The Face of Eve

by The Face of Eve (retail) (epub)

  DB linked arms with both of them and they set out towards the sea. ‘Who’d have thought it? We must have done something right at the Scrubs.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Played a pretty good game of darts.’

  ‘Nothing else I can think of.’

  ‘Oh, there’s modest.’

  ‘You saw Fran, and…?’

  ‘It was just for a minute. I don’t think she wanted me to see her.’

  ‘Fran?’

  ‘Well, she wouldn’t, would she, if she had got her posting? She was boarding the Aberdeen train, and I happen to know that The Bureau is starting a cipher department in Scotland.’

  Dimitri! That was the likeliest place for him to be sent.

  ‘A cipher set-up there – Fran’s just the woman to be part of it. It’s where I hope to go after… um, after this operation.’

  ‘What else do you know about it? I’m not just fishing, I really need to know… It’s personal. Would there be a… I don’t know… a Balkans… Eastern Europe… Soviet section?’

  ‘Maybe a Polish section. I’m just guessing. I was waiting for interview, and met a Pole,’ Paul chuckled. ‘He was doing the “Ximinies” crossword faster than me, so maybe there will be all kinds of ciphering and decoding going on there.’

  ‘He’s the guy for the gossip, Eve,’ said DB. ‘Hey, will you just look at that view. Is that where we’ve just come from – Portsmouth? I don’t remember all those tall houses. It’s pretty.’

  Eve looked across. ‘Technically, that’s Southsea. People there don’t like to be included in Portsmouth.’

  ‘It’s the same all over,’ Paul agreed.

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know. In my country, it’s not only the whites knowing they’re better than the blacks – the blacks often have shades of black: yellow blacks, with light skins, who think they’re better than the real darks, but not to the Cape coloureds. They’re real class, almost white, but not to the whites they’re not. To the whites, they’re all niggers, and it’s only that my nigra blood goes back so many generations that I’m not a problem. I’m all washed out. Except for my hair. The girl used to keep it oiled down and in tight pigtails so that no one would ask about Great-great-grandpa.’

  Eve said, ‘I love your hair.’

  DB laughed. ‘After I was transported to Italy, I set it free.’

  ‘Do you suppose we’ll be working together?’ Eve asked.

  ‘I’d feel OK about that,’ Paul said.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Either of you speak Spanish?’ Eve asked.

  The other two looked sideways at her.

  ‘Like a native,’ Paul said, ‘about the one thing I can do. French, Portuguese, Greek – Ancient and Modern, German – High and Low, Swedish, Italian, a lot of Low Country dialects, and I can get along in Icelandic and Inuit. Got me a Masters and a PhD, said he, showing off. I don’t know how I came to be able to do it. I just can – a gift like some people can do maths at six years old.’ He squeezed Eve affectionately. ‘So, to answer your question, yes I speak Spanish.’

  ‘What’s Inuit?’

  ‘Eskimo. So, I guess you speak Spanish too, which is the link, and you wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t already know something about your operation. DB?’

  ‘I speak it pretty good, but I’m better at Portuguese. My mom was my auntie’s Portuguese maid, and my pa married her. Is Paul right? You speeka da language?’

  ‘Not like a native, but I have a good ear for picking up speech, and I picked up my colloquial Spanish on the hoof.’

  They stopped and squatted on the stony beach beside a clump of scrub, which sheltered them from the late-afternoon breeze.

  ‘Nothing personal, Eve, but how old are you?’

  DB said, ‘That’s personal, Paul, but, hey, man, who cares, you’re a sweet mate. I’m twenty-six and I’m a lesbian. I like black girls, which doesn’t go down that good if your community is Dutch Reform. Minds as closed as a bull’s ass in autumn, which is why I was packed off to Italy to have my voice trained professionally. Not many Cape coloured girls in Milano.’

  The other two didn’t immediately respond. ‘Hey, man, have I shocked you?’

  Paul laughed. ‘No, but I was only asking Eve her age because of what she said about learning colloquial Spanish on the hoof. I guessed you meant actually in Spain, Eve?’

  Eve nodded.

