When inside, the man said, ‘You will be staying here until later today, sir, and somebody from the department will be along with your paperwork at some point. You should change out of your clothes and dress in the clothes that have been provided; also, you need to change your appearance to become a little darker, but all the equipment that you need is in your room and the bathroom.
‘Is there anything you particularly do not like to eat? I shall be cooking breakfast, and, though I say so myself, I am a bit of a dab hand in the kitchen; at least, I have not poisoned any of my charges yet,’ he declared with an attempt at humour.
Alex told him that he was not too hungry as he had eaten on the train, but he looked forward to a traditional breakfast.
Simpkins smiled. ‘Excellent, sir; is about 8.30am all right for you?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Alex confirmed.
Alex went upstairs and found two large Swedish suitcases packed with neatly laundered clothes, all of which were his size and Swedish in manufacture. He was rifling through the contents and noting that they all appeared to be good quality but pre-owned when Simpkins materialised at the door.
‘Don’t worry about the condition,’ he explained, ‘They are all new, but we wash them with pebbles to give them some age, so that you do not turn up wherever you are going looking like you have just stepped out from a tailor’s window.
‘We need to do something with your hair and appearance, sir, but do not worry about it; I have had years of experience in these matters. Also, you need to get used to wearing glasses.’ He produced a pair of circular, horn-rimmed glasses. ‘These have been made up with plain glass, but I understand that you will have an appointment made for you with an optician, so they can check your eyes and replace these with prescription-lensed glasses, if necessary.
‘Shall I prepare the equipment to change your appearance, sir?’
‘Why not?’ said Alex, wondering what was going to be the result.
Simpkins sat Alex down in the bathroom and covered him with a barber’s gown. He set about mixing hair colour that he massaged into Alex’s hair, not forgetting his beard, moustache and eyebrows. ‘We just need to leave that for about thirty minutes, sir, and then we will wash it out and style your hair in the latest Swedish fashion.’
Alex was left to read a magazine until Simpkins returned to wash the colouring from his hair. Simpkins combed Alex’s hair and then stood back to look at the shape of Alex’s head before producing barber’s scissors and snippers. His hair was cut expertly into a new style before Simpkins towel dried it, rinsed it through again to get rid of any loose leftovers of hair, and then dried it with a hairdryer. Next, attention was paid to Alex’s beard giving it a more raffish appearance, and creating shape and substance. It all took just under an hour, and when he had finished, Simpkins suggested that Alex put his glasses on while he fetched a mirror; Alex did not recognise himself as he stared back through the looking glass, but he very much liked what he saw.
‘This is truly remarkable, Mr Simpkins,’ Alex said to him, ‘I hardly know myself!’
‘The smallest of things can change your appearance,’ Simpkins told him, ‘but the two things that seldom change are the shape of the ears and the nose. If you ever need to recognise anybody, always pay attention to the ears and nose. Do not concentrate on the face or the hair, because those can be altered, as you have seen.
‘Now, sir, it is nearly 2.00am so I would get some sleep, if I were you; you have a big day ahead of you later, and it would be better if you faced it rested. I believe that the briefing will be later this morning but still quite early, and then if there are any final instructions, they will be communicated to you by lunchtime. You will be collected and taken to your hotel this afternoon, so that you can get a good night’s sleep before your boat leaves tomorrow morning.
‘I understand that you are to make a telephone call to your wife to tell her that you have arrived safely, and I believe your department is arranging the call for early this afternoon. Goodnight, sir, sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite! That’s only my little joke.’ Simpkins left the room.
Alex undressed and put on a pair of pyjamas from one of his suitcases; he lay between the bedclothes and was asleep quickly.
*
He awoke to the smell of sizzling bacon, which is always a pleasant aroma to waken to, and the sound of popular music came discreetly from a wireless. Alex got out of bed to put on a dressing gown and slippers before going downstairs.
‘Good morning, sir,’ Simpkins greeted him, ‘Coffee?’
