Daughters Of Eden: The Eden Series Book 1 (34 page)

‘I know we've all joked about it and everything,' Kate continued, ignoring the interruption, ‘but it's frightening my very expensive camisole and lace drawers off me, I do not mind telling you. I remember reading what the Germans did to women in the last war – when they took a town or a city or something like that – and they certainly didn't sit them down and offer them tea and sympathy.'

‘Invading soldiers of any nation are not very nice, we all know that, Kate, and really we shouldn't be talking like this in front of Billy.' Marjorie nodded protectively towards the boy.

‘What did they do in the last war, Kate?'

‘They did
the
most awful things to women,
and
children,' Kate went on, in case Billy thought he was going to be let off the hook. ‘You really wouldn't want to know.'

‘So don't tell us then,' Marjorie suggested. ‘Then we'll have one less thing to worry about.'

‘No, you're right in a way. I don't think this is the best sort of talk – not under the circumstances.'

‘But you must be scared, surely?' Lily said, putting down her magazine and staring round at the rest, combing her hair back out of her eyes with her fingers. ‘It's only human to be scared.'

‘Can I have a fag?' Billy suddenly asked. ‘If we're all goin' to be shot at dawn, I'd like a fag too, please.'

Lily simply smacked his hand as Billy reached towards her tin of cigarettes, closing the lid and putting the tin back in her bag.

‘Marge? Tell her I can have one?'

‘No, Billy. You're far too young to start smoking.'

‘No I'm not. Kids much younger'n me at school smoke. And if we're all goin' to be shot at dawn—'

‘That's enough, Billy. Smoking a silly cigarette's not going to get you anywhere.'

Billy sighed but fell silent, ever obedient to the beautiful Kate.

‘What do you think's going to happen next?' Lily wondered out of the silence. ‘We haven't much of an army left to put up any sort of a fight, and we
haven't any allies either. So maybe we should just shove a few white flags up some of those holes in the ceiling and hope Jerry has the same God as us and that He's merciful like ours is meant to be.'

Marjorie, her nerves sufficiently shredded by now, was just about to try to put Lily in her place when Kate, putting a hand on her arm, diverted her.

‘Perhaps we ought to start putting some of these files away,' she said, getting up from the table. ‘Just because we've been evacuated doesn't mean we're off duty.'

‘Guess who's Major Folkestone's favourite girl then?' Lily remarked, taking another deep draw on her cigarette. ‘In more ways than one.'

‘Meaning?' Marjorie said with a look as she too got up from the table.

‘Pay no attention, Marjorie. She's only being provocative.'

‘If only there was someone to be provocative for,' Lily sighed. ‘It was bad enough above ground. I mean I have never seen such a dearth of decent men. But now, if we're going to be holed up down here for some unspeakable length of time with only Major F for company, and having to watch him making sheep's eyes every time you-know-who walks by –
imagine
. Doesn't bear thinking about.'

‘Every time who walks by?' Marjorie demanded to know, only to find herself led off by the arm by Kate.

‘Leave it,' Kate told her. ‘She's frightened – like us all. People say silly things when they're frightened.'

‘Has Major Folkestone got a crush on you?'

‘How would I know? And would you mind if he had?'

‘Of course not,' Marjorie retorted. ‘It's just I can't imagine you and Major Folkestone.'

‘It's all right, Marjorie. Neither can I.' Kate smiled reassuringly as they braced themselves to lift a box of files and put it on top of one of the dark green metal filing cabinets.

‘You're not smitten, surely?'

‘Me? Don't be daft,' Marjorie replied. ‘No, I like handsome men, and Major Folkestone is certainly not that.'

Kate stared at Marjorie for a few seconds, remembering how often she had caught her gazing at Robert's photograph, but Marjorie didn't look up, contenting herself with sorting through the box of files, her attention seeming to be on her work, rather than anything else.

Eugene missed the alert, but then even if he had been in the country, given his character, he would have taken no notice of it. As it was, he was on the west coast of Ireland, keeping a rendezvous.

