Chapter 61
The second bottle of champagne went a lot faster than the first, and Margaret was fairly sure she’d drunk most of it.
Todd and Muggers were good company, and she found herself talking, about herself, her time growing up in India.
Some of it was true, most of it was a pastiche – the kind of things people liked to hear about.
Tea plantations and Maharajahs. The boys listened attentively, Todd keeping her glass topped up.
Muggers didn’t talk much, just gawped at her. He seemed a bit overawed, which was not at all the case for his friend Todd, he of the Brylcreemed hair.
Margaret knew what they were up to, of course.
She could see their confidence growing with every glass she drank.
She’d be another notch on the bedpost, perhaps a silhouette on the fuselage.
It wasn’t apparent whether Muggers would get to join in.
Would they both make love to her at once?
Margaret liked to think of herself as open-minded.
She’d read about such things in racy novels, the ones that got passed around at boarding school, but she’d never considered it as an actual possibility.
When Margaret saw Todd look at the barman, about to order a third bottle, she put her hand on top of her glass and shook her head.
‘That’s quite enough for me,’ she said.
Muggers nodded. ‘Righto,’ he said, looking at his watch.
‘I’ve got a half-finished bottle in my room,’ Todd said. ‘Come up for one last glass, help me finish it. Waste not want not. There is a war on, after all.’
‘How lovely,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ll be right back.’
She picked up her handbag and slipped down from the stool. As she threaded her way through the tables, she knew the two pilots would be watching her, zeroing in on their target.
She paused by the men with the cheap suits.
‘I’ll be upstairs with those two for the night,’ she said. ‘I don’t think either of them’s a German spy, so you can count me as safely tucked up. I’ll be down for breakfast at eight if you want to resume surveillance.’
She left before either man could confirm, or deny, his role as one of Bunny’s watchers.
In the toilets, Margaret splashed cold water on her face, aware she was being watched by the attendant.
She thought about the two men at the bar.
A thrill ran through her body as she let herself think about the possibility.
But it wouldn’t do. The pilots were a useful distraction, an excuse for her to be seen leaving the bar without her watchers following.
Once she ditched the young men, she’d have freedom of manoeuvre.
The previous night she’d come to her room to find a note under her pillow. All very cloak and dagger. The message was an invitation. Midnight, in the basement shelter. Margaret thought of the SS man, Schmidt. She’d known he’d send someone to make contact. Surprised it had taken so long.