‘I would rather have tea,’ Alex said.
‘No, sir,’ Simpkins chided him gently, ‘in Sweden, it is usual to have coffee for breakfast and throughout the morning, and tea in the afternoon. We don’t want to stand out, now do we, sir?’
‘No,’ Alex said wearily, ‘I do not suppose we do. Coffee, then, black with just a splash of milk and some sugar.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Simpkins gave him a cup.
‘I suppose that in Sweden they start the day with a traditional fried breakfast,’ Alex commented.
‘Not usually, no, sir,’ Simpkins replied, ‘This is my little treat for you.’
‘And I am sure that I will enjoy it immensely,’ Alex said, appreciating the thought.
Just after 9.30am, there was a knock at the door, and Simpkins admitted a bespectacled man in his forties, with receding hair and a neat moustache, who had a distinct military bearing, although he was wearing a suit that was slightly unfashionable and had seen better days.
‘Mr Carlsson?’ the man asked.
Alex acknowledged the crossing of the Rubicon, and that he was to get used to his new identity.
The man explained, ‘My name is Rogers, and I have bought some paperwork for you.’
Surprisingly, Simpkins did not offer their visitor a drink and left them to it.
After opening his briefcase, Rogers produced a bulky envelope, which he slit open deftly and scattered the contents onto the table. ‘Right, sir,’ he began. ‘Firstly, we have your passport. It’s Swedish, in the name of Alexander Nicolas Carlsson, issued three years ago, and suitably stamped for your entrance into Britain, and one or two other places; you need to memorise the dates and times of your trips.’ He handed it to Alex.
‘Next, we have your ticket for the S/S Suecia tomorrow; you have been booked into a first-class cabin on the promenade deck, as that was all that was available.’ He handed over a sheaf of papers, which was Alex’s travel tickets and other travel-related documents. ‘Incidentally, we have only just learned that the ship is taking diplomatic wives back to Sweden. One of them is called Hilda Sjöberg, and she is the wife of the Nazi resident at the Swedish embassy in London.’
‘Sorry?’ Alex was perplexed.
‘It is not unusual for belligerent powers to place a sleeper agent among the diplomats of a neutral embassy,’ Rogers explained, ‘We have agents in embassies in many places. Fru Sjöberg is the wife of the German sleeper at the Swedish embassy in London. More worryingly is that she is known to be sympathetic to the cause herself, so you need to be doubly on your guard with her.
‘Now, may I take your wallet, sir?’
When Alex handed it over, Rogers checked the contents swiftly and itemised each of the articles on an official receipt, which both he and Alex signed.
‘May I keep the photograph of my wife, and my wedding ring?’ Alex asked.
‘Unfortunately not, sir; you cannot retain anything of your life in England,’ he said with some sympathy, as he placed Alex’s wallet and ring into the envelope, ‘Is there anything else in your pockets?’
Alex checked, and, apart from a handkerchief and some loose coins, his pockets were empty.
‘Good. Thank you, sir,’ Rogers continued, ‘This is your new wallet. Inside you will find a Swedish driver’s licence in your name and your Swe
dish registration card, together with a few tickets from the Underground in London. There is also 6,000 Swedish krona, which may sound a fortune but is only worth about £300.
‘Here is your chequebook for your account at Handelsbanken, which you have had since you were a child, and in which you have about 35,000 krona deposited in your savings account. Here is the address of your apartment in Stockholm.’ He gave Alex a card. ‘The rent has been paid up to date, and the tenants that you had in your apartment have been dispossessed and rehoused. I understand that the apartment has been cleaned thoroughly by our people in Sweden.
‘There are other papers here that you should look through and scatter in various pockets of your clothes, just in case someone searches you. Before you leave, you should try to memorise as much as you are able and bone up on what you have been doing in London; you will note that all of these documents complement the legend that you have been given previously.
