It was only the third time Diana had been inside Forbes-James’s flat. Apart from the functional and phenomenally untidy office in which they were sitting, it was a perfect example of Edwardian masculinity. There were sturdy objects in ivory, brass and wood, pigskin coverings, gold stampings and crests on every surface, yet it wasn’t quite a typical bachelor flat. Its hearty manliness was relieved by a painting of flowers and another – rather surprising, this – of boy bathers, as well as toile de Jouy, petit point, and a small collection of Sèvres porcelain. Diana supposed that these items must be contributions from his wife, a lady of almost mythical status who was thought to reside in the country. Forbes-James never spoke of her, displayed no photographs, and no-one Diana knew had ever seen her.
She was jerked out of her reverie when F-J asked, ‘What do you know about Lord Redesdale?’ He took a cigarette out of his case and tapped it, waiting for her answer.
Diana collected her thoughts, thankful that she had done her homework thoroughly before meeting Mrs Montague. ‘Lord Redesdale’s acquainted with Montague. He’s a member of the Anglo-German fellowship with Domvile, the Duke of Wellington and Lord Londonderry. His daughter, Unity Mitford, was friends with Hitler, and Redesdale and his wife met him on several occasions. Unity tried to commit suicide when war broke out and the family brought her home.’
‘Good, good,’ said Forbes-James distractedly, shuffling things on his desk.
‘It’s here, sir.’ Diana pulled the silver table lighter from beneath a sheaf of papers and handed it over.
‘Thank you. Don’t know why she has to keep moving it about.’
He lit the cigarette and glared in the direction of the wall behind which Margot Mentmore, the telephonist, was sitting in her cubbyhole. ‘And?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have thought he was dangerous, just misguided, like a lot of those people, but surely Montague is dangerous, and I don’t understand why he’s not in prison, Sir.’
‘The usual reasons.’
‘But Mosley—’
‘I know. We wanted the lot of them, but there you are. The people’s elected representatives …’ He sighed. ‘Can’t keep packing them off to Brixton. Looks bad.’
‘But surely it doesn’t matter what it looks like! I mean, now that they’ve changed the law, surely—’
Forbes-James held up a hand to stop her. ‘Defence Regulation 18B (1A),’ he quoted, wearily, ‘states that members of hostile organisations may now be arrested if they are likely to endanger public safety, the prosecution of the war and the defence of the realm, yes. However, as I believe I told you, there was a great deal of fuss when they tried bringing it in at the beginning of the war, which is why it was modified so that we were only able to detain those of hostile origin or associations and those involved in acts prejudicial to public safety, etcetera. It’s taken a lot of time and effort on our part to convince the Cabinet that wider powers are necessary. Rounding up Mosley and a bunch of pro-fascist East Enders is one thing, but we can’t keep frog-marching people off to gaol if we don’t like the look of them.’
‘Especially people in high places.’
‘Exactly. Makes a bad impression. Alarm, despondency and all the rest of it. People have to be able to trust, especially now … Anyway, what about this afternoon? How did it go?’
‘I think I’m making some progress. I saw Mrs Montague again – Lally thinks she’s taken a shine to me, she insisted on paying for our tea – and we’ve made an arrangement to meet on Friday evening at her flat. She’s going to introduce me to some of her friends.’
‘Good. What did you talk about?’
‘Well, she wanted to know where I grew up, and that sort of thing, so that was easy enough, and she told me about her house in Fakenham and we talked about the country for a while, walks and things, and I said I was missing it, and how dreary it was to
work in an office when one was used to being outdoors. And then I thought I might go a bit further, so I said I thought the war was spoiling everything. She was very sympathetic, so then I said something about it being a mistake not to have gone on appeasing Germany, because it would lead to disaster, and that it was all right if one felt that war was morally defensible, because then one could put up with things better, but I didn’t – you know the sort of thing … Lally was marvellous, saying I had common sense about politics, but keeping it all quite general, as you said.’
‘Excellent. What else?’
‘She mentioned Sir Neville Apse.’
‘Apse?’ Forbes-James looked surprised. ‘Miss Markham did?’
‘Not Lally, sir. Mrs Montague.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, I was talking about how dull it was at the War Office, and she suggested I ought to apply for a transfer to something a bit more interesting, so I pretended I didn’t know much about it, and said I thought it would just be more of the same – filing and so on – and that’s when his name came up.’
‘Does Montague know him?’
‘She didn’t say, sir. It was all pretty vague, and I thought I’d better not ask too many questions, but she said she’d heard he was in the thick of it – those were the words she used.’
‘What else did she say?’
‘Not much, sir. Just that as we were at war, we should all do our bit. You know, the usual.’
‘Yes …’ Forbes-James shuffled more papers.
‘May I ask what Sir Neville does, sir?’
‘That’s the odd thing. He’s part of this section, but he’s responsible for looking into reports of Fifth Columnists. Enemy agents and so on. Poppycock, mostly, but we have to check. Old ladies with spies under their beds, parachutists dressed as nuns …’
‘Why nuns?’ asked Diana.
‘God knows. Sinister, I suppose …’ He waved a hand at her. ‘You know … flapping. I can’t imagine why the woman thinks you’ll be any use to them there, but as she’s mentioned it, I’d better see if I can arrange a transfer. Come to think of it, might be quite useful for Apse to have a woman about the place … You’ll carry on reporting to me, of course, that shouldn’t present any problems.
Apse has a flat across the garden in Frobisher House. Works there, and stays there during the week. I’ll have a word with him tonight, say I’m overstaffed.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Not bad. Bit of a cold fish.’
