by Betty Burton
The woman’s dry-eyed constraint was frightening.
‘You should get some treatment yourself,’ Eve advised. ‘I think you may be suffering from shock. It could be bad if you don’t get help.’
‘Thank you.’ She withdrew into herself for several minutes. ‘We would have been better to go with Seb.’
All that Eve could do was to break off half the cake and offer to share the lemonade.
The last Eve saw of Mrs Jago was when the all clear sounded, and Mrs Jago took her one bag and went to queue up to use the toilet.
The world outside was unbelievable. The whole area from where Eve had spent the night to St Paul’s Cathedral had been all but demolished. Elizabeth Jago was known to have been killed, but in the devastation of last night’s blitz, there would be hundreds of people never accounted for.
Surprisingly, the building where she was to meet Colonel Linder still stood. It was too early for office workers, but a night guard allowed Eve to use the ladies’ room and found her a place to wait until her appointment.
* * *
‘They tell me my courtesans are working well.’
‘They are, sir. They prefer to be known as the FiFi.’
‘Ha, ha. Damned good. But I understand you want to move along?’
‘There is nothing at Griffon House that Miss Sanderson can’t do. The women there like working in those surroundings. But I think my brain will shrink if I stay there any longer.’
‘How is Vee Dexter?’
‘Very well. She certainly suits the place, and I think the place suits her.’
‘If I take you away, then I should appoint Miss Dexter to your post.’
‘Vee hasn’t been to the Finishing School, and I thought Miss Moncke’s plan was to have everybody at Griffon under her command.’
‘All right, then Miss Dexter shall have the full Finishing School treatment. And Miss Sanderson shall replace you in the meantime.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘And what about you, Miss Anders? You must have had something in mind when you went over your two seniors and asked to see me.’
‘I realised that it would be you who would make the final decision, so coming to you directly seemed appropriate.’
‘Miss Anders, don’t take this the wrong way, but do you ever ease up?’
‘Yes, of course I do, sir. Why do you ask?’
‘You are such an earnest young lady. I’m told that you have a great intellect and ability which you seem to need to use endlessly.’
‘I can hardly switch off my brain, sir.’
‘Do you go dancing?’
‘I love dancing.’
‘Tennis? Swimming, the cinema, music?’
‘All of those, sir.’
‘Really? Then I may have read you wrongly. I believe that it is essential that life contains an element of pleasure.’
‘Satisfaction is better, sir.’ She gave him a smile. ‘More satisfactory.’
He nodded and smiled. ‘What is it that you want me to give you permission to do? I am quite sure that you have it all planned.’
‘I should like to learn to fly, sir. I know that I could do it. I have always had an affinity with anything mechanical that has an engine and moves. I can strip down an engine and put it together again.’ She gave him another smile. ‘I know that I would make a good pilot.’
The colonel leaned back in his chair and stared off through the netted windows, drumming his fingers. ‘I believe what you say, but what would you propose to do – if I allowed this?’
A shiver ran through Eve, thrilled at his interest. ‘There are two possibilities at the moment. One is to transport aircraft from the factories; the other is to do the channel-hopping, dropping our agents wherever they need to be dropped.’
Colonel Linder slapped his hands together briskly. ‘Right! You shall have it.’
Eve raised her eyebrows high and smiled broadly. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.’
‘Good, now that’s settled, let us get down to my reason for calling you here. Maybe it could be part of a deal between us.’
A deal? Linder was head of SOE for the entire south of England. Pike don’t make deals with minnows.
‘Now. Concerning Major Vladim. I, of course, know your past history with him.’ He looked at her over his half-lens glasses, expecting a response, which he didn’t get.
‘Major Vladim has proved himself invaluable to us, more than that… He now has a section of his own, brought into being by him, and it is proving very, very important.’
‘Yes, sir. I can imagine it would.’
