by Rhys Bowen
“He actually saw the photograph,” Ben said. “He came to Aerial Reconnaissance while I was there, and the photograph was lying, blown up, on the table.”
“When was this?” Guy asked.
“A few days ago.”
“Oh, I think he must have had the whole thing planned earlier than that,” Pamela said. “The way Trixie offered to come down to help at the party. It was all planned out some time ago.”
Guy nodded. “I agree. We actually think it was part of a bigger plan, put into orchestration the moment he came back to England—a plan to facilitate the invasion, return the Duke of Windsor, and assassinate the royal family. With Jeremy at the helm.”
Pamela shuddered. “Don’t, please. I can’t bear to think about it.” She stood up. “I probably should be going. The family will worry about what has happened to me. Maybe Pah will let Margot drive over to pick me up.”
“I could give you a ride home,” Guy said.
“That’s very kind of you.” She gave him that radiant smile that had so entranced Ben. “I’ll just pop into the ladies’ room, then. I’m sure you two have things to talk about that you can’t say in front of me.”
“Sharp girl,” Guy said as Pamela left the room. “And a looker, too. I must say she’s taking this remarkably calm, considering she was his girlfriend.”
“I think that party opened her eyes to his real nature,” Ben said.
“So now you step in and fill the vacuum.” Guy grinned.
“I’m not sure about that. She sees me as a brother.”
“Oh, I don’t think the look she just gave you was at all sisterly,” Guy said. “Neither was the way she flung herself at you when you were shot.”
Ben lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling warm inside. There was hope. He’d bide his time, but there really was hope.
Then he remembered the unanswered question. “About Margot. Do you think she is working for the Germans?”
Guy moved closer to him. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but she’s working as a double agent at the moment. Sending info back to the Germans, infiltrating meetings of the Ring but keeping us apprised of what is going on. She had to pretend to go along with their plans, of course. Oh, and she’s asked to join special ops. She’ll be going up to Scotland to train.”
“Crikey,” Ben said. “I’m so glad she wasn’t part of this.”
“Well, it could have been much worse. The Germans were trying to get her to kill the king at a garden party, scheduled for this weekend. The king and Churchill gone in one fell swoop. But Buckingham Palace was bombed, so the event was cancelled. And, of course, she had no intention of carrying out the assignment, but because she warned us about it, we’ll be keeping an eye open for a future attempt. She’s a brave girl. True blue.”
Pamela returned. “Shall we?” she asked. She came over to Ben, leaned down, stroked back his hair, and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back in the morning,” she whispered. And Guy was right. The gaze that she gave him was not sisterly.
CHAPTER FORTY
At the village church
On Midsummer Day, the Reverend Cresswell held a special memorial service at the church in honour of Seaman Robbins. The whole village attended, as well as Lord Westerham’s family and the staff at Farleigh. Mr. and Mrs. Robbins sat together in the front pew, holding hands, looking down at their hymnbooks as the choir and congregation sang “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.” Alfie sat beside them, feeling sad and proud at the same time.
In the pew to one side, reserved for the Farleigh family servants, Miss Gumble was deep in thought. If Phoebe was to be sent away to school—and she had already recommended a couple of first-class girls’ schools that would make the most of Phoebe’s good brain—then she would no longer be needed here. She had a good brain herself, and she might be able to be of use to her country. She wondered whom she could speak to about it.
Ben had been released from hospital and was recuperating at home, being spoiled by Mrs. Finch. While he was still in hospital, he had received a visit from Maxwell Knight himself and been praised for his good work.
“I want to keep you on my books,” Knight had said, “even if you are an Oxford man.”
Pamela had come down from Bletchley for the occasion. She hadn’t seen Trixie since her arrest and still found it hard to come to terms with what had happened. Had Trixie been recruited even before the war and gone to Bletchley originally as a spy, or had she been turned or threatened while she was there? Pamela realised she might never know. And as for Jeremy . . . it was too painful still to think about him. She supposed the wound would heal eventually. Instinctively, she glanced across at Ben to see that he was looking at her, and she smiled.
HISTORICAL NOTE
This is a work of fiction but is closely rooted in the truth.
There were several pro-German societies and organisations working in England at the start of World War II. One of the most dangerous was a group called the Link. It was composed mainly of aristocrats, and they believed that it would be in Britain’s best interest to make peace with Germany before all the national treasures were destroyed. Whether they would have actively aided an invasion, nobody knows.
Maxwell Knight really did run a secret branch of MI5 from his flat in Dolphin Square, under the name of Miss Copplestone. Joan Miller really was his secretary, and a terrific spy herself. And he really did keep animals in his office.
Bletchley Park was exactly as I have described it. You can visit it today and see the spartan conditions under which such brilliant work was done.
You may notice similarities between fashion designer Gigi Armande and Coco Chanel, who was able to live in the Ritz and survive the war, thanks to her being the mistress of a high-ranking German officer.
Lord Westerham and Farleigh exist only in my imagination, but the location is in a real part of Kent, close to where I grew up and went to school. And I have drawn on two real stately homes in the neighbourhood—Penshurst Place and Knole, both worth a visit. Winston Churchill’s beloved Chartwell is also nearby.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 John Quin-Harkin
Rhys Bowen is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty mystery novels. Her work includes the Molly Murphy mysteries, set in 1900s New York City, and the lighter Royal Spyness novels, featuring a minor royal in 1930s England. She also wrote the Constable Evans mysteries, about a police constable in contemporary Wales.
Bowen’s work has won fourteen honours to date, including multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards. Her books have been translated into many languages, and she has fans around the world, including twelve thousand Facebook followers. A transplanted Brit, Bowen divides her time between California and Arizona.
