Troubled Midnight (25 page)

Sadler was in a telephone booth downstairs on the ground floor of the hotel, close to the big reception area and near the restaurant where he had eaten earlier. He still had a few hours work to do on his report, but there was plenty of time for him to finish it.

“Mopsy?” he said when Julia answered.

“Who do you want?” she said, recognising his voice.

“I want Mopsy Flanders. Oh, lord I think I’ve got a wrong number.”

“Yes, I think you have, there’s no Mopsy here, and no Flopsy either.”

He apologised, half-heartedly, and hung up.” Now he would wait for six or seven minutes while Julia got herself into a coat, put on some sensible shoes, found her torch, then headed out to the phone box on the corner of Market Mews.

One day, Sadler considered, the General Post Office would put an end to telephone boxes that were able to receive calls; too many people could use them for nefarious acts; they were a godsend to whores and their pimps, also for illegal gambling and villains who had no access to a private telephone and regarded certain numbers in call boxes as their own: as indeed Sadler and Julia always used the box on the corner of Market Mews when they did not wish to use Julia’s telephone, easy prey to the official Watchers and Listeners belonging to the police or MI5, the Security Service: only Sadler didn’t tell that bit to Julia. Sadler simply stuck to his elaborate lies and Julia, a foolish girl, swallowed them whole.

After almost ten minutes, Sadler dropped coins into the box and dialled the number in Market Mews. Julia picked up on the second ring and Sadler pressed Button A.

“Good,” He said after making certain that it was Julia at the distant end. “Tomorrow,” he told her. “Tomorrow. Nice and public. St Paul’s Cathedral. Carol Service at 6.30 pm.”

“A bit quick,” she sounded doubtful, adding, “but we’ll manage.”

“We’d better. This is very important.”

“I said we’ll manage,” she snapped, then asked if there were any special orders. Sadler went through what he called the dress of the day. Red hat and a dark scarf visible at the neck. Also visible a copy of the
News of the World.
“Sticking out of her bag, or she could be carrying it.”

He said she could sit where she liked, though preferably towards the rear of the church. “Okay?” he said. “Tell her I’ll find her.”

“That all?”

“No, we have to exchange passwords.”

“What d’you suggest, then?”

Sadler had chosen something from the Bible. From the Book of Proverbs. He would say,
the length of days is in her right hand.
The girl would reply,
and in her left hand riches and honour.

“It’s enough,” he said. “She should get to the service early. It’ll be a full house.”

“Will do.”

Sadler closed the line and Julia walked slowly back through the black streets to her house.

Inside she poured herself a large brandy from the bottle she’d managed to get for Christmas, and sat down to make what turned out to be the first of a number of telephone calls.

She started by telephoning Daphne, who was a nice girl; as the tired joke said, she had a lot of friends, never did it with enemies. She was not a whore, never worked the streets or anything like that, but, if pressed, would have to admit that her means of support came from gentlemen who found her amusing and attractive. The gentlemen concerned were mainly officers of the USAAF and they valued Daphne when on leave between their bombing missions in B17s – Flying Fortresses – and B24s – Liberators. Daphne liked to think she was concerned with valuable war work, giving succour to members of the forces. But the truth of the matter was that while she was not a whore she could easily be classified as an enthusiastic amateur.

“Daphne, dear. Would you like to earn a few quid?”

“Sweetie,” Daphne all but sang. “What’s going on? When can I earn some poppy?”

“Tomorrow evening. About an hour’s work is all.”

“Oh, sweetheart I can’t do it, not tomorrow, I’m all booked up tomorrow. My friend Wilbur’s coming down for three days, and…”

“What a blow. It’s such a simple business, only take you an hour, hour and a half, and you can stay dressed. Piece of cake.”

“I just can’t Jules. No way. I can’t let Wilbur down.” She giggled, “Not that he’ll let up. Arrives in the morning and if I know Wilbur he’ll keep me occupied until very late at night. Doubt if I’ll stir outside all day. Mmmmm.”

“Well, if you can’t you can’t dear.”

“Some other time then Jules, okay?”

“TTFN, Daph.”

TTFN stood for Ta Ta For Now. Another of the interminable catch phrases from Tommy Handley’s show, ITMA –
It’s That Man Again.

