3

Anya looked around her at the busy railway station. She’d only visited London twice before, and one of those times she’d been hidden under the floorboards of a truck, as her entry into England was unofficial. She’d seen little of the capital city, and could only recall the stench of fuel and the discomfort of being squashed into a small space. This time she wore a smart green tweed suit over a cream silk blouse Rose had insisted she borrow, with her travel permit safely tucked inside a brown leather handbag lent to her by Flora. The only similarity between her two visits was the butterflies that were playing havoc in her stomach.

All the world and its neighbour seemed to be waiting for a meeting under the clock. ‘A silly place to meet a stranger,’ Anya muttered to herself, stepping aside and giving a uniformed man a look of disdain as he pulled a young woman into his arms. He kissed her in a way that spoke of many unsaid words. If only Anya had been able to meet her Henio and kiss him in such a way; but it wasn’t to be. He had simply vanished and there’d been no word since.

Looking at her wristwatch, she sighed; the person she was meant to be meeting was five minutes late. She wondered whether there was another clock in the station. Stepping closer to the couple, who were still locked in a tight embrace, she tapped the man on his shoulder and coughed politely. ‘Excuse me. Is there another clock in this station?’

They pulled apart; the woman stared hard at Anya as the man straightened his uniform tie. ‘I’m not sure you should be asking such questions,’ the woman said. She threw her companion an apologetic glance. ‘I think she’s German.’

‘I am a proud Polish woman,’ Anya replied, looking round to see that several people had stopped as they heard the word ‘German’. ‘My husband is a Polish pilot flying with your RAF.’ She raised her chin proudly. ‘He is currently missing in action while fighting for your freedom,’ she added, knowing even as she spoke that she shouldn’t be saying it.

‘That just proves she’s a German; otherwise, she’d know we mustn’t speak of such things,’ the woman said, smirking at the growing crowd.

Anya held up her hand to show a simple gold ring on her left hand. ‘I am proud to wear this band that ties me to my husband. It will never leave my finger, unlike the one you have taken off to meet this . . . person,’ she spat back, pointing to a pale mark on the woman’s finger where a ring had recently been removed.

The crowd chuckled knowingly before dispersing.

‘Anya Polinski?’ a woman asked from behind her left shoulder.

‘Yes,’ Anya bristled, reluctant to turn away from the brassy woman, who was clearly squaring up for a fight.

‘I’m sorry to be so late. Would you come with me? I have a car waiting.’

Anya fell into step beside the older woman, who was dressed in a faded tweed suit. She wore a navy blue felt hat on top of greying shoulder-length hair which was clipped back at either side, showing a plain face with cheeks adorned with lines. If Anya had been asked to describe her, she’d have been hard pressed to say anything other than ‘a plain woman, easily forgotten’.

‘May I ask where we are going?’ she asked as the car nudged its way through bustling streets. If not for the windows criss-crossed with sticky tape and the sandbags heaped against walls, Anya thought there would have been surprisingly few signs there was a war on; until they turned a corner to see collapsed buildings that had once been shops and homes, while up above, barrage balloons dotted the skyline.

Soon their car approached a row of important-looking buildings. Anya would have been interested to know what went on behind the grand doorways, but dared not ask in case the woman sitting ramrod straight next to her thought she was a spy; so many people seemed to think such a thing since she’d arrived in England. Instead she gripped her borrowed handbag, waiting for the car to stop. Why did Ruth wish to see her? she wondered for the umpteenth time.

After climbing from the car, she waited for her companion to join her. There was no sign of what the building in front of her contained. Four small holes drilled into the Portland stone showed where a brass plaque had once announced what was behind the oak double doors. A tremor of anticipation ran through Anya as the woman said, ‘Follow me.’

She tried to keep up as the woman hurried her up a wide staircase to the next floor before guiding her through several identical corridors. Occasionally they would pass someone coming out of one of the rooms and Anya would hear the clacking of typewriters from inside, before the door closed and the person hurried away. So many people are in a hurry, she thought to herself.

