Chapter Three #2
‘Some of us blondes are actually blonde, you know,’ said Gwen mildly.
‘She was trying to top me in so many ways, did you notice?’ commented Iris. ‘The new girl competing with the veteran.’
‘You were being just as competitive.’
‘I was not!’ said Iris hotly. Then she paused. ‘Was I?’
‘You do bring up Cambridge a lot,’ Gwen pointed out.
‘Do I?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘That must be irritating,’ said Iris. ‘I wasn’t aware I was doing that.’
‘It’s something you have in common with every other Oxbridge person I’ve met,’ said Gwen. ‘Honestly, if I weren’t so envious, I would chalk it up to them overcompensating for frail egos.’
‘You’re envious of them? Of me, I should say?’
‘In my family, Brewster girls were raised to be accomplished up to a point, then married off,’ said Gwen.
‘My brother went to Oxford as did generations of Brewster men before him, but there was never any suggestion of me going to university, and I never knew enough then to question it. And now that I do, it’s too late. ’
‘You could attend lectures, couldn’t you? Take some adult courses?’
‘With the other rich, bored dilettantes, you mean? No, thank you. I have a business to run, a child to raise, a home to manage, a corporate board to sit on and a lover to love. I couldn’t possibly squeeze in a university education right now.
And I’m ten years past the age where it could have given my brain a taste of the infinite, which saddens me because I know by now that my brain is a good one. ’
‘It certainly is.’
There was a knock on the door, then Mrs Billington came in.
‘How did things go?’ she asked.
‘Three new clients,’ said Iris, handing her the forms and the money.
‘We should be able to repopulate England at this rate,’ said Mrs Billington. ‘Or London, at least. Any ideas as to matches for them?’
‘As a matter of fact, we thought we’d give Mr Lonsdale first crack at the third woman, Miss Lowle,’ said Iris.
‘Really?’ exclaimed Mrs Billington. ‘So soon after the worm incident?’
‘Miss Lowle seems unperturbed by the thought of impaling invertebrates,’ said Iris. ‘Send him her information right away, would you?’
‘Very well, Miss Sparks,’ said Mrs Billington. ‘Eighth time’s the charm, I guess. It will be in the afternoon post.’
She left.
‘Stage One has commenced,’ said Gwen.
‘I wonder how long before Stage Two,’ said Iris.
Two days later, they received a message from Miss Lowle: ‘First date tonight. Wish me luck.’
‘I’m wishing her something,’ muttered Iris.
‘We really need to find Mr Lonsdale someone more suitable after this,’ said Gwen. ‘I cannot tell you how guilty I’m feeling about him.’
The telephone rang in the next room. They heard Mrs Billington’s voice through the wall, then she appeared at the doorway.
‘That was Dr Shandy’s office for Miss Sparks,’ she said. ‘They had to cancel your appointment, but said to call next week. Are you not feeling well, Miss Sparks?’
‘Nothing to worry about, Saundra,’ said Iris. ‘Thank you.’
She waited until Mrs Billington left, then got up.
‘I’ll be back in twenty minutes,’ she said.
The telephone box for the contact was on the corner of Davies and Brook Streets.
She stepped into the box, dropped a coin into the slot, then dialled a number.
She let it ring three times, then hung up and waited.
A minute later, the telephone jangled in the box.
She waited for the third ring, then answered.
‘Do you know Maggs Brothers?’ asked the Brigadier.
‘The bookshop on Berkeley Square? I’d live there if I had the money.’
‘The target put in a request for a particular book. The shop has received it, but won’t call him about it until tomorrow afternoon, so he’ll have to collect it after work.’
‘I’ll intercept him there,’ said Sparks. ‘I’ll have to buy a book for myself while I’m there, sir, and I fully expect you to reimburse me for it.’
‘Don’t break the bank, Sparks,’ he said. ‘No Gutenberg Bibles, understood?’
‘Please, sir, you know I’m an atheist. That would only serve me as an overpriced doorstop.’
‘How did you like the new recruit?’
‘We rubbed each other the wrong way.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘She’s so green,’ said Sparks. ‘Why did you pick her?’
‘Because she reminded me of you, Sparks. Let me know how things go.’
‘Will do, sir.’
He hung up.
‘Everything go all right?’ asked Gwen when she returned.
‘I have a time and a place for our accidental reunion,’ said Iris as she sat down and opened their telephone directory. ‘And I’m getting a book out of it, so there’s some good coming from all of this.’
She picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Hello, is this Maggs Brothers?’ she asked. ‘Do you have a decent used copy of British Water Beetles? The author is Balfour-Browne. Yes, I’ll wait.’
‘Water beetles?’ queried Gwen.
