The German Numbers Woman (7 page)

In one of his worst bouts she had driven him over a hundred miles to an air show at Duxford near Cambridge. He forgot the nagging wind on climbing into a bomber sat in during the war, and hearing a Wellington and a Harvard. She felt a shiver from his hand at the throaty roar of their engines. He looked up, no doubt saw the picture clear in every detail. Good to know there were things no wind could spoil. By the time they got back the dreaded easterly had veered or dropped.

Well, she couldn't do such a trip every month, nor would he let her, half ashamed at having put her to the trouble, the other part consumed by his pleasure at exorcising two devils at the same time. Walking up the steps of home he said: ‘There are times when I can't get under the make-up of the blind man to the real me underneath. It's a horrible feeling. But today I could, and it'll last a long while, thanks to you, my love.'

‘We must go again, in a year or two,' she said. ‘I quite enjoyed it, as well.'

But this morning he had knocked two of her precious Yuan breakfast cups off the table. Such crockery came in sets, and a gap had to be made good, otherwise it was not only a slight to the eyes as they lay in the cupboard, but a disturbance was felt, as if a splinter of herself was missing, an opening for unwelcome thoughts to come through.

After coffee she made sandwiches for him to eat at lunch, set him at the wireless to get what solace he could, and walked down the steps to the car. At the China Parade shop near the edge of town she could buy replacements for the cups. She wondered why he had stumbled. Always careful, he must be even more upset than an east wind warranted. Was he getting worse? Losing his sharpness and care now that he was sixty? After the cups were wrapped and boxed she drove ten miles to Bracebridge and collected a replacement for the parlour stove. Her nerves weren't at their best, either, from the buffeting wind, because she hit the kerb in the village and, hearing bumps under a front tyre, knew it was a puncture, the first since buying the car five years ago. A lay-by was close, and she trundled in to change the wheel.

A twin-tailed squarish combat plane in camouflage colours came low along the river. Two jet engines were centred on the fuselage between the greenhouse cockpit, either low flying practice or had they rumbled him and were trying to find out what stations he listened to? He didn't think they had the technology, in spite of what Peter Wright claimed in
Spycatcher
.

Rain splashed the windscreen but the pint had been good, safe inside, and not to be got at. Two would have been better, three even more, but to be pulled up and breath tested would draw the eyes of the law on him, and should he be over the level, the misdemeanour might lead towards something bigger. Take care of the small, and no one would rumble anything worse. Anonymity was the rule, to be a fish in water.

He managed a cigarette without taking both hands from the wheel. An east wind was usually dry but this one had turned the trees jungle green, drizzle from Russia with love. Halfway along the straight he slowed on seeing a car in a lay-by, where a woman was trying to fix a wheel. Well, she had the jack in her hands, turned away, wondering what to do next, not imagining golden boy was homing in.

She would be alarmed, fear he was a predator with a rape-knife and unbreakable stranglehold. A hundred yards to walk, the view from behind was good, shapely legs, dark brown hair down to her neck, signs promising well for looks and, if not, certainly a presence. He had sometimes followed a woman with the most gorgeous hair, walking rapidly ahead then turning back as if he'd forgotten something, only to find a face like the back end of a tram smash, which phrase his father had often used. An article in the paper said that if you saw a woman walking down the street at dusk or in the dark you should reassure her by crossing to the other side. Give her a wide berth. He wasn't that much of a gentleman, though neither did he feel himself a villain. He would talk his way in, and put her at ease.

‘I'm sorry to intrude. You seem to be in trouble with that wheel.' Not many marks from Amanda for that, but she had gone to London, and he was his own man today. ‘It won't take five minutes to change, and then we can both be on our way.'

This tall woman, seemingly in her forties, turned, put the carjack on the bonnet, a wheel hub by her feet. ‘I'm quite capable. I just can't quite find the place to put the jack under the body.'

‘My wife used to have one of these cars, so I can show you.' Amanda didn't, but he felt around and found the place, glad to be helping this cool stately woman who gave him the most calculated weighing-up he could remember. Not much more behind her grey eyes than that, so he immediately felt calm at being near, especially since, in handing over the jack, she seemed to trust him. She needed the expertise, after all.