Eventually, the woman stopped so abruptly that Anya collided with her. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered as the woman tapped on a door and opened it without waiting to be called.

‘She is here,’ she said to a younger woman who sat behind a desk, busy at her typewriter. The first woman turned and left the room.

The girl behind the desk picked up a telephone. ‘Your appointment is here, ma’am. Shall I send her in?’

Anya watched. There was one other door; she presumed that was where she would go.

‘Take a seat and you will be seen shortly,’ she smiled before returning to whatever the important work was on her desk.

Anya looked around her, knowing she could never work in such a place. Although the Nippies in the Margate teashop drove her up the wall at times with their incessant chatter during their breaks, she’d rather have that than work in this bleak place. She just hoped that if she had been called to do war work, it wouldn’t be as a typist as she had yet to learn the English language properly, let alone how to use a typewriter. She was inwardly rehearsing how to turn down the job when the internal door opened and Ruth appeared.

‘Anya, thank you so much for coming to meet me,’ she said, giving her a warm hug. ‘Joan, would you be a dear and organize some tea, please? Make sure it’s good and strong. Anya here works for Joe Lyons, and we can’t let our side down with the dishwater that usually passes for tea around here.’

Anya, who would have preferred coffee but didn’t like to say, followed Ruth into a small office and sat down in an armchair set in front of a frosted window. Ruth sat opposite. The time had come to hear what the other woman had to say. In her heart of hearts Anya prayed it wasn’t news of her Henio; or, worse still, that she wasn’t about to be sent back to Poland for having arrived without proper papers. She prayed they would allow her to take her child back with her. Henio would have to seek them out once he came back from wherever he was – if he was still alive.

Katie sighed as she looked at the two sleeping children tucked up under a knitted rug on her large bed. She yearned for the day when she would be able to look down on her own children. It seemed so unfair that she and Jack had so much love to give to their own family; both being orphans, it had always been their plan to start a large family as soon as possible after their wedding. So far, she’d been unable to fall for a baby, and it worried her so much; would Jack still love her if she was barren? However, he was due home soon and hopefully things would start to happen. She blushed at her thoughts.

For now, she would love and care for her friends’ children; it would be good practice for when her own came along. Just now there were nappies to hang on the line, then she could settle down to her knitting until they awoke. The sun was shining; she planned to sit in the garden and let the sun do its best to warm their bones and lift her spirits – that’s if the air-raid siren didn’t start to wail. Mary hated to be cooped up in the damp underground shelter, preferring to run around in the garden like the free spirit she was – so like her mother, Lily. Although Alexsy was too young to understand what was happening, he did become miserable; picking up on her own fears, no doubt. She had planned to put them both in Mary’s pram and walk along the cliff top to visit Flora in Ramsgate, but Flora was on air-raid duty today. It was a shame because if the sirens kicked off they could have dashed into the tunnels that threaded under the main part of the town, where residents took shelter against the bombs raining down on them. These days many people stayed in the tunnels as much as possible, almost setting up home there to be safe. Some of them no longer had homes to live in following the destruction caused by the Luftwaffe to their seaside town.

Tucking the wash basket under her arm, she hurried out to the line that stretched from the house to the old apple tree, thinking as she did of the time an RAF pilot’s parachute had become caught up in the tree and they had rescued him. Peter was a frequent visitor to the cottage these days, enamoured as he was with Lily. The girls often served him with apple pie when he visited in case he forgot his unusual arrival to their property, while their friend Mildred would grumble that in all the time she’d lived there before giving Katie, Lily and Rose the deeds to the house, having no living relatives herself, she had never witnessed such a strange event.

Katie stopped to breathe in the fresh air before picking up the empty laundry basket and heading back indoors; it would only take her Jack’s ship to arrive back from foreign shores and her life would be perfect. She sighed with delight as she looked around the kitchen of the thatched cottage. It would be a wonderful place to bring up her own children when she had them. A long mullioned window looked out over the garden to where the Anderson shelter sat surrounded by pots of pansies. The girls had been determined to make the place where they would spend many hours as attractive and welcoming as possible. Upstairs the children slept in the same room, in wooden beds that matched handmade wardrobes and cupboards – a gift from Mildred when Mary was born.