‘Water beetles.’
‘Those would be like aquatic cockroaches?’
‘Faint praise, darling,’ replied Iris. Then she turned back to the telephone.
‘Hello? You have it? How much? And that’s in what condition?
Well, I’m a little cracked myself, or so I’m told, so I won’t hold it against you.
But the plates are pristine? Excellent. Could you hold that for me, and I will pick it up tomorrow after work? Miss Iris Sparks. Thank you.’
She hung up.
‘I’ve been wanting that one for ages,’ she said happily.
She was nervous the next day. She couldn’t decide whether it was because she was going into the field for the first time since the war, or because it was Tony.
Her friend. Who she was going to betray.
Well, not betray, exactly, she thought, trying to reassure herself. If he was innocent, she was helping him clear himself before his career took off, and that was a good thing.
And if he wasn’t innocent …
If he wasn’t loyal to the Crown, then he didn’t deserve her loyalty, either.
A convincing argument, surely. So why wasn’t she convinced?
Gwen was a comforting presence as they worked, choosing not to bring up the subject.
Iris knew that her partner would gladly hear her out on any part of it, but she decided that she needed to do this on her own.
Even with their joint forays into the criminal underground and other odd venues on their occasional investigations, intelligence work was something in which she had experience and Gwen did not.
She didn’t have much of an appetite for lunch, and Gwen didn’t press her.
Far from it, in fact, as she merely rose from her chair at the appointed hour, gave Iris a knowing look, and disappeared, returning an hour later looking flushed but quietly ecstatic, a few telltale blonde tresses having escaped from her chignon.
At quarter past four, Iris glanced at her wristwatch, then rose from her desk.
‘Wish me luck,’ she said.
‘Ring me at home when you’re done,’ said Gwen. ‘Or better yet, stop by the house for dinner. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to hear everything.’
‘I can’t promise dinner,’ said Iris. ‘Unexpected university reunions can become late and liquid in nature. Don’t worry if I don’t call.’
‘Call anyway,’ said Gwen. ‘Reassure me that you’re still alive.’
‘It won’t be anything that dramatic,’ said Iris, pinning on her hat. ‘See you.’
Gwen watched as she left, her expression changing from encouragement to concern. But there was no more that she could do.
She resumed her tasks of trying to match up their clientele, concentrating on their newest candidates, Miss Ford and Miss Barton. Then the telephone rang. A moment later, the intercom buzzed. She answered it.
‘It’s Mr Lonsdale,’ said Mrs Billington, a concerned note in her voice. ‘Are you free to speak to him?’
‘Of course,’ she said, her heart sinking. ‘Put him through.’
She picked up the handset.
‘The Right Sort, Mrs Bainbridge speaking,’ she said in what she hoped was an authoritative voice.
‘Mrs Bainbridge, Kenneth Lonsdale here,’ came his voice, sounding even reedier on the telephone than it did in person. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.’
‘You are not, Mr Lonsdale. How may we help you today?’
‘It’s about this last girl you set me up with.’
‘Miss Lowle? Why, was there something wrong?’
‘That’s just the thing, Mrs Bainbridge,’ he said.
‘There wasn’t. I thought the moment we met, Hullo, here is a possibility.
And she turned out to be the first girl you’ve sent me who knew the difference between a wet fly and a dry one, or didn’t immediately run for the door when I offered to show her my Black Spider and my White-Winged Coachman. ’
‘Which are what, exactly?’
‘Flies, Mrs Bainbridge, flies,’ he said impatiently. ‘Two of the finest in my collection.’
‘You brought fishing flies to show on a first date?’
‘Any woman who is worth my attention should know who I am from the start. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I do, Mr Lonsdale. So things began well.’
‘They began well and they continued well throughout the evening. It was by far the most enjoyable experience I’ve had since I signed up with your agency.’
‘I am glad to hear it, Mr Lonsdale. What went wrong?’
‘At the end of the evening, I asked if we could see each other again. She said no. It was expressed with decency, even kindness, but it was still no. Frankly, I am at a loss to understand why.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Lonsdale,’ she said. ‘I will see if there is someone more outdoorsy among our ladies. Perhaps—’
‘No, Mrs Bainbridge,’ he said. ‘The purpose of my calling you is to tell you that I am done with all this.’
‘But Mr Lonsdale—’
‘Mrs Bainbridge, I know who I am,’ he said.
‘I believe that being a man of my particular passions is off-putting to city girls, and I have seen that belief validated by one unpleasant encounter after another. I thought this last one might be different, yet the end was the same. In some respects, it was even more disheartening because I had hope in the beginning, and that hope grew throughout the evening. The fall at the end was from a greater height as a result, and more painful because of that.’