The nuts were so tight he had to stamp his shoes down on the spanner, kicking at each till they loosened and could be taken off, which brought on a bit of a sweat. She would never have done it on her own, but for him it was easy, and he slowed down because he wanted to stay a few more minutes near her. ‘Do you have far to go?'

She told him. ‘I've just been to that stove place near Bracebridge. I've never had a blow-out before.'

‘There's always a first time.' A touch of grey on darkish hair added to her dignity, and he could only wonder where it came from. Straight backed, nothing ambivalent about her, English to the bone, she was the type he had never been so close to before. Her sort were usually too knowing to clinch with him, so good behaviour was the order of the day.

She felt a fool but thought never mind, it would have been awkward struggling with the bolts, and he seemed familiar with such things, not put out either by drizzle and muddy pools around their cars. She considered herself lucky, and smiled, trying not to hover at each phase of the operation.

‘I live out near Benefield,' he said. ‘My wife and I bought a house there two years ago.'

‘A nice village.'

He told her about the goalposts, and the police visit, surprised at rattling on in a way he rarely did with Amanda.

‘You seem very efficient at this type of thing,' she said. ‘It would have taken me twice as long.'

At least, he smiled. ‘Part of my trade is messing about in boats, and a sailor can turn his hand to anything. Six months ago I went on a thirty-two-footer to Boulogne and back, and we had sails, but the engine broke down, and getting out of the harbour without it would have been tricky, so I set to, and got it going.' He certainly had, driven by what they had on board, but he couldn't mention that. He had made a special Consol lattice on the chart so they would know their exact position in poor visibility with regard to the coastguards. He didn't think it worked, but at least the trip had gone off all right, and paid for a good bit of his BMW.

‘You were in the Navy, then?'

‘Merchant Service. Radio officer. But I came out. They didn't pay enough for my liking.'

‘Oh!'

Her façade was broken. Maybe she'd had a brother in the Navy who had been drowned, and he'd touched a chord. She flushed as if he had come out with something embarrassing, so plain was she to read. Or had he shown himself as too mercenary and common? ‘You seem surprised.'

He had done her one favour, so she could hardly ask him for another, though perhaps that was all the more reason to. ‘No, it's just that, well, if you were a radio officer, you must know the morse code.'

Now he was surprised. ‘Read it like a book.'

‘Of course,' she said.

A funny question. Maybe she would ask him to teach her Brownie group or Girl Guide class. Or perhaps she was an off-duty policewoman, and wanted him to teach signals twice a week to the force – which would lead him quicker to his doom than being breathalysed. He'd often fancied himself as a teacher, but not that sort. No, she couldn't be in the police, because she would at least be able to change a wheel, unless they had planted her as a decoy for swine who preyed on women in difficulty on the roadside. He looked at the trees, towards the hedge decorated with a plastic bag, at the ditch strewn with tins. ‘But why do you ask?'

She liked his trim efficiency, medium height, slim build, face with no fat on it, showing features clean and – well – hard in a way, tough you might say, certainly a sailor, now that he had told her. ‘My husband was a wireless operator, in the Air Force.'

No coincidence. There must have been tens of thousands trained in the old dit-dah. ‘Is that so?'

‘He got shot up, at the end of the war.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry.' He put the hubcap back in place, tapped it with the muddy toe of his shoe. ‘So he's one of the fraternity.'

She liked the word. A fraternity. ‘He's blind, but he gets around all right.'

‘I'm sorry to hear he's blind.' He was. Who wouldn't be? ‘It happened to many, always the best people.' That's what she would like him to say. He wanted to keep her talking, hoped she wouldn't leave, though they couldn't stand forever in the mud and grit. ‘There's a pub down the road. Would you join me for a drink.'

That damnable east wind blew against her coat. Howard might be taking a nap now, dreaming his dreams, which could never be remembered. No man had invited her for a drink since before her marriage, but it would be impolite to hesitate. ‘Are you sure?'

