The House of Flowers Page 15

  Madame Daumier was still staring at him as he made his excuses and prepared to climb the stairs to bed.

  ‘Is there something wrong, madame?’ he asked, believing as always that it was much the best to wrong-foot any possible opponent by pre-guessing them.

  ‘No, monsieur, no – far from it,’ she replied with a smile, putting a heavy hand on his forearm. ‘You are such a good-looking couple – and such a charming pair. I just hope and I pray . . .’ She stopped for a moment, closed her eyes briefly, then clasped her well-worn hands at her waist and shook her head. ‘I lost my own son, monsieur. He was killed in the Ardennes. The so-called impassable Ardennes. Puh.’ Madame Daumier shrugged and puffed in contempt. ‘He was in the Light Cavalry. Imagine – with no anti-tank guns – without a decent tank – how are they meant to stop the might of a Panzer division? They couldn’t even slow their progress. That wretch Gamelin.’

  Lily frowned at Scott for illumination.

  ‘General Gamelin,’ Scott repeated. ‘Perhaps a little too old for the game as it is played now.’

  ‘Too old?’ Madame Daumier opened her big brown eyes to the full. ‘He is the sort of soldier who should only fight in peacetime. Too old? He charges like a bull into the Low Countries, sacrificing our lambs everywhere – then as soon as he sees a German he holds up his hands. What a waste. What a waste.’

  She shook her head, tightened her mouth, then put her hands back on to Scott’s forearm. ‘I look at you, monsieur, and I see my son. Shall I tell you why? He had the same look in his eyes. He had just that look you have in your eyes when he went away. He had the very same look.’

  In their room, Scott stood with his back resolutely to the bed, staring out of the window and smoking a cigarette while behind him Lily undressed herself as was the routine, accompanied by an ever increasing number of sighs.

  ‘You know this really isn’t necessary, Scott?’ she remarked as she pulled her sweater over her head. ‘I know you don’t fancy me – that you don’t like me in fact – so this charade really isn’t necessary.’

  ‘So you say each and every night, Lily. And while I agree that it might not be necessary, it’s altogether sensible.’

  Lily smiled as she dropped her skirt from trim waist to pretty ankles, reckoning that Scott at least was beginning to admit that she had some sort of allure, otherwise he would never have made that remark. All she had to do, she figured as she slipped into the bed dressed in just her silk French knickers and matching brassiere, was see it out. Married Scott may be. In love even, she admitted. But that love and that marriage were a long way away right now, and if she was going to risk her life, or perhaps even lose it, then she was going to enjoy it right up to the last moment.

  ‘Aren’t you coming to bed, Scott?’ she asked as factually as she could, not wishing in any way to pre-empt her game. ‘You must be as tired as I am after all that excitement.’

  ‘In a while, Lily,’ Scott murmured, still with his back turned. ‘I’m going to smoke another cigarette first. You go to sleep.’

  ‘Sure thing, boss,’ Lily replied, lying on her back and letting her long hair fall either side of her face. ‘Just try not to wake me when you do finally climb in.’

  Little chance of that, Scott thought to himself as he lit a fresh cigarette. I shall as usual doze in the armchair until I am absolutely sure you are asleep, and then and only then shall I crawl quietly under the eiderdown – but not under the sheet.

  ‘Good night,’ Lily sighed from behind him. ‘Sleep tight.’

  Scott said nothing. He just stood smoking his cigarette and looking out into the dark night.

  While below him, hidden in the untended shrubbery, Madame Daumier watched him for as long as he remained at the window, before she too disappeared into the darkness.

  The first inkling Marjorie had that something was up was when the air raid siren sounded at the Park and everyone vacated the building to take to the caves in the woods – everyone except Major Folkestone, who remained at his desk; and Marjorie, who was detained by Major Folkestone; and Jack Ward who suddenly and almost silently appeared from an adjacent room.

  As soon as the building was empty, Anthony Folkestone and Jack Ward hurried out of the room, summoning Marjorie to follow.

  ‘Might I ask what’s up, sir?’ she wondered. ‘Is there some emergency?’

