Chapter 1 Cassie
Cassie
Lisbon
One year later
When I came out of the airport, blinking in the Portuguese sunshine, Digby was waiting for me.
The airport had been full of PVDE – the local police – while outside, a group of Nazi soldiers stood smoking beside a wall.
A couple of British officers walked past them, not acknowledging their presence, and I allowed myself a small smile.
Lisbon was being its usual contradictory self, and I was glad to be back.
Digby was leaning against a car, his hat tilted down to shade his face. I was absurdly pleased to him, though of course I didn’t show it.
‘Need a lift, Cassandra?’ he called.
‘I was going to get the tram.’
‘Well, if you’re sure …’ He turned away from me, opening the car door as if to get back in, and I grinned.
‘A lift would be lovely, thank you.’
I hurried across the uneven street. Digby took my suitcase from me and put it on the back seat while I got in on the passenger side.
‘Gosh, it’s warm,’ I said, fanning myself with my hand as he drove. ‘I’d forgotten.’
‘How was England?’ he asked, not looking at me, but instead concentrating on the road ahead, which I was glad about.
‘Oh, you know,’ I said. ‘London’s a mess. Huge gaps in streets where bombs have fallen. Rubble everywhere. Dust in the air. I was rather shocked.’
‘And your village?’
‘Same as always.’ Though that was a lie really. It had been very different this time, because my brother was dead and my family would never be the same again.
‘How are your parents doing?’ Digby said carefully.
I breathed in.
‘Sad,’ I said. ‘Shocked. Stoic.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘My father organised a memorial at the church,’ I said. ‘He planned to take the service himself. But when it came to the day, he couldn’t do it.’ I remembered my father’s face, drawn and grey, as he asked the local vicar to speak in his place.
‘That’s understandable,’ Digby said. ‘He’s used to being the one who takes charge, but even archbishops need help sometimes. And even in wartime no one expects to bury a child.’
‘Except we haven’t buried him, have we?’
‘No.’ Digby reached out and patted my hand briefly, which was a very un-Digby-like thing to do. I felt tears sting my eyelids at the sympathy and turned my head to look out of the window.
‘How are you?’ Digby asked.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Really, I am.’
In fact, I was absolutely furious with Jamie for dying, with my parents for not stopping him joining the Army, with Hitler, with Churchill, with the whole world.
And especially with myself for teasing him about my own important war-work, and giving him the incentive to join up, even though he too was a vicar and he wouldn’t have been conscripted.
I had moments where the rage rose up inside me. Fury at the futility of it all. Jamie was dead, and so were thousands of men like him, and for what? The war continued. Europe was in tatters. My family was broken.
‘I’m fine,’ I said again. Digby turned the corner by the entrance to the university and onto the main road, which would take us into central Lisbon. I felt my heart lift, just a little, at the sight of the tiled buildings reflecting the strong sun. ‘I’m glad to be back.’
‘It’s good to see you.’
‘I can’t wait to get to work. I imagine there’s a lot to do, I feel I’ve been away for an age – much longer than a few months. I’m looking forward to shedding my Cassie skin and becoming Sandra again. Is there something juicy for us to get our teeth into? What’s happening in Russia?’
Digby had gone very quiet.
‘What?’ I said. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Ah,’ said Digby. ‘Well …’
‘What does “ah, well” mean?’ I said, looking at his profile as he stared at the road ahead.
‘Well, it means that for now – just for now – you need to be on desk duty.’
‘And desk duty means?’
‘Nothing classified.’
‘What?’ Anger burned inside me. ‘Will I just be like any other embassy member of staff even though I’m part of Section D?’
‘Section D is part of the embassy,’ Digby said.
‘Don’t patronise me. Being based in the same building doesn’t mean we’re the same thing. It’s just a cover.’
Digby sighed. ‘You can’t work in intelligence for a little while after a bereavement, in case you’re compromised.’
‘That is stupid.’
‘It’s protocol.’
‘It’s nonsense.’
‘My hands are tied.’
‘Then untie them.’
Digby glanced over at me. ‘Cassie, we just need to make sure you’re …’
‘I’m what?’ I said. ‘Up to the job?’
He grimaced in agreement.
‘You know I’m up to the job.’
‘We need to make sure you’re coping.’
I snorted. ‘And my experience counts for nothing?’
‘Not for nothing, no.’
‘But I’m still being sidelined.’
‘Not for long,’ Digby said. ‘It’s just a question of ticking boxes.’
‘How long?’ I demanded.
‘A few weeks?’
‘A few weeks?’ I was appalled. ‘What on earth will I do in the meantime?’
