‘Takada made me spend half an hour sparring with Luc as punishment,’ Paul explained as he peeled back his blankets. ‘My skin’s got more purple bits than white.’
Before Marc could answer, Rosie pulled him back towards the door.
‘Here we have exhibit two,’ Rosie said, as she pushed through the thin white sheet that hung in front of Luc’s bed. ‘Luc told Mrs Donnelley that he had a headache.’
Luc lay on his bed, still muddy and stinking from his morning exertions. He was reading a battered detective novel.
‘Didn’t know you could read, Luc,’ Marc said cheekily.
‘I have got a headache,’ Luc snapped. ‘Takada body-slammed me five times.’
‘Funniest darned thing I’ve seen in ages,’ Rosie nodded. ‘Takada ordered Paul to spar with Luc, but he didn’t like the way Luc enjoyed making him suffer.’
‘I always miss the good stuff,’ Marc complained.
Luc sat up and pointed angrily. ‘Can’t hit a girl, but I can hit you, Marc. So you’d better watch that smart mouth.’
‘Everyone’s sick of you picking on Paul,’ Marc said.
Luc threw down his book, sprang forwards off his bed and smashed his fist into his palm. Marc jolted with fright and hopped two steps backwards.
‘Oh you’re so brave,’ Luc said, before erupting into a huge false laugh.
‘You’re such a moron,’ Rosie said contemptuously.
‘At least I’m not a dirty whore,’ Luc said.
‘Nice,’ Rosie sneered, before turning to Marc. ‘Paul’s OK so I’m heading out to the shooting range.’
‘Catch you later,’ Marc said, giving Rosie a thumbs-up before walking up to his bed and putting his stuff down. He took the tin of banana fudge across to Paul and twisted off the lid.
‘You want one?’ Marc asked.
Paul cheered up slightly as he propped himself on his pillow and dropped a cube of fudge into his mouth. ‘I hate Takada,’ he said bitterly.
Marc nodded with a knowing air. ‘I told you not to try scamming him. He may not be big, but he’s a ruthless bastard if you mess him about. Another fudge?’
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Paul said. ‘I don’t feel that bad, it’s just my knees and stomach where Luc kept thumping me.’
*
After arriving with Marc, Charles Henderson had dumped his overnight bag in the hallway of the farmhouse and hurried across to the office he shared with Superintendent McAfferty in the school building.
‘Welcome home,’ McAfferty said warmly. ‘I took down a number from a man in Whitehall.’
‘Admiral Hammer?’
McAfferty nodded. ‘Well, his assistant anyway. He said it was most urgent. Wouldn’t tell me a thing. He thought I was your secretary, rather than your superior officer.’
The cup and saucer on McAfferty’s desk tinkled as a shell fired on the artillery range half a mile away. Henderson snatched his telephone and told the operator the number before he’d even removed his jacket or cap.
‘Hello, is that Giles Ramsgate?’
As Henderson said this, his wife stormed into the musty office without knocking.
Joan Henderson had married at age eighteen. Now thirty-one, her sunken eyes and chewed nails bore little resemblance to the beautiful dark-haired tennis player who held her husband’s hand in the framed photo on the window ledge.
‘He’s on a very important call,’ McAfferty said, as Joan stormed towards her husband. ‘Whitehall in London.’
‘I don’t care if it’s Pope Pius,’ Joan said. ‘I need to talk with my husband, right now.’
Henderson deftly grabbed the telephone off the desk, swiping it out of Joan’s reach as she made a lunge at the cradle to disconnect his call. He placed his hand over the receiver and scowled at Joan. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘You dumped your suitcase in the hall and bolted over here without even saying hello,’ Joan snapped acidly. ‘I’m not doing your washing.’
‘I haven’t asked you to,’ Henderson said.
‘I need to talk,’ Joan said. ‘A proper talk, not a few seconds squeezed in between other people.’
‘Fine,’ Henderson said, as he glanced at his watch, ‘I’ll come over for a cup of tea in twenty minutes.’ Simultaneously he heard a man’s voice through the speaker at his ear. ‘Captain Ramsgate? Yes, yes. I’m Henderson, returning your call.’
