had been a somewhat disappointing evening all around.
We passed Hendon Park. It was quiet today, very few people out and about. Last month they’d held a large rally there. “Rout the Rumour,” it had been called. There were songs and dances and speakers that encouraged us to keep from spreading gossip about the war. It seemed like a very long time ago now.
Passing through the pillared entryway of Hendon Central Station, we descended into the muggy confines of the Tube. I reflected, as I had often done in recent months, how some things were so changed and yet others remained the same.
As we waited for the Northern line train to appear, Uncle Mick smoked a cigarette and told me about the job. It would be easy enough, he said. A man in Piccadilly had rung up that morning to ask him to replace the locks on his doors.
“Not very interesting, but I never turn down a job, you know.”
Uncle Mick often received jobs from far-flung parts of the city. He was a man who had built a solid reputation for himself, and it was well known that if you had a difficult lock that needed opening, he was your man.
I felt a sudden surge of happiness in this little bit of normality. I was with Uncle Mick. We were going to do an uncomplicated job. I breathed a sigh of relief that, even just for the moment, all was right with the world.
Alas, that peaceful feeling was to be short-lived.
We were gone perhaps three hours, and I returned to find Nacy in more of a state than she had been when we left. She came out of the house as we approached, clearly having been watching for us from the window.
She started talking before she reached us. “There you are. It’s about time. I’ll be pleased to have some peace at last. They’ve been ringing nonstop, and that after they sent that man around three times. A waste of petrol, it was, and I told him so. It’s not his fault, of course, but someone ought to do something. I don’t know what they’re…”
“Nacy, what on earth are you talking about?” I interrupted.
She gave an exasperated sigh. “I’ve told you. They’ve been ringing.”
“Who has?” I asked.
“Someone on behalf of a Major Ramsey. He says you’re to come straightaway. Alone.”
* * *
After a bit of discussion with Nacy and Uncle Mick, assuring them I would be perfectly fine going alone, I returned to the station. It was a bit of a guessing game as to how to get there by the Tube, as I had only been to the major’s office in the car. But I had an excellent memory and a keen sense of direction. And, after all, it wasn’t as though I was going to run into a rough crowd in Belgravia.
Soon enough I found myself on a familiar street, a short walk from there to the major’s office. It was quieter here than it was in Hendon, more reserved. But perhaps that was just the tenor of the street and not a result of wartime.
What did the major want to see me about? Had someone been able to get hold of the papers? But no. He would’ve called both me and Uncle Mick in that case.
Why had he insisted I come quickly and alone? I was curious, and just the slightest bit uneasy.
Poor Uncle Mick had wanted to accompany me, but if Major Ramsey had said I was to come alone, there was no sense in provoking him. And, after all, I knew well enough now how to handle the major.
I moved up the front steps, rapping on the door, and Oscar Davies, his face even grimmer than usual, opened it at once.
“The major is waiting for you, Miss McDonnell,” he said as soon as I entered. Something in the way he said it made me think it was a warning. “He sent me round to your house more than once this morning.”
“So I’ve heard,” I told him.
Rather than look amused by my sarcasm, he looked slightly scandalized.
He opened his mouth as though he was going to say something and then shut it again. He turned as if to lead me to the office, but I stopped him.
“I know the way, Oscar,” I said.
He nodded, and I thought he looked relieved that he wasn’t going to have to lead me in that direction. Was Major Ramsey really that much of a dragon? It wouldn’t surprise me. As Uncle