‘However, we have a problem. His presence here is clandestine – he’s best classed as a refugee. However, his own country considers that he has no such status, but is a deserter and traitor. They demand that he is handed over to them.’
‘How could they possibly know that he was here?’
‘Good question. We believe that the GPU have been on his trail, but have come to a dead end for the moment. So they are, so to speak, flying a kite; demanding any of the likely nations who may have accepted him – Australia, Portugal, Switzerland, ourselves – to hand him over.’
‘Are you saying that they don’t actually know that he has come here?’
‘No, as I say, they are fishing around. We, of course, don’t admit to knowing who this man is, but the GPU aren’t fools. Vladim himself is proof enough of their calibre, if proof were needed.’
‘You can’t possibly hand him over… sir. He would be shot as a deserter. He would have to be made an example of.’
‘However – and I warn you what I am about to tell you is classified Top Secret, and I should not be telling you this if it were not for the Vladim problem – the Soviets are teetering on the brink. Which way will they jump, with Germany or Britain? Britain cannot afford to cross them with things as delicate as they are.’
‘You aren’t even contemplating using him—’
‘No, no. Vladim must stay with us. He is crucial to the Polish cipher section. But he must disappear. He has already been registered as a refugee, Lec Podsadowski. But change of name is not enough, and he is not truly a refugee. Under international law, if his country wants him returned, then we must do so.’
Suddenly Eve felt cold. She crossed her arms over her chest and stilled her shivering hands under her arms. She knew almost nothing about international law. Even if what Linder said was a pack of lies, it was probably what would happen anyhow. Individuals could sink as long as governments swam.
Linder took two glasses from his desk drawer and poured a finger of golden spirit into each. ‘Almost the last of my good brandy – go on, drink it.’
Eve took the drink and felt it burn its way down. She wondered how delicate interviews would be managed if there was no drink to smooth difficulties. It was either the teapot or the bottle of spirits. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s no use me saying that I can’t believe this would happen, because I know that it could, and I know how guilty I should feel for my being the reason for him to have come to England.’
‘You have no reason to feel that. Major Vladim came very willingly.’
‘That doesn’t make it any easier if he is handed over to them.’
Linder poured out the very last of the brandy. This time Eve sipped and felt her mind, which had been dull with fear, begin to function. If the Government intended to hand Dimitri over to the Russians, they would just do it, and she would never find out what had happened.
‘You haven’t called me here just to tell me this, have you, Colonel?’
‘There is a solution, Miss Anders.’
Eve knew that there was. She stared through the glued-on nets at the windows and saw a fire reignite in a nearby building. Linder waited patiently. ‘Naturalisation. If I married him, as my husband he could become a naturalised British citizen.’ She turned from the window and met his gaze.
Linder nodded. ‘Would you do it?’
Eve took plenty of time, then nodded. ‘No n
eed for us to do a deal, sir. Of course I will do it. But with one condition.’ She never really understood the true reason behind this. ‘After the official civil ceremony, you allow Major Vladim leave to come to my home and for us to be married in the village church.’
‘All right… why not? Actually, Miss Anders, I think that a splendid idea. Could it wait a few weeks? Not the registry office ceremony, the church wedding?’
‘A spring wedding in a village church – what could be more cheerful in the midst of war? Do you think I might start my flying tuition before then?’
Linder laughed. ‘You press a hard bargain, Miss Anders. All right. I’ll tell Captain Faludi to sort it out.’
20
In early January 1941, Eve and Dimitri were married at Caxton Hall in the middle of London.
For two days they felt closer than they had ever been. For both of them, it was a serious step.
Earlier that morning, Dimitri had been waiting in the foyer of a hotel in Half Moon Street, close to the Ritz but which – according to Faludi, who had reserved their rooms – had better style and service. Not knowing whether they would prefer separate rooms, he had booked two.
When Eve arrived, Dimitri was seated on the edge of a chair too small for his bulk, looking eagerly at every turn of the revolving door. She held her arms wide in greeting. He picked her up, swung her off her feet, and hugged the breath out of her.
