Voices on the Wind (3 page)

‘Bit extravagant, wasn't it?' His friend said this with a smile.

‘Why not? I've nobody to leave money to; not like you, old chap, with your nice family. How is my godson Richard, by the way?'

They talked about innocent topics like a young man's career at the Bar, and the vagaries of a certain daughter-in-law, until it was time to break up their evening together. The host snuffed his candles carefully, not spilling any wax. He didn't clear anything away. Morag's husband, who had been his batman till he retired, cleaned up in the morning. He locked the front door, checked the safety catches on the windows at ground-floor level, and went up to bed. He had enjoyed his dinner. He liked his old friends, and that particular colleague had been his closest associate. Brilliant chap. Mind like a Chinese puzzle. Married a nice girl. The Colonel spent weekends with them during the summer. But he didn't mind staying in London; he loved his house and his hobbies and became restless if he stayed away too long. He felt relaxed and contented. At three o'clock in the morning he woke with a fit of palpitation. He had remembered Katharine Alfurd.

It was a very long time since Katharine had cooked for anybody. Dorothy insisted on doing it when she came over. She apologized to Paul, ‘It was a scratchy lunch, I'm afraid. I've been so occupied since yesterday, getting things in order. How do you like your coffee? I haven't had time to make notes or get any papers together. I've only got some letters and they're personal. I'd like to begin at the very beginning if you don't mind.'

Paul said, ‘Please, that's what I want.'

She liked the Frenchman. Silly for a woman of her age to warm to a man so much younger, but there it was. He could be my son, she thought, and took comfort from that. ‘I may be a bit long-winded,' she said. ‘If you can't follow it, just stop me and say so.'

She lit a cigarette. ‘It started after I'd been in the Wrens for two months. I got this letter right out of the blue, asking me if I'd go for an interview in London. My qualifications suggested I might be suitable for a special job. I couldn't make head or tail of it; I didn't have any qualifications. I was nineteen and all I could do was cook quite nicely and speak French. The letter was signed by a Colonel James Reed. Naturally I was intrigued. And I wasn't enjoying scrubbing the passages as a punishment for losing some item of kit – God knows what, I can't remember. So I put in a request for leave to go to London. We were at Portsmouth Barracks. The permission was given so easily I should have suspected something. I took the train to Waterloo and then arrived half an hour early in Baker Street. I went into a local Lyons tea shop and had a cup of tea and a bun. And you know, suddenly, when it was time for the appointment, I started feeling nervous.'

Paul said slowly, ‘You had no idea what they wanted?'

‘Not a clue,' Kate replied. ‘It was an office building and a woman in civilian clothes took me up three flights of stairs and I was shown into a room on the top floor. There were two men sitting there, one behind a desk. I saw the red tabs and the rank badges and I nearly had a fit. One of them got up and held out his hand; I'd forgotten to salute.

‘I'm Colonel Reed,' he said. ‘How nice of you to come.'

2

‘Miss Fitzgerald,' the Colonel said, ‘we want you to think this over very carefully. You must not make up your mind without realizing the risks involved. And they're very serious. You're a bit younger than we like, but unfortunately we're in desperate need of people with your special qualification.'

Bilingual in French. Able to speak and write and even think like a Frenchwoman. She had blushed when the Captain started a conversation in rapid colloquial French, but she answered without hesitation, slipping back into her second language. The Colonel was watching her closely. A very striking looking girl, with Irish colouring so seldom found among the native Irish. Dark hair, the rose-bud complexion, beautiful green-blue eyes.

As she talked she lost her identity; he was fascinated to see her shrug and use her hands. She became French as she spoke. But only nineteen. Very, very young. How long would she last? He put the question out of his mind. There were obstacles to overcome before he need worry about her life-span in Occupied France.

‘Very good,' the young Captain said. ‘Very good indeed.'

They were being friendly, trying to make her feel at ease. She felt the senior officer exerting pressure on her. Don't rush into a decision. Think what may happen to you. You're really too young for this sort of thing. But we're so desperate and you have something so valuable to give.… There was a subtle contradiction there, and for all her innocence she sensed it. He wants me to say ‘yes'. That's all he cares about. The warnings and the rest are just dressing. They were waiting for her to say something.