As Henderson spoke, McAfferty held the door open and showed Joan out into the hallway.
‘Would you like me to get one of the girls to make tea and bring it over?’ McAfferty asked.
Joan squinted. ‘I can make tea. I’m not completely hopeless, you know.’
McAfferty was just being nice, but Joan had a way of turning innocent remarks into cause for an argument. As Joan headed back towards the farmhouse, McAfferty returned to her desk and listened anxiously to Henderson’s half of the telephone conversation.
Henderson had already sent McAfferty a telegram relaying the poor outcome of his lunch with Air Vice Marshal Walker, but McAfferty knew nothing of what had happened overnight and grew more excited as she listened to Henderson’s conversation.
‘So when are they coming from London?’ McAfferty asked anxiously, as Henderson put the receiver back in its cradle.
‘First train tomorrow.’
‘All right,’ McAfferty said anxiously. ‘We’d better get everyone together in the hall. I think Takada’s driven into town to meet his girlfriend, but everyone else is here.’
It took a few minutes for the staff and kids of Espionage Research Unit B to gather up. Marc tried helping Paul and his bad knee on the stairs, but his smoke-damaged lungs weren’t up to any kind of exertion and PT had to finish the job.
‘If you keep getting cropped at this rate we’ll have no trainees left,’ the fifteen-year-old noted.
There were six members of staff besides Henderson and McAfferty, the trainees from Groups A and B, plus the four younger siblings who’d been recruited with them. The kids eyed one another anxiously, wondering if they were in trouble.
‘Good …’ Henderson said, tailing off as the sonic boom of an artillery shell cracked in the distance. ‘Good afternoon, everyone. I’m sorry to pull you all out of duties and lessons at such short notice, but I’ve just received an important phone call.
‘Our masters at the Special Operations Executive have taken a dislike to my idea of training young people to work undercover. They have decided to hold a review, and it’s been made clear that the intention is to shut our little unit down.’
A shockwave of gasps and ‘no’s rippled across the small hall.
Henderson raised his voice and held out his arms. ‘Calm down, everyone. The battle is far from lost. I’ve enlisted the help of Rear Admiral Hammer. He’s a senior government advisor based in Whitehall. The admiral and his assistant, Captain Ramsgate, will be arriving on the first train tomorrow. They want to see what we’re capable of.
‘My philosophy is to train you as individuals. But these are military men. They’re going to be looking for spit and polish, so I want this place to gleam. I want every floorboard buffed to a high sheen and every wall scrubbed of dirt and finger marks. I want the bathrooms spotless. I want your dorms tidied, cleared of your privacy curtains and your beds lined up and made in military fashion.
‘When this place is immaculate, go to work on yourselves. Shower, cut your nails, comb your hair. I don’t want to see a single balled-up sock or even a speck of dirt under a fingernail. Is that absolutely clear?’
The response was a sharp volley of, ‘Yes, sir’s.
‘Finally, I’m going to choreograph a little demonstration of your shooting and explosives skills for tomorrow morning. Our future depends upon this, so you boys had better impress Admiral Hammer and Captain Ramsgate like you’ve never impressed before. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir!’ came the response.
‘Now, I’m going to divide you into three teams. The first te
am, led by me, will comprise PT, Rosie, Sam and—’
‘Your afternoon tea is getting cold,’ Joan Henderson shouted, as she steamed into the hall holding a small plate with slice of sponge cake on it. ‘I asked to talk to you.’
‘One moment,’ Henderson said, as he turned away from the crowd and addressed his wife in a whisper. ‘We have a vital inspection coming up first thing tomorrow and I need to set our plans in motion.’
‘Bugger your plans,’ Joan roared, as she furiously wagged her finger. ‘You cancelled dinner with me before you went to London, you’ve now cancelled tea. I don’t even get to see you for bloody breakfast.’
Everyone in the hall shuffled their feet awkwardly and tried not to look.
‘We shall have a late dinner, tonight,’ Henderson said, as he touched his chest. ‘Hand on my heart.’
Joan processed this for a second before crushing the sponge cake between her fingers and smacking her husband around the head with the result. McAfferty rushed forwards. Two of the smallest kids laughed as jam and crumbs spilled down Henderson’s collar.
