‘The truth is I’m homeless at the moment. I shall have to find somewhere to live in short order, but in the meantime the MI6 building is the closest thing I have to home. Shall we meet here? In the reception area at five o’clock?’
Sir Francis gave a huge guffaw. ‘That makes two of us. I am almost homeless too. Well, I do have a house in the Cotswolds, but I am rarely there, and it is a long way to travel for the night. Therefore, I have been put up at the Savoy. We can dine there?’
The Savoy! Gosh. She had heard of it, of course, but she had never crossed its threshold. Surely, it was only affordable to the wealthy and famous. ‘I look forward to that very much indeed,’ was all she could say.
‘Five o’clock it is, then.’
Hilda replaced the receiver on its cradle while her chest still pounded its audible heartbeats. She understood now why he wished to see her: she was to be company for him over his remaining leave, and then he would be off to Finland. It would be enjoyable, but really, she told herself firmly, there could be no future in it. Unless… it was up to her, wasn’t it? If she wanted to see him again after this week, she needed to make an impression.
Oxford Street was busy again. There were several women’s outfitters to browse. She peered into some windows before deciding which to try. Inside, she took her time, holding up one dress after another in front of a mirror, feeling the quality of the material, setting aside the ones she wanted to try on. She refused to rush; this was not a snap purchase of a cardigan or nylons; this was something special; she was going to dine at the Savoy, and be entertained at the theatre.
She must have spent three hours shopping and purchased a smart winter coat, two comfortable dresses which she was assured were fashionable, a pair of stylish brown leather shoes with a slight heel and a pair of gloves. She returned to MI6 with her hands full of packages.
She walked up the steps slowly and carefully, and as she approached the front door, a hand stretched out over her shoulder to open it.
‘Not done much shopping for some time, I suppose?’ asked Thornton.
‘So true. I needed some new clothes anyway. I’ve been wearing the same things for too long, as you will have observed.’
Thornton smiled with a paternal gaze. ‘Not something we men would have noticed. It’s our Achilles heel, second-guessing a woman’s ways.’
‘Then I leave you to guess,’ she said, giving him a coy smile.
He threw her a teasing look in return. ‘Did Dynes have a word with you this afternoon?’
‘About…?’ she replied drawing him out.
‘I think you had a call to make.’
‘Indeed yes, you are right. That’s why I needed some new clothes.’
Thornton laughed and gave a satisfied nod.
A more mundane thought came to her mind; she had spent so much of the afternoon shopping that the pressing question of finding somewhere to live had gone by the board. ‘I don’t suppose MI6 can recommend a hotel, not too expensive, where a respectable widow wouldn’t be too out of place?’
‘You mean you want to leave us?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Did Dynes not tell you?’
Mystified, she shook her head. ‘Tell me what?’
‘We assumed you would have nowhere to stay when you returned from Germany, so we made appropriate arrangements. There are two small apartments on the top floor of this building; we use them when agents return from abroad for briefings or recuperation after an injury. One is unoccupied at the moment, so it’s yours for as long as you need it. If that suits, of course. Or you may prefer to make your own arrangements?’
A weight seemed to roll off Hilda’s shoulders, and she was hard pressed not to fling her arms around Thornton. ‘I’d be delighted to accept,’ she said instead. ‘Thank you, Mr Thornton. Thank you very much. How long can I stay?’
‘As I said, as long as you need to. I expect you will want something more permanent in due course, but until then, you are our guest. Consider it a small gesture of gratitude for what you’ve done for us.’
‘Thank you again. I suppose I need to decide where I want to be. Then find a house and a purpose in life again.’
‘I imagine you will stay here until you are summoned to Nuremberg. You can even return afterwards, and stay until you find somewhere to live. In addition, as to a purpose – you could teach German, probably even at university level. Alternatively, you could be a translator in the private sector. There will be many opportunities.’
‘That confirms one thing, and I’m grateful for that too.’
‘That you’d be a good linguist?’ he suggested.
‘No, that I’m too old to be a spy again!’
‘You mean you didn’t enjoy it? You were a natural.’
‘Now you’re teasing me. I’m glad to have served my country, but I’ve been a very reluctant spy. I’m sure you know that.’
Precisely as the hour struck five, she was standing in the vestibule of the MI6 building. She opened the door and stood at the top of the steps. Cars were passing by at a steady rate. She waited. Then a car slowed down and came to a stop outside the building. Sir Francis had arrived. He came up the steps and took her hand to help her descend, and once on the pavement, he turned and looked at her with a smile.
‘Hilda, your eyes…’ he said.
‘My eyes?’ she repeated, puzzled.
‘Yes, your eyes. Your eyes are the colour of holly blue butterflies.’
She felt weak at the knees. It was a greeting she could have never imagined, and it completely overwhelmed her.
‘W-whatever made you say that?’ she stammered.
‘Are you offended?’
‘Why would I be offended at such a charming compliment? It’s just that… it has been some time since the last one.’
The meal started on a high note and rose higher still through each course. It was a meal prepared with care and precision; she had never before experienced such a high standard of cuisine, nor such a splendid setting.
They talked about how their lives had intermingled by chance in Hamburg, and how after her husband’s death, she found herself caught up in the world of espionage until her work at Bletchley. She learned that his wife had died young of breast cancer, and he had dealt with the tragedy by immersing himself in study and his career; but he had come to realise part of him was missing, especially after the heat and strain in Africa. Now, en route for the long, dark winter nights of the north, he felt that reading and crossword puzzles would not satisfy his soul every evening. Even endless summer light would leave him weary. Some of his colleagues had turned to Bacchus, causing liver complications at best and early retirement or premature death at worse. That was not a prospect he had any wish to entertain. He had staff of course, but close relationships were difficult in his position.
She admired his frankness and found him charming. In addition, having shared his own hopes and anxieties for the future, he was eager to learn more of hers.
Coffee arrived and they retired to a snug corner which the waiter pointed out. Hilda stirred her coffee then toyed with the wrapper of a chocolate, which lay beside the saucer.
‘The future is very unclear for me,’ she said.
Sir Francis lifted his cup to his mouth. His eyes were on hers, and he waited for her to continue.
‘I’m told I am to be a witness in the prosecution of my German handler, Gerhardt Eicke. That means I have to spend time in Nuremberg, in November. Goodness knows how long that will take.’
‘And then?’ he asked.
He had gone straight to her Achilles heel. ‘I don’t really know. I have no crystal ball to consult.’