  ‘Not your business, young woman,’ Jack growled at her as they hurried along a corridor. ‘Yours to do and die, get it? Not ask questions.’

  ‘Just do as we say, Marjorie,’ Anthony Folkestone said. ‘And you’re to say nothing about this at all. Understood?’

  ‘Not a word, young woman,’ Jack muttered. ‘Or we’ll have you in the Tower.’

  ‘Take all these files – here,’ Anthony said to her, handing her folder after folder from a filing cabinet in the first office they entered. ‘Take them back to my desk and put them in the bottom drawer. Then come back here.’

  There had to be a security leak, Marjorie concluded as she hurried back along the corridor. There had to be a leak and this was obviously an Emergency with a very large E.

  When she got back the two men were still working their way systematically through the filing cabinets, checking and double-checking heavily numbered and marked files before putting them in a pile for Marjorie to collect. Some of the files were so old they made Marjorie sneeze as she carried them back to Anthony’s office, while others were so flat it was obvious that there was nothing in them of note. Yet Marjorie realised, like the old dusty ones they all had to be checked, because if there was a leak the vital facts could well have been disguised and buried in some old folder somewhere.

  As she set down yet another set of records on Major Folkestone’s desk, Marjorie suddenly gave a shiver as she took in the reality of the situation. If what she thought was true, then there was a traitor within the gates of Eden. One of the Nosy Parkers was an enemy agent.

  After all the necessary files had been stowed away in Anthony’s office, a signal was given to sound the All Clear. Fifteen minutes later the place was back to normal, the rooms echoing to the clatter of typewriters and telephone bells and the corridors to the clacking of heels. Some four hours elapsed before Jack Ward came back into Anthony’s office and carefully laid a file down in front of his junior.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to Marjorie. ‘That will be all.’

  After Marjorie had gone, Jack nodded to the file, and began to relight his pipe.

  ‘Let me know your thoughts,’ he said. ‘I know mine.’

  It was one of the older files, dating back to before the war, and from the details on the front there must have been some sort of muddle up between departments because the file actually belonged to Baker Street and not to Eden Park at all. Theoretically no one from Baker Street would be employed at Eden Park, but none the less all the information contained in the file pointed to the named girl as the number one suspect.

  Anthony read the details not once but four times, to make sure he understood the matter absolutely. Then he closed the file and shut his eyes tightly while he took it all in. The matter was even worse than he thought, because not only had someone infiltrated their security at a critical level, but if what he had read was correct then the young woman responsible had not only been placed in the Service by Jack Ward, but worse – she was his god-daughter.

  Several days later Anthony Folkestone was surprised by the sound of direct knocking on his office door.

  ‘Not now, please,’ he called back sharply, barely looking up from his paperwork. ‘Busy!’

  ‘It’s only me, sir!’ came an all too familiar voice.

  ‘Billy,’ Anthony sighed, clucking his tongue as the boy pushed open his door. ‘How did you get past Miss Budge? Though knowing you there’s not a lot of point in asking that.’

  ‘Miss Budge isn’t out there, sir,’ Billy replied, standing in the doorway, one-legged, removing something sticky from the sole of one shoe.

  Major Folkestone looked
up, frowning slightly.

  ‘Probably gone to powder her nose. Although she usually tells me when she’s leaving her post.’

  ‘Why’s it called that, sir? Powdering your nose? Why do girls always say they’re going to powder their noses when—’

  ‘Billy.’ Anthony Folkestone stopped him in his tracks, amplifying his authority with a sharp tap on his desk with the pencil he had in his hand. ‘If you have something on your mind. I have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘S all right, sir, I don’t mind.’

  Billy wandered round to the front of the major’s desk, picked some pencils out of a mug and began carefully to sharpen them to perfect points with his pocket knife, leaving the wood shavings to fall where they may.

  ‘I was just wondering, sir, if you haven’t heard nothing about my pilotless bomb thing, that’s all.’

  ‘If I have heard anything.’

  ‘That’s it, sir. If you in’t heard anything.’

