Spies on Bikes

by Dennis Forster

  ‘When Jack and I got too close to them they told us to “bugger off”.’

  ‘George,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘I know you are quoting but I do not approve of swearing. Mike’s cottage is not a quayside tavern.’

  ‘One of them had a gun,’ said Jack. ‘I knew they weren’t road menders. I told you, George, but you wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘These people are on our side,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘They are batting for us,’ said Jack. ‘I have used the proper English?’

  ‘Yes, Jack, you have used the “proper English”. When they apprehend Gunther, they will take him into their road menders’ hut. Inside, a medic will give the young fanatic an injection powerful enough to knock out a horse. When he is comatose he will be searched.’

  ‘You will find the left luggage ticket,’ said Jack. ‘You will give it to me. I will take it to the left luggage office; that’s what Mike said I had to do, didn’t you, Mike?’

  Mike gave a thumbs up.

  ‘I have hit the nail on the head?’

  ‘Yes, Jack, you have hit the nail on the head. You hand it in and get what the Nazis want. In the meantime, an ambulance will take Gunther to hospital.’

  ‘Another case of mushroom poisoning?’ said Marigold.

  ‘I’m afraid so; terrible thing, mushroom poisoning. We have a uniform for Jack … borrowed from one of the Nazis.’

  ‘Not from one of the dead Nazis, I hope,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘You wouldn’t let Jack wear a dead man’s clothes, surely?’

  ‘The uniform is from a sick Nazi. The uniforms belonging to the two dead Nazis were much too big.’

  ‘Otherwise you would have used them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Charles …’

  ‘Have you tried on the uniform, Jack?’

  ‘Ja. The shirt fits, good. The trousers, they are too long.’

  ‘So,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘that is why Marigold and I are here.’

  ‘You want us to alter the Lederhosen, Charlie?’ said Marigold.

  ‘Not personally, of course, but you will know what to do much better than we ham fisted males. And, also, I want your help in dyeing Jack’s hair. I want you to make him look Aryan. Can you make him blonde? I believe you use peroxide.’

  ‘Charles, as you well know, I do not dye my hair. I have no need to. Even at my age I am still a natural brunette; not a grey hair in sight. I think of it as a gift from Nature, you know, like Mozart being able to play the harpsichord at the age of three.’

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ said Marigold. ‘I’m a natural blonde. What about your wife, Mike?’

  ‘She wears a wig … alopecia.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’

  ‘I know who will know about peroxide,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘The floozie at the post office.’

  19

  On his way back to The Hall, Sir Charles gave himself a pat on the back. He knew all about pride before a fall but the way in which he’d involved Elizabeth and Marigold in his scheme gave him a sense of a job well done. Wheels had been set in motion.

  He thought his wife’s calling Emily a ‘floozie’ excessive but, when spirits were running high, one tended to call a spade a spade, didn’t one? He hoped that they would all arrive at the Post Office in one piece. When she’d driven off from Mike’s cottage Elizabeth had put her foot down. Her passengers, Marigold, Jack and George had, he recalled, all been hanging on, as the expression goes, ‘for dear life’.

  His next problem was the Americans. He was weary of their chatter. Bloody fence sitters. If at all possible he wished to avoid them. His inclination was to sit in front of a good fire and smoke a pipe.

  At The Hall’s main entrance he was met by Bert holding a satchel. This had been left in the butler’s safe pair of hands by a despatch rider on a motorbike.

  Both watched the despatch rider set off down The Hall’s drive at a speed which suggested urgency. When its rider went out of his way to run over a pheasant, Sir Charles and Bert were philosophical.

  ‘One fewer for the guns, sir,’ said Bert. ‘He delivered this, sir.’

  ‘From the Vicarage?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Where are the Americans?’

  ‘The Billiard Room, sir. Mr Harry is playing them for money and promises.’

  ‘Promises?’

  ‘If he beats them they have to promise to make America help us to fight Hitler.’

  ‘Who is winning?’

