Chapter Five #2
‘Well, Daddy didn’t smoke, so it doesn’t remind me of him,’ she said. ‘I can’t think of any significant pipe-smokers in my history apart from my narrowboat neighbour, Casper, and I don’t have any ambivalent feelings about him. If we extend it to older men who smoke …’
She stopped, frowning.
‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ he said, lighting his pipe and drawing in the smoke with a grunt of contentment.
‘Another older man who smokes has reappeared in my life,’ she said. ‘My old boss.’
‘From your Intelligence days,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And he’s roped me into an operation,’ said Sparks.
‘I thought you weren’t going back to that line of work.’
‘Unfortunately, I put myself and Gwen into harm’s way last April, he being the harm.’
‘Without going into details, how heavily involved are you now?’
‘A minor cog in a great machine,’ she said. ‘He’s found someone else to do the real dirty work. I just have to put her into position.’
‘“Her.”’
‘Yes, “her”. A new me. Younger, maybe better. And not at all conflicted about any of it.’
‘You sound jealous.’
‘I know, I know,’ she groaned. ‘Gwen said as much, too. My replacement father figure has a new favourite daughter, and that feeds into my general feelings that I am ageing out of all hope of accomplishment in my life.’
‘You’ve accomplished quite a lot in the past year or so,’ he pointed out. ‘A successful business. Several criminal cases solved.’
‘But this isn’t what I saw myself doing when I was seventeen and starting at Cambridge,’ she said.
‘Most people don’t end up doing what they expected at seventeen,’ he said.
‘That doesn’t make it feel any better,’ she said. ‘I was supposed to be a world-travelling adventuress by now, alternating voyages into dark jungles to discover new species of beetles with shattering societal structures while clad in smashing, risqué frocks.’
‘And it took an entire world war to thwart those dreams.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Only that could have had enough power to stop me.’
‘You didn’t embark on any jungle adventures when you got out of Cambridge,’ he pointed out.
‘No. I had already been to Berlin by that point. I put away my childish dreams for the more important grand adventure of saving the world from fascism. Then I cocked up my efforts in that.’
‘Is that why you said yes to your old boss this time? To make up for your prior failures?’
‘Maybe.’
‘When he asked you to do this, could you have refused?’
‘According to him, yes.’
‘But you agreed.’
‘Yes. And now I’m regretting it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the assignment involves betraying an old friend.’
‘Why didn’t you refuse the assignment if that’s what it was about?’
‘Because he may be a traitor himself.’
‘And that justifies it to you.’
‘Well, there’s also …’
He waited, puffing on his pipe, watching her through the small clouds of smoke obscuring her.
‘In a way, he betrayed me before,’ she said. ‘And in doing so, caused me to betray someone else.’
‘When was this?’
‘At Cambridge. A woman I knew there drowned herself, either intentionally or accidentally, we never found out for certain.’
‘What did this have to do with you and this man?’
‘We could have stood up for her earlier. There was a situation – apparently an ugly one, although I never knew the specifics first-hand. And because I didn’t know exactly what happened, I didn’t take a side in it. I didn’t take her side. And I should have.’
‘And you blame this man for it?’
‘In part. He did take a side. The other side.’
‘And now he’s back in your life, and the subject of your former boss’s operation.’
‘Yes.’
‘It sounds like you’re taking a side now.’
‘Yes, it does,’ said Iris. ‘And I’m worried that I’m doing it out of vengeance rather than duty.’
‘Interesting that you’ve never brought this man up before,’ commented Dr Milford. ‘Your relationship with Sally at Cambridge, we’ve discussed. But not this man.’
‘No.’
‘Why do you think that is?’
‘He went to Singapore a few years later. I thought he was out of my life forever, and that I could forget that part of it.’
‘But this woman’s death was traumatic, wasn’t it?’
‘It was.’
‘And we don’t forget trauma, do we?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘If you feel that you’re taking vengeance upon him,’ he said, gesturing at her with his pipe, ‘maybe you’re not truly suited for this assignment.’
‘Well, Doctor, I wish you had been around to tell me that before I accepted it,’ she said.
The next afternoon, Gwen left The Right Sort at two, her portmanteau packed for a weekend in the country. Iris held the fort in case of any late Friday afternoon arrivals.
The telephone rang a little after four. Iris waited for Mrs Billington to field the call. A moment later, the intercom buzzed. She answered.
‘It’s Mr Danforth,’ said Mrs Billington. ‘Are you available?’