‘I think I'd like to go,' she said. ‘But I do need to know a bit more about it.'

‘You can't know very much more,' the Colonel said. ‘You may refuse when you've thought it over, or you may fail to pass your training course. But I think Captain Alfurd could give you a few details. Sketch in a little more for you.'

He had a fine voice; it reminded her of a famous actor. Very penetrating eyes, and a neat brush moustache under that big nose. She had scarcely noticed the other man, the Captain who spoke perfect French. The Colonel blotted out other people when he talked.

‘Alfurd,' he said. ‘Can you spare Miss Fitzgerald a few minutes and brief her?'

They hadn't used her surname, or treated her as a ranker in the Women's Services. It was all conducted on friendly, civilian terms. Which made saying ‘no' more difficult. The Colonel got up, ending the interview. She pulled herself together and saluted; then shook hands with him. He had looked tall when she came into the room. Standing, he was quite short. He smiled and the deep-set eyes were kind.

‘Thank you for coming to see me,' he said. ‘Captain Alfurd will look after you now.' They went downstairs, the Captain leading the way. On the second landing he paused. He looked at his watch. She waited, feeling awkward.

‘It's nearly one o'clock,' he said. ‘Why don't I take you round the corner and we can have some lunch. Much easier to talk than in my office.' He had gone on down the stairs without waiting for her answer. She caught up with him in the hall. He turned and she had time to look at him properly. He grinned, and she liked him for that. Very fair, rather washy grey eyes, young – uniform made him better-looking. It improved most men.

‘Let's go then,' he said.

‘All right; as a matter of fact, I'm starving.'

Round the corner was a small private hotel. Kate went into the cloakroom and combed her hair. It was short and curly, and stayed neat under the Wrens cap. She hated herself in the dark, ill-cut uniform. The officers looked terrific, but she didn't expect to rise out of the ranks. He ordered them a drink. She said gin and tonic, which she wasn't used to, but it sounded better. At home they always drank wine. She hadn't any head for spirits. He asked her about herself. She described her first weeks at Portsmouth and made him laugh. She began to feel at ease with him. Over the table she said, ‘Tell me, Captain Alfurd, how did you know I was brought up in Paris?'

‘Because I was sent a copy of your file. Anybody with links in Occupied Europe or bilinguals are referred to us. We don't always follow them up, but you seemed particularly promising.'

‘Why?' She had a way of asking direct questions, and meeting the eye till she got an answer. Not a fool, he judged, and not lacking in courage either.

‘Because you were a girl, educated, right family background. Described as willing and cheerful in your report. Nice photograph too.'

‘How much can you tell me?' Another direct one.

‘Not much, I'm afraid. If you accept the Colonel's offer and join us, you'll go through a period of training. Six months. You'll have to pass certain tests, satisfy your instructors, and the officer in charge that you're the right material, mentally and physically, for this type of job. All I can tell you is that obviously you'll have to operate somewhere French-speaking and you won't have a nice time if you get caught by the Gestapo.'

‘Can't you tell me what kind of work?'

He shook his head. ‘No. The senior course officer will decide what you're suited for. Courier, wireless operator – that kind of job.'

She frowned. ‘I wouldn't have to kill anybody?'

‘I wouldn't think so.' He made the question sound silly. He was smiling slightly, almost teasing, when he said, ‘Do you think you could?'

Kate laughed out loud. ‘I can't swat a fly,' she said. He laughed too. She might surprise herself one day.

‘The main thing,' he said, ‘is to be sure you want to get involved. On the good side, you'll work with some tremendous people, but you'll have no contact with anyone outside. You'll have to dedicate yourself completely to the job. You'll be yelled at and pushed to your physical limit, and then beyond that. You've got to be very fit if you go over; and very careful about details. I don't have to tell you about discretion. That's number one. You don't mention anything even to your own family. And that's not as easy as it sounds. Am I putting you off?'

