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  For David

  ‘…it is curious that in the history of espionage and counter-espionage a very high percentage of the greatest coups have been brought off by women.’

  MAXWELL KNIGHT (‘M’)

  Ontario, Summer 1984

  She guessed what the envelope contained from the London postmark, but it was a while before she mustered the courage to fetch a knife from the kitchen drawer and slit it open. With trembling fingers she eased out the newspaper cutting, then sitting down at the table, unfolded and smoothed it out.

  The headline struck her at once, taking her breath away. And that awful old photograph. She narrowed her eyes at the text underneath and fumbled for her spectacles. Her sight cleared and the small print came into focus. The words, hateful, sensational, burned into her. She read on, her finger tracing the lines, her lips moving silently. Her eyes prickled, her heartbeat stumbled. That wasn’t what she’d told the journalist, how could he have thought… Her hand flew to her mouth but her eyes remained glued to the dense lines of print. How could he?

  When he’d telephoned out of the blue, that soft voice… it had soothed her, coaxed her to say more than she’d intended. It had all poured out of her, the rancour of years. ‘Don’t print that,’ she’d stopped to tell him at least once. ‘It is simply what I felt at the time. Half a century ago. My life is different now…’

  He’d reassured her, told her not to worry, she could trust him. Why had she believed him? She knew about journalists, but he’d caught her at a weak moment.

  An English Sunday tabloid. Anyone might have read it. One of them, perhaps. How stupid of her. They’d know where she was now. Suppose they… No!

  She let the paper slip from her grasp and sat staring into the distance, allowing the memories to flood in…

  One

  Summer 1928

  It all began at a garden party in a leafy provincial suburb.

  ‘Don’t dawdle, dear,’ called Mrs Gray, hurrying ahead along the front path.

  Minnie sighed as she shut the wooden gate then followed her mother round the side of the white-painted mansion with reluctant footsteps. They passed beneath an arch of tumbling pink roses and out onto a sunny terrace overlooking a rolling expanse of lawn dotted with people and stalls selling home-made jam and baked goods.

  From here she surveyed the busy gathering with dismay. There were a few people she recognized, but they were mostly her mother’s friends, middle-aged women in frumpy hats and floral frocks, some with their husbands in tow. At twenty-one, it seemed that Minnie was the youngest person here. How she wished she’d never come.

  ‘Look, there’s Sarah Bowden. Come on, Minnie!’ Mrs Gray, bright-eyed and purposeful, propelled her daughter across the grass to where a willowy lady in navy was queuing by a snowy canopy where teas were being served.

  ‘Betty darling,’ Sarah Bowden cried in welcome, carmine lips curving in her foxy face. ‘And Minnie. So sweet of you to keep your mother company. I’m here on my own. Ernest had a bowls match, wretched man.’

  ‘I’m not being sweet, Mrs Bowden, there was nothing else to do.’ Minnie had never warmed to beady-eyed Mrs Bowden. ‘Tennis was called off and Mother wouldn’t leave me moping at home, would you, Mother?’

  ‘Really, Minnie,’ her mother muttered. ‘Do you have to be so honest? I’m sorry, Sarah, sometimes I don’t know what to do with her.’

  ‘Poor dear Minnie,’ Mrs Bowden murmured, patting Minnie’s arm. ‘It won’t be much fun for her here.’ She glanced around and her voice dropped. ‘Honestly, Betty, look at the men. The ones that aren’t old and married are hardly a young girl’s dream.’

  Mrs Gray scanned the crowd with a predator’s eye. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said briskly, ‘there are one or two nice younger ones. Don’t slouch, Minnie. It’s not attractive.’

  They took their turn at the rows of white crockery and there was a pause while they collected cups of tea and finger sandwiches. Minnie slid a slab of warm marble cake onto her saucer then licked her fingers, causing her mother to frown.

  Mrs Bowden narrowed her eyes and whispered above the rattle of cups, ‘Did you hear that Mr Chamberlain himself is expected?’

  Mrs Gray’s expression clouded. ‘His wife didn’t mention it when I saw her at last week’s committee meeting.’