‘I have also been instructed to return this to you.’ Rogers reached into his case and produced the FN pistol that had been taken from Alex in Hampshire. ‘Along with a message that, “You should look after it well and try to contain your natural inclinations until you are far from our shores”; I presume you understand that message, sir?’
Alex took the pistol and smiled, sensing that Colonel Swann had probably penned the message.
‘Right.’ It was clear that Rogers had completed his task. ‘There is nothing else for me to go through, so, unless you have any questions, I shall bid you goodbye, sir, and wish you the very best of luck.’
Alex had no further questions, and so he shook hands with Rogers before the man left. Alex settled down to read through the documentation that he had received and to look at the contents of the wallet. Alex was most surprised to find a small photograph tucked into a corner pocket of the wallet; it was of a younger Teddy, and it had been inscribed on the back ‘Kärlek från [Love from] Sigrid’. Alex wondered where they had acquired the photo, as Teddy looked no more than about sixteen or seventeen, but he guessed that the brigadier had supplied it; in any event, he was grateful that somebody had ensured that he had a photo of Teddy with him.
Simpkins entered the room, and he asked Alex about lunch, ‘A nice omelette, I think, sir, which is not too heavy.’
Alex agreed, and, at just about noon, Simpkins appeared with a cheese omelette accompanied by a glass of milk.
After lunch, Alex returned to his room and set about learning the information that he had obtained earlier that day, and scattering the little bits and pieces of everyday life among his clothing.
At about 2.15pm, the telephone rang, and Simpkins called Alex downstairs. He did as requested and joined Simpkins at the telephone table. Simpkins then handed the telephone receiver to him.
‘Hello, caller,’ came a Scottish woman’s voice over the line, ‘I am just trying to connect your trunk call to London, please stay on the line…’
Alex waited impatiently; eventually, he heard the telephone connecting and Teddy’s voice giving their home number. ‘Hello Teddy? It’s Alex!’ he shouted somewhat unnecessarily.
‘Darling,’ Teddy sounded ecstatic to hear from him, ‘where are you?’
Alex continued with the deception. ‘I cannot tell you precisely where I am,’ he said, ‘but I have arrived at my destination and I’m bloody cold! I wanted to tell you that it’s a nice place, and the natives seem friendly, although I haven’t met many yet. How are you coping?’
‘I’m missing you,’ she confessed, ‘Did you have a good train journey?’
‘Yes, it was all right,’ he confirmed, ‘but long though. Listen, my darling, I don’t know how long we are going to have this connection, so I wanted to ring you to tell you not to worry, everything is fine and I love you very much. I understand that, from tomorrow, we will be running a communications blackout, so I am uncertain when we will be able to speak again. I will see about writing to you very quickly, though, with all my news, and I hope you will write back.’
‘Of course I will; I have already started my first letter to you,’ she said. ‘I love you also, and my life is empty without you being here, so take care and hurry home as soon as you can.’
‘I shall, my sweetheart, as quick—’
At that point, the Scottish operator chipped in to the conversation to say that the line was needed, so the call was being disconnected, and Alex was left holding a lifeless telephone receiver, as was Teddy.
‘Is your wife all right, sir?’ Simpkins asked.
‘It would appear so,’ Alex responded dismally.
‘That’s good, sir; your car will be here shortly, so shall we get your luggage downstairs?’
‘Thank you, Simpkins, you are very kind,’
‘I’m just doing my job, sir; glad to be of service.’ And, with that, he went upstairs to bring down Alex’s cases.
XXXIX
The hotel where Alex had a reservation was a mausoleum of a place; the Tilbury had initially been built by the East and West India Company back in Victorian times as a large hotel designed to cater for the needs of the shipping company’s first-class passengers. The ensuing years had not been kind to the building, and, much like Charles Dickens’ Miss Havisham, any beauty that the place once had was a distant memory. Alex’s arrival was unspectacular, and an elderly porter took his suitcases up to his room on the first floor as Alex checked in using his alias of Carlsson. He wondered how long it would take for this name to trip effortlessly and without hesitation from his pen, but he was glad that it was close enough to his own name that he did not have to forget whom he was really.
