of glass at the top, and the curved shape continuing down the side, making another elegant arch.
Bronwyn nudged me. ‘Stop gaping and keep your mind on the job. Come on!’ She yanked me by the arm and we followed Ingrid down a nearby street. It was narrow with pavements either side and cobbles between. Three storey houses flanked either side. It was easy to see that some were still occupied by a single person, the outside well cared for and sometimes having window boxes. Others were divided up into rooms or apartments where washing hung out of windows or people sat on steps passing the time chatting to neighbours.
There were fewer people about so it got harder to follow Ingrid without being seen. We stayed well back and were relieved when she turned into another street that was busier with more places to hide. It was a mixture of small shops, such as greengrocers, with stalls outside, and houses obviously split into smaller dwellings. Children ran around, often barefoot, playing kiss/chase causing a lot of laughs and cries of pretend disgust. Old ladies dressed in black sat outside their doors, knitting; preparing vegetables, darning; or just watching the world go by. A group of men played boules in an alleyway, their backs bent from years of hard work, their flat caps greasy and well worn.
Another fifty yards and Ingrid turned abruptly into an alleyway and we just managed to catch sight of her disappearing into a doorway about halfway down. We stood in the entrance to the alley wondering what to do. There were a few people about, more children playing and occasional people walking through.
‘How can we find where she is?’ I asked Bronwyn. ‘We know which door, but not where she is in the building. And people will see us snooping.’
She put her hands on her hips, a gesture I’d seen her do before when she wanted to spring into action or get her point across forcefully. ‘I’m not going to lie to you. It’s difficult, but here’s what we can do. Let’s pretend we’re searching for a house and walk up and down the alley checking the numbers. Then if anyone challenges us we can tell them that’s what we’re doing.’
I bit my lip. ‘But what if Ingrid sees us?’
She shook her head. ‘Whatever we do, that’s a danger. We either give it a try or give up. What do you think?’
I felt my insides getting wobbly at the thought of trying her suggestion. She nudged me hard. ‘Come on, what’s the worst that can happen? She’s not going to shoot us, is she?’
I wasn’t sure that helped. If she really was a spy she could have a gun for all we knew. So might whoever she was meeting.
Taking a deep breath, I said, ‘Come on, just once up and down though, or we’ll be too suspicious.’
We said a polite ‘Bonjour’ to people we passed and made a big play of looking at numbers. Probably too big a play. When we got to the building where Ingrid was we slowed down immediately before we got to the window. It was open and we heard voices.
‘That’s her,’ Bronwyn whispered, ‘but I can’t quite make out what she’s saying.’
I pressed my ear as near to the window as I dared and listened for a minute. Then I turned to Bronwyn, my eyes big as the moon. ‘She’s talking German!’ I whispered.
Her jaw dropped and her eyes questioned mine. I nodded. ‘She is!’
Bronwyn grabbed my hand and pulled me back the way we’d come. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here!’ she hissed.
You’d have thought a platoon of German soldiers were on our heels; we ran so fast from that building, not stopping for breath until we turned the corner. Even then we walked so quickly we had no breath to speak. We made sure to walk in the opposite direction from the one we’d come, in case Ingrid made her way back home. The weather was turning; dark, threatening storm clouds headed towards Paris, bringing a chilly wind that made us hug ourselves as we hurried along.
Ten minutes later we came to a busy street and dived into a café. It was half empty but so full of cigarette smoke it was almost like walking through fog.
Baguettes with cheese or ham were stacked on the counter ready for the next mealtime rush. No sitting at the front table on the pavement for us this time. We sat as far back inside as possible, as if Ingrid would walk past any minute and see us. We ordered coffees and took them with us to our table.
‘She’s got to be a spy,’ I said when we had checked that no one was near enough to hear us.
Bronwyn nodded, her face like stone. ‘It does look like it, but perhaps we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Amanda speaks German. It’s just possible that Ingrid learned to speak German as a child and has some friends here. We don’t have any evidence.’