  ‘The last time I popped in with another bottle of whisky, Mr Harry was, sir.’

  ‘O’Neil with them?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but not playing. He is drunk.’

  ‘Drunk?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Not bad for a teetotaller, don’t you think?’

  ‘I did mention earlier, sir, that since the gentleman returned from playing golf, he’s been, well, sir, a different person.’

  ‘Golf does funny things to people, Bert.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Bert, I want to avoid the Americans.’

  ‘Let Mr Harry take the strain, sir?’

  ‘Exactly. You go first. If you see an American, cough. I want to get to my study unobserved.’

  In the study Bert said, ‘A home run, sir, is what I believe the Americans would call it.’

  ‘Well done, Bert, we made it.’

  Sir Charles pulled a chair close to the fire.

  ‘Like being back in the trenches, sir, running around with our heads down.’

  ‘But not as dangerous.’

  ‘Whisky, sir?’

  ‘And one for yourself, Bert.’

  ‘Very kind, sir. I don’t mind if I do.’

  ‘Let’s see what the Vicarage has sent us.’

  Sir Charles opened the despatch bag.

  ‘It’s a report on O’Neil’s golfing trip. He didn’t know it, Bert, but from the moment he left The Hall he was watched … well, well, well, apparently he didn’t play golf.’

  20

  Sir Charles locked the bedroom door, climbed into bed beside his wife.

  ‘Why did you lock the door? You never do.’

  ‘It’s to keep the Americans out.’

  ‘They are not so bad mannered that they wouldn’t knock.’

  ‘I know that; it’s more of a gesture … a metaphor if you like.’

  ‘You might have said goodnight to them. They were asking where you were.’

  ‘To use one of their own terms, “I’m playing hard ball”. I want them to know I’m upset. Hitler’s invasion of Poland has upped the stakes. It’s time for them to stop pussy-footing around.’

  ‘O’Neil’s so inebriated I doubt he’s able to crawl never mind pussy-foot. He’s had to be carried to bed. Not bad for a so-called teetotaller.’

  ‘What do you think he did today?’

  ‘He played golf.’

  ‘Wrong. When he got off the train he went into Brown’s Tea Rooms. You know the place. We went there once. You had a dirty cup. Instead of heading for the golf course he stayed there over an hour. He had a ham salad, chips and three cups of coffee.’

  ‘You had him watched?’

  ‘Of course. When he’d finished his meal he asked a member of staff if she would look after his golf bag for an hour. He tipped her half-a-crown. He wanted to go for a stroll. The bag was heavy. His excuse for not playing was that his partner had cancelled at the last minute.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘What he said. He went for a stroll.’

  ‘Did he meet anyone?’

  ‘No, filling in time by all accounts. Bert thinks the golf bag O’Neil is now using is not the one with which he arrived. Bert tells me the fellow is not at all possessive about this bag.’ Sir Charles leaned out of bed, opened a drawe
r in a bedside table. He sniffed. ‘Lavender.’

  ‘I’m pleased, Charles, that you’re smoking has not interfered with your sense of smell. It is one of my foibles that bunches of dried lavender are placed in all The Hall’s drawers and cupboards. Why do you think moths have not chewed holes in your woollies? Lavender. Have you never noticed? Men! There is something else you haven’t noticed.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘I’m not wearing my nighty.’

  ‘Is it my birthday?’

  ‘If you want it to be.’

  After they’d made love Lady Elizabeth said, ‘I agree with Bert. If the bag was locked in the cupboard he says it was locked in it should smell of lavender.’

  They pondered this anomaly. Failing to solve it, Sir Charles broached the subject of Jack’s dyed hair. His wife had already told him the details. But, like a child who could never have a favourite story read to him too many times, he wanted to hear it again.

  ‘Emily opened the door with nothing on but a dressing gown?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Sergeant Belt was upstairs. He was shouting … “Tell them to bugger off”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’d interrupted something?’

