Chapter 21 Cassie
Cassie
Lisbon
Valentine had made contact with the sleeper agent in Paris, who had said he was going to get in touch with the librarian, Frances Reed.
He told Henry and me that things were going to plan, and then he headed off again – where, I didn’t know.
Henry watched him go, a frown on his face.
‘He’s got a bee in his bonnet about something, there’s no doubt.’
‘A bee named Penny with lovely hair,’ I muttered.
But Henry shook his head slowly.
‘Val has been working on these escape routes for a year,’ he said. ‘A whole year. He will not let anyone put that at risk. I think he’s worried there’s someone here who could be compromised.’
Immediately I felt guilty, even though I knew – of course – that I’d done nothing wrong.
Except illegally process a few visas, which wasn’t even that bad, and definitely wouldn’t put the escape routes at risk.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice steady in case Henry thought I was up to something.
‘Val’s strengths are his brains …’ said Henry, sitting down at his desk and looking through a pile of papers.
I nodded. Valentine was a quick thinker, there was no doubt about that.
‘And his charm.’ Henry found what he was looking for, and started to read the document he was holding.
‘What does that have to do with the escape routes?’ I asked.
Henry tore his attention away from the page.
‘He can talk to anyone,’ he said. ‘He can become a friend to a duke or to a waiter, a barber, or a tramp on the street. People like him. They tell him things. If someone’s told him there’s someone to be suspicious of here in the embassy, Val will be checking that out. ’
‘And you think that’s what he’s doing?’
‘Almost certainly.’
I wondered if it was Parrish. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking. Although, perhaps I should tell Valentine that I’d seen Parrish meeting a PVDE officer. My stomach lurched as I realised I absolutely should tell Valentine that. And Digby.
In fact, I should have told them as soon as I saw him and Jose Costa chatting. But I hadn’t, because I’d not wanted to risk them finding out about the visas.
I smoothed down my fringe, hoping to hide my guilty expression from Henry.
‘Who is it?’ I asked casually. ‘Any clues?’
‘I don’t know who it is,’ said Henry. ‘If it is anyone at all. But if anyone’s doing anything they shouldn’t be, Val will find out.’
‘Good,’ I said, possibly a little loudly. ‘Excellent. That’s what we like to hear.’
Henry looked at me.
‘Shall we get on?’ he said. ‘Any news from Peacock yet?’
Glad of the distraction, I smiled. ‘Yes, good news. They sent a telegram this morning to say they can provide all the books we’ve asked for.’
‘Oh, that is good news,’ said Henry. ‘The latest from the Ministry is …’
He began outlining where we were, and I forced myself to listen, pushing my concerns about Parrish aside.
Luckily, Henry and I were so busy all day I had no time to fret. Valentine didn’t reappear, and I was quite glad really. And when Henry and I finished, I hurried off to clerical where Edith was waiting and we bashed our way through several more visa applications.
‘We’re doing very well,’ Edith said, picking up her precious folder where she stashed the applications. ‘We’ve processed more than one hundred applications so far. That would usually take weeks.’
‘I wish we could do even more.’ I leaned my chin on my hand. ‘Poor sods have lost everything. What is it? What’s the matter?’
Edith had opened the folder and was staring at the contents, a puzzled look on her face.
‘Some of the applications aren’t here,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I looked at this earlier and I remember the application on the top of the pile was for a woman named Edith,’ she said. ‘That’s why I remember it.’
‘And?’
‘And now the application on top is for a man named Friedrich.’
‘Did you move some of them?’ I asked. ‘Take some out to send them on?’
Edith screwed her face up. ‘I must have done,’ she said. ‘I probably did it automatically and just didn’t think.’
‘Like when you walk somewhere you walk all the time and you can barely remember the journey,’ I said.
‘Yes, just like that,’ Edith said, though she sounded a little uncertain, I had to admit.
Wanting to lift my spirits when we’d finished, I walked home via the British Bar. I wasn’t sure if Lara was working, but I hoped she was. I wanted to see a friendly face and share my worries.
Lisbon was busy this evening. There were people sitting outside cafés and bars, shouting to friends, and laughing. I passed a group of Germans in uniform, resisting the urge to cross the road so I didn’t have to walk too close. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Not today. Not ever.
So, I strolled by, head up, and noticed none of them gave me a second glance.
Lisbon was a strange place with the Nazis and British sharing the same spaces.
Lara hated it. She couldn’t bear that she’d serve men sitting on adjacent tables in the bar who’d shoot each other on a battlefield.
She hated being polite to officers who’d kill her beloved cousin Wilf without hesitation.
I understood her point of view, and I sympathised, but I found it easier than Lara to shut my emotions away. I had always been good at that.
I crossed the road to the bar. It was lively already even though it was still fairly early, though the chill of the evening meant the outside tables were mostly empty.
Pausing for a second outside, I straightened my skirt.
I considered myself an independent woman.
I was bold. Unafraid. I could even be fierce when I had to be.
But I was still rattled by Parrish, and the truth was, I didn’t really like walking into a bar by myself.
I rolled my eyes at my own weakness and went closer to the window so I could check Lara was there.
