Radio Girls(112)

“Miss Musgrave, what is this?”

“A script, for the competitive bridge players you hated so much.”

“No, this. Are you awake?”

It was the sharpness of the tone rather than the words that snapped Maisie back to attention. She couldn’t think how, but one of the photographs was in Hilda’s hand, rather than Ellis’s safekeeping. The photograph of Grigson’s letter indicating the intent to remove women from the BBC, along with all the most popular programming.

“Ellis was going to analyze this. No paper can print it without verification. And we haven’t much time.”

“I can’t think what happened,” Maisie said, staring at the photograph as though it was an unexploded grenade.

“Post it to Ellis now, tonight.” Hilda said. “Here, I’ll write up an envelope for you.”

“Maybe you should take it to him in person?” Maisie was suddenly panicked.

“I think at this juncture it’s safer going through the post. If you get it by the seven o’clock and send it express, it might even reach him tonight.”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Matheson. I can’t think how I—”

“It happens, Miss Musgrave. But it’s the sort of thing you can’t ever let happen again.” She sealed the envelope and slipped it back between the pages of the script.

“Go.”




She knew. As soon as the BBC’s wooden door shut behind her, she knew that the man on the corner was looking for her. There must be hundreds of people in every building on Savoy Street, but she knew. He was looking for her.

She glanced up the street. She didn’t have far to walk. And it was a perfectly innocent thing she was about to do. Anyone could mail a letter.

She’d been seen. She couldn’t be Invisible Girl even if she wanted to be.

She walked, strutted, actually. Go on, try something. I dare you.

But the fist inside her was heaving and hawing like a ship’s bellows. This had all become suddenly, achingly real.

“Hallo. You’re leaving almost early, aren’t you?”

Cyril and Billy joined her on the path, heading for the American Bar. It was very strange to be happy to see them.

“Why don’t you come along?” Cyril urged. “Have a bit of a chin wag about the old pile?”

“That would be super,” she said, grinning with relief. “Only I’ve got to get to the post office first, a letter to go express. You know how Talks business is. Care to walk with me over there first?”

The men were just agreeing when they were joined by someone else, coming the other way.

“Is that my girl, strolling down the street with two other chappies?”

Simon. And she wasn’t wearing the ring.

She pretended to be even more flustered and fidgety than she was so that the men took over the task of introductions. The ring was in her bag, in the mirror pocket. She slipped her hand in and worked the ring on, blessing the British traditions of proper introductions and polite nothings that gave her time. Her hand clasped around the envelope in her bag.

“I rang your office and the Yorkie girl told me you’d be leaving about now. I thought I’d come and surprise you,” Simon said.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she cried, throwing her arms around Simon. She caught Cyril’s eye over Simon’s shoulder and glanced at the envelope in her hand. Too surprised to do anything else, Cyril took it. She nodded in a way that she hoped told him to run and post the letter without thinking about the address and to not let Simon or Billy see. But there wasn’t too much one could convey in a nod. Cyril tucked the envelope inside his jacket, staring at Maisie.

“My goodness, such ardor!” Simon cried. “And, darling, you’re rather excessively glowing. Some powder, I think.” He took her bag and opened it. “Only a lipstick! Tsk. Let’s get you to Selfridges. You need a few girlish treats.”

She took his arm, not knowing what else to do. She knew Cyril and Billy were staring at her, and hoped Cyril would hurry to the post office.





TWENTY-ONE




“I was able to get that letter posted for you,” Cyril assured her the next morning, outside Studio Three. “I know it’s not my business, but I did want to ascertain you’re not in any trouble. That all looked a bit rum, to be honest.”

“No, I’m all right. Thank you. Very good of you to post that letter for me. I just, er, didn’t want Mr. Brock-Morland to know about it,” she finished lamely.

“I rather got that idea,” Cyril said dryly, nodding. “He seems an all-right sort of chap?”

“Unfortunately, I think ‘seems’ is the word of choice these days.”

“Do you, er, need any help?” he asked.

His eyes were serious, but she was sure she caught the whiff of a boys’ adventure tale.

“That’s very good of you, Mr. Underwood, and I’ll keep that offer in mind, should I get in a scrape.”

She nodded and he nodded back.

“Coming, Underwood?” Billy called from the studio. “We’re ready for broadcast.”

“Yes, coming,” he said, still looking at her. He went inside and the light flashed red. Broadcast in progress; enter and perish.