  ‘Didn’t she?’ Mrs Bowden said happily. ‘There are rumours, you know, that he’s to switch to our constituency in the next election to be sure of a good majority.’

  ‘I know about that. Minnie, I’ve told you how important Mr Chamberlain is becoming in the House of Commons. It would be something for you to meet him.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Minnie murmured, long bored by the subject of the Chamberlains, though secretly she supposed that encountering Neville Chamberlain would be special. Not only was he one of Birmingham’s MPs, but he was the son of the renowned Victorian statesman Sir Joseph Chamberlain. Now what was wrong? Her mother was inspecting her in a critical manner. My hair, probably. Minnie touched a hand to her new blonde crop and worried whether the style suited her.

  The sun blazed down. They moved into the shade of a great copper beech, where the older women bought pots of honey from a stall and began to discuss the perennial problem of fundraising. Minnie bit into the sweet, buttery cake and looked up at the house that loomed over them. Their host was the Conservative and Unionist Party agent, Mr Robert Edwards, and his residence was an impressive pile. Freshly painted white shutters gleamed in the sunlight and its six chimneys stood proud against a sky of depthless blue.

  A curtain twitched at an upstairs window, drawing her eye. A wizened old man in a dressing gown stood at the open casement, looking down on proceedings. The shrewdness of his gaze gave Minnie an odd feeling. As though we’re all ants in a nest or monkeys in a zoo. She glanced about at the other guests. Only she had noticed him and this gave her a feeling of delicious secret pleasure.

  This time when she looked up the old man returned her gaze, but his stern expression did not alter. Instead he turned back to the room. He must be an elderly relative of the Edwards’. The mansion was large enough to accommodate several generations. Certainly it was of a size far beyond the aspirations of Minnie’s family, though she felt ashamed for making the comparison.

  The Grays’ own house a few streets away was modest, poky, if she were to be unkind, but her mother was a widow and everyone said how splendidly she’d managed, bringing up five children on a patchwork of income. To which for the last few years Minnie had contributed a portion of her wages from her typing job at the Automobile Association. ‘A respectable position,’ Mrs Gray told anyone who asked. ‘And will do for Minnie until the right man comes along.’ Lately she said this with a sigh because her eldest child was awkward with men and showed no sign of flying the nest. And Minnie, despite loving her mother dearly, had begun to feel stuck. Life should be opening out. Instead nothing seemed to change. Her work offered no path of progress and she couldn’t afford to leave home even if she wanted. Also, the two youngest Grays were still at school and her mother needed Minnie’s wages.

  The distant whack of wood on wood broke into her thoughts, followed by a shout of female laughter. Minnie peered down the garden and noticed with interest that an area at the far end had been set up for games and a croquet match was in progress.

  ‘Back in a minute.’ She left her
half-drunk tea on a table and hurried off, reaching the croquet in time to see a cheerful young man with a cigarette hanging from his lips measuring up for a shot. When his ball hit the hoop and skittered away he gave a cry of mock frustration.

  ‘Bad luck,’ she called out on impulse, but when he glanced up to see who’d spoken, she looked away in embarrassment.

  ‘Minnie Gray, isn’t it?’ A woman’s graceful drawl. Minnie turned to meet a familiar gaze. Narrowed hazel eyes in a forthright oval face, powder not quite disguising faint lines around thin, crimson-painted lips. For a second Minnie couldn’t place her, then the mannish way the woman drew on her cigarette gave it away.

  ‘Miss Pyle! Sorry… I hadn’t expected to see you.’

  Minnie had occasionally noticed Dolly Pyle at the AA Club and liked her. She must be in her early thirties, her lean figure always elegantly dressed in a tailored suit to which today she’d added a neat round hat. She sported an air of calm confidence, but kindness, too. A couple of weeks ago she’d helped pick up some leaflets that in her hurry Minnie had dropped on the floor of the Members Lounge while restocking a rack. ‘You look put upon, dear,’ the sympathetic Miss Pyle whispered. ‘Are they giving you a hard time?’ Minnie had explained how everything was in confusion because of staff illness. Afterwards, she worried that she shouldn’t have said this to Miss Pyle, who was a club member after all, but today the woman appeared friendlier than ever.

