In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

“And other neighbours?” Max Knight had clearly dismissed Ben’s father as not important.

“There are Colonel and Mrs. Huntley at the Grange. They returned from India in the mid-thirties. He’s as true blue as they come. There’s an elderly spinster, Miss Hamilton. And then there are the Prescotts. Sir William and his wife. They have an estate nearby. Nethercote. He’s a big noise in the city, as you probably know.”

“And they have a son.”

Ben nodded. “Jeremy. He and I were at Oxford together. He was RAF. Shot down over France and now in a German prisoner-of-war camp.”

“Rotten luck,” Max Knight said. There was something in his expression that Ben couldn’t read. Almost a private joke he was enjoying. He flushed as Knight asked suddenly, “You weren’t attracted to join the RAF yourself, then?”

“I would have liked to, sir. Unfortunately, I was in a plane crash before the war, and my left leg was badly damaged. Doesn’t bend enough to climb in or out of planes easily.”

“That’s bad luck.” Max Knight nodded in sympathy. “But at least you’re doing useful work here, aren’t you? Equally important work.”

“If you say so, sir.” Ben’s face was blank.

“Up till now it hasn’t seemed that important?” Max Knight asked, with the hint of a grin.

Ben wondered how that information got onto his files and what else they said about him. He looked up. “Will that be all, sir?”

“For the moment, yes. I’ll send a memo over to Mike Radison that I’m borrowing you for a while. From now on, you report only to me. Is that clear? And I don’t need to remind you that nothing said here goes any further than this room.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“And that it is of paramount importance that your neighbours down in Kent have no inkling of why you are there or what you do.”

“I’m sure they don’t, sir. They think I have a gammy leg and I’m stuck in a desk job in a ministry.”

“Then let’s keep them thinking that, shall we? You might even drop a hint that the work has become a bit much for you, and you’ve been advised to take a break.”

“You want me to appear mentally unstable as well as physically incapable?” Ben’s voice had a sudden sharp edge to it.

Max Knight grinned. “If it suits our purposes. You would be amazed at the cover some of those I recruit invent for themselves.”

Ben remembered then that there were rumours about a certain Captain King or Mr. K., the spymaster who lived in Dolphin Square, and a thrill of excitement shot through him that he had just been recruited to be a spy, albeit on the home front.

Ben stood up. Max Knight held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Cresswell. I think you’re just the man for the job.”

They shook hands. Ben remembered the snake in Knight’s pocket. “I say, sir. That snake. Is it some kind of pet? A good-luck charm?”

“I’m a nature lover, Cresswell. An animal lover. I found this poor blighter about to be dispatched by some village children, so I rescued him. He seems to have taken quite well to life in my office.”

“Don’t you ever worry that he might escape from your pocket?”

“If he does, good luck to him. But I rather think he knows on which side his bread is buttered. I suggest you do the same.”

Ben hesitated. “Excuse me, sir, but how do I contact you?”

“You come here, or you send me a telegram with a number where you can be reached. We never use the telephone system, for obvious reasons.”

As Ben walked to the door, Max Knight said after him, “That plane crash. Jeremy Prescott was the pilot, wasn’t he? Got away without a scratch. I hope there’s no bad feelings there.”

Ben turned back. “I’d rather be here than in a German stalag, sir. And who knows how banged up he is, after bailing out of a plane.” He paused. “It was an accident. Pure and simple. No bad feelings. We were always the best of pals.”

He went then. It was only when he was in the lift going down that he realised Maxwell Knight had known all the details of his friends and neighbours before the interview started. It was he who had been investigated and put to the test.



Back at Wormwood Scrubs prison, Ben had just resumed his usual place when Harcourt breezed in. “You’re back. Not dismissed on the spot with a curt ‘never darken our doors again.’”

“So it would seem,” Ben replied.

“Damn. So I can’t take over your chair? Mine has started squeaking in a most annoying manner, as well as rocking.”

“You can use it for the next week or so if you like. I’ve been told to take some time off.”

“Time off? What for?”

“Apparently I’ve been overdoing it.” Ben grimaced with distaste and found it hard to get the words out.

“Good God. I haven’t noticed any hint of someone about to crack up,” Harcourt said. He came around to perch on Ben’s desk and peered down at him. “Frightfully sorry, old fellow.”

“I’m not about to go loony or anything,” Ben replied. He wanted to say there was nothing wrong with him. “It’s just that the quack felt I should take a couple of weeks off, that’s all.”

“I wish my doctor would prescribe the same thing,” Harcourt said. “I’m dying for strawberry and cream teas and some good village cricket.”

“I don’t think you’d find enough men still at home to make up a cricket team,” Ben said.

“Probably not.”

“I never asked,” Ben said, deciding that attack was the best form of defence, “but why aren’t you in uniform?”

“Strictly between ourselves, it’s flat feet, old sport. Terribly embarrassing, I know. I usually tell people I have a dickey heart. Feel as fit as a fiddle, but the local doctor wouldn’t sign off on me. Frankly, I’d rather be out fighting somewhere exotic and foreign. And not having to explain myself to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that I pass in the street.”

“I know. It’s pretty bloody, isn’t it?” Ben agreed.

“At least you can lift up your trouser and show them your leg,” Harcourt said. “I can tell they don’t believe me about the heart, and they certainly wouldn’t go along with the feet.”

There was an awkward silence. “So you’ll be going home for a bit?” Harcourt said.

“Just for a bit.”

“Lovely. Kent in late spring. Apple blossoms. Bluebells. You lucky duck. Mind if I come down and visit? My folks are in Yorkshire. Too far away for a weekend pass.”

Ben was surprised. “Of course not. You’re welcome anytime. My father actually has quite a good cook. No horsemeat on the menu, I can guarantee.”

“So you’re off today, then?” Harcourt looked down at him again. “Going to clear out your desk?”

“It’s not the end of term at school. And I’m not leaving anything confidential. Just a few pencils and the like.”

“Only I heard that we might be moving down to Blenheim Palace soon to join the rest of B Division. In which case . . .”

“In which case you’ll probably get a new chair,” Ben said.

Harcourt stood up again with that easy grace and started to leave, but then he turned back. “So it was nothing to do with Dolphin Square, then?”

Ben turned to look at him in surprise. “Dolphin Square?”