“But we still don’t have an explosives expert or a telephone engineer.”
Flick glanced at her wrist. “It’s still only four pip emma. And maybe the RAF has taught Denise Bowyer how to blow up a telephone exchange.”
Paul grinned. flick’s optimism was irresistible.
They reached the station and caught a train. They could not talk about the mission because there were other passengers within earshot. Paul said, “I learned a little about Percy this morning. We drove through the neighborhood where he was brought up.”
“He’s adopted the manners and even the accent of the British upper class, but don’t be fooled. Under that old tweed jacket beats the heart of a real street brawler.”
“He told me he was flogged at school for speaking with a low-class accent.”
“He was a scholarship boy. They generally have a hard time in swanky British schools. I know, I was a scholarship girl.”
“Did you have to change your accent?”
“No. I grew up in an earl’s household. I always spoke like this.”
Paul guessed that was why Flick and Percy got on so well: they were both lower-class people who had climbed the social ladder. Unlike Americans, the British thought there was nothing wrong with class prejudice. Yet they were shocked at Southerners who told them Negroes were inferior. “I think Percy’s very fond of you,” Paul said.
“I love him like a father.”
The sentiment seemed genuine, Paul thought, but she was also firmly setting him straight about her relationship with Percy.
Flick had arranged to meet Percy back at Orchard Court. When they arrived, there was a car outside the building. Paul recognized the driver, one of Monty’s entourage. “Sir, there’s someone in the car waiting for you,” the man said.
The back door opened and out stepped Paul’s younger sister, Caroline. He grinned with delight. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he said. She stepped into his arms and he hugged her. “What are you doing in London?”
“I can’t say, but I have a couple of hours off, and I persuaded Monty’s office to lend me a car to come and see you. Want to buy me a drink?”
“I don’t have a minute to spare,” he said. “Not even for you. But you can drive me to Whitehall. I have to find a man called a public prosecutor.”
“Then I’ll take you there, and we’ll catch up in the car.”
“Of course,” he said. “Let’s go!”
CHAPTER 14
FLICK TURNED AT the building door and saw a pretty girl wearing the uniform of an American lieutenant step out of the car and throw her arms around Paul. She noted the delighted smile on his face and the force of his hug. This was obviously his wife, girlfriend, or fianc‚e, probably making an unexpected visit to London. She must be with the U.S. forces in Britain, preparing for the invasion. Paul jumped into her car.
Flick went into Orchard Court, feeling a little sad. Paul had a girl, they were nuts about one another, and they had been granted a surprise meeting. Flick wished Michel could show up just like that, out of the blue. But he was lying wounded on a couch in Reims with a shameless nineteen-year-old beauty nursing him.
Percy was already back from Hendon. She found him making tea. “How was your RAF girl?” she asked.
“Lady Denise Bowyer-she’s on her way to the Finishing School,” he said.
“Wonderful! Now we have four!”
“But I’m worried. She’s a braggart. She boasted about the work she’s doing in the Air Force, told me all sorts of details she should have kept quiet about. You’ll have to see what you think of her in training.”
“I don’t suppose she knows anything about telephone exchanges.”
“Not a thing. Nor explosives. Tea?”
“Please.”
He handed her a cup and sat behind the cheap old desk. “Where’s Paul?”
“Gone to find the public prosecutor. He’s hoping to get Ruby Romain out of jail this evening.”
Percy gave her a quizzical glance. “Do you like him?”
“More than I did initially.”
“Me too.”
Flick smiled. “He charmed the socks off the old battleaxe running the prison.”
“How was Ruby Romain?”
“Terrifying. She slit the throat of another inmate in a quarrel over a bar of soap.”