Chapter One
ONE
‘No more pineapples, can you believe it?’ grumbled Iris as they walked up Edgware Road. ‘I had just got used to having them back, and now they’re gone again. I love pineapples. How did they become a pawn of international trade negotiations?’
‘Something about the Portuguese wanting dollars for them,’ replied Gwen. ‘And England has a limited supply.’
‘The pound isn’t good enough for the Portuguese? The nerve of those people! First they sit out the war, then this. If I didn’t like pineapples so much, I would boycott them on principle.’
‘It’s too bad those mystery planters on top of your boat didn’t hold any pineapple trees,’ said Gwen.
‘True, but the tomatoes have been spectacular, at least. Unfortunately, the birds have discovered them, and I don’t have any netting to keep them away. If you hadn’t sent your son to the country for the summer, I would hire him as a human scarecrow.’
‘A job jumping up and down, waving his arms and screaming all day would have been perfect for Ronnie,’ said Gwen.
The two women were walking back to Maida Vale from their offices in Mayfair where they ran The Right Sort Marriage Bureau.
It was a late Wednesday afternoon in early July, and the air was cool and damp, though it wasn’t raining at the moment.
Nevertheless, the ladies had their umbrellas with them.
Gwen’s was a recent purchase from a speciality shop recommended to her by her martial arts tutor, and she was still self-conscious about carrying it, with the extra weight in the handle more of a distraction than a reassurance.
‘It sounds so strange to have a Minister of Food,’ continued Iris.
‘Something so basic shouldn’t be controlled by politicians.
Next thing you know they’ll create a Ministry of Air and start rationing oxygen.
I don’t like Strachey in the job. All he knows about food is eating it.
Hell, if that’s a qualification they should make me Undersecretary of Wine. ’
‘I promise to vote for you when you stand for election,’ said Gwen.
‘Strachey’s sister was Principal at Newnham when I was there. I can’t tell you how many times she nearly caught me on the Clough Hall roof. I dislike the entire family.’
‘At least he’s relaxed some of the restrictions on wedding cakes. That will be good for business. I thought the one at the Haights’ reception was quite yummy.’
‘That was a nice wedding,’ said Iris. ‘And a quick engagement. Well done, us!’
There had been a plethora of weddings in June, and each resulted in the prompt payment of the contractual bounty the couples owed for being matched so well.
As a result, the firm was financially flush after a lean stretch over the winter.
They had taken advantage of their new stability to institute reduced summer hours, even planning for holidays in August, their first since they began the enterprise the previous year.
‘What’s the latest on your landlord?’ asked Gwen. ‘Or should I call him a waterlord?’
‘His parents are still ailing, so he continues to reside in Yorkshire for the near future,’ said Iris. ‘I wish them a full recovery, but not a speedy one. I am enjoying the narrowboat life.’
‘Are you looking for any place for after he returns?’ asked Gwen. ‘Perhaps something fixed to the earth’s surface?’
‘Not until it’s absolutely necessary. May I tell you a secret?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve been taking piloting lessons with Casper, my neighbour.’
‘Piloting? You mean narrowboat piloting? Don’t you need some form of licence to do that?’
‘Apparently not,’ said Iris. ‘Not that the lack of a licence ever stopped me from driving anything, but that’s a whole collection of thrilling tales.’
‘Which I don’t want to hear. But are you actually planning to take your boat out into the wild?’
‘I think it would be great fun. See England at my own pace, not tied to railway schedules. Since the war ended, the narrowboat traffic on the canals has dropped considerably, so I might be able to manage it without bumping into anything important. And I’d be taking my whole digs with me, so apart from fuel and the overnight mooring fees, it would be quite economical. ’
‘But you’d be alone the entire time.’
‘I’ve been alone for a while now,’ said Iris sombrely. ‘It’s been six months since Archie died. I’m not ready yet to look for the next disastrous relationship with a man, and despite The Friendly Young Ladies aspects of the setting, I’d rather not bring any female companions aboard, either.’
She sighed.
‘What?’ asked Gwen.
‘I’m turning thirty soon.’
‘I know. We should celebrate.’
‘Celebrate what? The fulfilment of my mother’s predictions? That I would be alone at thirty if I didn’t change my wicked ways?’
‘When did she say that?’
‘When she caught me sneaking a boy into the house while I thought she was out handing out pamphlets.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Fifteen. She made me read the entire pamphlet aloud to him, which was mortifying for both of us. We’re being followed, by the way.’
‘Are we?’ exclaimed Gwen.
‘Not so loud,’ Iris cautioned her.