  ‘You look too young to have been there.’

  ‘And you look like a jolly chap in your tweed jacket and bad haircut, except that it’s a disguise for a razor brain. First time you spoke to us you picked an anagram out of the air.’

  DB said, ‘Will somebody tell me what you two are talking about?’

  Paul said, ‘On the hoof means that Eve was in Spain long enough to learn the language. Colloquial means she learned it from people and not in classrooms. There’s been a civil war going on there. From my guess at her age, it means that she must have been only twenty or younger when she went there.’ He looked at her questioningly. ‘I assume you were helping the right side.’

  ‘You mean the left side?’ When Paul nodded, Eve added, ‘Do you solve murders in your spare time?’

  DB said, in oddly accented Spanish, ‘So we’re the chosen.’

  ‘But for what?’ Paul asked.

  ‘I say, man, what sport if we are sent undercover together.’

  ‘You must be joking. Can you imagine the three of us together being unnoticed?’

  ‘What about separately?’

  ‘In Spain? If you went as a volunteer, Eve, and you weren’t a nurse or doctor, then you must have carried The Card.’

  ‘Paul!’

  Communists ever only referred to the Communist Party as ‘The Party’ and the membership card as ‘The Card’.

  Ever since Phoebe Moncke had talked about the undercover operation in Spain, worry had been gnawing at Eve. If her cover was blown it would be bad enough, but to be discovered as a card-carrying Communist would mean, at best, incarceration in one of the terrible traitors’ prisons; at worse elimination. If she were to be recognised as the woman who used to drive a truck carrying supplies, it would hardly matter that she held a UK passport… no, a forged Irish one probably.

  If she let her thoughts go in that direction, she would become jittery.

  ‘Sorry, Eve. Don’t worry, I’ve carried The Card since I was a student. No longer actually in my pocket, of course.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to tell all and sundry.’

  ‘DB’s not all and sundry, are you?’

  ‘I’ll tell you something, you wouldn’t be welcome in my country. God’s Own Country.’ DB cupped her hands round her mouth and shouted across the water, ‘Neit roi. *Swartz verbotten! Lesbians don’t come home!’ For a moment a crack appeared in her ‘What sport! What a lark!’ casing, allowing Eve and Paul to see the sores. ‘Hey, man, I’m starving. Is there a kitchen we can raid?’

  Paul said, ‘Electra said we can help ourselves.’

  DB nudged him. ‘Oo it’s “Electra” now. He was really keen on her straightaway, Eve. She’d be just right for you, Paul.’

  ‘I know. D’you think I have a chance there?’

  ‘There’s no one else,’ Eve offered. ‘Go get her, Paul.’

  ‘What, with you two watching?’

  ‘She taught Lieutenant Hatton to jitterbug. You could try that tack.’

  ‘The fair Adonis in a naval uniform. Oh dear, the competition is strong.’

  Eve said, ‘He’s too old for her, Paul. You’re just right.’

  ‘Not too old for jitterbugging.’

  DB said, ‘It’s probably just his bait. I mean, how much closer can you get to a stranger than dancing?’

  That was the way she and David had started: two strangers in a tango embrace. ‘It would do for a start, don’t you think?’

  The two young women linked arms with him. He was such a super man.

  * * *

 
Phoebe Moncke arrived during the evening with Keef and Peter Follis in tow. Including Electra, seven of them sat round a table to a meal that was a plain but delicious vegetable stew followed by a batter pudding, plenty of eggs and milk, but unsweetened. Electra apologetically said, ‘I could have used saccharin, but I think that’s worse than unsweetened. When you get used to no sugar, many things taste much better.’

  Paul said, ‘I think that’s about the best batter pudding I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Smyth, how nice of you to say that.’

  ‘I’d rather be called Paul… is that all right?’ His eyes swivelled between Keef and Phoebe Moncke.

  Keef answered, ‘I don’t see why not. Everybody refers to me as Keef.’

  Phoebe leaned across and patted his hand, ‘That’s because you are and always will be Keef, darling.’

