“God, I hate you.”
Woodford shook his head, still grinning. “Never mind,” he urged, “just never mind. You said it, my dear, I didn’t. I’m not sleeping in the office so everything’s fine, isn’t it? So I didn’t go to Oxford either; I didn’t even go to the Ministry; I haven’t a car to bring me home at night.”
She leaned forward, her voice suddenly urgent, dangerous. “What’s happening?” she hissed. “I’ve got a right to know, haven’t I? I’m your wife, aren’t I? You tell those little tarts in the office, don’t you? Well, tell me!”
“We’re putting a man over the border,” Woodford said. It was his moment of victory. “I’m in charge of the London end. There’s a crisis. There could even be a war. It’s a damn ticklish thing.” The match had gone out, but he was still swinging it up and down with long movements of his arm, watching her with triumph in his eyes.
“You bloody liar,” she said. “Don’t give me that.”
Back in Oxford, the pub at the corner was three-quarters empty. They had the saloon bar to themselves. Leiser sipped a White Lady while the wireless operator drank best bitter at the Department’s expense.
“Just take it gently, that’s all you got to do, Fred,” he urged kindly. “You came up lovely on the last run-through. We’ll hear you, don’t worry about that—you’re only eighty miles from the border. It’s a piece of cake as long as you remember your procedure. Take it gently on the tuning or we’re all done for.”
“I’ll remember. Not to worry.”
“Don’t get all bothered about the Jerries picking it up; you’re not sending love letters, just a handful of groups. Then a new call sign and a different frequency. They’ll never home on that, not for the time you’re there.”
“Perhaps they can, these days,” Leiser said. “Maybe they got better since the war.”
“There’ll be all sorts of other traffic getting in their hair; shipping, military, air control, Christ knows what. They’re not supermen, Fred; they’re like us. A dozy lot. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. They didn’t get me in the war; not for long.”
“Now listen, Fred, how about this? One more drink and we’ll slip home and just have a nice run-through with Mrs. Hartbeck. No lights, mind. In the dark: she’s shy, see? Get it a hundred percent before we turn in. Then tomorrow we’ll take it easy. After all, it’s Sunday tomorrow, isn’t it?” he added solicitously.
“I want to sleep. Can’t I sleep a little, Jack?”
“Tomorrow, Fred. Then you can have a nice rest.” He nudged Leiser’s elbow. “You’re married now, Fred. Can’t always go to sleep, you know. You’ve taken the vow, that’s what we used to say.”
“All right, forget about it, will you?” Leiser sounded on edge. “Just leave it alone, see?”
“Sorry, Fred.”
“When do we go to London?”
“Monday, Fred.”
“Will John be there?”
“We meet him at the airport. And the Captain. They wanted us to have a bit more practice … on the routine and that.”
Leiser nodded, drumming his second and third fingers lightly on the table as if he were tapping the key.
“Here—why don’t you tell us about one of those girls you had on your weekend in London?” Johnson suggested.
Leiser shook his head.
“Come on then, let’s have the other half and you give us a nice game of billiards.”
Leiser smiled shyly, his irritation forgotten. “I got a lot more money than you, Jack. White Lady’s an expensive drink. Not to worry.”
He chalked his cue and put in the sixpence. “I’ll play you double or quits; for last night.”
“Look, Fred,” Johnson pleaded gently. “Don’t always go for the big money, see, trying to put the red into the hundred slot. Just take the twenties and fifties—they mount up, you know. Then you’ll be home and dry.”
Leiser was suddenly angry. He put his cue back in the cradle and took down his camel’s hair coat from its peg.
“What’s the matter, Fred, what the hell’s the matter now?”
“For Christ’s sake, let me lose! Stop behaving like a bloody jailer. I’m going on a job, like we all did in the war. I’m not sitting in the hanging cell.”