  Anthony avoided looking at the young man, instead leaning over and carefully brushing the shredded pencil shavings into the adjacent waste bin.

  ‘Not exactly, Billy,’ he replied. ‘Not as such.’

  ‘I saw the folder out on Miss Budge’s desk, sir—’

  ‘You had absolutely no right to be looking at anything on my assistant’s desk, young man.’

  ‘I weren’t, Sir. I was passing by and I saw it, right on the top of the In pile. On top of all today’s stuff. Stuff that’s just come in.’

  ‘You still had no right, Billy.’

  ‘I couldn’t help it, sir. It was as clear as mud, sittin’ there like. Right slap bang on the top.’

  Anthony glared at him, then went to the door to call for his assistant who appeared almost at once in response, as if she had been ready for the summons.

  ‘Today’s files, please, Miss Budge. Anything new that’s just arrived if you’d be so kind. Good. Thank you.’

  Having finished sharpening the major’s pencils, Billy now turned his attention to attending to the wick on the desk lighter, pulling it up to make it longer then carefully cleaning and trimming it with a small pair of scissors he had just made appear from the other end of his knife.

  ‘I bin thinkin’ about the desert, sir,’ Billy said, as if to fill in the silence that had fallen. ‘You know – what it must be like to fight in the desert and all that.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Anthony replied without any actual interest, reading some documentation that was now in his hand.

  ‘Bloomin’ big, the desert, in’t it?’

  ‘Are you referring to any particular desert? Or just “the desert” in general, I wonder?’

  ‘The Western Desert, sir. Where we’re fighting.’

  ‘No doubt you have thoughts on that matter as well, I suppose.’

  ‘Not really, sir.’ Billy shrugged. ‘’Cept it’s bloomin’ big – and supply lines must be more important than ever.’

  ‘Look, Billy,’ Anthony said in exasperation. ‘Why don’t you just run along and join up, eh? The army won’t be able to carry on till you do.’

  Billy eyed the major, whom he happened to rather admire, but said nothing. He hadn’t meant to irritate him, but as Marjorie was forever telling him, he seemed to have the ability to get under people’s fingernails just at the wrong moment. So rather than infuriate one of his heroes even more, he fell to silence, looking down at his shoes, turning his toes inwards as he did so and pulling his mouth to one side.

  ‘Sorry, Billy,’ Anthony muttered. ‘Got some problems. Didn’t mean to snap.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir,’ Billy said with one of his sudden grins that had the ability to lighten anyone’s mood. ‘I didn’t mean to irk you.’

  ‘Irk?’ Anthony smiled in return, amused by the odd choice of word. ‘You weren’t irking me. I’ve just got a few things on my mind.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Billy nodded. ‘I bet.’

  Anthony frowned, and stared at Billy, wondering what he meant by his reply. But the boy was just looking back at him quite ingenuously, as if his remark had been meant as nothing more than sympathetic. Any further thoughts fled, however, as after a brief tap on his door Miss Budge appeared holding a small clutch of files which she handed over to her boss. As Anthony took them and began to sort through them, Miss Budge turned and smiled her usual kindly smile at Billy, putting a hand out to ruffle his hair. Seeing it coming, Billy stepped smartly back, at the same time lowering his eyes to regard the plump, kindly figure with what he hoped was his best ’ere leave off look, a look which seemed to leave Miss Budge, as always, unruffled.

  ‘Yes,’ Anthony said after a short space of time that seemed the length of a light year to young Billy. Anthony closed the file, having first removed a covering letter which he slid into his top drawer. ‘Good,’ he continued. ‘It appears the boffins were most impressed by your ideas, Billy, but I’m afraid it also appears that you’re a bit too smart for them. They say that while the idea is absolutely first class, they just don’t have the science.’

  The look on Billy’s face was such that Anthony quickly tried to make up for the disappointment the boy was obviously feeling.

  ‘Ahead of the field yet again it would seem, Billy Hendry. Jolly good.’