‘Look at you, you have become a sailor.’
‘Better still, I am almost a pilot.’
‘More beautiful – I thought that was not possible – and you are thin… but ah… very nice.’ Dimitri couldn’t enthuse quietly if he tried.
‘And you? I didn’t know that you were an army officer. I mean one of ours…’
‘Not strictly true, but they tell me that I can have rank as major, but only when I am British subject. Which is today! Oh, Eve, my good, kind, wonderful Eve, you do this for me. I am always indebted… (Right?) to you. Thank you, thank you one million times.’
She put her arms round his neck and kissed him firmly on the mouth. ‘You owe me nothing, Dimitri, nothing. You saved me, now it’s my turn.’
‘We do something special today. After we are wife and husband, eh? What you like to do? Anything. I want a day of happiness as most as I can give you, and we shall remember when we are old.’
‘I’ll think of something. We should go now.’
Eve had insisted that nobody from SOE should stand as witnesses, so they asked passers-by if they would be willing. It was easy. The first two people asked – an elderly man who signed himself ‘R. Barfoot – Cabinet Maker’ and a young woman, ‘L/Cpl. Pamela Stride, ATS’, agreed readily. The registrar’s assistant said that it was usual to offer witnesses something for their trouble, so Dimitri had thrust a five-pound note into each of their hands and thanked them profusely. Pamela Stride thrust the note into her shoulder-bag, a little embarrassed to be taking a note of such large denomination from a complete stranger, but R. Barfoot – Cabinet Maker crackled the note and held it to the light and went off still turning it about as if not quite sure that there wasn’t a catch in it.
A little group of curious onlookers stood and watched the newlyweds emerge into the daylight. ‘Would anyone mind taking our picture?’ Eve asked. ‘My camera is easy to use.’ A youth volunteered and Eve set the focus.
A soldier and a Wren – the kind of wedding that happened every day now. The groom looking smart and pleased, kissing the bride, who held a bunch of cut flowers bought from a seller on the way. Another of Dimitri’s five-pound notes went into the pocket of the young photographer. Eve felt very happy.
‘Do you remember what you were told about tipping?’ she laughed.
‘I remember well. Her name was Annie… no, it was Amy. She said never tip more than a shilling, ten bob was too much. But I like to give away. SOE gives me plenty. What can I do with it?’
‘Take the Scottish girls on the town.’
‘We are not near towns.’
‘Haven’t you got a girlfriend yet?’
‘Of course not. I am married man.’ He pulled her close. ‘I have wife. No, no, Eve, don’t look like that, is only a joke. There is a young woman, we go to the movies, not very many times. I like her, but it is just friendship. Maybe she scares me, she had such a sharp understanding. She is not in the Polish section, so I do not look like an idiot compared to her. Also, you know what? She has written books, very many. One afternoon when we have been to see a movie, she makes me go with her into a bookshop. ‘I have written these. I buy you one for you… will you read it and when you have read one hundred pages, stop and tell me what will happen?’ So I say, of course I will read it, but why not all? She says her books are puzzles about who done the murder. She said if I had not guessed who done it, then she would think others would not. It is red herrings, hidden clues, I must find them. She is very good writer. I have read many of her books.’
‘Her name wouldn’t be Fran, would it?’
‘Not Fran… is Frances.’
‘Frances Haddon?’
‘That is right!’
‘Small world – though maybe not, considering we are all SOE. I know her. She is such a clever woman, and so nice.’
‘She is.’
‘You will tell her that we met?’
‘And that you are my wife?’
‘No, Dimitri. You know you can’t do that. Perhaps it’s better that you don’t tell her at all.’
‘I tell her. It makes me feel I belong more. We have same friends. Is wonderful… It is wonderful.’
‘You must still be Lec Podsadowski the Pole.’
‘Of course.’