She was right. There was nothing to tie her to spying, just our suspicions and some odd behaviour. If we went to Mrs Perkins with that, she’d just laugh at us. And with Ingrid’s relationship with Commander Thomas an issue, we were even less likely to be taken seriously.
‘It’s odd that she hardly tells us a thing about herself,’ I said.
Bronwyn nodded. ‘Fair do. Most of us just mention things about our home from time to time. It’s like getting blood out of a stone trying to get anything out of her. Perhaps she’s just a private person.’
I took a sip of the coffee; it was so hot it burned my tongue. ‘Maybe. We had some neighbours once who never told you a thing. If one of them had died we’d never have known.’
Bronwyn nodded. ‘I know some families have a rule that you don’t talk about what goes on in the house outside of the house. Not much choice where we always lived. We either shared rooms with other families or the walls were so thin you heard everything that went on. More than you wanted, often.’
* * *
The following morning Ingrid went out early, creeping out of bed before I was normally awake if it wasn’t my shift. I threw on some clothes and hurried after her, wishing I’d had time to wash my face and brush my hair. Luck was on my side; some people in one of the other flats were having a furious row, throwing things at each other. The racket they made covered my footsteps as I rushed down the stairs after her, tucking my blouse in my skirt.
She walked quickly, with a purpose, and I had to frequently hide in doorways or duck behind buses when she slowed or looked like turning round. Paris was only just waking up. Milk floats trundled noisily though the streets; dog walkers waited impatiently for their dogs to do their business or sniff a wall or tree; a coal lorry was delivering its load into a grand house; and cafés were doing a roaring trade selling tiny cups of coffee to early workers who drank it standing up then hurried on their way. Further on, the delicious smell of fresh bread drifted behind people who carried their baguettes under their arms.
Ingrid was heading into an area I didn’t know and I started to worry about getting lost and not being able to find my way back. She went inside a synagogue. At least, I guessed that was what it was from the big Star of David over the door. I didn’t dare go in because I had no idea if there would be anywhere to hide. Instead, I crouched behind a low wall opposite. I checked my watch regularly. Maybe, I thought, she was going to a service. I wondered how long synagogue services lasted. What if it was an hour? I was on duty at midday, just four hours away.
Ten minutes later, my worries proved unfounded because she came out and continued walking in the same direction. She’d never mentioned being religious before, or indeed being Jewish, so I was surprised that she’d gone to a synagogue. Half an hour later, I was even more surprised when she went inside a Catholic church. I had no idea what the inside of a synagogue was like, but knew that there would be hiding places inside a church as long as I was careful. So, I waited a minute or two then followed her in. She was just dipping her hand into the holy water in the special basin a little way inside the door. Then she crossed herself and walked halfway down the church. She went into one of the pews and knelt down to pray. I watched her silently and as soon as she made to stand up, hurried outside and hid round a corner. She soon appeared and continued on her way.
Was she making her peace with her God? Perhaps she had one Jewish parent and one Catholic one and had regularly gone to both places of worship. Was she asking the Deity for support? Hoping for a few minutes’ peace? I’d never know.
The morning had turned warm, but gusty winds blew my hair around my face and I had to keep pushing it away. Sometimes I’d see people walking along normally, then be caught by a sudden gust of wind and almost fall as they were thrown forward, their clothes ballooning around them, then the wind would drop, they’d straighten up and carry on as before.
We walked a long way north until we were almost on the banks of the Seine. With aching feet I wondered if Ingrid would ever stop, so I was relieved when she turned off the road. There was a big notice showing it was the Cimetière des Chiens – the pet cemetery. I’d never seen it before or even heard of it. It was a grand place with wrought iron gates attached to a large stone arch; elegant, imposing. Either side were smaller arches. I’d never seen a cemetery for people half as impressive.
The cemetery was enormous, stretching either way as far as the eye could see.
Ingrid walked confidently and clearly knew where she was going, never deviating or hesitating. It made it easy to follow her, although I kept near headstones big enough to hide behind. There were plenty of them. I was amazed that pet owners lavished so much care and money on the final resting place of their dog or cat. I spotted a headstone for the old canine film star, Rin Tin Tin. Underneath his name, it said ‘La Grande Vedette du Cinema’. Plenty of owners seemed to give their pets more lavish headstones than many people got where I lived.
