“Piet, I’m not talking about a tiff. I’m divorcing him.”
Kruze faltered. “Then what were you doing in the Ministry this morning?”
“I wanted to tell him it was over. No more nights on my own. No more rows. I wanted to tell him we both had to let go.”
“And did you?”
She shook her head. “I resorted to plan B and left a letter at the main desk. The time for talking to Robert is over.” She stared into the middle of the room for a moment. “That’s not exactly true. I meant to, but I’m afraid I didn’t have the courage to tell him to his face. So much for the heroine of the Strand.”
“Does he know it’s gone this far?”
“If he doesn’t, things are even worse than I think they are.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have known better than to ask after that night I came over for dinner.”
“Was it that bad?”
“No, I enjoyed it.” He smiled. “I’m not so sure about your friend, Anne Fairhall, though. We didn’t exactly see eye to eye. Different cultural backgrounds, you might say.”
“Anne?” She looked at him for a moment, her head cocked slightly to one side. “I have to admit now that it was a bit naughty. When Robert described you as the silent type, I thought I’d ask her over to liven things up a bit. The only trouble is, she does go on a bit.”
“Silent? Is that what he said?”
She thought for a moment. “Not exactly, I think that was my interpretation. If I remember right, ‘dangerous’ was the actual word he used. Only he didn’t mean it in a derogatory way, I don’t think. He said you’re an exceptional pilot, aloof from the rest of the chaps, but loved by the non-commissioned men. Anyway, I was wrong. And I’m sorry I subjected you to a whole evening with Anne. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
She thought about that for a moment. “I think dinner parties are going to be off the agenda for a while.”
“Have you got somewhere to stay?”
“Yes, thank God. My sister has let me use her flat for a day or two. It will allow me some breathing space while I get myself together. Then I’ll go back to the cottage and keep busy until I go back to work in a few days’ time. The CO’s been very understanding. I really don’t want to talk to Robert. It won’t do either of us any good.” She let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry to burden you, Piet. I’ve fought it for months now, but I just can’t live with him any more.”
Kruze tried not to show his discomfort. “Time for another drink,” he said.
When he returned with two Scotches, Penny looked composed.
“What now then?” he asked.
It was shortly after seven o’clock when Fleming emerged from the Underground station and set off on foot for the Ministry. The cold weather that had prevailed since the beginning of the year had eased a little, although the light rain still made the capital look drab and miserable. He couldn’t wait to get to the cottage and reckoned with any luck he would be able to catch a train out of the city the following day, Staverton permitting.
He was tired after his visit to Norfolk. Marello had deeply disturbed him, but today felt like a turning point. He wanted to go home to explain, to tell Penny it had not all been in vain. To tell her what a selfish bloody fool he had been all these months, that it had been she who had pulled him through.
A corporal standing guard on the north door of the Ministry scrutinized Fleming’s pass before clearing identification with his department in the Bunker. While he shuffled from foot to foot waiting for authorization to proceed into the building, he was surprised to see that tape had been criss-crossed over the windows since his departure that morning.
“Rocket, sir,” the corporal said as he stamped the papers. “It landed just over there in the Strand.”
There hadn’t been a V1 or V2 strike on England for several weeks. He hoped that this latest attack was not a signal for another missile blitz on London. With the Russians pressing at the gates of Berlin, he, like many other Londoners, had become complacent about the Germans.
He was reviewing the meeting with Marello. If the American was right, the Germans had a fighter that could outfly anything in the RAF or USAAF inventory and, what was more, they could bring the air war back to Britain’s doorstep, something they hadn’t been able to do in force for almost five years.
Staverton was often hard to track down amongst the maze of corridors that riddled the huge building. As one of the select team of technical advisers to the Cabinet, there was no end of senior brass, civil servants and ministers who wanted his time. In view of the afternoon’s V2 attack, Fleming was surprised to find the AVM at his desk, hunched over some papers. Staverton did not divert his attention from the small pool of light shed by the lamp as Fleming closed the door behind him, so he coughed lightly.
“Ah, Robert. Didn’t hear you come in, I’m afraid. I was a bit wrapped up in the business of this afternoon’s raid. Doubtless you’ve heard about it — probably even seen the mess in the Strand.”
“I came by Underground, sir. I didn’t know anything about the attack until I got into the building… How many came over?”
“Just two, thank God. There were about forty casualties at the Home Store and that picture house next door. The other one fell on a warehouse on the Isle of Dogs. That one didn’t kill anyone, luckily. Funny thing, though. The police discovered that the warehouse had been crammed full of cigarettes, cans of food, stockings, you name it. All burnt to a crisp now. Some black marketeer is going to be cursing the Germans tonight.”
“Where did they come from?” Fleming asked. “I thought we’d destroyed their missile plants weeks ago.”
“We did; and that was exactly the same question No. 10 put to me earlier this afternoon. Intelligence reports suggest that this was a one-off. I heard just before you came in that our people on the Continent have traced the firing position to a small town in southern Denmark. Apparently some garrison commander decided to loose off his old stock before his position was overrun by our troops. I told Churchill not to worry about it. I hope I’m right.”
He was rarely wrong, Fleming thought.
“Now Robert, Norfolk. How did you get on?” Staverton gave Fleming a look that suggested he was not interested in the intelligence gathering part of the exercise. It confirmed Fleming’s suspicion about why he had been sent.
“The Germans have developed a long-range rocket fighter,” Fleming said, not giving an inch.
“You don’t mean you were actually taken in by this gunner’s delusions? My dear Robert, I only sent you up there to placate a rather hysterical USAAF intelligence officer.”
“I don’t think they were delusions.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
“The gunner had been pretty badly knocked about, that’s true. And he had been given morphine — he was in a lot of pain.”
“Come on, Robert. Was it or wasn’t it a 163? And, more to the point, where was it?”
Fleming sensed that Staverton could see he had survived his brush with the medical profession remarkably well.
“The Flying Fortress was attacked about fifty miles off Blakeney Point on the north Norfolk coast,” Fleming said, determined not to let Staverton get the better of him. “And I’ll tell you why. Marello was a very experienced gunner. He was halfway through his second tour and he’d come up against 163s before, several times, over Germany. Having been through hell over the target and nursed the aircraft back over the North Sea, they thought they were safe. And that’s when they were attacked. He described the aircraft perfectly. It was a 163, all right.” He tossed a buff manila folder on Staverton’s desk. “It’s all in the report.”