‘Of course,’ said Iris. She picked up the telephone’s handset. ‘Hello, Tony.’
‘Greetings, my Cupid,’ came his voice. ‘You have impressed me. I had the afternoon off to start moving things into the new flat. I collected my postbox key, tried it out, and what do I find waiting for me as my first letter? A missive from The Right Sort containing my first date! Very exciting!’
‘I hope you like her,’ said Sparks.
‘I find myself positively giddy at the prospect,’ he said. ‘Which leads me to a request: are you available for some sozzlement this evening? I need your advice.’
‘Advice? On what?’
‘It occurs to me— no, it’s been consuming my mind ever since I came in for my interview with the two of you that I haven’t gone out on a proper date with a proper Englishwoman since before the war.
Hell, since before I left for Singapore.
I need some tips on how it’s done nowadays before I blunder in.
Could I barter drinks for some guidance? ’
Bad idea, Sparks, she thought.
But combined with drinks, so a much worse idea.
‘Love to,’ she said. ‘But make sure I give you the advice before the second drink. The quality declines rapidly after that.’
‘As will my ability to remember it,’ he said. ‘How about meeting me at the Barley Mow at six?’
‘On Horseferry Road?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I’ll see you there.’
After work, she walked south from Mayfair.
Her route took her by Buckingham Palace.
The betrothal of Princess Elizabeth to Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten of the Royal Navy had been announced the previous day, and crowds of people were gathering to launch cheers in the presumed direction of the happy couple and to leave bouquets of flowers at the gates.
Iris, remembering the small but significant roles she and Gwen had played in saving that romance the previous year, blew a kiss to the palace as she walked by. She wondered if they would receive an invitation to the wedding. She doubted it. That story was not meant for public knowledge.
Still, the ballyhoo over the wedding would undoubtedly drum up more business, she thought happily.
The weather was cool and cloudy, making the walk an easy one.
Horseferry Road was in Westminster, running west from the Lambeth Bridge.
The pub itself was in a corner building across the street from the Westminster Coroner’s Court, ominously enough.
She anticipated overhearing conversations involving causes of death and bodily decay, with morbid jokes that were only funny to the macabre sensibilities of those in the trade.
Tony was waiting for her inside, having secured a table for two by a window on the Arneway Street side. The bar wrapped around the interior corner of the room with tables surrounding it throughout the L-shaped space, the dartboards in one corner already in heavy use.
‘A pint of ale to start?’ he asked.
‘Sounds good,’ she said.
He signalled a barmaid and placed their order.
‘How goes the moving?’ she asked.
‘Didn’t have a lot to move,’ he said. ‘I’ve got in all the basics: bed, bookcases, clothing. I’m living out of my steamer trunk for the moment. The hired furniture’s coming in tomorrow, so tonight will just be me and my book of Asiatic languages.’
‘You make that sound as if it’s an ideal evening,’ she said. ‘This is why you need The Right Sort in your life.’
‘I see that,’ he said. ‘What is this Miss Lowle like?’
‘No, that’s not how it works,’ she said. ‘I am not going to predispose you to her, nor give you an unfair advantage of knowledge before first impression. The playing fields at The Right Sort are even.’
‘I hate even playing fields,’ he said with a sigh. ‘So all I have is her office number and home address. I guess showing up at her doorstep tomorrow first thing in the morning is out.’
‘You try that, we will refund your fee and ban you from our services for life.’
‘Duly noted. I won’t call her until Monday. Should I ask her out for lunch then? Dinner Monday evening?’
‘You really have fallen off your game,’ she said.
‘Do you think any woman will want to go out with someone with no time for preparation? Presentation is all, you said the other day. That goes double for us poor ladies. You need to give her a chance to agonise over what frock to wear, what hat to go with it, and which shade of lipstick will match them all.’
‘Are hats so very critical?’
‘Given that the styles of ladies’ hats far outnumber those for men, I should think you would have known that. How much they conceal, how much they reveal, how much they distract, how much they draw attention to – why, it’s taken me as long as half an hour to choose the right one for a first date.’
‘Then I should be ready to insert “I like your hat” as soon as I possibly can in the conversation.’
‘I wouldn’t bring it up as the very first thing,’ said Sparks. ‘But mention it somewhere from third to fifth, and she shall be putty in your hands.’
‘If I had known that women were this easy, I could have saved myself your five-pound fee,’ he said. ‘Very well. I’ll call her Monday, but I’ll suggest Tuesday evening. Will that be enough time?’
‘If she doesn’t decide to get her hair done, yes.’