Eventually, Ingrid stopped at one of the more modest graves. It was about eighteen inches high and had a stone dog kennel on a flat platform. If the dog’s name had been inscribed over the door, it was worn away with time and weather. Moss on the roof showed that the dog’s owners hadn’t visited for a long time and were probably also in heaven. I hoped they were reunited there if such a place existed. Ingrid reached into the kennel and took out an envelope. She quickly scanned the contents, then put it in her bag, taking out another which she put inside the kennel.
Crouching, I peered from behind a headstone, and just as well, because she suddenly spun on her heel and started to retrace her steps. But now her steps were slower, halting, and tears were flowing down her cheeks. She brushed them away and I heard her say ‘Stupid!’ to herself. Then, as if she was unable to contain it any longer, she let out a loud sob, took out her hankie and used it to muffle the sound of her weeping.
I hid until she’d gone, debating whether to follow her, but decided she would probably go back home. I was left with a dilemma. Should I go and read the note? What if whoever was picking it up arrived? If they saw me, it was likely they would be aggressive, after all, whoever it was, was a spy. I stood for a couple of minutes, dithering, then realised that the longer I waited, the more likely it was that the spy would appear. Almost tiptoeing, I hurried over to the grave and snatched the envelope, managing to open it without ripping it. With shaking hands I took out the sheet of paper and opened it. My heart sank when I saw that the message was written in German.
There was no mistaking now. Ingrid was definitely spying for the Nazis.
I took the message and envelope and hid behind a tree some distance from the grave. Getting notepaper and a pencil out of my bag, I copied the message, double-checking each letter – I wouldn’t have known if I’d made a mistake because I didn’t understand a word.
I heard footsteps, and my heart jumped and beat so loud I felt sure anyone within fifty feet would hear it. Trying to breathe normally, I peered round the tree. It was an elderly lady carrying a small bunch of flowers tied with a blue ribbon. Before she reached me, she turned left and walked towards a different part of the cemetery. Letting out a long sigh, I put the message back in the envelope, and resealed it as best I could. I looked around and, feeling like a spy in The Thirty Nine Steps, crept around checking every few seconds that there was no one following me.
Back at the grave dog kennel, I tried without success to remember exactly where Ingrid had left the envelope. In the end I just put it to one side so it would be out of sight. I would need a lot of training if I was ever going to be a proper spy. But I had the sense to walk back towards the gates along a parallel path. I hadn’t gone a hundred yards when a huge, burly man with straggly blond hair walked towards the kennel grave. Creeping back, I watched him, my knees feeling as if they would give way any moment. He glanced around and, seeing no one, took the envelope, hastily shoved it in his pocket and retraced his steps.
I considered following him, but he walked much faster than I could. In any case, if he spotted me I might be in real danger. He didn’t seem like a man you’d want to cross swords with. I waited ten minutes, then cautiously left the cemetery and headed back home.
Shaking, I made my way out of the cemetery and stopped at the first café for a coffee and croissant. My mind was all over the place wondering what to do. But resting my sore feet and having the coffee and food eventually got my brain in gear. I’d ask Amanda to translate the message. Then, assuming it was incriminating, we’d go to see Mrs Perkins.
I was putting a few centimes down for a tip when a dreadful thought came into my mind. Was it possible Amanda was a spy? She spoke German, and you heard about wealthy people supporting Hitler. As I walked slowly back, I thought back over all the conversations I’d had with her since we started training together. By the time I was back at the office, I realised I’d been worrying for nothing.
* * *
Because of our shifts, it was several hours before I could talk to Amanda without anyone overhearing. The whole time I was on edge, and kept clutching the copy of the note as if it might disappear out of my bag. When she finished her shift, I went to her bedroom.
‘Fancy a drink before you turn in?’ I asked.
She yawned and eased off her shoes. ‘I was thinking of an early night, to be honest.’
Checking no one was looking, I took hold of her arm, ‘Yes, you do fancy a drink, that’s good.’ I gestured over my shoulder towards the door and she got the message.
