In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

Meanwhile, Pamela woke alone in the room she shared with Trixie. She felt hollow and drained, as if she were recovering from a bout of stomach flu. She wondered now if Dido and Jeremy had been having sex during those afternoon visits at his house. Hardly probable with his mother and the servants in the house, but one could never tell with Jeremy. He loved to live dangerously. She’d always known that.

Pamela stood up, stretched, then went over to the window to pull back the blackout curtain. It was a grey, gloomy day, matching her mood. It was over, she thought. How could she ever feel safe with a man who had betrayed her with her own sister? If they had married, would she picture the worst every time he was late getting home? Dido was a stupid and frustrated little girl, she saw that now. Dying for the things that had been denied her—the balls and flirtations of a season and now an active means of employment. No wonder she let Jeremy seduce her. Had they actually completed their lovemaking before the bomb hit? she wondered. Had Dido been a virgin before? If so, had it hurt? Her own insecurities came flooding over her while an express train rushed past her window with a wild shriek.

She had just finished washing and brushing her teeth when Trixie came home.

“God, what a night.” Trixie flung herself down on her bed. “I drank far too much. We all did. My dear, I was so tired, I dozed off on the train. Luckily, it tooted a whistle or I might have woken up and found myself in Crewe.” She sat up and studied Pamela. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I think so. I’ll survive.”

Trixie came over and sat beside her. “Was it what I think it was? Jeremy in bed with your sister?”

Pamela nodded.

“I’m sorry. He would never have been right for you, you know. He made a pass at me last night after you’d gone. And when I said that he was NSIT—not safe in taxis—I meant it. Back during that deb season, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, you know. And if the driver hadn’t turned around and asked ‘Are you all right, miss?’ I’m sure he would have raped me. So you’re probably better off without him.” She stopped, looked at Pamela’s face, then said, “What a stupid thing to say. You love him, don’t you?”

“I’ve always loved him,” Pamela said. “And I think I’ve always known what he was like. It was part of the attraction that he was a daredevil and afraid of nothing. I’ll get over it, I suppose. It will take a while, but . . .”

Trixie nodded. “There are plenty more fish in the sea. I got friendly with a rather delicious RAF chap last night. And we’ll have fun this Saturday at your mother’s garden party, won’t we?”

Pamela sank down beside Trixie. “Gosh, Trixie, I don’t even want to go home now. How can I face Dido? How can I stand being in the same house with her?”

“It’s a big house, and there will be lots of people. Why don’t we both dress up as maids and hand around the eats? Wouldn’t that be a lark?”

“I don’t feel like larks at the moment. In fact, I think I’ll send a telegram to my mother saying that I can’t get time off after all.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Trixie said. “I can’t go down there on my own, and I’m really looking forward to it. How long since we’ve enjoyed life as it used to be—tea on the lawn, flowery dresses and hats. It all seems like a lovely dream now, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Pamela said. “Yes, it does.” She sighed. “Oh well, I suppose I must go. Livvy’s not much help at organising things, and my mother will be in a tizzy.”

“Jolly good,” Trixie said. She stood up again. “Now, I’d better get dressed and stagger to work. It’s lucky I’m not breaking codes, or I’d say that enemy aircraft were sighted in Bombay instead of Birmingham.”

Pamela tried to smile as Trixie went to the bathroom.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


To Farleigh


Ben wasn’t quite sure what he should be doing that day. He had delivered Pamela’s radio messages to Dolphin Square with the suggestion that they might be matched to known meetings of Ring members. He had been to chivvy up Mavis to find the location on the photograph. So what now? Guy had hinted that he’d be sent to shadow Margot Sutton, but those instructions would have to come from Maxwell Knight. Ben felt uneasy and superfluous, but he also didn’t feel like going to Dolphin Square and saying “Please, sir, what should I do now?” like one of the fourth formers he’d been teaching until he was called up. Initiative. That was what was required by MI5. He had wanted to be given challenges, to be noticed, and now he was at the heart of a major plot.

He turned on the radio and was glad to find that the royal family had been unharmed in last night’s bombing. He twiddled the dial between frequencies, hoping to pick up the German channel but gave up after a while. Guy was off on a mission somewhere. Ben wondered what he did and how long he’d been working secretly for Knight. Then he paused, thinking. Guy seemed to know all about the Ring. He knew that Margot Sutton had been rescued. That meant he was part of an inner circle. Or . . . Ben paused. Guy fitted the profile of someone who would be part of the Ring. Aristocratic family. The sort, at Oxford, who took risks, liked his comforts. Had he told Ben about Margot Sutton to throw any suspicion from himself? Ben wondered how he could find out. But then Maxwell Knight trusted him, and Ben was sure that Knight was a superb judge of character. Or . . . perhaps Knight knew that he was a double agent and was using him. Ben would have liked to ask Knight but realised he had absolutely no proof that Guy wasn’t exactly what he seemed. And he remembered what Guy had said about the so-called Captain King. He answers to nobody but Churchill. A man who could be dangerous and powerful. And it crossed his mind that Maxwell Knight himself might be just the sort of person to run a secret organisation like the Ring. Again, he found himself asking if he had been put on the job with the expectation that they were keeping Whitehall happy, but that he would get it wrong.

He wondered if he should go and see Mavis, but that seemed rather pathetic on a personal level and rather annoying on a professional one. He wondered if the photograph even mattered any longer. If the parachutist had come to deliver an important message, then surely the Germans had already sent the message by another means. He went to the British library and read up more on those battles, but found nothing that he didn’t already know. A king had been deposed by a stronger rival. Many men had been killed. But it had eventually brought peace. He could see parallels, but couldn’t work out what they might mean. He returned home and cheered up when he remembered he had promised to go down to Kent with Pamela the next day.