‘The last option, though I can’t imagine what he wants with me,’ Mariette replied. ‘But wheel him through, anyway. Is he worth putting lipstick on for?’
Sybil grimaced. ‘Definitely not!’
When Sybil brought the man in and introduced him, Mariette had a job to keep a straight face. He was small and very dapper in a pinstriped suit, with his bowler hat in his hand, and he was so straight-backed that he looked as if he’d left the coat hanger in his jacket.
‘I’ll be in the bar, should you need me,’ Sybil said as a parting shot, making a silly face behind the man’s back.
Mariette folded up the blanket she’d been ironing on, and offered him a cup of tea. ‘No, thank you,’ he said, sitting down at the table. ‘I’ll come straight to the point, Miss Carrera,’ he said. ‘I understand you speak fluent French. Is that correct?’
‘Well, yes,’ Mariette replied guardedly. She noticed he had disconcertingly small dark eyes, like a pig’s.
‘Would you be prepared to use that ability for the war effort?’
‘You mean interpreting? Yes, of course, as long as it would fit in with my job here.’
‘There would be more to it than interpreting,’ he said, looking at her very intently.
She knew Sybil had only been joking about him being with the Secret Service. But, astonishingly, it sounded very much as if he really was. As intriguing as that might be, she didn’t like the way she was being scrutinized, or the fact that he’d just turned up here out of the blue.
‘Before we go any further, I would like to know who informed you that I speak French and why that would be of any interest to anyone?’
Ollenshaw shrugged and made an attempt at a smile. But his lips only moved slightly, showing just a tiny glimpse of teeth. ‘My department has ears at many doors, Miss Carrera. In your case, a casual remark made about you reached us. So we checked you out.’
‘You mean you’ve been poking into my life without me being aware of it?’ she exclaimed indignantly.
‘In wartime we need to utilize people with certain abilities,’ he said curtly. ‘But obviously, in the interests of national security, we have to do thorough background checks. Our initial interest in you was because you are bilingual, but then we discovered you have sailing experience too.’
‘Sailing! Why would you be interested in that?’
‘Often, the only way to get one of our people out of France is in a small boat.’
Mariette had believed him up until that point. But surely no government officer would just talk about getting people out of France at the first meeting? Had she been set up by one of the pub customers? Playing along with it seemed like the best idea.
‘When you say small, what are you talking about? A dinghy, or a rowing boat?’ she asked.
Ollenshaw nodded.
Mariette burst into laughter. ‘Across the English Channel? You’re pulling my leg!’
‘Of course, we wouldn’t expect anyone to sail right across the Channel in a small craft, only to another bigger one nearby.’
Mariette looked scornfully at this little man, who didn’t look as if he could even handle a pedal boat. ‘Someone’s put you up to this. Is it a joke?’ she asked.
‘Miss Carrera, do I look like a man who plays pranks on people?’
He certainly didn’t. And she couldn’t think of anyone she knew who might be capable of finding someone like Ollenshaw to play a joke on her. ‘Then you’d better tell me something to convince me you are on the level.’
He sighed deeply, as if he’d been talking to a simpleton. ‘Let me explain why I am approaching you, Miss Carrera. It is because my superiors feel you are the sort of young woman we desperately need for special missions,’ he said. ‘You first came to our attention some time ago, when you were working as a secretary for a Mr Greville, in London. You were present at a dinner with a senior British Army officer, and interpreted for another guest, a retired French Army officer. Am I right about that?’
Mariette knew then that this man must be what he said he was as she hadn’t told anyone down here about meeting the French Army officer. ‘Yes, you are right about that. I often accompanied Mr Greville to meetings with people who could give him orders for uniforms.’
‘Well, you created a very good impression. A note was made about you. Since then, we have been keeping an eye on you.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s creepy.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe, but it is a sign of the times. However, everything reported back to us about you is good. We know how you conducted yourself during the Blitz, the help you gave to others despite great personal loss. We also know about your family background. Your father won the Croix de Guerre in the last war and your mother served her country driving ambulances in France. The daughter of two such people is hardly likely to be lily-livered. This was confirmed to us when we learned about your actions in climbing out of a bombed shelter, with no regard for your own safety, in order to get help for those trapped inside. All in all, we have a picture of a courageous, resourceful and compassionate young woman.’
Mariette blushed with embarrassment, and some indignation at the thought that someone had been watching her every move. Yet it was also nice to be portrayed in such a good light. ‘I just did what needed doing, there were no heroics,’ she said. ‘But although I have sailed since I was a child, back in New Zealand, and I can handle many kinds of boats, I’ve seen just how rough the sea can get here. I can’t claim to have that sort of experience. I’d probably be useless to you.’
Ollenshaw made a dismissive gesture with his hands. ‘I only came here today to get an indication as to whether you were receptive to the idea. Obviously, there would have to be a more formal interview. And then, should you pass that, on to training.’
‘Training! I’m not giving my job up here.’
He shook his head. ‘No one is asking you to do that. What we’re talking about are special missions, a couple of days here and there. You would not be totally alone on any of them. And you would come back here and carry on, as if you’d just been away to visit a relative.’
