I Can't Begin to Tell You (24 page)

‘Depends. If our friends in the SS are involved, they can be brutal. Personally, I’m against waste and I think that if you’ve a highly trained operative in your hands, you should make use of them.’

She smiled at the general.

Back at the hotel, Kay threw her handbag onto the bed. ‘Thank God that’s over.’

Bror took out his silver cigarette case. ‘It wasn’t so bad.’

‘I’ll have one of those, too.’ She stretched over and pinched one.

He opened the French windows and stepped out onto the balcony. Grabbing her stole, she joined him. He lit her cigarette and she inhaled gratefully.

‘Bror, do you know how many people must have seen us having our cosy theatre party with the enemy?’

‘You charmed them both.’

She looked down over the hotel garden. Beyond it the lights of the capital were spread out.

‘The general asked if he and Ingrid could visit Rosenlund.
Apparently, you were encouraging him to see something of Denmark. He also wants to meet Nils.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘To both.’

‘I’ve arranged it for next week.’

Message to Felix:
Avoid Rosenlund
.

Bror smoked in silence.

Keep tight hold of what matters
.

Ruby and Major Martin were drinking ersatz coffee in a café in Baker Street that was a favourite of The Firm’s personnel. The windows fronted onto the street and were partly covered by net curtains which had seen better days. Every time the door opened or shut, the bell above it rattled.

But the café had a pleasant enough atmosphere – almost relaxed, gossipy, cosily steamed up on wet days.

As usual, he commandeered a table at the back of the café, saying that it was essential in their line of work because it gave them a good view of the comings and goings at the door.

She liked that – for, at her ripe old age of twenty-four, Ruby had discovered an interest in people. How they looked, what they were saying … and what they
really
meant. It was ironic, wasn’t it? As a result of her work, which consisted of codes, letters and numbers, she had discovered courage and suffering in the most unexpected places, and this affected her. Plus, on a more simple level, she also took pleasure in knowing that, although she looked exactly like everyone else in uniform, she was nurturing secrets. Was keeping secrets and enjoying them a misuse of power? A road to fascism? If so, she didn’t care.

No one seated at the tables acknowledged anyone else even though, as Ruby was now aware, they might know each other well. It was good, basic security practice which would not be understood by those not in the know.

Good security was the reason Major Martin and Ruby arranged their meetings: they needed to go over the procedures again and again. This was the latest of several encounters during the past few weeks, and, if Ruby was as precise about her personal life as she was with her work, she would have to admit
to enjoying them all. Two of them had even been conducted over dinner – snatched but fun – before they headed back for night sessions at the office.

Had any other elements crept into the meetings? Well, yes, and Ruby was in two minds as to how to deal with it. In her previous dealings with it, lust had been a straightforward matter. Either you slaked it or you didn’t.

Major Martin briefed her on the latest in the turf wars. Perhaps it was the arrival of spring that made him look less haggard and more optimistic, but he still hadn’t managed to polish his shoes. Funny, but that little dereliction made Ruby like him all the more.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said.

He transferred his total attention onto Ruby. ‘Should I be afraid?’

She liked his humour, too, the way his joke or wry comment was often delivered with the straightest of faces.

‘Out with it, Ingram.’

She stirred the coffee. ‘We have the practice papers of the agents, which tell us if they have any little coding tics and habits. But that doesn’t tell us what they sound like or what their Morse ‘handwriting’ is like. What if, at the end of their training, we ask the pianists to key in every letter and number, at varying speeds, and we record them doing this? We wouldn’t let on to them why we’re asking them to do it, or they’d become self-conscious. But if we then transferred the results onto graph paper, the signalmasters would have a record that could be easily read and referred to if a signals clerk questions the fist.’

From under her lashes, she watched him process the idea. In so many ways, they thought alike. Just like she would do –
had done
– he would be turning the idea around and examining it from all angles. Drawing a mental diagram. Constructing a hypothesis. Was the idea possible to achieve? What were the likely unintended consequences – for everything had unintended consequences? Security problems?

‘Yes,’
he pronounced. ‘That makes sense. Good sense. We should have thought of it earlier.’

‘If you’re too close, you sometimes don’t see things until you see them,’ she said.

He grinned. ‘Is that a principle for life?’

‘How are we doing, do you think?’

How were they doing? The answer was that they were doing the best they could under the circumstances. Battling the dearth of intelligence from a war-enshrouded Europe, they found themselves shuffling forward one step, falling back two as they struggled to piece together a picture of what was going on.