‘Katie, I’m home, and guess who I have with me,’ Lily called out as she entered the cottage.

All thoughts of the sleeping children were forgotten as Katie rushed into the hall, expecting to see Jack. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she cried, then came to a stop. He wasn’t there. In front of her were Peter the pilot and a ginger-haired RAF officer she’d not met before. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.’ She blushed, glaring at Lily. ‘Be quiet, the children are taking their afternoon nap,’ she told her, before nodding to Peter. ‘I’m pleased to see you’ve taken the normal way into our home; are you here for tea?’ She was thankful she’d brought home some of the stock from the Ramsgate tearoom that wasn’t likely to last another day, after distributing the rest to her staff. Without it, the cupboard would have been almost bare.

Peter kissed her on the cheek. ‘Hello, Katie. If it’s not too inconvenient, we’d love to join you for afternoon tea. And I can contribute,’ he said, handing over a small cardboard box.

Katie peered inside to find two tins of ham along with packets of butter and tea. ‘I’ll not ask any questions as to how you came by them,’ she grinned. ‘Would you like to join us?’ she asked the other airman, who stood wringing his cap in both hands. ‘We won’t bite,’ she added, noticing his discomfort.

‘Only if it’s not inconvenient,’ he said in a quiet Scottish accent, stepping forward to introduce himself. ‘Daniel Stewart; my friends call me Stew.’

Katie gave the ginger-haired man a gentle smile. She knew what it was like to be the quiet one in a group, and Stew seemed less forward than his mate Peter. ‘Welcome to our home, Stew. I take it you’re not from around here?’ she asked as they went through to the lounge.

‘I don’t think I’m giving anything away to say I’m from the Scottish Highlands,’ he grinned. ‘You certainly have a comfortable home here,’ he added appreciatively, looking around the cosy room with its inglenook fireplace.

‘We can’t accept the praise for furnishing it, as it was like this when our friend Mildred gave us the property. Lily, why don’t you tell the story and show Stew round while I make tea? The children will be waking shortly, so keep an ear open for them,’ she said, noticing how Lily was cosying up to Peter.

She was busying herself in the kitchen when Stew joined her. ‘Can I help?’ he asked.

‘Goodness, no, but thank you for offering. I’ll not have a guest helping with a meal,’ she said, giving him a smile. Up close she could see that he stood a little taller than her Jack, with broad shoulders and an upright frame; she supposed it came from his upbringing. Weren’t RAF officers typically picked from the privately educated upper classes?

‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked, bringing Katie back to the present.

‘I’m so sorry; I was miles away. My husband is due back any day soon and I can’t help wondering how far away he is at the moment. He could even be here in Thanet and be knocking on the door at any moment . . .’

‘Ah, that could be rather awkward for you,’ he frowned. ‘Perhaps I should leave.’

‘There’s no need, honestly; besides, you’ve not even had a cup of tea, let alone anything to eat. Here,’ she said, holding out a plate of paste sandwiches. ‘Carry this through to the living room while I fill the teapot. My Jack is used to people coming and going; with the three of us girls owning the house we tend to entertain a lot, even though Rose has now moved out. She married Ben Hargreaves and has a home in Pegwell Bay, although she will pop by and stay with us when Ben is away; he’s in the army,’ she explained, before clapping a hand to her mouth. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that? Honestly, they could have been thinking of me when they designed that poster about loose mouths and keeping mum. You aren’t a German spy, are you?’ she asked, smiling sweetly.

‘As if I’d tell you if I were,’ he laughed.

They were still laughing as they returned to the kitchen after laying out the food. Lily and Peter joined them, holding the children, who looked sleepy.

‘Yours?’ Stew asked, glancing towards Katie.

‘Goodness, no. Mary belongs to Lily and this is Alexsy, whom I’m looking after today for a friend.’

‘It’s not for want of trying, though,’ Lily winked as she passed a fractious Alexsy to Katie. ‘I think his nappy needs changing.’