Going over to her cupboard, she got out a different pair of shoes, put on a coat and followed me out of the flat.
‘Are we going to Henri’s?’ she asked, as we walked down the stairs.
‘No, somewhere quieter. Let’s find the emptiest bar.’
It didn’t take long. Once we got off the main road, smaller bars were emptier and mostly occupied by locals. We chose a small bar two streets away. Getting a glass of red wine each we sat as far away as possible from other people. Most of them seemed too old to have good hearing anyway, but we were trained to be cautious.
‘Salute!’ Amanda said, and we clinked glasses. She dropped her voice. ‘Now, what’s this about?’
I explained about following Ingrid and got out the copy of the letter she had left. ‘Can you translate this? I hope I’ve copied it out right.’
She took the piece of paper from me as if it might blow up in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded it and started reading. She read it three times without comment, the little frown lines between her eyes getting deeper, then she gripped my arm tightly.
‘This is information about British troop movements,’ she said, ‘highly classified. It would be of great help to the German army. She must be getting it from Commander Thomas. What a stupid man he must be.’
My shoulders slumped and I let out a low whistle. ‘Blimey, Amanda, what are we going to do?’
‘I’d love to know why she does it,’ Amanda said, ‘we have all noticed how unhappy she seems, it makes you wonder if she wants to be a…’ She stopped herself. ‘Wants to do what she’s doing.’ Now she peered around too.
I frowned. ‘But why else would she do it?’
‘Didn’t you say you’d seen her go into a synagogue? I wonder if she is part Jewish, if you can be part Jewish. Not sure if you can. Perhaps she has family who are in danger.’
We put our heads closer together so that we could speak even more quietly. ‘And she’s being blackmailed, you mean?’ I said.
‘Who knows? But it’s possible. But whatever it is, we can’t let it go on. We need to talk to Bronwyn and Mavis before we do anything, see if they have anything else to add. What shift are you on tomorrow?’
We worked out that all four of us would be free from midday for two hours. Then we sat nursing our little glasses of wine, too worried to speak much. After half an hour, we gave up trying to cheer ourselves up and went back to the flat.
The next day was cloudy and dull, with occasional spits of rain. The four of us huddled under our umbrellas and made our way back to the café Amanda and I had been in the night before. It was packed. We hadn’t taken into account that it was lunchtime, so locals were there having coffee and their cheese baguettes.
‘It’s going to be the same everywhere,’ I said, ‘where can we chat?’
We ended up in a beautiful little-used church with a wonderful rose window and unusual Stations of the Cross paintings around the walls. We worried about our voices echoing, but there was no one else in there and we kept a careful eye on the door. We huddled tight, our heads close together, and spoke in low voices.
Amanda and I told Mavis and Bronwyn all we had found out.
‘Now, after,’ said Bronwyn, ‘we’ve got to tell Mrs Perkins.’
‘What if she doesn’t do anything because of Commander Thomas?’ Mavis asked.
‘What if she does, and he doesn’t do anything?’ I said. ‘He might make trouble for us.’
‘Well, if he tries that, Mrs Perkins will back us up, after all, we’ll have told her. Mind you, he could make trouble for her, too.’
Mavis spoke up. ‘I’ve seen a lot of Commander Thomas. He thinks with ’is you-know-what a lot of the time; us girls ’ave to stay out of the way of ’is wandering hands. But ’e never seems to mind – it’s like it’s a fun sport for him. Doesn’t seem to hold a grudge if we reject him.’
We were all quiet for a minute, then I spoke. ‘That may be true, Mavis, but this is a bit different. He’ll be in big trouble for giving away secrets.’
In unison, we all sat back. My mind was a whirl, full of questions and doubts. Would Commander Thomas cause trouble? Would he get court-martialled? Apart from his wandering hands, people seemed to have a good opinion of him. If he were court-martialled who would be our new boss?
Amanda broke into my thoughts. ‘One big issue is when we can get Mrs Perkins on her own to tell her.’
I thought for a minute. ‘Ingrid is on duty this evening, we can tell her then.’