‘If we can’t speak in private, I might as well announce it to the whole world,’ Joan shouted.
‘Darling, don’t be childish,’ Henderson said firmly. ‘I’m busy, that’s all.’
‘Busy with some tart in London, no doubt,’ Joan shouted. ‘You never could keep your pecker in your pants for more than five minutes!’
McAfferty touched Joan’s shoulder and tried to sound warm. ‘Joan, you’re making a scene. Why don’t you calm down and go into the office with Charles. I’ll take control of the situation here.’
‘Get off me,’ Joan yelled, scowling at McAfferty. ‘How many times did he sleep with you while you were living in Paris … ? Actually, he goes for tall and skinny, not the dumpy ones like you.’
PT, Rosie and Marc exchanged nervous smiles as the muck continued to fly.
‘If you want a divorce, you can have it!’ Henderson shouted. ‘I’m not stopping you and you can take your father’s money and your bloody spiders with you.’
Joan roared with false laughter. ‘Hah! You think you’re getting rid of me that easily? If you remember that little drunken fumble we had when you first got home last September: well, Commander Henderson, I’m expecting a baby, last week of June.’
‘Oh!’ Henderson said. His mouth dropped open as cake crumbs continued to pelt the floor around him.
The Hendersons’ first child had died at the age of eighteen months, plunging Joan into a depression from which she’d never fully recovered. Henderson wanted another child, but his wife’s mental state would complicate the pregnancy and working in espionage didn’t lend itself to being a hands-on father.
After waiting a few seconds for the initial shock to wear off, Henderson put out his arms and closed on his wife. This was a gamble. He had no idea if he’d get a hug or a slap, but tears sprang into Joan’s eyes as Henderson’s arms locked gently around her back. She kissed his cheek and the jam and crumbs stuck to her lips.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Henderson, Takada and the other staff gave their young trainees cleaning duty as punishment for minor sins, such as not cleaning a weapon properly or arriving late to a training session. The kids did it slowly, miserably and made as poor a job as they could reasonably expect to get away with.
But this Thursday was different. Everything depended upon the review, and the threat brought everyone out in a cleaning frenzy, from Superintendent McAfferty down to new arrivals Troy and Mason.
Wood floors were polished, windows washed inside and out with vinegar water and fresh whitewash applied to the slightly grubby walls in the downstairs hallway. Troy taught the military-style bed-making skills he’d learned at Hay Approved School to all the other kids. The bigger lads lifted up furniture, enabling the little ones to clamber underneath and dust.
McAfferty, Rosie and an elderly cook named Pippa made the evening meal, while simultaneously working through a mound of laundry, scrubbing it in the sinks and then running each piece through a mangle to help it dry. It was hard work that shrivelled Rosie’s fingertips.
When everything shone to McAfferty’s satisfaction, the kids ate dinner before being ordered into the showers. It was gone seven o’clock when the damp-haired boys and girls returned to their rooms with towels around waists.
‘This looks very smart,’ Henderson said, as he stood in the doorway of Group A’s sleeping quarters wearing a paint-spattered workman’s overall. The privacy curtains had been taken down and personal items stripped off the walls. The beds were neatly made and evenly spaced.
‘You’ve all worked really hard,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Nobody has had to shout or give orders. None of the staff has had to tell you to buck your ideas up, or put your backs into it. You’ve no idea how happy it makes me to see you all working effortlessly as a team.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ PT said, and the younger kids all followed his lead.
‘It’s just past seven,’ Henderson said. ‘I’m going across to the farmhouse to have dinner with my wife. I’d suggest that you relax for a couple of hours. Put the lights out at nine-thirty and get a good night’s sleep. I want you up and ready for action at six tomorrow. We need to do a run-through of the weapons and explosives demonstration that Mr Takada and I have worked out and if the train is on time our guests should arrive before nine. Don’t stay up too late.’
‘Goodnight, sir,’ Marc said. ‘And congratulations on the baby.’
Henderson looked embarrassed as the other five trainees congratulated him.
‘You can name it after me,’ Paul said.
‘Yeah,’ Marc grinned. ‘If it’s a girl.’