  ‘Do call me Dolly. Why am I not in the least surprised to see you here?’ Miss Pyle’s eyes twinkled with humour.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s my mother who’s the party member. I just trailed along to keep her happy.’

  ‘What I meant was, well… I’d hardly see you as a rabid socialist any more than I am.’

  ‘Certainly not. I’ll put my cross in the Conservative and Unionist box when the time comes, but I’m not a rabid anything. If you want the truth, squabbling over politics bores me rigid.’

  ‘And most of the people here, I’ll bet my eye.’ Dolly sighed, looking round. ‘Still, one has to have a social life of some sort. I work in London most of the week, and come up at weekends to look in on my parents. A friend invited me today, but she’s off somewhere selling raffle tickets.’

  ‘Everyone here’s a bit old and dull for me, to be honest. Not you, of course…’ Minnie added hastily.

  ‘Oh, I’m over the hill, Minnie.’ Dolly smiled. ‘On the shelf, too, but I don’t mind.’ She threw her cigarette butt onto the grass and stepped on it. ‘I enjoy my freedom too much to give it up for any man. I hope you’re not worrying about that yet.’

  ‘Not much luck in that department.’ Minnie sighed. ‘Mother’s always on about me settling down, but despite that rot I complained about the other day I like working. If I married then my husband would expect me to stay at home. I say, I do envy you living in London. What kind of work do you do?’

  There came shouts of surprise from the croquet players. The game had ended, it seemed. When she looked again at her companion, Dolly was regarding Minnie thoughtfully. Then she leaned towards Minnie and spoke in a low voice. ‘I’m afraid that I’m not allowed to tell you about my job. Except that it’s something for the government.’

  ‘That sounds mysterious.’

  ‘It is,’ Dolly murmured. ‘I can’t breathe a word to a soul.’

  ‘I promise I won’t say anything to anybody,’ Minnie whispered back, thinking Dolly was joking, but the woman’s expression was perfectly serious. ‘Oh, you… how marvellous. I’d love to do something exciting or useful. I’d train as a nurse if I didn’t hate the sight of blood.’

  ‘It’s not always exciting what I do, but it is useful and important.’ Dolly’s gaze moved past Minnie. ‘Oh, good heavens. I haven’t played that for years. What fun.’

  Minnie followed Dolly’s gaze to see that the man who’d muffed his croquet shot was now lifting spiked metal numerals out of a long wooden box. They watched as he proceeded to position them purposefully on the lawn in the shape of a giant clock face, pressing each into the turf with his heel. Finally he worked a hole for a small pot in the circle’s centre and attached a tin flag to it before returning to fetch several clubs and balls from the box.

  ‘Anyone care for clock golf?’ he cried to the generality.

  ‘Shall we?’ Dolly said to Minnie, her eyes dancing.

  ‘I’m up for it!’ Clock golf was sedate, but Minnie could never resist a game of any sort.

  ‘Excellent. Two over here,’ Dolly called. They went to claim their clubs from the man, who introduced himself as Raymond Mills. The three of them were joined by a plump middle-aged gentleman with spectacles, whose name Minnie missed.

  The golf was more amusing than she expected. Both men were only average shots, but good-humoured about it and there was much hilarity. Dolly was competent, potting her ball in two or three shots each time as she worked her way round the numbers. Minnie did better. Even party games like this brought out her competitive nature, a fact that often got her into trouble with her brothers and sisters at home.

  ‘You girls care about the game too much,’ Raymond announced after Minnie scored a hole in one. ‘You’re supposed to flutter your eyelashes and let us chaps win.’

  ‘Why on earth would we do that?’ Minnie retorted. ‘You don’t deserve to win.’

  ‘Dear me, you’re as bossy as my elder sister,’ he said mildly. He knocked his ball wide and groaned.