Katie looked embarrassed. ‘It’s my dearest hope that before too long Jack and I will have a family of our own. I’m grateful that we have good friends to fill the gap. Although you can go off some,’ she said, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed Alexsy’s nappy.

‘I’ll help you; I have three of my own,’ Stew said, reaching out to take the child.

‘You don’t look old enough,’ Katie gasped before apologizing. ‘You must think me so rude.’

He chuckled. ‘That’s my Scottish genes. We live long and healthy lives in my family.’

‘And have lots of kiddies, by the sound of it,’ Lily chipped in as she passed him a basket containing nappies and a clean romper suit. ‘One is enough for me . . . for now, anyway,’ she added, giving Peter a coy glance.

‘Let’s get stuck into this food, shall we?’ Peter said, rubbing his hands together.

‘But Stew . . .’ Katie started to say.

‘I’ll not be long,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Don’t wait for me.’

‘Now, that’s a man who would make a perfect father for your children,’ Lily grinned, nudging Katie.

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ Katie huffed.

‘We have drunk too much tea and I have told you about my life in Poland. Now, will you tell me why I am here?’ Anya said. She was getting fed up with all the small talk. Checking the gilt-framed clock hanging on the wall, she could see that an hour had already passed, and still she was none the wiser as to why she’d travelled to London. ‘Tell me, is my Henio dead?’

Ruth shrugged. ‘That is not why you are here, although I will continue to make enquiries. Now, if you have finished your tea, we need to be somewhere else.’ She went to her desk and picked up the telephone. ‘Have the car ready in five minutes, please.’

Anya was puzzled; wherever was she being taken?

‘I have to be back in Ramsgate to collect my son,’ she pointed out as Ruth reached for her coat.

‘I’ll make sure you are home in plenty of time,’ Ruth assured her. ‘Now let’s get cracking, shall we?’

This time, Anya was shown down a back staircase and out into an alley just wide enough for a car to access. It was a squeeze for them to climb inside.

‘We prefer to take this route,’ Ruth explained as she offered Anya a cigarette, which the Polish woman declined.

Anya had a feeling she was being kidnapped and wished she’d had the foresight to inform Flora whom she was going to meet. She knew little about Ruth, apart from her being Rose’s sister-in-law and someone who did not appear to work very much for her living, what with having wealthy parents. Anya felt disloyal in her thoughts and was reminded of one of Flora’s favourite sayings: ‘It takes all kinds of people to run the world.’ But what kind of person was Ruth?

Try as she might, Anya could not identify any of the roads on the route the car took. Neither Ruth nor their driver spoke a word, which alarmed her even more. She thought of jumping out and running away but there was never an opportunity to do so, and by the time the car stopped she was a bag of nerves, convinced something awful would happen. She even prayed for the air-raid sirens to start so she could get out of the car and make her escape.

With her mind working overtime it was some seconds before she realized the car had pulled up and the driver was getting out, ready to open the door for them. Allowing herself to be directed through a single door, she followed Ruth up a narrow staircase and was ushered into an office not unlike the one they’d sat in earlier.

‘I’m sorry for all the subterfuge, Anya, but what I’m about to talk to you about is top secret. This office is more secure than where we were before, but I wasn’t able to bring you straight here for security reasons.’

Anya nodded her head slowly as she took in Ruth’s serious face and after a few seconds knew she had to ask the question that was foremost in her mind. ‘Is this legal, or are you working against the government?’

Ruth guffawed loudly. ‘My dear woman, nothing could be further from the truth. I work for the government.’

‘As a secretary?’

‘If that is what you wish to believe. However, the truth is, I work for the SOE.’

‘What is this SOE? Why does everyone speak initials? It is most confusing. Flora tells me about ITMA and ENSA – I am so easily confused.’

Rather than laugh at Anya’s comment, Ruth sat opposite the woman, lacing her fingers together as she thought carefully about her next words. She would have preferred to remain at her own office, but Kenneth had wanted to meet them here; he had some strange ways, but she went along with him most of the time rather than argue. There were enough problems in the world without her acting up because she didn’t like this dusty, impersonal room with its old desk, unmade fire and out of date calendar on the wall.