Mariette was too busy thinking about what he’d said to make any comment.
‘I should at this point, however, impress upon you that it is imperative that you tell no one about this conversation. Not even your loved ones, friends or your employers.’
Mariette gulped. It sounded so serious and scary but she had claimed she wanted to do something useful, and perhaps this was it. ‘Fair enough. OK, yes, I am interested. Well, enough to know a little more.’
‘Then someone will be in touch with you shortly,’ he said. Picking his hat up off the table, he swept out through the bar, leaving Mariette open-mouthed in astonishment.
She could hardly believe she’d just had that conversation. Surely the Secret Service – or whoever it was that came up with rescue plans – wouldn’t pick on someone like her, who wasn’t even English? She went into the bar, where Sybil was polishing glasses.
Sybil looked round at Mariette. ‘Well? I’ve been biting my nails down to the quick in curiosity!’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you,’ Mariette said, making a helpless grimace.
‘See, I told you he was Secret Service, I know a spymaster when I see one,’ Sybil laughed.
‘You don’t know how close you are,’ Mariette sighed. ‘But please, don’t ask me any more, because I really can’t tell you – however much I want to.’
Sybil’s eyes widened with surprise, but she put her finger to her nose. ‘Keep Mum, she’s not so dumb,’ she said, using the words on a poster everywhere about town.
In the days that followed the visit from Ollenshaw, Mariette veered from blind panic to thinking she must have imagined the whole meeting with him. She so much wanted to confide in someone, to get their view on it. How dangerous would this work be? She could handle a boat, she wasn’t scared of that, but she was afraid of being shot. And surely, if she was help
ing people get out of France, that was exactly what might happen?
It was early June, and the weather good. She was sure that all over England there were people who would love to be living somewhere quiet and pretty like Sidmouth, if only as an antidote to a war that seemed no closer to ending. Rationing, high taxes and the shortages of almost everything were biting into people’s way of life; while food consumption had gone down, alcohol and tobacco consumption were up.
It was bad enough to hear horror stories from all over Europe, North Africa and the Far East, but Mariette had been appalled to hear, in March, of the 173 people who were crushed to death in Bethnal Green tube station when a woman tripped and fell on the steep stairs. Those hurrying down behind her fell too, building up a wall of death. She worried about her brothers in Italy, and how her parents and Mog were coping. And, of course, she worried about Edwin too. Now she had something more to worry about – whether agreeing to undertake these special missions was really foolhardy.
Yet, whether it was foolhardy or not, it was exciting. Not just because it was thrilling to think that someone had been impressed by her. Or because she had always wanted to do something useful and brave, so she could return home knowing she’d done her bit.
But also because of Edwin.
If she’d been approached a couple of years ago, when she had first met him, she would have turned it down flat because she wanted to be with him so much, she would never have risked not being available on the rare times he got leave. Since they had run into each other that day in the tea shop, they’d only met up about a dozen times.
It was the same for all wives and girlfriends with men in the forces. But Mariette was luckier than most because Edwin was based in England, which meant she did get telephone calls and he was given leave on a regular basis – even if it was only for twenty-four hours.
If he managed to get down here to Sidmouth, on a Saturday night, they would go to the local dance, then sit on the esplanade in the moonlight, kissing and talking for hours. She had met him in Bristol twice, but neither time had been a resounding success as the guesthouse had been grim, and it had rained the whole time, so they’d had to shelter in tea shops and pubs. But then his squadron was moved over to a base in East Anglia, and that made it far harder to see him.
The move brought new danger for him. He had lost dozens of his airmen friends during the Battle of Britain, when he was stationed at Biggin Hill, in Kent. When he was posted to Bristol, he lost more. But now he was taking part in the huge bombing raids on Germany, and although he made light of it, acting like it was nothing, night after night many Allied planes were shot down.
She tried very hard not to dwell on the possibility of him being one of the casualties, and never mentioned her anxiety either in letters or on the telephone, but at night, the minute she turned the light out, fear for him clutched at her insides. She’d lost Gerald, which was something she’d never anticipated, and she really didn’t think she could cope with losing Edwin too.
She loved him so much, and she wanted to see him more often, so she suggested they meet up in London, the halfway point between them. But he always said he was afraid she might get caught up in an air raid, and he’d rather know she was safe in Sidmouth.
Then, a few weeks ago, right out of the blue, Sybil asked her whether she would marry Edwin, if he asked her. She said yes, without a second thought, even said she’d leave Sidmouth and all the friends she’d made here and move to East Anglia to be closer to him. Then Sybil asked her why Edwin hadn’t introduced her to his parents.
Maybe it was because her own parents were on the other side of the world that she hadn’t even considered it odd that he hadn’t taken her to meet his. But once it was brought to her notice, she found herself looking a lot more closely at their relationship.
First of all, she realized that while she’d been weaving happy little daydreams of them going back to New Zealand together when the war ended, he’d never actually said anything about sharing a future with her.