  ‘I’m not bossy, just honest,’ Minnie replied, worried that she’d been rude. To her relief she caught a twinkle in his eye so she gave him an uncertain smile. He was nice really, with his boyish face and easy-going attitude. She was amused by the way he wore his hat pushed back so that a lock of hair flopped out in front.

  Dolly, she realized, was still studying her, a thoughtful expression on her face. You’ve done something wrong again, she told herself. She was always getting into trouble with her mother for saying what was on her mind. In public she tried to be careful, aware that she might upset people. Men don’t like strident women, Mrs Gray often said. Men were hard work, Minnie had long ago decided. But then Dolly sent her an amused smile, allaying her fears.

  ‘You next, Dolly.’

  They continued the game. While Raymond strode off, whistling and swinging his club, to fetch his ball from a flowerbed, Minnie prepared for a tricky shot. Again, she sensed Dolly’s eye on her and it made her want to do her best. She gave her ball a sharp tap and it rose, hit the flag and dropped into the pot where, oh, the suspense, it wobbled round before coming to rest.

  ‘Phew.’

  ‘Top hole, Minnie,’ Dolly cried. ‘Excuse the pun.’

  Pleasure flooded her. ‘Thank you. Sometimes you have to creep up on the ball when it’s not looking.’

  ‘Ha, very sinister.’ They watched the plump man take his time squaring up for his shot.

  ‘Come on, sir,’ Raymond said lightly.

  ‘All right, all right. The sun’s in the wrong place.’

  Dolly laid a hand on Minnie’s sleeve. ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said quietly.

  Minnie looked back enquiringly.

  ‘Would you have coffee with me next Saturday? It would be nice to have a proper talk.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Not at the Club, I think. Do you know the Palace tea room in the park?’

  Minnie knew it very well. She felt flattered to be asked, but couldn’t think why Dolly was interested in her.

  * * *

  During the winter months the Palace tea room was a welcome place to retreat inside after a chilly walk in the park, but in the summer its doors were thrown open, metal tables and chairs lay scattered across its concourse and families queued at a hatch for ice cream.

  When Minnie arrived she spied Dolly Pyle’s lean figure already seated at a far-flung table, dappled in sunlight. Dolly was looking out across the tree-lined park, smoking a cigarette in a holder, apparently lost in thought.

  ‘I hope I’m not la
te,’ Minnie said, sitting down beside her.

  ‘Not at all.’ Dolly smiled. ‘Isn’t it a marvellous day?’ She signalled to a passing waiter and while they waited for coffee they reminisced about the garden party.

  Minnie confessed how embarrassed she had been that her mother had met Raymond later in the afternoon and had promptly invited him for tea. ‘He’s coming tomorrow. I wish she wouldn’t interfere. It’s so obvious.’

  Dolly laughed. ‘My mother used to do the same, but she gave up on me long ago.’

  The waiter brought their coffee and Minnie, watching Dolly stir sugar into hers, wondered not for the first time whether this meeting was simply an act of friendliness on Dolly’s part. Minnie liked and admired her companion very much, but Dolly was older and wore such an air of mystery and experience that Minnie felt in awe of her.

  Finally, Dolly said casually, ‘How has work been this week? Better, I hope.’

  ‘Much. I must apologize. That day you helped me… well, I’d be embarrassed if you thought I was some awful complaining sort.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t think that. You were obviously having a hard time, but you remained very professional.’

  ‘Was I? I try to be. Work is usually something I enjoy. It’s simply—’

  ‘We all have bad days, but – correct me if I’m wrong – your job doesn’t stretch you enough, I think.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s fine most of the time, and they treat me very well at the Club, but it’s as I told you at the garden party. I’d love to do something really useful and important. I don’t know exactly what it is that you do, but working for one of the government ministries sounds interesting.’

  ‘It is, yes, but then mine is an unusual job.’

  ‘You’re very lucky, I think.’

  Dolly fitted a fresh cigarette into her holder and touched it with a silver lighter that she took from her handbag. She blew out smoke and stared out across the grass. Finally, she appeared to come to a decision and looking directly at Minnie, said, ‘This may sound odd, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about. Would you be interested in working for the government?’