Pamela nodded. “I suppose he’s grown up a lot, gone from boy to man in the time he was away. And all the horrid things he went through in the prison camp, and then to escape. It’s no wonder he’s not as fun-loving as he once was.”
They finished copying the names and addresses that followed the Wagner interludes. Ben stood up. “I should be getting back,” he said. “I want to be home before it’s dark. It’s not easy getting around in London once the blackout takes effect.”
“The very least I can do is treat you to an early dinner in the dining hall,” Pamela replied. “The food isn’t bad. In contrast to my landlady’s cooking. Trixie and I think that she’s the enemy’s secret weapon, put here to poison Britain.”
They laughed as they went down the stairs. Outside, the sun was shining on the lake. People were sitting on the grass, others strolling under the trees. From the meadow beyond came the shouts of a game being played. Ben shook his head in amazement. “This place is unreal,” he said. “You certainly landed on your feet, being sent here, didn’t you? It’s like a country club.”
“Actually, we all work so jolly hard that we make the most of time off,” Pamela said. “Until recently, I was on a twelve-hour night shift. And most of us work in those huts that are draughty and freezing in winter. And the pressure is enormous. Knowing that if you don’t break a code, men on a ship are going to die. People crack all the time and get sent away for rest cures.”
“That wasn’t why you came home a couple of weeks ago, was it?” He looked at her with concern.
Pamela didn’t want to admit to him that she had fainted. “I had some leave owing to me, and when I heard that Jeremy had come back safely . . .”
“Of course.” Ben cleared his throat.
“Hey, Pamma, wait for me,” a voice shouted behind them, and Trixie came running across the gravel forecourt. “Are you going to the dining room?”
“Yes, we were.”
“Me too. I’ve decided I can’t face another of Mrs. Entwhistle’s suet puddings.” She looked up at Ben. “Hello. Are you a new arrival?”
“No, he’s from another department in London,” Pamela said quickly. “He just came to drop off some papers, and we bumped into each other. We’re old friends from home.”
“How jolly,” Trixie said. She held out her hand to Ben. “Hello. I’m Trixie. Pamela’s roommate.”
“I’m Ben. Good to meet you.”
She squeezed his hand, an inquisitive smile on her face.
“Do you work at another hush-hush establishment?” she asked.
Ben chuckled. “I couldn’t tell you if I did, could I?”
“It’s just that they don’t let just anybody come here, for any reason. So someone must have had a jolly good reason for sending you here.” Trixie turned to Pamela. “I shall worm it out of you when we get home,” she said. “Or I shall make a date with Ben and worm it out of him. You’re not going to Jeremy Prescott’s party, by any chance, are you?”
“As a matter of fact I am,” Ben said.
“And he’s taking a girl, Trixie. So hands off.”
“Spoilsport.” Trixie gave a mock pout. “I might turn on the full force of my feminine charms and lure him away from her.” She gave Ben a flirtatious smile. “Come on, before there’s a line at the cafeteria. I hear there might be cauliflower cheese tonight.” She took Ben’s hand again and dragged him forward.
On the train back to London, Ben sat staring at the names and addresses he had copied out. Some of the names were definitely also places. Some could be places. Mrs. North at 4 Hampton Street could well mean Northampton. Max Knight should be able to find out if they coincided with known meetings of the Ring. But did any of this have relevance to the photograph? If it was so important that a man’s life had been risked to deliver it, then surely the message could not have been for general consumption but for one person’s ears only. And they were no closer to finding out who that one person was. He tried to quell the sense of urgency he felt. The Royal Fireworks music and the date 1461 when battles were fought to depose a king made him believe that a plot to kill the royal family might well be imminent. But he reminded himself that he was on the lowest rung. If he was not given the full information, how could he be expected to interpret it properly? Still, he knew that the king and queen often walked through bombed areas of London, showing sympathy and support. How easy for a lone gunman, waiting for them in the shadows. He shivered and stared out the train window.
His thoughts turned to Mavis. If she could only find the site in the snapshot, then all would be explained. He tried to picture it now—the hill with the pine trees—but couldn’t imagine any relevance, unless there was a stately home on the hill behind those trees where an aristocrat lived who was an important part of the Ring. Or that this might be a place the royal family had planned to visit.
Then he found himself thinking not of his assignment, but of Mavis herself. She was an attractive girl. Vivacious. Fun. But did he really fancy her? Was it just that she was nothing like Pamela, and he needed to take his mind off the girl he couldn’t have? His thoughts drifted to her now—how soft and serene and elegant she always looked. How her eyes sparkled when she smiled. How her hair smelled somehow like fresh gardens.
Stop it! he commanded himself. Think of something else. Pamela’s friend, Trixie. She had seemed interested in him, which he found amazing, because clearly she was the kind of debby girl who would go more for the Jeremy Prescotts of this world. The party might prove interesting after all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Mayfair
Jeremy’s flat
“You’re looking remarkably couth tonight,” Guy Harcourt said as he stopped by Ben’s room. “Don’t tell me you’re going somewhere civilised?”
“A party in Mayfair, actually,” Ben said.
“Good God. Are there still such things?”
“It’s being given by a friend who has taken over his father’s flat,” Ben said.
“Anyone I know?”
“Jeremy Prescott. I think you do know him. He was up at Oxford at the same time as us.”
Guy nodded. “Of course, I know him. We used to cruise around together on the deb circuit and then Oxford, of course, although he was a Balliol man, wasn’t he? Do you think he’d mind if I tag along? I am actually in the slough of despond and in desperate need of cheering up.”
“I don’t see why not,” Ben said. “He seemed to be asking all and sundry.”
“Wizard! I’ll go and change.”
“I’d better give you the address,” Ben said. “I have to pick up a girl at the station.”
“You’re bringing a date, you sly dog?”
“You don’t know everything about me,” Ben said with a grin. “However, I’m not sure how much of a date she is . . .”
“But she’s a warm body. That’s all that counts in wartime,” Guy said. “God, I’m feeling positively sex-starved, aren’t you? And all this having to keep silent about what we’re doing. It really cramps one’s style. The girls who would be impressed by my chasing German spies now think that I’m a physical wreck who is a filing clerk.”
Ben nodded agreement. “It definitely is trying. But cheer up. You can drown your troubles in Sir William Prescott’s good wine.”
He left Guy putting on evening clothes and made his way to the station. Mavis was waiting for him. She smiled when she saw him, but there was a flicker of nervousness, too.
“Cripes, I didn’t realise it was to be a formal affair,” she said. “I’m dressed for an ordinary party.”
“I’m sure you look just fine,” Ben said. “And I’m also sure there will be some people there not wearing formal dress. I put this on just in case and because I don’t have a decent-looking suit anymore. Mine was made before the war, and I’ve filled out since then.”