Alex locked the door to his hotel room carefully before again revising studiously all of the paperwork and documents that Rogers had given him. He took the photograph of the youthful Teddy from his wallet and placed it tenderly on the desk in front of him, almost as if it was so that she could watch him as he prepared to leave England.
He read a couple of letters that Alex Carlsson had received: one from the newspaper for whom he wrote, instructing him to return home by the first convenient ship, which was dated a little over a month previously; and the second from his bank, which was a statement of his account. As he was packing them into his pocket, he came across another letter written on pale-blue notepaper from his girlfriend, Sigrid, in which she told him of all of her adventures in Stockholm, saying that she could not wait for him to return. Alex wondered whether he would ever meet the real Sigrid when he arrived in Sweden, if such a person existed. He concluded that a Swede living in England had probably written the letter, and he wondered fleetingly whether it had come from the pen of Ulrika Nilsson.
At 7.00pm precisely, there was a loud clanging as the dinner gong sounded to summon to the restaurant those who were partaking of the evening meal. Having assumed that several of his fellow passengers were also stopping in the hotel by the number of Swedish names that featured in the hotel register ahead of his, Alex had decided to eat dinner at the hotel, even though he wasn’t particularly hungry. When he entered the dining room, he was quite surprised to see so many women, who obviously knew each other, gathered for the evening meal.
The waiter seated Alex at a table with a woman in her late thirties.
‘God kväll, [Good evening,]’ Alex greeted her, ‘Alexander Carlsson.’
‘Hedda Larsson,’ she stated, acknowledging his presence. ‘Seglar du också på S/S Suecia? [Are you also sailing on the S/S Suecia?]’
‘Ja, och alla dina vänner? [Yes, and are all of your friends?]’ Alex asked.
‘Ja vi är. Vi är alla ambassadkvinnor som är hemvistade. [Yes, we are; we are all embassy wives, and we are being repatriated home.]’
‘Aha!’ Alex said.
The conversation over dinner was a little stilted. Alex explained to Mrs Larsson that he was a reporter who was being recalled by his newspaper, although he expected to be sent elsewhere shor
tly, adding that he was pleased to be leaving London, as he thought it was going to become very unpleasant living there. Mrs Larsson announced that she had many good friends who were staying in London, and she would happily have remained to support them. Did Alex detect a mild criticism that he was abandoning England when the country would need all the help it could get?
The quality of the conversation deteriorated from the point that Alex had played down his willingness to stay, almost convincing his dining partner that he was one stage away from being an out and out coward, and seeking to run away from the horrors that were about to befall the capital of England.
The food and the service were mediocre, as is often the case in hotels with a high proportion of transient guests who were unlikely to return.
Alex was back in his room just after 9.15pm, where he spent the rest of the night going over and learning the little things that he was supposed to remember as if he had known them all of his life.
*
Alex went down for breakfast and installed himself at a table that had only been laid for one person. He was not in the most outgoing of moods, and the thought of sharing breakfast with one of the diplomatic wives was far too much to endure. He ordered toast and coffee, and settled down with a newspaper, hoping that his intense concentration on the newsprint would be an efficient barrier against an unwelcome approach. It was not so.
‘Herr Carlsson, är det? [Mr Carlsson, is it?]’ enquired the forty-something woman who stood at his table.
‘Ja, [Yes,]’ he replied.
‘Do you speak English?’ she asked.
‘Vad? [What?]’ Alex replied, hoping his monosyllabic rudeness would be enough to dissuade further conversation.
‘You are reading an English newspaper; I asked, rather unnecessarily, whether you spoke English?’
‘Er, yes, I do,’ Alex replied, maintaining just enough of an accent as to be believable, ‘I have been working here as a reporter.’
‘And now you are going back to Sweden?’ the woman asked.
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