  ‘Strip poker. Emily confided to Marigold. She’d not confide in me. She thinks Americans are broad minded.’

  ‘And you are not?’

  ‘My position demands I set a good example. Emily thinks I should be called the Virgin Mary, that my children were conceived without your help, Charles.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘And they were on to forfeits, you said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wonder what he was going to make her do. Any ideas?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But she dyed Jack’s hair OK?’

  ‘She knew exactly what to do. Tart!’

  ‘But “tarts” have their uses, don’t you think? And Jack looks the part? She’s not overdone it, I hope, made him look too blonde? And he’s happy with his new look?’

  ‘Charles, do stop worrying. He looks the part.’

  ‘And he and George are sleeping at Mike’s tonight?’

  ‘Yes. There are too many ways in and out of The Hall. Mike will make a good jailer.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune. I thought you considered Mike a bad influence.’

  ‘He is good for some things and this is one of them. Any news of Freddy?’

  ‘The medics in charge of the “special ward” are keeping an eye on him.’

  ‘I do hope he’s going to pull through. If anything should happen to him … I wonder, would Dot sell their villa in France. If she did I’d miss going there, awfully.’

  Saturday 2nd September 1939

  1

  Sunshine filled the big room. Under Bert’s watchful eye Weinberger and Macdonald were helping themselves to The Hall’s breakfast buffet.

  ‘Bert reminds me of a totem-pole I know outside a drug store in Oklahoma,’ said Weinberger. ‘One of those with eyes that follow you around. Don’t even think about nicking a spoon.’

  ‘He carries a gun. It’s in case of German paratroopers,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘The Brits are touchy as hell. Ever since we arrived The Hall’s been more like the OK Corral than an English country house. Look out, here comes the President’s eyes and ears.’

  ‘What you boys whispering about?’ said Marigold. ‘Didn’t your moms tell you it was bad manners to whisper? I hope you weren’t talking about me.’

  ‘We wouldn’t do that, Marigold,’ said Weinberger.

  ‘Not much you wouldn’t.’

  ‘If it comes to war,’ said Macdonald, ‘America will need oil, that’s Jasper’s department and good guys, that’s me, to keep an eye on businessmen like Jasper; make sure they don’t overcharge.’

  ‘I’d be a snake in the grass to profit from a war,’ said Weinberger.

  ‘You want me to mention your names to the President?’

  ‘That’s your call, Marigold.’

  ‘We could bribe you,’ said Weinberger.

  ‘What with? I don’t need money. Daddy’s a millionaire. I have power. I am …’

  ‘We know … the eyes and ears of the President of the United States of America,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘You sleep with the President?’ said Weinberger.

  ‘Jasper, you want to be bitten by a rattlesnake?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Then get down on your knees and beg my forgiveness, or do something useful like getting me a helping of kedgeree. Where’s the boss, Bert?’

  ‘Sir Charles is on manoeuvres.’ He paused. ‘Marigold.’

  ‘I’m glad you remembered we are on first name terms, Bert. Makes it easier to share confidences, don’t you think?’ She winked.

  ‘He mobilising the troops?’ said Macdonald.

  ‘Kedgeree for the eyes and ears of the President,’ said Weinberger.

  ‘Thank you, Jasper.’

  ‘You will mention my company to the President? One good deed deserves another,’ said Weinberger.

  ‘Hi!’ said Macdonald. ‘I’m talking. Bert, Sir Charles, is he mobilising the troops?’

  ‘Something like that, sir. Sir Charles is dressed for war, if that is what you mean. He is wearing army battle dress.’

  ‘And where’s O’Neil?’

  ‘Mr O’Neil, sir, is in bed with a poorly head.’

  ‘Hangover?’

  ‘Yes, sir. When he wakes up the gentleman’s bedroom will need cleaning.’

  ‘Vomit?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Guys who can’t take it shouldn’t drink. And where’s Mancini?’

