In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

Alfie had been sitting, silent and uncomfortable, in the morning room, wishing he could go home. It was strange, but he now thought of the gamekeeper’s lodge as home and found himself wondering if he’d ever want to go back to his mother in London, even if the war ended.

He stood up. “I should be getting back. Mrs. Robbins will be worried about me.”

“Of course.” Lady Westerham looked at him kindly. “Off you go, then. You’re a brave young man. Thank you. Well done.”

At the doorway, Alfie paused and looked back. “I found out about Baxter’s yard. Do you know what he’s building in there? Coffins. Lots and lots of coffins.”

“In readiness for the invasion,” Lord Westerham said. “Which now might be a little further off, thanks to what didn’t happen today.”

Lady Westerham looked around as if just noticing that one of her brood was missing.

“Is Pamma still with Ben?” Lady Westerham asked.

“Yes, she’s still at the hospital,” Margot said. “He was awfully brave. I do hope he’ll be all right.”

“I expect he’ll be glad he was able to do something for his country at last,” Lord Westerham remarked.



Pamela sat beside Ben’s bed in the hospital. His shoulder was bandaged. His face looked white, but he was propped up and wide awake.

“I can’t believe it of Trixie,” Pamela said. “It seems she was working for the Germans all along. She was stealing information at Bletchley.”

“Why would she do that, I wonder?” Ben said.

“The thrill of it, I suppose. No doubt she’ll tell us in time. It does seem that her father has always been pro-German, pro-Nazi. But Jeremy—what could have made him turn on us that way? Do you think they brainwashed or tortured him in Germany?”

“I wonder if it wasn’t a twisted sense of patriotism. I gather that some people think that by ending the war now, it is sparing Britain from the destruction of our most precious monuments, even if it does mean being under Germany’s domination.”

Pamela shuddered. “I don’t think we’ll ever know now,” she said. “I wonder if he’s flown to Germany in that plane. I suppose so.”

They looked up as footsteps tapped across the tiled floor. A curtain was pulled back and Guy Harcourt stood there.

“Oh, sorry. I’m not interrupting a tryst, am I?” he asked with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Of course not. Come in, Guy,” Pamela said.

Guy stood at the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling, old chap?”

“As if a mule kicked my shoulder, but otherwise okay. I’m told I was lucky, and the bullet went through nothing but muscle and out the other side.”

“Damned lucky. Actually, I came with some news. Prescott’s plane was shot down over the Channel.”

“Our Spitfires chased him and caught him?” Ben asked.

Guy gave a wry smile. “No, quite the opposite. He was shot down by Messerschmitts. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Ben reached out and took Pamma’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Poor Jeremy,” Pamela sighed. “What a horrible end.”

“It’s how he’d have wanted to go—blazing out like a firework.” Ben stared past her, out the hospital window. In spite of everything, Jeremy had meant something to him, too, been an important part of his life, whether he liked it or not.

They remained silent while hospital noises went on in the background—the clatter of a trolley, the crisp voice of a nurse giving a command.

“I wonder why nobody picked up on that blighter Prescott before?” Guy said. “I suppose the enemy relied on the fact that they assumed nobody had survived that breakout to tell the truth about him.”

“So the man who fell into our field had been sent to deliver a message to him, do you think?” Pamela asked.

“Undoubtedly.” Ben glanced up at Guy and nodded. “That he carried nothing on him but the snapshot was a clear indication that he hadn’t far to go. He didn’t need money or a ration card or tools. Presumably, Jeremy had already arranged a place to hide him.”

“And the snapshot was the go-ahead for the date to kill Churchill, once their agents knew he’d be visiting a nearby aerodrome,” Pamela said, putting the pieces together.

“How did they know about the garden party at Farleigh?” Guy asked. “Shooting the PM at an aerodrome was surely a risky business.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be Farleigh when it was planned,” Ben said. “It was going to be at Chartwell, but the PM nixed those plans, so the Westerhams offered instead.”

“The message must have eventually been delivered by other means,” Pamela went on. “One of those radio messages that we were trying to decode, maybe.”

“He actually saw the photograph,” Ben said. “He came to Aerial Reconnaissance while I was there, and the photograph was lying, blown up, on the table.”

“When was this?” Guy asked.

“A few days ago.”

“Oh, I think he must have had the whole thing planned earlier than that,” Pamela said. “The way Trixie offered to come down to help at the party. It was all planned out some time ago.”

Guy nodded. “I agree. We actually think it was part of a bigger plan, put into orchestration the moment he came back to England—a plan to facilitate the invasion, return the Duke of Windsor, and assassinate the royal family. With Jeremy at the helm.”

Pamela shuddered. “Don’t, please. I can’t bear to think about it.” She stood up. “I probably should be going. The family will worry about what has happened to me. Maybe Pah will let Margot drive over to pick me up.”

“I could give you a ride home,” Guy said.

“That’s very kind of you.” She gave him that radiant smile that had so entranced Ben. “I’ll just pop into the ladies’ room, then. I’m sure you two have things to talk about that you can’t say in front of me.”

“Sharp girl,” Guy said as Pamela left the room. “And a looker, too. I must say she’s taking this remarkably calm, considering she was his girlfriend.”

“I think that party opened her eyes to his real nature,” Ben said.

“So now you step in and fill the vacuum.” Guy grinned.

“I’m not sure about that. She sees me as a brother.”

“Oh, I don’t think the look she just gave you was at all sisterly,” Guy said. “Neither was the way she flung herself at you when you were shot.”

Ben lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling warm inside. There was hope. He’d bide his time, but there really was hope.

Then he remembered the unanswered question. “About Margot. Do you think she is working for the Germans?”

Guy moved closer to him. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but she’s working as a double agent at the moment. Sending info back to the Germans, infiltrating meetings of the Ring but keeping us apprised of what is going on. She had to pretend to go along with their plans, of course. Oh, and she’s asked to join special ops. She’ll be going up to Scotland to train.”

“Crikey,” Ben said. “I’m so glad she wasn’t part of this.”