‘Sorry,’ said Gwen, dropping her voice. ‘Followed by whom? And for how long?’
‘A man wearing a dark blue cap, dressed like a dock worker. I noticed him smoking on the corner when we left the office. I thought he was a long way from the nearest dock.’
‘You didn’t say anything then.’
‘I wanted to see what he was going to do next,’ said Iris. ‘He tailed us on Oxford Street, then flagged down a car and vanished. But he’s reappeared since we’ve hit Edgware. I haven’t spotted the car, but I’ll bet it’s somewhere close by.’
‘What should we do?’
‘For a start, let’s look at the ladies’ shoes in the window at Forley’s.’
They paused in front of the shop, Iris surreptitiously producing her compact from her purse and angling the mirror to see down the pavement to her right.
‘He’s still coming towards us,’ she muttered. ‘He’s alone, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t others about. Keep looking at the shoes. If necessary, I’ll make the first move.’
Gwen said nothing, but gripped her umbrella tightly. It was all she could do not to turn and stare at the oncoming follower. She forced herself to focus on the slingbacks and kitten heels on display. A man’s footsteps approached, then stopped next to them.
‘Excuse me, ladies, I’m looking for a pub,’ he said.
They turned to face him. He had removed his cap, revealing a shock of brown hair sticking out in different directions.
‘There are plenty about,’ said Iris.
‘I mean, a particular pub,’ he said. ‘The Portland Arms. I’m supposed to meet me mate there.’
‘I know the place,’ said Gwen. ‘It’s about a twenty-minute walk from here. Take a right on Hall, then keep going until you reach St John’s Wood High Street, and then another right. It’s on the corner across from the gardens.’
‘Thanks, miss,’ he said. ‘Would the two of you fancy joining us for a pint? Timmy’s a good lad. I can vouch for him.’
‘Sorry, we have a prior engagement,’ said Iris smoothly.
‘Well, can’t blame a fellow for asking,’ he said with a grin. ‘This is a nice part of town. I’ve only been here once before. Friendly little place called the Heroes of Alma. They do a decent shandy there, if you’re ever interested.’
‘We’ll have to check it out sometime,’ said Iris. ‘Thanks for the recommendation. Enjoy your evening.’
‘Ta,’ he said, replacing his cap and moving on.
‘What just happened?’ asked Gwen as they watched him disappear around a corner.
‘Contact has been made,’ said Iris. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Go? Go where?’
‘To the Heroes of Alma, of course.’
She resumed walking up Edgware. Gwen, confused, caught up to her.
‘I was given “shandy” as a code word,’ explained Iris as they turned onto Elgin.
‘When?’
‘A few days after you were forced to sign the Official Secrets Act after our last unexpected adventure.’
‘I did that to protect you.’
‘I know you did,’ said Iris, grasping her partner’s hand for a moment. ‘I’m grateful. But it also put us in a precarious position. I have a feeling that the other shoe is about to drop directly on our heads.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Gwen. ‘I had been hoping they had forgot about us. It’s been three months.’
‘It could have been three years or three decades. We’re still beholden to them, and they never forget.’
The Heroes of Alma was tucked away at the end of Alma Square in a little nub end of the street, two buildings on each side before it butted up against a wall separating it from a house on the other side.
The door was in the centre, flanked by windows with strips of narrow red and white striped awning.
Some small round tables were set up outside with wooden folding chairs surrounding them.
Three men were drinking at one, discoursing on the problems of the world and offering their own competing solutions.
Another man sat alone at the other table, reading the Telegraph.
The first three men raised their glasses in salute as the women passed by them to the door.
The Telegraph reader barely glanced at them.
He’s the bodyguard, thought Iris, wondering if he had a weapon at the ready behind the newspaper.
The interior of the pub was not much bigger than a regular front parlour, with four square oak tables and a small bar at one side.
A plump, middle-aged woman sat on a stool behind the bar, nodding at the two as they entered.
The only other customer was an older, balding gentleman seated at one of the tables, a partly smoked Dunhill in his left hand, a small glass of whisky in front of him, a grey trilby resting on the centre of the table.
‘It’s that man again,’ said Sparks when she saw him. ‘The Minister of Aggravation and Mysteries at the Office of Twerps.’
‘Miss Sparks, Mrs Bainbridge,’ acknowledged the Brigadier. ‘Good to see you both. Hetty, we’ll be in back. What will you be drinking, ladies?’
‘Do you actually have shandy here?’ asked Sparks.
‘We do,’ said Hetty.
‘I’ll have one.’