That was also true - although it was not what she had entered into the record: she had certainly not revealed that she had typed the manuscript of Father's Dover Patrol from nine to half-past eleven, and then prepared next day's lesson from half-past eleven to one o'clock, five nights a week. 'I kept one jump ahead of the class. On Mondays I was sometimes three jumps ahead. But there was one particularly clever girl in the class, with slave-driving parents, so it was usually touch-and-go by Friday.' The memory still made her squirm inwardly - and frown outwardly. 'I trust you are not about to order me to teach dummy2
anyone Latin, Mr Latimer.'
'Eh?' For a moment he seemed slightly abstracted.
'I said - ' It had sounded ridiculous the first time. But then so had the Pointe du Hoc ' - it doesn't matter.'
'Good gracious, no!' His answer exploded as though by delayed action. 'I was about to tell you what happened to Major Parker. The late Major Parker - as you quite rightly pointed out, Elizabeth.'
On balance, that was an improvement, decided Elizabeth.
'And he was late back in 1944 - that is, he was late extricating himself from the Pointe du Hoc, to report back to his commander. There was a motor-boat, or some such craft, waiting for him under the cliff there. But it was almost getting light, so they headed directly out to sea, because there were still Germans on the cliffs on either side of the headland, they thought. And that was extremely fortunate for the RAF pilot they found as a result, about four miles out. He'd been shot down the previous evening - a certain Squadron Leader T.
E. C. Thomas. Aged twenty-eight.' Latimer waved a hand at his screen. 'All the details we have about him will be available to you, Elizabeth. And David Audley will also be available to you.'
It was Elizabeth's turn to think Good Gracious!, even if she didn't say it. 'What do you mean
- "available"?'
'Exactly that. He knows all about Squadron Leader Thomas, and he should by now be able to advise you on your best course of action.' He made a cathedral spire with his fingers and gazed at her across it. 'Be advised by him - I'm sure he will be extremely useful to you. He's waiting for you now, and he's entirely at your disposal.'
'At… my disposal?' It was the wrong way round - was this what Paul had guessed at when he'd tied himself in knots. 'David Audley?'
'Yes… Have you any objections, Elizabeth?'
Objections, rising up like tripod masts, presented themselves to her. David Audley was so vastly senior to her that what he was blandly proposing was not so much like one of Father's little beardless midshipmen commanding a grizzled petty officer - it was more like a barely-qualified able seaman having his captain at his disposal.
Indeed, it had been David who had been chiefly responsible for her recruitment. Apart dummy2
from all of which, David was notoriously difficult to control and very much a law unto himself: giving him to her as subordinate adviser was like being asked to take a rhinoceros for a walk. And - perhaps above all - he was about to bring his Cheltenham investigation to its climax.
'Objections, Mr Latimer?' Of course, he knew all that as well as she did; yet, against all those objections - and the ones which had not yet occurred to her - there was Father's old adage about the unwisdom of rejecting opportunity when it knocked, no matter how risky; but she still needed to know one thing, nevertheless. 'Has Dr Audley agreed to this?'
'Agreed? Of course he has! He's quite enthusiastic, even.' The cathedral fingers intertwined, to become a double fist. 'He is a brilliant man, with an unrivalled experience of events going back… many years. So it's your good fortune that I can let you have him for a day or two, Elizabeth.'
More tripod masts - a whole forest of them! Because Latimer had to be lying when he claimed that David was leaving Cheltenham 'enthusiastically', never mind that he was
'happy' to advise a raw recruit on her first field assignment. And, even supposing that he had a soft spot for his own recruit, he was notoriously at odds with Oliver St John Latimer, and would never willingly dance to Latimer's tune. Never, never, never!
'He will help you.' Latimer raised a finger. 'But the final decision in this matter will be yours, Elizabeth.'
So, in spite of all that, Audley was dancing. And the world was turned upside-down, though Elizabeth, as all her half-connected and inadequate pieces of information arranged themselves on the board, to make little sense.
Forty years ago the American Rangers had stormed the Pointe du Hoc, and Major Thaddeus 'Ed'
Parker had subsequently picked up an RAF pilot from the sea, as an accidental result. And now, forty years later, 'Edward Parker' had fallen to his death from that same Pointe du Hoc, and all the alarm bells in Research and Development were ringing to mark his passing!
Also, she remembered suddenly, David Audjey had unrivalled experience of events going back… many years' ? Even, remembering what Paul had once said about David, there had once been a tank commander by the name of Audley (although it was hard to imagine the man she knew as a fresh-faced boy with one pip on his shoulder!), who had actually been there in Normandy when 'Ed' Parker was fishing his RAF pilot out of the drink. But that was stretching coincidence too far, surely - surely?
'I understand.' She didn't understand. But she damn well wasn't going to beg him to tell her what he actually wanted her to do. 'But - you were saying - ?'
dummy2
'Yes.' He frowned at her, and obviously couldn't remember what he had been saying before David Audley had intruded, to divert them both. Instead, he reached for another chocolate. 'What was I saying?'
'Major Parker rescued this RAF pilot.' But she mustn't underestimate him. 'On June 7th, 1944. Four miles off the Pointe du Hoc.'
'Yes.' He munched again. 'About Parker - talk to Major Turnbull first, Elizabeth. Let Dr Audley cool his heels for a few minutes. Just listen to what Turnbull has to say. Then you'll know we're not wasting our time.'
Elizabeth's heart sank even more at the mention of Major Turnbull, remembering her one and only meeting with him. 'Major Turnbull?'
Latimer nodded, manipulating his chocolate. 'He's waiting for you, too. And you may need him for extra leg-work.' He nodded again. 'He's got a job on, but we can hire some extra help for that - ' He swallowed ' - so if you want him, just tell him what you want him to do.
But he's been looking into the Parker accident - he'll tell you all about that, anyway.'
David Audley and Major Turnbull? If he had given her Paul… well, she could handle Paul.
And dear James would have been easy, and maybe a labour of love. And Del Andrew would always have told her the truth, the straight unvarnished truth: the bonus of Del's preference for pretty Page Three girls was that he treated Plain Janes (and even plainer Elizabeth) as mates, and not playmates, with no bourgeois sexual hang-ups. But giving her David and Major Turnbull, who were each inscrutably old-fashioned, suggested that this was either a cruel test of her ability or a high mark of confidence.
Meanwhile… meanwhile, Dr Audley could cool his heels, and Major Turnbull could wait, because they were both waiting her pleasure. And her pleasure awaited that of the Deputy-Director - that was her pleasure now, anyway.
He reached out towards the box again. But this time he thought better of his greed, closing the lid on it and pushing the box to one side.
She waited. Because, although he might know from records that she had 140-words-a-minute shorthand, which was a skill Father had required of her for his voluminous correspondence, she knew how to wait. Compared with Father, who had thought that he had all the time in the world and didn't have to be polite, the rest of the world was a push-over.