He’d said he loved her countless times. They were the best of friends, they laughed at the same things, and there never seemed enough time for all the things they had to say to one another. But he hadn’t said he wanted to marry her, and they hadn’t become lovers.
While Mariette would have been cautious about making love, for fear of getting pregnant and then Edwin being killed, she thought the main reason they hadn’t become lovers was due to lack of opportunity.
Sybil wouldn’t condone them sharing a room when he stayed at the pub – she didn’t even leave them alone for long in the sitting room. But Mariette had always thought that the reason Edwin hadn’t tried to have his way with her in his car or in a field, or even suggested they went to a hotel, was out of respect for her, and a belief that sex outside of marriage was wrong. She liked that about him, it made her feel safe and cared for.
All this time, while being crazy about the man and assuming he felt exactly the same, she had thought that marriage and children would follow in the fullness of time. But she was now forced to take a step back and consider that might not be so.
Ever since Sybil had brought up the subject, Mariette couldn’t get it out of her mind. So she was glad of Ollenshaw’s proposal, as it would act as a distraction. She told herself that the next time Edwin had leave, she would suggest he take her to meet his parents, and then see how he reacted to that request.
It was a week later that Mariette got a telephone call asking her to present herself at an address on Sidmouth’s esplanade, that very afternoon. She was surprised that the secret meeting wasn’t in London, but very glad that she would soon know more about what was expected of her.
It was a very hot day, and when Mariette emerged from the requisitioned hotel on the seafront, two hours after entering the building, she looked longingly at the sea and wished she could go for a swim. But that wasn’t possible, with mines on the beach and all the barbed wire erected to keep people off. The next best thing was to sit on a bench and look at the sea, while she attempted to sort out the events of the afternoon.
The first hour had been spent in French conversation with a very severe-looking woman with iron-grey hair who was introduced as Miss Salmon. Mariette had to assume she was French, but the woman didn’t give anything of herself away during their talk. She had fired questions at Mariette, on everything from first aid to growing vegetables, to films at the cinema and other often very strange topics, expecting her to respond appropriately and to ask questions back, just as if they were having an everyday conversation.
Mariette stumbled a bit, at first. But as she got into the swing of it and gained confidence, she found it was only the odd French word here and there that she couldn’t remember. But just as she would do in English, she simply shook her head and admitted in French that she couldn’t think of the word.
The second hour was with a man called Fothergill, who was middle-aged, stout and had piercing dark eyes that bored right into her. He began by asking her questions about growing up in New Zealand, then moved on to ask about her life in England and specifically about her wartime experiences.
When he had finished his questions, he said he felt she was ideal, then called Miss Salmon in to join them. She was all smiles – until then, Mariette hadn’t believed her capable of such a thing.
‘Your French is first class,’ she said. ‘I like it that you speak with a Marseille accent, we can build on that in the cover story we will be giving you. When we send you in, you will be playing a part, and you need to believe in that character totally or you might slip up. However helpful or kindly anyone seems, you must never, ever weaken and admit who you really are or what you are doing in France, as they might well be an informer. We will give you the name of the person who is your contact, but don’t give them any personal information either. If anyone in this chain gets caught, the less they know about their colleagues the better.’
Mariette wondered if she meant the Germans would use torture to find out
what she was up to, and her blood ran cold at the thought. ‘You do appreciate that I don’t know France at all,’ she admitted, looking from one to the other and half hoping they would dismiss her as useless. ‘I’ve never been there.’
‘You don’t need to have visited France,’ Fothergill replied. ‘You will be in and out very quickly, and we will give you an appropriate cover story.’
As if she wasn’t feeling scared enough already, Fothergill dropped a final bombshell. ‘You will need training in self-defence. Given the kind of situation you may find yourself in, a gun is impractical. A knife is far better, easier to conceal and silent too. On Monday afternoon, at two thirty, come here and you will be taken for a training session nearby. Now, do you have any questions?’
Mariette could feel her heart thumping as she sat on the bench on the seafront, thinking about what she’d been told. The sea was really blue today, reflecting the sky above, and as calm as a millpond. All around her people were enjoying being at the seaside. She could smell candyfloss and fish and chips, and hear tinny music coming from somewhere nearby; yet she’d just been told she would be trained to use a knife. How did she make the leap from barmaid to possible killer in just a couple of hours?
It was easy to forget here, in Sidmouth, that there was a savage war raging across half the world. If it hadn’t been for the barbed wire on the beach, and the high proportion of men and women in uniform, it could be said that the war hadn’t touched Sidmouth at all. As far as Mariette knew, not one bomb had been dropped here. How odd, then, that in the hotel behind her they interviewed people for jobs that would be unthinkable in peacetime.
When Mr Fothergill had asked her if she had any questions, Mariette hadn’t been able to think of a single one. But they were coming to her now, thick and fast. Would she be shot if she was caught by the Germans, or would she be sent to prison? Who would inform her parents, if the worst happened and she was killed or seriously injured in France? How often would these short trips to France occur? And how was she supposed to explain to Sybil that she needed time off, without telling her what she wanted it for?
Survivor Page 33