Major Martin drained his coffee. ‘I want to ask you something.’

Ruby experienced a flash of excitement, followed by doubt. Did he want her to go away and head up some dreary team somewhere else? After all, they agreed it was her cleverness that he wanted.

‘Go on.’

‘I want to know if you’ll call me Peter.’

She looked up. ‘If you like.’

He gave one of his smiles and it was an almost unbearably intimate moment. Ruby looked anywhere but at him.

‘And …’ He called her back to attention.

He meant what should he call her?

‘Shall we stick to Ingram?’

‘Right.’ He signalled to the waitress and, if he was disappointed, it didn’t register. ‘I’ve been trying to work why you’re different.’

‘Most women are taught to hide their feelings. They are conditioned not to be read
en clair
.’ Ruby wasn’t entirely joking.

The dark eyes rested on her face and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was seeing right into her. ‘From this moment on, you’re sworn to tell me what you’re thinking and feeling. Plain text.’

Did he want sex? Probably. That she understood far better
than intimacy
and
it was easier to deal with. Taking her boss into her bed would be part and parcel of her strange new existence.

Peter raised an eyebrow, a tiny movement but one that made her, despite herself, very happy. ‘I don’t want to rush things.’

Ruby was touched by the old-fashioned gallantry. She took a deep breath. ‘Bombs are falling. We could be dead tomorrow.’

‘I know.’

‘The bombs are a reason for rushing things, don’t you think?’ She paused. ‘I think about death a lot … I imagine everyone does. The idea of it makes me angry because I can’t bear to think I might miss out on something important.’

‘I thought we agreed plain text?’

There was a silence.

‘We did.’

‘All right … er … how do you feel about us finding a room?’

She smiled. ‘I could blush. I could look away. I could refuse to answer. I could say that I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I could be shocked and angry.’

‘Presumably at some point you’ll let me know which.’

They could be dead tomorrow. That is what many thought and some said.

‘Actually, I was hoping you would ask.’

Ruby and Peter were in bed, tangled together.

The hotel in which they had taken a room last night was dingy and run-down, a survivor in a terrace that had been bombed twice, one of them a serious ‘incident’ – as the idiom had it. The proprietor appeared to be past caring about any proprieties, and signed them in without a second glance.

‘Mr and Mrs Smith,’ Peter wrote.

Funnily enough, Peter’s lack of originality over the name had triggered a moment of doubt in Ruby. How banal, she thought. The brilliant code master was not so brilliant at the logistics of the tryst. But even she, for all her boldness, had found some of
the arrangements embarrassing – explaining to her surly landlady that she would be away for the night, among them.

In the end, their mutual uncertainties unlocked new feelings in Ruby and touched her deeply. Peter’s uninspired choice of ‘Smith’ may have been unpractised but it was a telling indication of who he was.

As soon as they’d reached their room Peter kicked the door shut and threw his greatcoat onto the chair. ‘Sure about this?’

She stood with her hands by her sides. ‘Yes.’

He came and stood very close to her. ‘Sure enough to tell me your name?’

The naked light bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling shed an unflattering light over both of them.

‘I’m not going to bed with a surname.’

She looked down at her khaki skirt and lace-up shoes. ‘It’s Ruby,’ she said.

‘Ruby.’ His hands rested lightly on her shoulders. ‘Ruby …’

Now, morning light showed between the blackout and the window frame. Ruby hadn’t slept much, but she hadn’t expected to. The sex and the unfamiliar person beside her in the unfamiliar bed saw to that.

Ruby turned her head to look at him. One arm thrown out, he was breathing quietly.

The sheets felt gritty.

‘What are you thinking?’

Peter had woken with a sigh, and a slight snort which she would have fun teasing him about.

She turned her head. ‘About dust. About how you can’t get rid of it.’

‘So glad your mind is on the job.’

‘I was also thinking about how people must feel when they wake up in France or Poland or Denmark. They must despair. I wonder if they know we think about them.’

‘They won’t have much energy to spare.’

‘Do they know that we’re trying to help?’

He
didn’t reply. Instead, he placed his hand on her naked stomach, his fingers straddling her hip bones in a possessive gesture. ‘Rumours …’ he began. ‘Rumours are … are trickling in of round-ups and death camps in Eastern Europe. And in France.’