‘What if Mrs Perkins is on duty herself?’ Mavis asked.
‘Even if she is, she goes to her office sometimes. Mind you, it would probably be better if Ingrid was out, but we have no way of knowing when that would be.’
‘We can’t delay, girls,’ Bronwyn said. ‘Who knows what other information she’s passing on. Let’s go back now and see if either of them are in.’
‘Mrs Perkins is on duty now,’ Mavis said. ‘I saw the rota.’
‘Right,’ Bronwyn said, all action, ‘it’s like this. One of us goes and tries to get her. If Ingrid is around, we get her to come here or go somewhere else in the building.’
‘I know where,’ Mavis said, getting out her Gitanes, ‘there’s the empty room next to the Ladies’. It’s got old desks and stuff in it. We could get ’er there.’
She lit up and took a big drag of her cigarette. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
* * *
I told Mrs Perkins the four of us needed to see her, and we agreed a time when she was free. She seemed surprised, but didn’t argue. Amanda, Mavis, Bronwyn and me went ahead to the quiet bar we’d found before. It wasn’t lunchtime, so the place was pretty empty. We needn’t have worried too much about ‘walls have ears’ though because we all felt so down we didn’t say much, but just sat staring into our drinks.
‘I’m not being funny or nothing,’ Bronwyn eventually said, ‘but what if we’re wrong? We’ll look pretty stupid.’
‘Or crazy,’ Mavis said.
‘Or vindictive,’ Amanda chipped in.
‘How much evidence do you want?’ I said, keeping my voice low, ‘we’ve got more than enough for anyone to take us seriously.’ I checked the time. ‘Come on, girls, finish your drinks. Time for our appointment.’
* * *
The small room was strangely quiet despite me and four others in it. Traffic noises were muted, as well as the shout of the newspaper-seller and the call of the rag-and-bone man. A thick blanket of concentration and fear insulated us.
‘Are you absolutely certain of all this, girls?’ Mrs Perkins said, her voice more stern than I had ever heard it. ‘These are very serious accusations against Ingrid and a senior officer.’
While never a smiley woman, her face was often kind but now it was as steely grey as her hair. She unbuttoned her jacket, then buttoned it up again.
I spoke for all of us. ‘We can’t say for sure she is a spy, but everything we have told you is true.’ I reached in my pocket and took out the note I’d found in the dog kennel gravestone. ‘Here, this is the note. Amanda has written the translation underneath.’
Mrs Perkins took it from me as if it carried a contagious disease. ‘Is this the actual note?’
I shook my head, ‘No, I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I thought it safer to copy the note and put the original back where it was.’
She studied the paper again. ‘I don’t speak much German, but I’m sure you are accurate in your translation, Amanda. This is serious, very serious. I need to have time to think what to do. Can I ask you girls to keep this to yourself?’
We all nodded.
‘Absolute silence on the matter. Do not give away to the people concerned that you have any suspicions. Act normally at all times. But be assured, I will be taking some action to deal with this. I may not be able to tell you what it is. You’ll just have to trust me. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mrs Perkins.’ We spoke in unison like children speaking to their teacher.
‘Off you go then, and thank you for bringing this to my attention. I appreciate it can’t have been easy for you.’
I glanced back as we filed out of the room. Mrs Perkins was sitting with her head in her hands, a picture of absolute despair.
I was glad that Ingrid was out that evening, and went to bed early to avoid having to talk to her. Could she really be a spy? Although she was a private sort of person, I didn’t dislike her, in fact if anything I found myself feeling sorry for her; she seemed so unhappy. But then I thought back to all the spy stories I’d read and one or two I’d heard about in the news. Maybe her behaviour was all a cover. Smarter people than me had been fooled by spies, sometimes for years and years. All this was relentlessly whirling in my brain when I heard Ingrid come in. But instead of saying goodnight as I normally would, I lay pretending to be asleep, trying hard to keep my breathing even. Irrationally, I suddenly wondered if she’d hurt me if she found out what we’d done. I kept awake until I was sure she was asleep, before I let myself relax enough to fall asleep myself.