Henderson smiled as he backed out and headed down the hall to give a similar speech to the kids from Group B in the next room.
As soon as Henderson was out of sight, PT grabbed the metal-legged table by the windows and dragged it into the middle of the room. He then produced a pack of shabby playing cards from the back of his shorts.
‘Who’s up for poker?’ he asked. ‘If this unit gets canned, this could be your last chance to win back the money you all owe me.’
‘I’m in,’ Marc said, as he sprang off his bed. ‘I’ll go grab a couple of chairs from the classroom across the hall.’
Rosie and Joel joined the table, bringing with them a square of green dress material that gave the table an authentic poker feel and a cardboard box filled with metal buttons which they used as chips. Luc hated card games and always stuck to his cowboy and detective novels.
‘You playing, Paul?’ Rosie asked.
‘Not tonight,’ Paul said.
‘Come on, mate,’ PT said encouragingly, as he sat backwards on a school chair facing towards the table. ‘You might be the youngest, but you’re my only serious competition.’
Paul shook his head. ‘I’ve got a headache and my guts are turning somersaults.’
Luc shouted from the other end of the room. ‘When I beat you up, you stay beaten up.’
‘Luc, shut your stupid mouth,’ Rosie yelled.
‘Fat whore,’ Luc shouted back.
Marc came in with a chair in each hand. He gave one to Joel and sat on the other.
‘Don’t you think Joel looks different with clean clothes and his hair combed?’ Rosie smiled.
‘Almost human,’ Marc nodded.
Rosie leaned across the table and cheekily kissed Joel on the cheek.
Marc laughed. ‘Better watch out, PT, your woman looks set to stray.’
Rosie gave PT a kiss, then Marc complained that he felt left out so she kissed him too.
‘Whore!’ Luc shouted again.
‘Shut up,’ the poker players all shouted back.
‘OK,’ PT said, as he split the cards and shuffled them expertly. Just for show he then shot them repeatedly from one hand to another and fanned them in a perfect arc across the table before cutting the deck and starting to deal. ‘The game is five card poker, deuces wild, no limits. E
veryone starts with a thousand pounds’ worth of buttons.’
‘Why not a million pounds’ worth,’ Marc smiled. ‘Seeing as none of us actually has any money.’
‘I’ll pay my debts when I’m rich and famous,’ Rosie grinned.
After the first couple of hands, Troy came in from the other room acting shy. ‘I heard that you guys play cards. Mind if I join?’
‘More the merrier,’ PT nodded. ‘Go get a chair from across the hall.’
‘That’s one fancy dressing gown,’ Troy smiled, as he looked at Marc in his thickly quilted robe.
‘Yeah,’ Joel grinned. ‘It doesn’t make you look even slightly like a tart.’
‘Kiss my balls,’ Marc replied, as he tried not to make the disappointment of his first three cards too obvious.
Troy was late to the table, but surprised everyone by out-bluffing PT to win the second hand.
‘Beginner’s luck,’ PT said.
Troy smiled. ‘My dad was a fisherman. When they couldn’t go to sea they’d play cards. I’ve been watching since I was three, playing since I was five.’
PT didn’t like having his poker supremacy threatened and raised one eyebrow. ‘I’ve worked as a cabin boy on four different ships. I’ve played against cheats, hustlers and drunks who’ll stab you in the eye if you look at ’em the wrong way.’
Marc couldn’t resist making fun of the bravado. ‘Well, I’ve played poker with a giant squid called Neddy who’s been poker champion of the seven seas. He wears a patch over both eyes and has hooks on the end of each tentacle. I lost every time, as well.’
As the players laughed, Rosie looked behind and saw Paul standing up and clutching his side.
‘You OK, mate?’ she asked.
Paul grimaced. ‘I just need a crap.’
They played another hand and Rosie was delighted to find herself holding three queens. She tried raising the stakes to maximise the winnings from her strong hand, but she was a cautious player and everyone grew suspicious when she tried to raise the bet.
The win was still enough for Rosie to double the size of her pile of buttons and she stood up and waved her arms in the air as she scooped up her winnings. When she sat back down, she noticed that Luc wasn’t on his bed.
Secret Army Page 7