It was a squally night, with a north-easter blowing off the Atlantic, a strong enough gale to whip the waters of the bay that lay below him into a heavy, fast-running sea. For a while, as he watched the white horses dance on the wave tops through his field glasses, Eugene wondered whether the prevailing conditions might prevent the vessel he was awaiting from coming in that close, until with a smile he remembered exactly what type of craft was due to make its appearance any moment now.

Submarines did not have to worry about such unfriendly conditions, at least not unless they were trying to get into too shallow a depth. Eugene knew the Kommandant of the incoming boat would have no such interest, preferring, as had been prearranged, to surface near the entry of the bay itself, and put out an inflatable raft to meet up with Eugene on the remote shore.

The U-boat was a mere thirty seconds late, if the shark-like shape that had risen out of the waters less than half a mile away proved to be the submarine for which he was waiting. Eugene dropped his glasses and allowed them to swing from his neck while he flashed a quick message from a signalling light. Perhaps due to the stillness of the night, the stars above bright as any diamond, the wind having dropped to a whisper, the communication appeared to have been picked up immediately and replied to in kind.

Ten minutes later a small inflatable boat swished in on the tide, finally grounding itself on the stony beach.

Eugene was there to greet it.

A tall man in a heavy black leather trench coat and captain's hat stepped ashore while two sailors secured the boat, one standing on the beach holding the painter while the other swung the stern round so that the craft lay parallel to the incoming waves.

Eugene saluted the captain and by silent consent they walked up the beach, some way from the inflatable, in order to converse in privacy, leaving the two German sailors to safeguard the tender. With only the sound of the sea ruffling the edge of
the sand, the two men could be heard to be having urgent exchanges before returning to the waiting craft, the German captain now in possession of a large envelope, while Eugene slipped a smaller one into the inside pocket of his coat.

Once the captain had been returned to his submarine and the U-boat had been swallowed up by the white-topped waves, its dark, sleek shape disappearing with an ease that was almost magical, Eugene turned his back to the bay and began to scale the hills behind him to where he had left a bicycle in the hedge. He took it up and started to wheel it towards the road. In the darkness the lone cyclist, whistling quietly to himself, perhaps to keep his mind off the long journey ahead of him, began his long ride to the east coast where a boat was waiting to take him back to England.

‘Right!' Major Folkestone called out, just as Section H had all finally settled into their hammocks for the night and were feeling not just safe, but almost cosy. ‘Right – false alarm, everyone! False alarm! Sorry about that!'

Marjorie, who had just dropped off, woke with a start and sat up, managing to fall out of her hammock as she did so, only preventing herself from crashing to the floor by grabbing instinctively at the webbing.

‘False alarm?' she cried. ‘What – you mean we haven't been invaded after all?'

‘No, Marjorie, I'm glad to say we have not,' Major Folkestone said as he passed by, stopping to help her on to her feet. ‘Sorry and all that, but it appears some Charlie on the other side of the
country thought he heard bells ringing and set off a chain reaction.'

The major had been given the message by his radio operator, who once he had got the specially installed transmitter and receiver up and running had picked up the relevant information from HQ. The whole of England had been alerted earlier that evening, only to find, as H Section was now doing, that it was a false alarm.

The panic had been brought on by the first serious air attack on London, which had left the understandably jittery watchdogs to imagine the Germans were combining the intensity of their bombing with a planned invasion.

Now the radio operator, earphones still in place, looking round in benign mood, smiled at the bevy of young women who were streaming slowly and sleepily back into the main room of the underground bunker, pulling on the few clothes they had taken off to go to bed.

‘Pity about it,' the radio operator sighed to his companion. ‘I wouldn't have said no to spending the rest of the war down 'ere with that lot of lovelies.'

‘Me neither,' his new friend agreed, lighting up a Woodbine. ‘In fact I was beginning to take a bit of a shine to Jerry for sending us down ‘ere.'

‘Enough of that, thank you,' Major Folkestone informed them as he strode past, swagger stick tapping one leg. ‘The war's not over quite yet so I should keep listening, if I were you.'