‘Translation, I imagine,’ said Digby. ‘Lots of translation work to do in an embassy. We’ll find something to keep you busy.’
I was slightly mollified. ‘Translation is fine,’ I said. ‘But not for long.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Digby in a way that reminded me of my mother when I asked – again – for a pet.
I’d never had a pet.
‘It depends where there’s a role for you,’ Digby went on.
‘There is a role,’ I said, through gritted teeth, ‘in Section D.’
‘And you can return to that role as soon as we confirm you’re coping.’
What did coping even mean? It seemed to me to be a strange concept, unmeasurable. Like trying to catch a cloud. I had a sudden fear that I would never be able to prove I was coping, and I would be sidelined for the entirety of the war.
‘I will do translation,’ I said firmly. ‘But not typing. And I want to be assessed weekly to see if I am …’ I paused. ‘Coping.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘Digby!’
‘We’ll see,’ he repeated.
I stared out of the window, furious at the world once more.
‘Have you heard from Lara?’ Digby asked eventually, when the silence in the car grew too heavy. ‘Or Bea?’
‘A few letters,’ I said. ‘Bea wrote a lovely note to my mother.’
‘She is a very kind woman.’
‘She is.’
We sat quietly a little longer and then I said: ‘Speaking of Lara, I saw Otto in London. Lara’s delighted about him being closer. She misses him so much.’
‘We thought he’d be more use in England than in the States.’
I nodded. ‘He’s got excellent insider knowledge about the Nazis that will be a real asset in codebreaking. Is he going to be based at Bletchley Park?’
Digby didn’t answer. Instead he just said: ‘He’s a good man.’
‘Right.’ I gave him a sideways glance. ‘And what about Hector? I saw him in London, too. What’s he doing?’
‘Oh, this and that,’ said Digby vaguely.
‘For you?’
‘Among others.’
I rolled my eyes. A year ago, I’d been heading the team that managed to get Hitler to pause his advancing troops and now Digby wouldn’t even tell me what my friends were doing. I hoped this wouldn’t go on for much longer because it was already infuriating.
Digby pulled the car up outside my building and turned off the engine.
‘Thanks for collecting me,’ I said.
‘Need a hand with your bags?’
I shook my head. ‘There’s a lift.’
The lift didn’t always work but I felt I’d rather take my chance with the stairs and my luggage than spend any more time with Digby, who was beginning to get on my nerves.
‘I’ll see you at work tomorrow,’ he said.
I tried to sound enthusiastic. ‘I’ll be there.’
Fortunately, the lift was working, and I was soon back in my top-floor apartment.
Inside it was cool and dim, with the shutters partly closed. I dropped my suitcase as soon as I got into the living area and opened the window that led to my little balcony, pushing the shutters back against the wall.
I sat on the wide windowsill with my feet outside and breathed in the Lisbon air. The sun was warm on my face – such a delight after a dreary English spring where it never stopped raining. Outside I heard voices and the ting of tram bells, and I sighed in contentment. I was home.
I leaned forward on to the railings and looked up to my left towards Rossio – the square where the refugees gathered. I couldn’t see it from here though I could see a sign, directing people there. And beyond that, I knew, was the Tram Stop Bookshop, run by my friend Bea with some help from Lara.
I tapped my fingers on the railings for a minute, then I slid back through the window and went to unpack.
When I’d hung up my clothes, I thought about having a lie-down; it had been a long day of travelling. I sat down on the bed, but I felt unsettled and antsy, so I got up again. I had a wash, changed out of my grubby clothes, and went to look at the empty cupboards in my kitchen.
I needed food, that was definite. I’d go to the shops and get some bread and maybe some other things to keep me going. And perhaps I’d call in at the bookshop and see if Bea and Lara were there. I had brought some things back to Lisbon for them from London.
Despite my empty cupboards, when I got outside into the street, my shopping bag over my arm, I walked past the greengrocer, and the bakery.
I paused by the little shop that sold everything, but then I didn’t go in there either.
Instead, I carried on walking up the hill until the road widened out and a gap in the buildings rewarded me with a view across the rooftops of the Old Town and out over the river, which sparkled in the evening sunlight.
I leaned on the wall and breathed out, slowly. I had travelled all over Europe, but I loved Lisbon. I loved the scenery, the history and the people. I even loved their love of paperwork and form filling.
Once I’d had enough of the view, I turned. There, on the opposite side of the road, was the Tram Stop Bookshop, tucked away in a little row of stores. It had a revolving stand outside with today’s newspapers on it.
I looked at it for a few seconds. There was no real need for me to be cautious, but out of habit more than any real worries about who could be watching, I walked a little way up the hill, subtly taking in everyone I passed on the way.