“Then your family needs livening up,” Trixie said. “Mummy always had French maids, and Daddy always chased them. It kept their marriage happy.”
Pamela pretended to be studying the departure board. “So there is a train in half an hour on platform eleven. That’s good. Plenty of time to buy our tickets and get over there.”
“Look, Pamma.” Ben cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what to do. I have to go down to Somerset right away. Something I absolutely have to check on. So I should really head to Paddington and take the first train down there. But I did promise I’d come with you to help your mah. So I hope you understand if I back out on you.”
“Of course,” Pamma said. “It doesn’t matter, I’m sure. You have to do your job.”
“What’s so important in Somerset?” Trixie asked. “Nothing ever happens there except for making cider and cheese.” She laughed, but then she studied Ben’s face. “You really are involved in secrets and intrigue, aren’t you? I thought you had to be when I saw you at Bletchley. I know, let me come down to Somerset with you. I’m a Bletchley girl. I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act. I won’t say a word, and I’m dying for excitement.”
“It’s not going to be exciting,” Ben said. “I just have to check on a map reference.”
“And you are certainly not going with Ben,” Pamela said, giving Trixie a cold look. “If anyone goes with him, it will be me.”
“You both have to help Lady Westerham,” Ben said.
“But how are you going to get around when you’re there?” Pamela asked.
“Train. Bus. My feet.”
“They have buses once a week in places like Somerset.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I have a good idea,” Pamela said. “Come down to Kent with us, and we’ll ask to borrow Pah’s Rolls. I’ll drive you.”
“But what about your mother?”
“If we went straight away this afternoon, we could be back in good time before the party. Do you think it will take long, what you have to do there?”
“I’ve no idea,” Ben said. “Frankly I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”
“That sounds like a lark,” Trixie said. “I still think that Pamma should stay with her mama and you should take me with you, Ben.”
“I don’t think I should take anybody with me,” Ben said uneasily.
“Yes, you will,” Pamela said. “You’ll need someone to map-read while you drive. Or better still, I’ll drive and you read the map. That will make it go so much faster.”
“I suppose so,” he agreed.
“So you want me to stay and slave away in your place,” Trixie said with a mock pout.
Pamela gave Trixie a grateful glance. “Would you really?”
“I suppose so, if I have to. Slaving at garden parties for Britain. I may get a medal.”
Pamela laughed. “You are a brick.”
“That’s me. Trixie the brick,” she said. “Come on, we have to buy those tickets and there is a long line.”
Ben pulled Pamela aside. “Do you think your father would let us have the Rolls?” Ben asked, still torn between catching the next train from Paddington and having Pamela beside him in a motorcar.
“If not, we’ll ask the Prescotts. They have extra motorcars,” Pamela said breezily. “And plenty of petrol, by the look of it.”
“Do you think they’d really lend me a car?” Ben asked.
“They’d lend me one,” Pamela said calmly. “They still think—”
“So it really is over between you and Jeremy?”
“How could it possibly not be?” she said. “But never mind that now. We have a job to do.”
“It’s really good of you, Pamela,” he said.
“Not at all. It will be an adventure, and I need something to cheer me up.”
When they arrived home, they were greeted by an ecstatic Phoebe, announcing once again that Margot had returned. This necessitated hugs and tears and ended up in having tea with the family.
“Just like old times,” as Lady Westerham put it. “My greatest prayer has been answered, and my girls are all with us again.”
Margot looked drawn and pale and gave a sad sort of smile. Ben debated whether he should stay, now that Margot was here, or go chasing the photograph. The latter won. Margot announced that she was really tired and would they excuse her if she went up to her room.
As Ben had feared, Lord Westerham did object to their taking the Rolls.
“I’m not allowing you two off on some joyride, using up the last of my petrol ration,” he bellowed.
“But Pah, it’s important,” Pamela said. “Something that Ben has to do for his job, and I said I’d go along to help him.”
“If it’s important for his job, then the government can supply him with a vehicle. They get petrol. I don’t,” he snapped.
“I’m awfully sorry,” Pamela whispered. “I didn’t think he’d be such an old meanie. It’s too bad that we can’t tell him why we need the car. He doesn’t realise it’s a matter of national security. But he’s right. Couldn’t your boss requisition a vehicle for you?”
“It seems he’s away for the weekend,” Ben said. “And I just don’t feel that this can wait.”
“What is this all about?” Pamela asked in a low voice.
Ben thought there was no point in keeping quiet, now that she knew he was MI5. “That parachutist who fell into your field,” he said, drawing her aside where they couldn’t be overheard. “He had nothing on him at all. No identification. Only a photograph with numbers on it. And someone has finally found the location where it was taken. So I have to go there right away.”
“We can’t tell the Prescotts that,” Pamela said. She looked out the window. “I say, there are loads of army vehicles sitting idle outside our house. Do you think we dare borrow one?”
“And be shot as we leave with it?” Ben had to laugh. Then he thought and said, “But I could ask Colonel Pritchard. He seemed like a decent sort of chap. He knows all about the parachutist. And I could tell him who I’m working for.”
“Then do it,” Pamela said. “I’ll go and change into something more suitable for driving, and I’ll pack my toothbrush, just in case we’re stuck for the night.” She grinned at him. “I never thought I’d smile again, but this is going to be fun.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
To Somerset
Colonel Pritchard listened with interest but was hesitant. “I can’t give you my staff car. Apart from that I’ve only lorries, tanks, and armoured cars here. You’d certainly be conspicuous driving around in one of those, and I doubt you even have the correct licence.” He paused, then said, “I tell you what—have you ridden a motorbike?”
“A couple of times, when I was up at Oxford,” Ben said.
“Then you can take my dispatcher’s motorbike and sidecar. It doesn’t use much petrol, either.”
So half an hour later, they set off with Pamela in the sidecar and Ben sitting, rather uneasily, on the motorbike. Pamela had changed into slacks and an open-necked shirt. Her hair was tied back under a scarf. Ben had to concentrate fully on driving the unfamiliar machine and was hardly conscious that he had a passenger and the passenger was Pamma. It wasn’t a powerful machine, and Ben soon settled down. Driving would have been pleasant on roads that were almost deserted, thanks to petrol rationing, except that all signposts had been removed and they took a couple of wrong turns before they reached the main road to the southwest. Then they breezed along at a good rate, encountering only the occasional army lorry or delivery van.
It was close to nine in the evening by the time they had passed through Wiltshire and driven into Somerset. Darkness threatened to come upon them suddenly. The setting sun had been swallowed into an ominous bank of clouds. A chill wind had sprung up.