  ‘Mr Mancini, sir, refused breakfast. He wished to catch an early train to Newcastle. He told me he wished to see the sun rise over the Tyne Bridge. After the Rialto he said the Tyne Bridge was the most romantic in the world. He told me every year the boss man in Venice throws a gold ring into one of its canals. This is to show that Venice is wedded to the sea. He wanted to do the same from the Tyne Bridge but thought the wasting of a gold ring not a good idea. In lieu of this sacrifice he gave our head gardener a pound note to make a posy of roses?’

  ‘You believed that bullshit, Bert?’ said Weinberger.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘What’s he up to?’

  ‘There’s a woman involved,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘You bet. The only bridge Mario would go out of his way to cross would be if it led to a brothel … sorry, Marigold, men’s talk.’

  ‘Marigold knows something we don’t,’ said Macdonald, ‘she’s smiling. Why are you smiling, Marigold? You know something we don’t?’

  ‘If I did I wouldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Discretion is not something I associate with women,’ said Weinberger.

  ‘Boys, even if you gave me a Chinese burn, I wouldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Is a discreet woman a dangerous woman?’ said Macdonald.

  ‘You mean,’ said Weinberger, ‘a chap tells a woman a secret only when he wants it spread around and when a discreet woman doesn’t do this it upsets his plans?’

  ‘Boys, you can needle me all you want, I ain’t telling you nothing.’

  ‘What you doing today?’ said Macdonald. ‘Can you tell us that or is that a secret? Hitler’s invasion of Poland is playing hell with Charles’s itinerary.’

  ‘I’m off fishing with Mike and Harry. You want to come? Sample the good things this country has to offer before all hell breaks loose. Tell you what … you guys catch more fish than me and I’ll tell you my secret.’

  ‘You’d tell us anything,’ said Weinberger.

  ‘You’d make something up,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘And what do we have to do i
f we lose?’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  ‘Bet you will … come on, Marigold, tell us your secret.’

  ‘I love it when men are curious. If women’s ankles were the only part of their anatomy forbidden to be seen in public, I wonder how many dollars you guys would pay for a peek.’

  ‘Has the President seen your ankles?’ said Weinberger.

  ‘Jasper, that plate of kedgeree you brought me, you want it over your head?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘In that case, shut it.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ said Macdonald, rising a smidge out of his chair to look out of a window. ‘Lady Elizabeth and her grandson are chatting to one of the Hitler Youth; proper little Nazi he looks as well, all blonde hair and badges.’

  ‘I’ll bet he’s a relative,’ said Weinberger. ‘The British Royal family are German. Sir Charles has blue blood in his veins. They are goose stepping. The Nazi is giving them the old Sieg Heil.’

  ‘Maybe we’ve missed some announcement on the BBC,’ said Macdonald, ‘and Hitler has backed off Poland and the Brits and Krauts are all kiss and cuddle make up. Hi, is that your secret, Marigold?’

  ‘If that was my secret the church bells would be ringing and they ain’t, are they? What do you guys want to be … voyeurs or fishermen?’

  Marigold was annoyed. It had all been agreed with Charles. Lizzie’s task this morning was to dress Jack like a Nazi, then keep him out of sight. It made the task she’d been allocated, of getting Weinberger and Macdonald out from under Charlie’s feet, more difficult. Get your countrymen out of the way, Charlie had said. Don’t make it too obvious … what about taking them fishing? We don’t want them in the way when MI5 take out Gunther, do we? You are family, Marigold. The old fox knew how to win her over. As for O’Neil … he was everyone’s problem.

  2

  At nine-forty-five am an army field telephone rang inside an Anderson air-raid shelter. The shelter, one of thousands being put up throughout England in anticipation of the worst happening, was a few yards off The Hall’s main drive. Bert, who was sitting inside waiting for the call, answered. ‘Right-you-are.’

  At The Hall’s main entrance, Jack, dressed as a member of the Hitler Youth, sat in the back of a Rolls. Beside the car stood Sir Charles, Lady Elizabeth and George, holding Moses.