He held up his blackened hands. ‘Then I could wash these.'

Rain, unaccountably, made her thirsty. Strange, that. ‘Yes, all right.'

Another pint would go down well. Not too much to drive home on. He didn't know what the attraction was, but he tried not to look at her too intently. Not entirely sexual, either. ‘I can't go home like this. My wife might wonder what I'd been up to.'

She had said it, and felt the joy of being young again. ‘I can have a fruit juice, or something.'

He fastened his blue duffel coat and adjusted the naval-style cap to a sharper angle. ‘I'll meet you in the parking place. You won't miss it.'

In any case, she wanted to use the toilet, the effect of the rain, no doubt. ‘I think it's only right that I should buy the drinks.'

He paused at opening the car door. ‘No, that won't do at all. I'm inviting you.'

Perhaps she had offended him, difficult to recall the procedures from so long ago. It was too late to rectify, so a smile was called for. ‘Just as you say.'

She used language precisely, diffidently, as if not sure she would be understood, or maybe as if she had never been in a similar situation before, and in any case met very few people.

The car stayed in his rearward window, and he went slowly so as not to lose sight, or cause her to go at a higher speed than usual. They parked side by side, at more or less the same time, as if one car was then to take on board packets of drugs from the other. He laughed at such an idea while with her, and led a way to the lounge.

You had to be careful even what you thought with such a person, though he knew he could manage her, easy after the long hard school with Amanda. Oh, how she'd occasionally dug her own grave! Setting the drinks down, he saw himself in a mirror, a glance, glad to be wearing a jacket and tie under his coat instead of the normal shirt and jeans. ‘You must have married young, to be with a man wounded in the war.'

‘Well!' Undoing her coat showed a nice rounded bosom under a grey sweater. Lines by her mouth, but the skin was otherwise pale and clear. Shapely hands with long fingers reached for her drink, to sip. ‘Why do you say that?'

‘I mean, for a woman in her forties.'

He liked her laugh also. ‘A tiny bit more than that, I'm afraid.'

This silenced him, for a moment. Better get back onto the topic of morse code – as she had hoped he would. ‘So your husband still listens to the music of the spheres?'

‘It's good for him.'

She wasn't the sort of person you should lie to, but he had no option. ‘I haven't heard it for years.'

That wasn't so good. ‘According to Howard you can never forget it.'

‘True enough. But you do get a bit rusty.'

‘He says listening to the wireless keeps lack of moral fibre at bay. His words, but I suppose it does. He listens happily for hours.'

‘He must be good at it.'

‘Oh, the things he gets!'

He would like to know. ‘Really?'

‘He sends morse to himself sometimes. He has one of those tapper things, a key, and says it keeps his hand in, though what for, I can't imagine. But you can see what a good hobby it would be for a blind man.'

The pint was almost gone and he wanted more. Why was it ideal, even heavenly, to drink while talking to a woman? Actually, it was good to drink whatever you were doing, but he would hold back in quantity because a woman like her would think little of him if he took too much. ‘Sounds like a sort of therapy.'

‘That's exactly what it is.' She took another sip of her fruit drink. ‘Did you like doing it when it was your work?'

‘It was a good job, as jobs go. I'm Richard, by the way.'

‘Mine's Laura.'

He wondered whether she'd been quite ready to give it, or as if she didn't find ‘his unusual enough. ‘It got me about the world.'

‘But you liked your work?'

‘Sure. It was enjoyable being at sea, but better still on land, eventually.' So she was a lonely woman, full of unshed liveliness, looking after her disabled husband, a fate as dull as death. ‘But I've never had any reason to complain about my existence.'

‘Neither have I.' She was a little too definite about that. ‘And neither does my husband.' Talking so openly surprised and pleased her. Even with the vicar at church her conversation had been distant. It was hard enough with Howard at times, to unravel words from the stone within. What would he say when he knew she'd met such a pleasant man?

‘All the same, he sounds something of a hero for not complaining. People whine too much these days. They don't know they're born. I only hope I'd be the same as your husband.'