Next morning, Mrs Perkins was nowhere to be seen. When I asked around, I was told she had booked a day’s leave. I managed to catch a few words with Mavis when she delivered the post.
‘Heard anything about Mrs Perkins?’
Mouth downturned, she shook her head. ‘No, just a day off, they say. Commander Thomas is the same as usual. Tried to pinch my bum an hour ago. He can’t suspect anything. What about Ingrid?’
‘I saw her briefly this morning, but then she went out. Something about hunting for some new stockings.’
Mavis raised an eyebrow. ‘She’ll be gone a good long while then. Like gold dust, they are.’
I had the day off so I went for a walk, just to stop myself watching the clock which seemed to have slowed as if someone had put glue on the hands. It was a dull day, overcast and threatening, people walked briskly, head down. The clouds hung low, and there was a sudden shower so heavy I ducked into a shop doorway to escape being drenched. As I stood there waiting for the rain to stop, Ingrid walked past me, dry under an umbrella. She spotted me and my heart felt as if it would stop.
‘Hello, Lily,’ she said, stepping into the doorway. ‘Can’t stop, just got some new stockings. Took me ages to find them. Did you hear about Mrs Perkins?’
‘I heard she’s taken the day off,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
She shook her umbrella and closed it, coming to stand next to me. ‘When I went out earlier, I was just crossing the road when I saw her fall over. It was pretty obvious she’d broken her leg and she was in a lot of pain, so I went to the hospital with her.’
So she couldn’t possibly have done anything about Ingrid and Commander Thomas. My shoulders slumped.
‘Gosh, are they keeping her in?’ I asked.
She took a deep breath and gave a little shake of her head. ‘I don’t know but she was going to have a general anaesthetic to set her leg properly, so I expect so. She insisted that I not wait with her, so I left her to get my shopping.’
I thought quickly. ‘What hospital is she in?’
‘St Vincent’s. It’s not far. You going to see her?’
‘Yes, I’ll get some flowers or something and go to see how she’s doing.’
Ingrid picked up her umbrella again, and opened it. ‘Give her my love. Mustn’t stop though, got more errands to do.’ She ducked back into the stream of people.
Unfamiliar hospitals are always confusing and St Vincent’s was no exception. After queuing at the reception desk to find out what ward Mrs Perkins was on, I got lost three times trying to find the right one. Gowned doctors and nurses scurried past me, and I was too scared to ask them where to go.
I got to the ward just in time. It took me a few minutes to find Mrs Perkins amongst the identical, precision-made beds lined up along both long walls.
She lay, pale and pained, but managed a wan smile as I approached her. She tried to sit up, but it was too much for her and she fell back against the pillows with a groan.
‘Five minutes and we’ll be coming for you,’ a nurse said as she walked by, her starched skirt rustling like fresh newspaper.
‘How are you?’ I started to ask, but Mrs Perkins brushed my enquiry aside.
‘No time for that, they’ll be operating on my leg in a minute,’ she said, her voice a shadow of its normal volume and certainty. ‘You’ll have to act on my behalf and go to headquarters. I’ve written the address on that piece of paper there.’ She waved her hand at the bedside table and I tucked the address in my bag, suddenly feeling very unsure of myself.
‘Will they listen to me?’
‘There’s a code word. Come nearer.’ She beckoned me with her hand.
I bent forward so she could whisper in my ear. ‘The code word is Black Buttons. Ask to see Major Villani and tell him everything you told me. He’ll be able to see me tomorrow when I’m properly round from the anaesthetic, but we need to get action started now. Can you do that?’
I had no time to do more than nod when we were interrupted by the heavy footsteps of a porter approaching her bed, ‘Ready, ma cherie?’ he asked Mrs Perkins with a cheeky grin. ‘It’s your turn.’
Mrs Perkins nodded to him then, before she was moved, grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. ‘Can I count on you, Lily?’
I squeezed her hand back. ‘Yes, Mrs Perkins, you can, and I’ll come to see you tomorrow and tell you all about it.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Now, go!’ she commanded.