His words erased the joy and the vivid sensations of the night. They emphasized the flatness of the early morning and the prospect of a long day ahead.

Propping herself on an elbow, she said, ‘Can you tell me more?’

The corners of his mouth turned down.

‘I see. Secret.’

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she hauled herself up. It wasn’t that warm and her arms were covered in gooseflesh. She looked down at her body. From that unflattering angle, her breasts appeared more meagre than usual and the line of pubic hair very marked against her white skin.

‘You’re so delicate, Ruby.’

Delicate? She had never thought of herself in that way. It pleased her. ‘If you mean thin, I suppose that’s because of the war.’

‘I mean delicate, like porcelain.’

‘Fragile and breakable.’

He reached over and touched her thigh. ‘I wasn’t talking about your mind.’

They were still awkward together, which was normal for new lovers. What’s more, they were at a disadvantage because they knew so little about each other, and couldn’t ask. She imagined that he might well have a fiancée or a wife tucked away somewhere, but decided that she didn’t wish to know.

Ruby wrapped herself in the chenille counterpane, praying that it wasn’t too grubby. ‘Have you ever thought about secrecy? What it does and what it will do? For us? We can never tell our lovers, our children, our parents. Not even when we’re dying.’

‘Come
back to bed.’

She ignored his summons and moved over to the window. ‘Isn’t it a little disturbing that the state can command total obedience?’

‘Yes, it is. But, given so much depends on it, I willingly agree to it.’

‘Even so.’

Peter stuffed the pillow behind his head. ‘We probably don’t know the half of it.’

She was taking down the blackout. ‘I think … I think official silence can be like an infection. You don’t know how dangerous it is until you have it.’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Infection can kill. Silence saves lives.’

‘Perhaps.’

Her foot encountered the stained and chipped china pot that had been thoughtfully stowed in the corner beside the window. The sight of it made her a little queasy.

‘
Are
you coming back?’

She cast aside the counterpane and climbed into bed beside him, slotting her body alongside his. ‘Two spoons in a drawer,’ she murmured.

Shivering a little, he wrapped the covers round them both. ‘One day I’ll make love to you somewhere truly hot.’

Ruby closed her eyes.

We’re lucky. We’re alive. We’re free.

She turned round and encountered his gaze.

‘You
are
different. But wonderful, bloody wonderful, Ruby.’

Was she going to bat the compliment back? Something stopped her: a grudging anger in her heart that she had nurtured since childhood, when everything – love, attention and encouragement – had been given to her brother. She wasn’t proud of it, but there it was.

‘You must let me compliment you, Ruby.’

‘I thought you said that I was different from other women?’

He rolled over and placed a hand between her thighs. ‘But
that’s not different …’ he pointed out. ‘This still happens to you …’ There was a silence. ‘And this …’

Two hours later they arrived separately at headquarters. Ruby opted to go in first and was settled at her desk by the time Peter walked past into his office and shut the door.

Gussie could read the signs quicker than most.

‘Heard the one about utility knickers?’

‘No.’

‘One Yank and they’re off. Did you have a good evening?’

‘Wonderful.’

Gussie’s gaze was perfectly neutral. ‘I keep a spare blouse, etcetera, in my drawer for the times when I have a good evening.’

Ruby did not blink. ‘Good advice, Gussie.’

Gussie redirected her considerable energies onto the pile of paper in front of her. ‘You’re wanted at the briefing session this morning. It was decided before your “wonderful” evening. Otherwise I might have been tempted to think the worst.’

‘Remind me after the war to make friends with you, Gussie.’

When they next checked into the dismal hotel, Peter was a man on edge.

Ruby was exhausted, too. In the office, traffic was piling up. No sooner had she decoded one incoming message than four more arrived.

They were too tired to make love. Instead, hands loosely clasped, they lay side by side in bed.

‘The ceiling’s cracked since we were last here,’ she said.

‘So it has.’

‘Do you think the place is safe?’

‘Good question.’

She kissed his shoulder and the pulse at his temple.

‘It’s very odd,’ she murmured into his cheek, ‘not being able to ask each other anything about our real lives.’

‘When
the war’s over there will be plenty of time.’

She was startled. ‘So this isn’t just a fleeting thing?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not.’

She wasn’t sure about this development. The idea of being tied down was one she instinctively rejected. Sex was one thing – she thought of what had taken place in this room and the pleasure she took in Peter’s company – but the issue of personal liberty was something to be considered long and hard.