‘She will want to know if I told you anything else about the Scrubs team. It’s a prison we worked in. Tell her that Paul was killed in a flying accident. She and Paul got on well together. He had been hoping to get into ciphering.’
‘He was your friend too?’
Eve nodded. ‘A nice man. You would have liked him. His girlfriend was expecting their baby, but she lost it. They were going to be married.’
‘Is a cruel world, Eve.’
They were walking through Piccadilly Circus, signs of war all about them. Except for the weeks in Australia, war at close quarters had always been the background to their relationship. Eve suddenly thought about there being a strange romanticism about living on the edge. Enjoy the moment. By tomorrow, Piccadilly Circus might be a bomb crater, and she and Dimitri might be dead.
Paul and Electra – Paul’s death was a tragedy, yet had they not grabbed their moments, Electra might have been left with only regret.
‘Dimitri, we have never danced together. Shall we do it?’
‘I am good dancer.’
Eve laughed at his boast. ‘How is it that we have been married for two hours and I didn’t know that my husband is a good dancer. Come on, let’s find a place that’s open.’
With the war now in its second year, there was growing a kind of frenzy of taking pleasure where and when it presented itself. Dance halls – some of which opened early in the day and didn’t close until late – were filled. Big bands played the latest music; dancers flung themselves around with unrestrained pleasure as they jived and jitterbugged.
Frequently people left with partners they may never have met until that day. It wasn’t very easy to get drunk – there wasn’t always alcohol available – but who needed it to dance and romance? In some dance halls the sheer numbers of people all moving in time to the rhythm of a big band could induce a wonderful intoxication.
Dimitri’s boast was not false. He danced with enthusiasm, even at one point doing a bit of cossack leaping, which gained him a circle of clapping supporters. From the dance hall Eve and Dimitri walked to the same Lyons Corner House where her Scrubs friends had turned up in disguise. Eve tried to tell Dimitri about it, including how Frances Haddon had been involved, but he didn’t really get it.
‘Just tell Frances that you have been to the café w
here she dressed up as a waitress,’ Eve concluded.
He nodded seriously, still puzzled about the reason for this.
‘Oh, Dimitri, you do make me laugh. I’m having such a good time.’
‘I am also. Maybe you would like to go to opera? A theatre?’
‘Not much chance of that. I know!’
The Windmill Theatre was gaining a reputation for never closing. Even when there was an air raid there might be a bit of disruption during the worst of it, but the show would go on. Dimitri looked at Eve in surprise when he saw the kind of spectacle the Windmill was famous for: glittering dancers, and beautiful young women standing still as statues wearing tall head-dresses of feathers, high-heeled shoes and nothing else. Like every other male in the packed house, Dimitri leaned forward and waited for one of the nudes to move. None of them did. The Windmill Girls were becoming famous in every camp, airfield, and ship that went to sea.
Before darkness fell, Eve took Dimitri to see some of London’s famous landmarks. They finished up walking through Green Park on their way back to their hotel with an air-raid siren whining.
‘You know what to do, Eve?’
‘Yes, we go to the underground station.’
When they reached it, people were moving down the steps in a steady stream. Eve still held on to the flowers Dimitri had bought her, but by now they were a bit the worse for wear. She managed to salvage one each, which she attached to their uniforms. Where they were seated on a wooden bench well back from the platform’s edge, other people sharing that area were cheered by the sight of newlyweds. Dimitri responded to the attention. He played up the jovial foreigner who made people laugh at his mistakes, making them warm to a big man with a funny accent. He knew very well what he was doing.
Not for the first time, Eve thought what a good, nice, generous man he was. How fortunate she had been in meeting him. In enjoying their nights – and days – of wonderful sex.
Not for the first time she watched him playing with children, charming casual acquaintances.
Every time they caught one another’s eye, he would wink and smile broadly.
Why can’t I be content with you, Dimitri? Eve wondered.