‘What now, sir?' Kate asked, pulling on her bright red cardigan over her cream blouse and tidying her mane of blonde hair with one hand.
‘Do we stay here the night or return to the house?'

‘I think it best to return now, so that we are all back at our desks at the usual time. Pity about losing a bit of sleep, but that can't be helped at this time.'

‘A
bit
of sleep?' Lily yawned. ‘We'll be lucky if we get forty winks by the time we've decamped and moved back in.'

‘There is a war on, Miss Ormerod,' the major reminded her. ‘This isn't a holiday – much though you seem to like to treat it as one – and we can't afford to waste valuable resources down here in case they may be needed again. So let's be moving, shall we?'

‘Great,' Lily muttered as they tramped back through the pitch darkness on their return to the great house. ‘My last pair of stockings gone and for what?'

‘I'd have thought for quite a lot, actually,' Marjorie retorted. ‘Such as England not being invaded? Isn't that worth the sacrifice?'

‘Oh, but definitely.' Lily stopped and considered the idea for a second. ‘Brave Intelligence Girl Saves Britain by Stocking Sacrifice?' she suggested, straight-faced.

‘You know what I mean,' Marjorie grumbled, her arms full of files as she struggled to avoid tripping on tree roots.

‘No, as a matter of fact I don't. I only wish the Americans would join the war and bring us over some of their lovely, lovely nylons I keep reading about.'

‘You're so shallow.'

‘Aren't I just, and proud to be so.'

Lily was so busy being smart that, failing to
watch her proper step, she promptly put one foot down a rabbit hole.

‘Oh, murder!'

Marjorie turned and pulled a face at her.

‘Not just your stockings now, Lily Ormerod, look – one of your peep-toe shoes has gone too!'

Marjorie walked on. Lily pulled a face behind her back after she had finally retrieved the shoe, only to find that Marjorie had walked off with the torch. She started to feel her way through the undergrowth, cursing Marjorie, Hitler, Major Folkestone, and any other person she could think of, roundly.

Chapter Thirteen

Poppy would have given anything for some company, anyone's company. Alone in the flat in which she had been installed in Grosvenor Square, she found herself whiling her time away waiting for the call from Jack Ward. Unfortunately for her the former occupant of the apartment had the strangest taste in literature, and so, for her sins, and to keep her nerves at bay, she found herself trying to read such weighty tomes as
Victorian Medical Practices
and
Melville's Riding Almanac
, all of which volumes failed, unsurprisingly, to take her mind off George's departure from her life.

‘It's not for long,' Jack had tried to reassure her. ‘He's going to stay with one of my people. She's a retired lady who it just so happens has recently lost her own dachshund, so she knows the breed. There's no alternative, I'm afraid,' he added, clipping on George's lead and taking him from a sad-eyed Poppy. ‘We can't take the slightest chance of anyone's recognising German George, and he will be much safer away from you, for a while.' He cleared his throat and said in his usual kind way, ‘Now, if you will, it would be best if you turn your back. Don't watch me go,
just remember he will be coming back to you – soon.'

Now she sat alone in the window of her flat, trying to concentrate on an old copy of
Vanity Fair
which she'd at last discovered propping up the leg of a chair, while at the same time endeavouring to think of something other than the fact that the telephone seemed to have made up its mind never to ring, ever again. She had just begun to fantasise about Jack Ward and his contacts, imagining them all to be double agents, and wondering if, all too soon, there would be a knock at the door and she herself would be kidnapped and shot, when the telephone rang at last.

It was Jack and he was coming round to collect her that evening.

In answer to a prearranged signal, Poppy, in full evening dress, opened the door to him, and promptly poured them both a stiff gin. Outside they could both hear the sirens sounding a warning of a coming air attack but neither of them took any notice, sitting drinking their gin and smoking cigarettes in the knowledge that, even though nothing had been said, this was the last time they would be able to enjoy the pleasure of each other's company in this way for the foreseeable, and even perhaps the not so foreseeable, future.