The bar was dim after the evening sunshine outside, and it took a second for my eyes to adjust. I saw Miguel, Lara’s friend, clearing glasses from a table. And there was Lara, at the bar chatting to a man who was ordering beers.
Out of habit more than any genuine concern for who else might be in there, I scanned the bar, and I froze as I saw Parrish sitting in a shadowy corner.
‘Not you again,’ I whispered to myself.
Feeling a little off balance, I shrank back into the shadow cast by the awning outside the bar and fixed my eyes on Parrish. He looked on edge. Nervy even. He was drumming his fingers on the table, and he kept picking his drink up and putting it down again without taking a sip.
Then, to my absolute horror, Parrish picked up a brown folder from the table.
He opened it and I gasped aloud. Inside was a bundle of visa applications.
Of course, I couldn’t read them from where I stood but I recognised the way the photographs were clipped to the top of each paper.
I would stake my life on them being the applications Edith had mislaid.
‘Bugger,’ I said. I felt a bit sick suddenly. ‘Bugger.’
My legs had begun to shake, so I sat down on one of the metal chairs next to the window. I knew I should move, in case Parrish happened to see me, but it was dark now and I thought if he did glance towards the window, all he’d see would be his own reflection.
I should have been more confident in my instincts, because it was obvious now that Parrish had realised what we were doing with these visa applications and he was using it for leverage. I’d brushed aside my own concerns, convinced myself I was wrong. But now it was clear.
How much was he being paid to pass on information to the PVDE? Rumours were a valuable currency in Lisbon and judging by Parrish’s expensive clothes, he was being well looked after.
I looked at Miguel who himself passed on rumours to Digby, and who was leaning on the bar, watching the customers. What did he think of Parrish? Did he think anything at all?
As I looked, Miguel straightened up and for the first time I noticed Valentine was in the bar, too.
He was sitting in the corner, a glass by his elbow, reading a book.
One of the Peacock books, I noticed with some amusement.
He looked engrossed but something about the way he was sitting made me think he wasn’t reading at all.
I squinted at him through the window. Was he watching Parrish, too?
Parrish was flicking through the visa applications, writing something down in his little notebook. It looked to me as though he was copying down names from the forms. I wondered if he was going to follow them up – maybe check out the sponsors’ credentials. The thought made me go cold.
Perhaps I could go into the bar, stop to say hello to Parrish and somehow get the application forms. I was quick and stealthy.
I could distract him – or get Lara to help – and slide them away, right from under his nose.
Though given our history I wasn’t sure a friendly chat was on the cards.
Could I flirt my way to getting the applications back?
Absolutely not. I was not a flirt. Parrish would realise what I was up to straightaway.
‘Ridiculous,’ I muttered to myself. Talk about drawing attention to myself. I took a deep breath. I was not the panicking sort. If I could just think this through clearly, I would find a solution.
A group of men sauntered up to the door of the bar, and I stiffened as I saw Jose Costa – the PVDE officer – among them.
He wasn’t in uniform, but I recognised him at once.
They went inside, and sat down, while one of them went to the bar to order drinks.
Jose didn’t sit down. He went to walk towards the back of the bar, where the toilets were, which would mean him passing Parrish.
I edged closer to the window, keen to see everything.
Jose kept his face forwards, but he must have done something – a tiny hand gesture or a flicker of his eyes – to alert Parrish because I saw Parrish give a small nod.
So small I only saw it because I was watching for it.
Jose walked past and Parrish sat, his hand on the pile of documents.
Then he stood up – documents and notebook in his hand.
‘Bugger,’ I breathed again. Surely, Parrish wasn’t going to hand these papers over to the secret police? If he did that, those refugees would never get their visas processed. What an absolute shit of a man he was. All those lives, all those struggling, desperate lives were in his hands.
As Parrish turned to follow Jose, though, I saw Valentine get up from his seat in the corner and block Parrish’s way. I couldn’t see his expression – he was still in shadow – but he loomed over Parrish as he clapped him on the back jovially.
My head spun in confusion. Was Valentine in on this, too? What on earth was going on?
Eager to know what was happening, I edged too close to the window and banged my head on the frame.
‘Ouch,’ I said, pulling back and rubbing my forehead. ‘Stupid.’ I turned back to look inside the bar again, but to my dismay, Valentine and Parrish were gone.
‘What on earth?’ I muttered, scanning the bar.
It was busy but there was no sign of either man.
I presumed they’d gone out the back way – where Jose Costa would have been waiting.
Furious with Parrish, with myself, with Jose, Valentine, the world, I shoved my metal chair backwards, scraping it across the tiled pavement, and stood up.
I would go round the back of the bar and track them down.
I was not going to let any of them get away with this.
I tossed my hair back, lifted my chin and went to march round to the back entrance of the bar, only to come face to face with Valentine, who was leaning against the wall looking very pleased with himself.
‘Looking for these, Atkins?’ he said, brandishing the pile of applications in one hand and Parrish’s little notebook in the other.
I stared at him, so baffled by what was happening that I couldn’t even bring myself to correct my surname.
‘I think …’ Valentine said. He wasn’t smiling now and instead looked just as annoyed as I probably did. ‘I think you’d better tell me what on earth is going on.’