She rang Sybil who worked at Boots The Chemist in Oxford Street, but Sybil’s Dad was ill in Romsey and she’d had to give up her job and go to look after him.

Beryl and Betty were both otherwise engaged, going off somewhere over the weekend, then with their families over Christmas.

Julia was stymied. She drew a blank with Unity, a posh girl who lived in Mayfair and would usually do anything for anybody, but she had relations visiting and couldn’t get away, “Not even for a minute, Julia. Sorry.”

As for Irene, her husband answered the telephone and when Julia asked for her he said, “She’s gone to her bloody mother’s and I’m only on five days leave bugger it.”

Julia was in baulk, didn’t know what to do. Then she remembered the young woman who’d come with the handsome man that afternoon and she scrabbled around to find the paper on which she’d written her name and telephone number. Suzie, that was the name, didn’t seem to have a surname, but Suzie would do.

She lunged for the telephone.

Ruth, the redhaired maid-of-all-work at the WOIL offices in Ivor Place was still on duty, tucked up reading Eric Ambler’s
The Mask of Demetrius
in a camp bed close to four telephones. She struggled out and picked up after six rings and gave the number. The caller, with a voice like a cello, asked if Suzie was there. No surname, just Suzie, and Ruth told her Suzie was out, “At a party,” she said, adding she should be in any time if it was urgent. The caller said she was Julia Richardson and could Suzie call her when she came in because it was rather important. What she had actually said was, “She could learn something to her advantage.” Julia was a sucker for that kind of flowery language.

Ruth said she’d tell her as soon as she got back and Julia Richardson gave her the number. Ruth repeated it, then repeated it again as though she was reading what she’d just written down. “And it was Julia Richards was it?” she asked.

“Julia Richardson,” Julia said, stressing the
son.
“It doesn’t matter what time she gets in. Could she ring me anyway, whatever time. Tonight? Right?”

“Hooked,” Curry Shepherd said from Elsie’s office door. He had obviously been listening in on an extension.

“Curry, you’ll get me shot. How long have you been here?” Ruth asked in a flirty voice.

“Long enough to see you getting ready for bed. Quite like old times.”

“You’re a Peeping Tom, Curry Shepherd.”

“Ah, I thought I was a Curry Shepherd. You’d best ring Suzie. Tried every trick in the book to get me to stay at her place tonight. In the guest room of course.”

“Naturally,” Ruth looked up from under her eyelids in what was supposed to be a seductive sort of way as she started to dial Suzie’s number.

“But I knew you’d be here, ready and waiting.” Curry continued, the leer turning to a melting smile as Ruth put her hand over the receiver rests, then picked up the phone again, preparing to redial. “There’s not really room in this camp bed.” Curry thought what a dazzling smile she had. “Not the same as in the flat.” Ruth added.

Curry started to remove his jacket. “We’ve managed before.” He said. “What about the telephone, sweetheart?”

*   *   *

SUZIE WAS STILL getting ready for bed and wondering if she had lost her allure when the telephone rang. For a second she wondered if it was Curry. Had he changed his mind? Later she thought the disappointment must have been obvious as she answered too eagerly.

Ruth told her what was going on and what to do, mothered her a bit, asking if she could manage this relatively simple phone call. “Just listen, make notes, that’s very important: be meticulous about the notes. Try to sound interested without being inquisitive. Remember the money fascinates you. Cash is your motivation … Oh, yes, and remember you’ve just come in from a party. Be bubbly, if you know how to be bubbly.”

“I think I can manage, thank you. And I know how to be bubbly in all senses of the word.” Suzie told her, acidly, over the telephone. She really didn’t like Ruth but if she had been asked why she couldn’t have given a reason. Then, in a matter of minutes she was talking to Julia Richardson in the house where she lived in Shepherd Street.

“Darling,” Julia gushed, “Thank you so much for ringing back. You
did
ask me if there was a job going – pin money, remember?”

“’Course I remember. You’ve got something I can do?”

“I think so, but I’ll have to explain because it always sounds a bit iffy…”

“How much?” Suzie asked, trying to get into the role as Ruth had explained to her.

“Five quid and you have to go to church for an hour or so.”

“I don’t mind that. I’ll do anything.”

“I’ll tell you what it’s about. Put you in the picture.”

“Please.”

