Chapter 33
Margaret had always enjoyed a late breakfast in a hotel. The luxury of it, watching the world go by, reading the paper, being waited on. But after a week the novelty had worn off.
The toast was cold. A tiny pot of butter, barely enough for a scrape.
She cut it into soldiers and cracked her egg.
It was hard boiled, and cold. No use trying to dip the soldiers.
Still, she was lucky, she knew that. Millions of people on both sides of the Channel would have woken up hungry and would be going to bed hungry.
But really, how hard was it to boil an egg?
Bunny was late. A deliberate tactic, make her think she wasn’t important, not a priority.
He took his seat and the waiter brought another pot of tea, fussing with the cup and the saucer and the jug of milk and the extra pot of hot water until Bunny waved him off.
‘That chap there,’ Margaret said, waiting for Bunny to take a discreet look at a well-dressed man in his forties, red hair barely tamed by what looked like a whole tin of Brylcreem, breakfasting with a better-dressed woman in her sixties.
‘He’s a fraud. His suit’s too clean. Looks like he bought it last week.
Came down from Manchester or some such place, got a wife back there.
Now here he is, taking his tea with the Countess of Gwynedd.
She knows he’s a sharp – she wasn’t born yesterday, so what’s going on? ’
Margaret paused to let Bunny take a good look at the emerging situation.
‘You tell me,’ Bunny said.
‘She thinks he’s going to get her a good price for her necklace,’ Margaret said.
‘No other reason to wear pearls to breakfast. He’ll have a friend somewhere who’ll take them and provide a valuation.
While the supposed valuation’s taking place, they’ll swap the necklace with a fake.
Give the fakes back to the countess, then disappear.
She’s too embarrassed to go to the police, and he goes back to Manchester with a few hundred pounds. ’
Bunny nodded politely and sipped his tea.
‘Not really what we trained you for,’ he said.
‘I’ve met about twenty Nazis since I arrived,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to have a list typed up?’
Bunny pretended to consider it. Margaret watched him. Waited.
He finished his tea. Poured more hot water into the pot. Waited for it to brew.
Margaret pretended to ignore him. Two old friends, watching the world go by.
‘How would you feel about going back to Sussex?’ he asked, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Why wouldn’t you?’ Bunny asked. ‘You and Cook. He’s good for you, you know.’
Margaret felt a flush of colour in her neck, her body betraying her. She hoped Bunny saw it as anger.
‘I’ve done everything you’ve asked,’ she said. ‘I’m wasted down there and you know it.’
‘I know no such thing,’ Bunny said.
‘You’d have me playing the farmer’s wife,’ she said. ‘It’s like having a racehorse and using it to pull a cart.’
‘I’d have you smack in the middle of the invasion zone,’ he said.
‘Even if Hitler doesn’t invade this autumn, we’ve got no idea what his plans are next spring.
And if he doesn’t invade, we’re going to have to start thinking about a counter-attack.
Either way, Sussex is in the thick of it, and I can’t think of a better place for someone of your talents. ’
‘You’d have to make it up to me,’ Margaret said.
‘No I wouldn’t,’ Bunny said, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘This is exactly what you want. You’re just too pig-headed to come out and ask for it. Everything has to be a battle.’
Margaret drank her tea.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.
‘Well, there is one thing,’ Bunny said. Margaret braced herself.
‘There are some people who worry about you,’ he said. ‘You’ve done too good a job of playing both sides. I take full responsibility of course, but it’s something we have to deal with.’
‘What do these people want?’ Margaret asked.
‘I’m not sure there’s anything that would convince them, I think it’s more a matter of giving it time,’ Bunny said.
‘They sent you here with a request,’ Margaret pressed.
Bunny sipped his tea.
‘I’m assuming you had to make certain promises in order to get away,’ he said.
Margaret looked at him, impassive.
‘There’ll be a handler,’ he said. ‘Someone who’ll make contact with you. I’m sure they can’t wait to hear what kind of intelligence you’re able to gather and pass back. The girls at Bletchley have picked up some chatter – the Germans have got high hopes for you.’
‘You should be a novelist,’ Margaret said. ‘I hear Peter Fleming’s making a go of it. You should pick his brains. You’d make a fortune.’
Bunny leant forward. He lowered his voice.
‘We need you to give us a name,’ he said. ‘One of their operatives, undercover in London. They’re out there, sending their little signals back. London’s leaking information like a sieve. Just give us one of them. A show of faith.’
‘If any of what you said is true, then me giving up one of their people would be a giveaway that I wasn’t to be trusted. Not that I’m an expert in this kind of thing, but I’d assume you’d like to have me as one of their trusted sources. Feeding them just the right kind of wrong information.’
Bunny beamed.
‘I knew you were the right choice, that first time we met,’ he said. ‘There’s ice in those veins. Just like your father.’
Margaret didn’t respond. If Bunny thought comparing her to her father was any kind of compliment, he was mistaken.
‘You give us a name,’ Bunny said. ‘We’ll watch them and nab them for something unconnected. Parking ticket. Library book overdue, that kind of thing.’
‘What if I say no?’ she asked. ‘What if I think this is a silly idea, concocted by silly men who think this whole thing’s a game?’
Bunny winced. He put his hand on hers. His grip was surprisingly firm.
‘Don’t mistake this for a request,’ he said. ‘If the wrong people get the wrong idea about you, your days of champagne and trifle will be over like a shot, and you’ll be somewhere with bars on the doors for the rest of the war.’
Margaret took her hand back. She was glad she’d drawn him out. Better for everyone.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.
‘Marvellous!’ Bunny was instantly the loveable uncle. ‘And make sure you enjoy yourself! Go to the theatre. Do whatever it is young people do when they’re in town.’