  Over cups of Camp coffee substitute, Phoebe said, ‘The three of you will be on the same operation – namely to be in place should there be a sudden exodus from France of the Duke of Windsor and Wallis, both of whom I know quite well, but whom, I’m afraid, have become bothersome. Whitehall no longer has time for their childish pique. At the moment they are comfortably ensconced in the South of France, but it can only be a matter of time before they decide to leave. The Germans, as you will know, have been wooing them. It would be a great coup for Hitler if he could persuade them to line up with him. He has made them such promises.’

  Paul asked, ‘Are the rumours true that they are pro-Nazi?’

  ‘They have been feted and shown the new face of Germany, the roads in particular. The Prince of Wales – as he was then – was impressed. When he said his famous “Something must be done” to Welsh miners, he had roads in mind. He saw himself putting all those unemployed men to work making a British autobahn network. But it is probable that he hadn’t realised that the famous German autobahns have been laid out so that the great army of the Third Reich, with its convoys of heavy guns and tanks, can move fast.’ Phoebe Moncke, with her fluffy pose dropped, was a formidable woman. Eve liked her better like this. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘You said I will have two roles here…’

  ‘Right! Let’s talk about Mr Smyth. Miss De Beers’ agent, Mr Smyth of London, will travel with her to Lisbon, where she will give recitals. You will be carrying messages – the sheet music. Messages will be secreted within the notes.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Paul said. ‘But if the notes are encrypted, won’t that produce some pretty weird sounds? Also, there are only seven letters.’

  ‘You’ve probably heard of dots…’

  ‘Microdots – messages on miniature film?’

  Keef nodded.

  Paul went on, ‘But that’s incredible. I hadn’t realised that things were so advanced. Messages on music notes? Wow!’

  Phoebe said, ‘Wow, yes. You and Keef will be working on that, as well as you working with Miss Anders’ Spanish – she’s supposed not to speak the language and refers to a traveller’s guide. It’s mostly a question of getting her to answer questions in the phonetic Spanish a non-speaker would get from the guide.’

  DB asked what Peter Follis’ role was.

  ‘You and Mr Smyth will not need much of his attention; you are who you are. You spend your time here singing away to your heart’s content and learning to be a bit of a prima donna who leaves everything to her agent.

  ‘Miss Anders needs Peter. If she were to return to Spain looking as she now does, she would be in jeopardy – in fact, we would not send her. You may or may not know that Miss Anders was in Spain right up to the end of the war there. She knows the country well, and there may be people who will know her. So, she is about to be transformed by Peter into a wealthy socialite who is indulging her fancy that she can produce a book of photographs of the flora of the area. She doesn’t have to justify what she is doing – she’s rich.’

  ‘How will we get in?’

  ‘Miss de Beers and yourself from Shannon to Lisbon. Miss Anders same air route, then from Lisbon into Spain by road. One of our people will drive you across the border.’

  ‘Aren’t border crossings difficult?’

  ‘Not to any extent between Portugal and Spain. It is at airports that the new government is a bit edgy about who comes and goes – mostly who goes. There are still a lot of people who were involved in the war trying to escape. Many have prices on their heads. Remember, it is always the detail that makes for a successful operation.’

  It occurred to Eve that Phoebe might be new to The Bureau, but not the work of agents.

  ‘Dr Janet McKenzie, whom Miss Anders already knows, will be joining the team here at The House by the Sea. You three are the first of many who will pass through here on short but intensive courses, on their way to a career with The Bureau’s Special Operations. Miss de Beers and Mr Smyth will leave here ahead of Miss Anders.’

  * * *

  Next morning Eve went into her first session with Peter Follis. Peter, who had said very little the previous evening but had made copious notes, now had the floor to himself.

  He began by asking her to stand up. ‘Walk to the door… right! Now walk back without purpose. You have all the time in the world. You drift aimlessly, languidly, wiggling your fingers to dry nail-varnish… Not bad, not bad. It’s a beginning. Now, Eve – OK to call you Eve? — let us consider this hugely wealthy butterfly who believes that she has great talent as a photographer. Can you think who would take the part in a Hollywood production?’

  ‘Myrna Loy?’