“Friend of mine supplies non-military information to the neutral Swedish embassy – stuff about costs of food, clothes, that sort of thing. And digests from the War Office official briefings to the Press. This fellow also helps in training some of our own security people, so he arranges these exchanges of information as clandestine exercises. Trainees are told a time and place where the information is to be handed over. They’re also given a description of the person who is to receive the information. It’s usually a thick envelope that’s passed to you in a public place. Right?”

“Right,” Suzie agreed,

“All you have to do is be at the designated place, wearing the identifiable clothes or whatever I tell you. Then someone will contact you and pass you the envelope which you bring straight to me.”

“What does designated mean?” Suzie decided to play the dim lame brain.

“It means where I tell you to be.”

“Oh, right.”

“In this case it’s St Paul’s Cathedral. Tomorrow evening. There’s a carol service there at half six. Get there early, like half-five, a quarter-to-six. Understand?”

“Yea, ’course.”

Julia gave her all the details, red hat, dark scarf, copy of tomorrow’s
News of the World
– “You’d better carry that, but make sure it’s visible to others.”

“Won’t feel right carrying that paper into a church.” Suzie turned down the corners of her mouth, acting the part. At that time the
News of the World
specialised in the sexual proclivities of choirmasters, scoutmasters and clergymen, pederasty was one thing, but simply being homosexual was a crime in those days and they’d bang you up even if you were a consenting adult.

“Don’t worry about that. Now there’s a kind of password. It’s from the Bible. Ready, ’coz you’d better learn this by heart.” She repeated
The length of days is in her right hand, and in her left hand riches and honour,
made Suzie write it down and go through it again and again until she had it off pat. Only when she was certain everything was covered did Julia break the connection.

Suzie leaned back and digested the situation which seemed perfectly simple. The hat was no problem, burgundy would pass as red, the one with the divided crown, like a man’s trilby but lower and with a wider snap-down brim at the front, perfect match with her favourite coat, the one with the D-rings and a belt like a trench coat, with buttoned flaps across the chest, fitted at the waist and long military skirts: the coat her mum had bought for her at Fenwicks before clothes rationing came in.

She had plenty of dark scarves, and —

The telephone rang again.

Curry said, “Suzie, the office has just been on. I gather we’ve got a nibble. Good show, eh?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” She sounded less than happy and wondered afterwards if she was trying to tempt Curry to come down and hold her hand.

“You don’t sound thrilled.”

“I’ve been a stalking horse before, and it was not the most pleasant time of my life.”

“I thought that was being a tethered goat.”

Clever bugger, she thought. “Same difference, Curry. I go out there and wait for the guy who killed Colonel Weaving to creep up on me. There’ll be a lot of people in St Paul’s Ruth tells me, so how are we going to be sure…?”

“How’re we going to be sure you’re safe? That’ll be a piece of cake, Suzie. A doddle. Don’t worry about it, we’ll have all exits covered, our people will be on you all the time. Nothing’s going to happen to you, Suzie. We’re much to careful and professional.”

She reflected that she’d heard that before.

“Come down to Ivor Place in the morning. Nine o’clock. Elsie and some of the boys’ll be there. You’ll be fine.”

Suzie got undressed, had a bath, stuck to the current rule of five inches of water in the bath and thought to herself that she was a bit of a prig. Obeying the five inch rule made her feel good and she thought that was a bit much, feeling happy about keeping to a restriction nobody could really enforce. She fiddled with her toes on the hot tap and let another inch of water flood into the bath.

She felt guilty about that and when she was out, dried, powdered and in her night clothes she sat on the bed sipping a cup of milky cocoa. She really had thought Curry was interested in her. If he had been he certainly didn’t seem to be interested any more. When he had told her about Tommy’s questionable dealings over her commendation and the offer of a George Medal, she’d have sworn he’d been exceptionally interested, but now she wondered. She recalled that when she was at her first posting to CID at Camford Hill, Shirley Cox had told her that one of the other officers had said he thought she – Suzie Mountford – was a flibbertigibbet: frivolous and a bit of a teaser. At the time she had been outraged but now she wondered. Had this been how Curry Shepherd had seen her, easy and flippant? If so he really hadn’t wanted to have all that much to do with her. By the time she had the light off and was cuddling her hot water bottle, snug inside its Peter Rabbit cover, she started to wonder about the way other people saw her.