She shook her head. ‘No, not a bit. The good side sounds very good. And the bad side I can probably guess.'

He was serious at once. ‘The bad side,' he said, ‘is that you won't come back. And that's really all I can tell you. Except to say that personally I hope you'll join our organization. I think you'd be a great asset.' He changed the mood. ‘I can't bear to think of you spending the rest of the war scrubbing passages in Pompey.'

She thanked him for lunch; it was meagre and the vegetables were watery and stale. She wasn't hungry though; excitement was knotting her stomach as she said goodbye to him, and queued for the bus on her way back to Waterloo station.

She didn't need time to think about it. Take a week, the young officer encouraged. Unless of course you're absolutely set on it. Then give me a ring. She took the card with the telephone number scribbled on it. SOE. The Special Operations Executive. She had never heard of it, but then why should she? Discretion was Number One. Secrecy, adventure, danger! A little lurch of the knotted muscles then. But useful, really useful. Not just a conscript wasting her time doing menial routine jobs that a thousand other girls could do far better. They'd thought she was particularly promising. That was nice, to be told that. And she wasn't scared by what he'd called the bad side. If things went wrong and she got caught … she shrugged, sitting in the crowded, smoky train. That was part of the risk. If she was killed, so were people every time there was an air raid. I don't need a week, Kate said to herself. I don't even need twenty-four hours, but I'll wait till Wednesday to make it look as if I've taken their advice. Pity I can't tell the family. Never mind. They'd only worry. She wedged herself into the corner so she could watch the countryside speed by. Her thoughts were far away.

The Colonel was in his office when Captain Alfurd came back. He knocked on the door and came in.

‘How'd you get on, Robert?' The Colonel looked up briefly.

‘I took her to lunch, Sir.'

‘I thought you might. Well?'

‘I think she'll join,' Alfurd said. ‘And I think she'll be good, too.'

‘Let's hope you're right. Now, Simpson wants us to go over to Whitehall at four o'clock. He's mounting a presentation for Winston.'

He bent over his desk again. The girl was forgotten.

The Fitzgeralds were an affectionate family. When Kate arrived at the house, her mother rushed to meet her. ‘Kate, Kate, darling!' She was a small, rather plump woman, pretty as a bird in her youth, with sparkling brown eyes. They brimmed with tears as she embraced her daughter. She spoke with a strong Parisian accent. ‘How are you? You look tired. Come in, I've been waiting all day for you to come. I'll make tea, and your Papa will be home soon. He was so excited to hear about your leave.'

It was wonderful to be home, Kate thought, looking round at the familiar furniture, recognizing her mother's needlework on two new cushions; all the security of a happy family enveloped her like sunshine, although it was raining and dismal outside.

‘Maman,' she said, hugging her, and broke into French. ‘Maman, let me go upstairs and take off this ugly uniform and put on some of my own clothes! I won't be a minute – Oh, it's so lovely to see you and be at home!'

Her bedroom was the same as the day she left it. Photographs of her parents and her brother; snapshots of their old home in Paris. The teddy bear nightdress-case propped on the pillow, exactly as it had been since she was ten years old and given it for Christmas. She ran to the wardrobe, to the chest of drawers, pulling out her clothes. Minutes later the Wrens uniform was draped over the back of a chair, and Kate hurried down to find her mother.

‘I've got fat,' she announced. ‘This skirt is really tight! It's all that awful stodge we get to eat – bread and potatoes and caterpillar cabbage – Oh, Maman, what have you got in the oven?'

Her mother laughed. ‘Something special. Not stodge, my darling. There's your father, I can see by Mimi's face; she knows when he's walking up the street, that dog!'

The little terrier bounded out to the front door, and Kate ran to meet her father. They were very similar in looks. Born in County Wexford, he'd been educated in England and gone to Cambridge to read law. Opportunities were poor at home, and the professional classes sent their sons overseas. For thirty years he had worked with the same Anglo-French banking company, and married Denise in Paris, where they made their home. Both their son and daughter had been born there and the family was more French than anything else.