  ‘Not quite, too dizzy, not young enough… Don’t worry, we’ll have a bit of a think about the right model later. Then you must pull her over your head like a second skin, step into her body and soul as you take her over.’

  ‘Vivien Leigh?’

  ‘A blonde Leigh? That would be good. You have that same snooty look… don’t bridle; in all real beauty there’s an element of snootiness. If not, they are brought down to the level of the rest of we mortals. She’s about to receive an Academy Award for her snootiness. “Mammeh, oh, Mammeh”.’ Peter Follis’ mimicking of the Scarlett O’Hara voice and the big dramatic gestures, made Eve almost fall around laughing.

  ‘Why can’t I be myself but,’ she smiled, ‘adjusted to suit?’

  ‘You sound confident – d’you think you can do it?’

  ‘It won’t be the first time.’

  ‘Really? Good. So let’s do it! Dr McKenzie will be here to help you, but I believe that when we have made the physical change, much of the rest will fall into place.’

  ‘Physical change?’

  ‘We start right away with banting.’

  ‘What’s banting?’

  ‘A particularly effective regime for the loss of weight. You didn’t suppose all Hollywood stars’ svelte bodies are God-given?’

  ‘I never gave it a lot of thought.’

  ‘Banting is nothing strange like eating only cucumbers and swallowing tape-worm capsules. You may smile, but actresses – actors too, the vain bunch – can become desperate. Anyway dear Mr Banting has been very effective with his theory of food – plus a little good red wine. When you are undercover, you may dine sensibly and remain stick-thin.’

  Eve looked down at her generous breasts. ‘Stick-thin?’

  ‘Yes, Eve, those are a minor problem. Don’t concern yourself, they will spring back when you return from your sojourn in the sun. Banting only disperses adipose.’

  ‘I have been stick-thin before, and it wasn’t attractive.’

  ‘There is a great difference between starvation and scientific nourishment.’

  * * *

  Electra went to the pierhead with the brake and returned with a smart middle-aged man with jet-black hair and a scarred but handsome face – Ronalde, a hairdresser and make-up artist who had worked with Peter, making ageing actors and actresses appear thirty years younger. He was extremely courteous, asking Eve if it would be convenient for him to start with her hair directly he had changed his ‘attire’.
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  DB and Phoebe couldn’t keep away from Ronalde, who, as he worked, asked Eve questions which she answered as well as she was able in her new identity.

  ‘Your new style must be very different from the previous time when you were wherever it is that you are going. How did you wear it?’

  ‘Haystack. Then close crop because of the head-lice. God, how I hated that.’

  The other women made gruesome expressions. Ronalde said, ‘Not many actresses keep clear of them. It’s not very hygienic back stage you know.’ He applied sulphurous-smelling bleach, which was kept steaming beneath a towel, then massages of sweet-smelling creams, finishing with a foamy shampoo that smelled of rosemary.

  When Eve emerged from the bathroom, her hair was platinum blonde and almost straight. Ronalde had strained it back away from her face. ‘There, madam, sleek as a seal, no electric driers, let the air do it. You must always find the best professional to do the recolouring. Go to the most exclusive and expensive man, and be very positive.’

  Janet McKenzie arrived at The House by the Sea three days after Eve’s hair was bleached blonde, bordering on white, by which time Eve was used to her new reflection. Her eyebrows had been narrowed to a fine line, but there was no apparent change to her figure, although Phoebe Moncke insisted that the scales showed a twenty-ounce reduction.

  ‘I don’t think I shall reach stick-thin.’

  ‘Be patient. By the end of the month there will be a difference.’

  Janet greeted Eve with obvious pleasure. ‘So, my dear, how have things been since we last met?’

  ‘I’ve been really well. A Special Operations agent is exactly me. I’m loving every minute of it so far.’

  Janet opened one of the bunch of string-fastened files that lay on the table where they sat one on either side. ‘I thought things went well at our session together at Griffon House, and you did well at the Scrubs induction.’

  ‘I guess I must have. They haven’t thrown me out.’

  ‘Let’s talk for a bit about how you feel about these sessions? I guess you don’t have any experience of hypnotism?’