‘Anya, what I am telling you must go no further than this office; in fact, you will be expected to sign a document to that effect . . .’

‘I don’t understand.’ Anya looked around the room and for the first time focused on a man who had come in with them and was now standing by the door, smoking a pipe. She turned back to Ruth. ‘Why do you want this of me?’

‘Because, Anya, you are very important to the safety of this country and also the safety of your homeland,’ Ruth started to explain. Anya’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. Ruth continued, ‘The SOE stands for the Special Operations Executive, Mr Churchill’s secret army. We believe you can identify a woman who is collaborating with the Germans. We want you to confirm her identity and we can do the rest.’

Anya shook her head in denial. ‘I know the same people that you know: Flora, Rose, Miss Tibbs, Lily, Katie, and people we sit with in the tunnels during air raids . . . Are you saying one of those is a col– a collab—’

‘A collaborator,’ the man with the pipe said as he came closer, perching himself on the edge of Ruth’s desk. ‘No, Anya, it is not one of your friends – it is someone from your past.’

‘Who are you to know of my past?’ she spat back at him.

‘Anya, this is one of my colleagues, Colonel Kenneth Parry,’ Ruth explained. ‘He can tell you more.’

Anya looked between Ruth and the tall, thin man with unkempt salt and pepper hair, whose pipe seemed almost glued to his lips. She noticed how scruffy he looked, in a sagging jumper that had seen better days, with fraying cuffs and darned elbows. She shook her head wildly and got to her feet, her chair scraping on the linoleum floor. ‘I’m not sure I wish to know. I will go home now, if you do not mind? I promise not to say a thing about this.’

‘Please, Anya, identifying this woman would bring the war to an end so much sooner. You have no idea how important this is.’

Anya chewed on her fingernail as she thought about what Ruth was telling her. ‘If I was to do this for you, will you find my Henio and bring him home to me?’

Ruth looked to Kenneth, who had started to puff on his pipe. He nodded his head. ‘We will do our very best.’

She sat down again, ready to make her point. ‘Your very best is not good enough. I want him home to Ramsgate alive, or in his coffin so I can grieve, and our son has a place to visit where he can say his prayers by the grave of the father he has never met.’

Ruth reached across the desk and squeezed Anya’s hand. She tried not to think of all the women she had sent away who had never returned. How would she face her sister-in-law, Rose, if Anya died on this mission?

‘I promise I will do my utmost to help Alexsy by getting both of his parents home to him safely. Will you take a short journey and identify the woman for us?’

Anya thought for a few seconds before saying, ‘I will be proud to help Mr Churchill. Will I wear a uniform and stop working for Joe Lyons as a Sally?’

Kenneth laid his pipe down on the wooden desk and sat down in a vacant chair. ‘Anya, we want you to go home and continue in your work as you usually would. It will be arranged for you to have training and you will be accompanied; you should have nothing to fear. We will, however, ask you to put your affairs in order, and quickly, as this mission will occur very soon.’

Anya frowned. ‘You mean, I must find someone to care for my son in case I am killed on this mission and my Henio doesn’t come back alive? Where am I to go?’

‘It will be disclosed closer to the day you depart,’ Kenneth explained.

‘Am I to return to Poland? It can’t be anywhere else as I do not have the language . . .’

‘Please, Anya, don’t ask, as we cannot tell you at this time,’ Ruth begged.

‘Then I will return to Ramsgate and carry on as normal until you call me.’ She looked at her wristwatch. ‘If I do not hurry, I will miss my train; I cannot expect Katie to care for my son overnight.’ She stopped, thinking about what she had just said. ‘Katie would make a good mother to my boy . . .’

Ruth picked up the telephone and asked for a driver to take Anya to the station as Kenneth shook her hand. ‘I’ll walk you downstairs,’ Ruth said, taking her arm.

Outside, as they waited for the car, Ruth gave Anya a big hug. ‘Katie is the ideal person . . .’