The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(92)
That would be Kitty, I thought, remembering that night, her conversation with Colonel Mallard, his telephone call afterward, then the planes, the sirens, the bombs.
“Once in London they were put in touch with a senior organizer, and Slater nailed the whole ring. Some of them have been ‘turned double,’ so they’re back on the street but working for us.”
My head was spinning with questions. “If he was undercover, am I right in thinking he wouldn’t have been able to tell the woman in question anything about himself or what he did?”
“That’s right.”
“Which is why she was always so confused about it.”
“Indeed. Apparently he was involved with the black market to bolster his position. In effect, he was an intelligence agent pretending to be a Nazi spy, who was pretending to be a black marketeer, who was pretending to be an artist. Clever chap.”
“Why did he have to be a black marketeer?”
“He needed to get illegal papers for them so that he could provide food and ration books. He needed to give them a service, to prove he was one of them.”
“So what’s he going to do after he’s finished with this? Will he be able to tell her about it all?”
“They’re sending him away next. He won’t be allowed to tell her the details, but I’m sure he can explain a certain amount.”
The sound of the front door opening and voices came from the hall, so we quickly stopped talking, which was lucky as within a moment Venetia herself stepped into the front room, followed by the Colonel. She was looking a picture of beauty in a dress with lavender flowers. Her eyes still have that haunted look, and she’s altogether too slim, but strangely more striking now than she ever was before, when she was “empress.” She came in and perched on the arm of the sofa.
“Colonel Mallard gave me a lift in his motorcar, and I thought I’d drop in to say hello,” she said, smiling beautifully.
“This is Lt. Carrington. Perhaps you two know each other from Litchfield Park?”
Carrington, who had stood to attention when the Colonel came in, was looking at her, captivated. He was staring rather at her face, and then from head to toe. I thought it rather odd that he of all people might be in awe of her, but then I saw the look on his face. It was more one of complete and utter astonishment than admiration.
She stayed and chatted for a while, telling us about how they contrive to get some work done squashed into the long underground shelters.
“Everyone is washing themselves far more than usual as we’re in such close proximity and it’s easy to notice if someone hasn’t bathed.” She laughed and Carrington joined in politely, although I don’t think he was actually listening to a word she was saying.
After she left, I had to find out why he looked at her like that.
“Do you already know Venetia?” I asked.
He blushed and looked at his hands. “Did I stare rather? I’m so terribly sorry.” He smiled. “You see, my father recently procured a new painting for his office, and—” He hesitated over his words. “And it happens to be a woman who looks exactly like Venetia.”
“How marvelous,” I said. “I hope it does her justice.”
“Well, yes,” he said, covering a laugh. “You see, it’s a nude.”
I tried to stop myself from laughing, but couldn’t help it, and when the Colonel came down the stairs, he found the two of us, by the door, whooping with laughter.
“Slater must have painted her. How very funny. Where on earth did he get it?” I giggled, leading him out to the front path.
Carrington laughed. “He bought it from a rather thuggish-looking dealer called Gibbs.”
“Oh! I wonder how Ralph Gibbs got hold of it. I can’t imagine Slater gave it to him.”
“I very much doubt it. Although I must say I’m rather impressed with his artistic skills, for a spy that is.”
We were still laughing as we walked down to the road. He had left his bicycle leaning against the wall, beside my creeping roses.
“Thank you for coming,” I said, “and for the information, although Heaven knows what I’m to do with it. I suppose I’ll just keep it to myself and see if he shows up.”
“Yes,” Carrington said, climbing onto his bicycle. “Better to be circumspect.” He gave me the loveliest of smiles and a “Cheerio,” and was off down the road to Litchfield.
I wandered back into the house trying to absorb this news. Should I tell Venetia about Slater? I decided to leave it for the moment. She seems to be improving, and I wouldn’t want to build up her hopes again.
The Colonel gave me a knowing look as I walked into the living room.
“I didn’t know you were friends with young Carrington.”
“Yes,” I said, shooting him a sidelong glance. “It’s good to have friends in the right places.”
Thursday, 15th August, 1940
This Hideous War!
It all started early this afternoon when Silvie and I arrived back from riding, Silvie galloping headlong across the fields as if her life depended on it. Having let ourselves in the side door, we wandered through the kitchen to the hall, hoping to catch Mama having tea with maybe a few sandwiches to spare. The sound of her meandering voice, then Venetia’s languid tones, echoed crisply through the galleried marble hall, and Silvie and I exchanged small smiles. We were in luck.