‘You don’t think he’s pro-fascist, do you?’
‘Heavens, no. But if that’s where she wants you … When you see her on Friday, tell her you’ve been thinking about it and decided to apply for the transfer. You can come here afterwards and tell me how it went.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Splendid. Scotch?’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Forbes-James rose, brushing cigarette ash from his suit as he did so, and went over to the filing cabinet, where there was a tray with glasses and a decanter. ‘Soda?’
‘No thank you.’
‘Sensible girl. Come and sit on the sofa.’
‘I think I’d better tidy it first, sir.’
‘Good idea. You can put all those’ – he indicated a slew of bulging files, the partially disgorged contents of which were papering the cushions – ‘on the desk.’
‘I don’t think there’s room, sir.’
‘On the floor, then.’ He sighed as Diana picked up the bundles of paper and dumped them by the fireplace. ‘She’s supposed to tidy up, but she never does.’ Diana took this to refer to Margot the telephonist and said, ‘Do you ever give her the chance, sir?’
‘I suppose not. Oh, well …’ He settled himself on the sofa and handed over her glass. Diana took it, and sat down on the other end. ‘No, no,’ he said, irritably, patting the cushion next to his own. ‘I shan’t bite.’
‘No, sir.’ Diana moved nearer.
‘That’s better.’ She jumped as Forbes-James put a hand on her knee.
‘No need to behave like a virgin in a troop ship,’ he said crossly, taking it off again. ‘You’re quite safe with me.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Diana smoothed her skirt. ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’
‘However,’ Forbes-James continued, ‘I understand you met Claude Ventriss at Jock’s party.’ He stared at her.
‘Yes, I did.’ Diana hoped her voice sounded neutral.
‘Took you out to dinner, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Enjoy yourself?’
‘I …’ For an insane moment, Diana thought of telling him the story of the evening, but, realising how it might sound, said merely that it had been very pleasant.
‘Pleasant, was it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What do you know about him?’
‘He works for you, sir.’
‘That’s right. But be careful. He isn’t safe.’
‘Sir?’
‘You’re a beautiful woman, my dear,’ Forbes-James said, rather gruffly, ‘Don’t need me to tell you that. Ventriss has something of a reputation.’ He sounded disapproving.
‘So I understand, sir.’
‘Your business, of course, what goes on … things happen, and so forth … Don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.’ He looked into his glass. ‘Had any more letters from that husband of yours?’
‘Not recently, no. I expect I shall soon.’
‘And the flat? That’s all right, is it? Happy there?’
‘Yes,’ said Diana. ‘I love it.’
‘Excellent.’ He stared at his glass again, and said, ‘I seem to have finished this rather quickly. Fancy another?’
Diana, taking this as her cue to leave, declined. ‘I should say goodnight, sir.’
‘Of course.’ Forbes-James stood up, and, to her surprise, pecked her on the cheek. ‘Mind how you go.’
‘Yes, sir. Have a nice evening.’
In the hall, Margot turned from her bank of telephones, stretched her long legs, and said, ‘Finished?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like a drink?’ She reached into her handbag for her compact, and inspected her face. ‘We’re going round to Leo’s.’
‘Who’s Leo?’
‘Leo Birkin. You know,’ she added, impatiently, ‘from A section. Jock’s going, and Lally.’
‘No thanks. Think I need an early night, for a change.’
‘Jock said Claude might drop by later on.’
‘Claude?’
‘Ventriss.’ Margot gave Diana a knowing smile over her mirror. ‘Your dining companion.’
‘Oh, him.’
‘Yes, him.’
‘I don’t think so, Margot. He’s very charming, of course, and great fun, but I really have got to catch up on some sleep.’ Diana thought that she had, on the whole, managed to say this in a normal, down-to-earth sort of way. Margot, who’d been paying close attention while powdering her nose, grinned. ‘Well, if you’re absolutely sure …’
‘I am. But thanks, anyway.’ Diana walked back to Tite Street in the twilight with the uncomfortable feeling that Margot, as well as Forbes-James, had understood a great deal more than she’d actually said. Why did everyone persist in behaving as if the thing was a fait accompli? She’d had dinner with the man, that was all – she hadn’t committed herself to anything – and next time, if there were a next time, she’d just … Just what? Well, she wouldn’t fall into his arms, anyway. ‘I can look after myself,’ she muttered, angrily. ‘I’m not a complete fool.’ Aware that the words didn’t quite match what she was thinking, and that the irritation was, to an extent, manufactured, she felt suddenly foolish and ashamed, glad to be alone. She might deny it until she was blue in the face, but the attraction was there, all right. Determined to nip all thoughts of Ventriss in the bud, she walked faster, as if, by increasing her speed, they might be outpaced.
Opening the outer door, she saw there was a letter from Guy on the hall stand. This is more like it, she thought, sliding a nail under the flap immediately so she could start reading as she went up the stairs, knowing as she did so that it was less the action of a woman in love with her husband than a simple defence mechanism.
Dearest, We are still waiting for orders, very tedious. We have drunk all the wine, smoked all the cigars, and eaten most of the food. The troops are fed up with attending lectures, but on the whole behaving tolerably well, although last night there was the most fearful rumpus because some rowdy—
Reaching the landing, Diana saw, propped against her door, an enormous bunch of red roses. Shoving the letter into her handbag, she bent down to read the card:
Thank you for a wonderful evening. With love, Claude.
It was much later, just as she was about to drop off to sleep, that Diana remembered she hadn’t finished reading Guy’s letter.