  ‘Could I see what they say, sir? Please?’ Billy held out one hand carefully. ‘If that’s all right.’

  ‘No can do, Billy, alas. Not just comments about your idea, but a lot more stuff. All HC. Sorry about that.’

  ‘Understood, sir. Absolutely. Still. Want to hear my ideas ’bout the desert now?’

  ‘Not right now, Billy. As I keep saying – got work to do.’

  ‘As I see it, what they’ve got to do—’

  ‘Some other time, Billy.’

  ‘They got to shore up Tobruk proper, that’s what they got to do, sir.’

  ‘Some other time. Billy? Now tell Miss Budge I need her again, would you? On your way out.’

  ‘Honest, sir—’

  ‘On your way out, Billy – which is now.’

  Billy pulled a face and ambled out, one of his socks falling down round his ankles. He stopped to pull it back up in front of Miss Budge’s desk. She had for once failed to notice him, so busy was she sorting through the letters and business on her desk. After he had pulled up his sock Billy glanced down at her desk, but seeing nothing of interest he closed the office door behind him, only to bump into a tired and unshaven Eugene.

  ‘Hey, Billy Hendry. The very man I wanted to see.’

  Eugene stopped to pretend-box the boy, and Billy at once tucked his right hand under his chin and led quickly with a series of left jabs that Eugene parried easily, before feigning hurt.

  ‘Haven’t lost your touch, eh? My little gossoon.’ He laughed. ‘Getting faster be the minute, too, I’ll swear.’

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Billy wondered, still dancing round the big man. ‘Where’ve you been now?’

  ‘Ah-ha! And wouldn’t you like to know, me little spy?’ Eugene replied. ‘I been to London to see the king.’

  ‘They’ve turned down my plans for a bomb without a pilot,’ Billy said, stopping his boxing now, and standing with a heavily wrinkled nose. ‘Said they in’t got the science.’

  ‘Knowing how far advanced you are technically, Billy boy, sure they’re probably bang on the mark. Maybe they should just enlist you straight into the Department of Pointy Heads and have done with it.’

  ‘My plan’d work, Mr Hackett,’ Billy insisted. ‘All they got to do is make a fuel.’

  ‘Tell you what, Billy boy,’ Eugene said, pretending to land a couple of rights to Billy’s head. ‘We’ll work on it ourselves, just the two of us, in the evenings. I got plenty of lighter fuel and paraffin, and you have a head full of ideas. We’ll be a matchless pair.’ He put out a hand to ruffle his hair.

  ‘Don’t,’ Billy warned. ‘I really got to hate that.’

  ‘I know. I used to hate that too.’

  Eugene waved a farewell, and ambled into An
thony Folkestone’s office where the major was ready for him, standing behind his desk holding a long ruler behind his back as if it was a swagger stick.

  ‘Welcome home, Hackett,’ he said, with a nod. ‘Mission accomplished, I imagine.’

  ‘You tell me, Major,’ Eugene replied, relighting the half a cheroot he still had to smoke. ‘I did my bit. We did our bit – Gianni and I.’

  ‘We’ve had reports of three bombers down in the Med between Sicily and Malta. Not shot down, down, straight after take-off, so that is something. Damned good show.’

  ‘Ta,’ Eugene replied with a glance over a plume of smoke from his cheroot. ‘But it wasn’t without a certain amount of difficulty.’

  ‘No, always the same, I’m afraid. The best laid plans et cetera.’

  ‘As you know, Major, they were expecting us. One of the two-man welcoming committee was a double agent. I found papers on him.’

  Anthony gazed at him steadily, before sighing deeply and sitting down behind his desk with an air of doom and resignation. He indicated for Eugene to sit opposite, which Eugene did, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  ‘You and I know there’s always that risk, Hackett. But with this operation . . .’ Anthony stopped to shake his head and then light a cigarette. ‘I’d have said security was as watertight as it could possibly be on this one. A small but vital op, nursed through from inception by the Colonel and myself, but as you know there is always a chance of a leak. These things happen. Double agents are the bane of our work. I sometimes think we can cope with everything, except them.’