Michael Caine—he was evacuated when he was six—but I haven’t, and—I just thought of something. You might meet Agatha Christie. She was in London during the Blitz.”
“Agatha Christie?”
“The twentieth-century mystery novelist. She wrote these marvelous books about murders involving spinsters and clergymen and retired colonels. I used them for my prep—they’re full of details about servants and manor houses. And during the war she worked in hospital, and you’re going to be an ambulance driver. She—”
“I’m not going to be an ambulance driver. I’m going to be something far more dangerous—a shopgirl in an Oxford Street department store.”
“That’s more dangerous than driving an ambulance?”
“Definitely. Oxford Street was bombed five times, and more than half its department stores were at least partly damaged.”
“You’re not going to work in one of those, are you?”
“No, of course not. Mr. Dunworthy won’t even allow me to work in Peter Robinson, though it wasn’t hit till the end of the Blitz. I can understand why he wouldn’t let me.…”
Eileen nodded absently, listening to the bells of Christ Church tolling the hours. Four o’clock. They’d stood there talking to Colin longer than she’d thought. Perhaps instead of going with Polly, she should go to Oriel and find out when Transport closed.
“… John Lewis and Company…” Polly was saying.
Or she could ask Polly to ask Mr. Dunworthy to ring Props and approve the lessons over the phone for her.
“… Padgett’s or Selfridges…”
I could go to Props
, Eileen thought, pick up the authorization form, go to Oriel, and have Polly meet me there
.
“But I daren’t dare push too hard,” Polly said, “or he may cancel it altogether. He’s thought this entire assignment was too dangerous from the beginning, and when he finds out—” She stopped, frowning again.
“Finds out what?” Eileen asked.
Polly paused. “How many tube stations were hit,” she said finally, and Eileen had the feeling that hadn’t been what she’d intended to say. “I’m going to be spending my nights sleeping in the Underground stations.”
“The Underground stations?”
“Yes, there weren’t enough shelters when the Blitz began, and the ones they had weren’t particularly safe, so people began sleeping in the tube stations. I’m going to camp out there nights to observe the shelterers,” she said, and Eileen must have been looking as worried as she felt because Polly added, “It’s perfectly safe.”
“Provided you don’t stay in one of the ones that was hit,” Eileen said dryly. They reached Balliol’s gate. “Polly, I’m not going to go in with you.” She told her her plan, then stepped up to the porter’s lodge. “Mr. Purdy, do you know how late Transport stays open?”
“I’ve got their hours here somewhere,” the porter said, shuffling through papers. “Six o’clock.”
Oh, good, there’d be time. “Is Mr. Dunworthy in his office?”
“I believe so,” Mr. Purdy said. “I only just came on duty, but Mr. McCaffey said Mr. Davies came through an hour ago looking for him, and he’s still here, so I assume he found him.”
“Michael Davies?”
Mr. Purdy nodded. “Miss Churchill, you have a message from Colin Templer. He said to tell you he’s looking for you and—”
“He found me,” Polly said, “but thank you. Eileen, I’ll tell Mr. Dunworthy to ring you at Props—”
She shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”
“But I thought you were going over to Props.”
“I am, but first I want to ask Michael if he’s doing VE-Day, and if he is, if he’ll swap assignments with me. Or he may know who is.” She started across the quad with Polly in her wake.
Michael was sitting on the steps of Beard, tapping his foot. “Are you waiting to see Mr. Dunworthy, too?” Polly asked.
“Yes,” he said impatiently. “I’ve been
waiting for an hour and forty-five minutes. I can’t believe this. First he louses up my assignment, and now—”
“What’s your assignment?” Eileen asked.
“It was
Pearl Harbor, which is why I sound like a damned American—”
“I thought you sounded odd,” Eileen said.
“Yes, well, I’ll really sound odd in Dover. I’m doing the evacuation of Dunkirk. With less than three days’ prep. That’s why I’m here—to see if he’ll move it back—”
“But—” Eileen said confused. “They evacuated children from Dunkirk?”
“No. Soldiers. The entire British Expeditionary Force, as a matter of fact. Three hundred thousand men in nine days flat. Didn’t you attend any of your first-year history lectures?”
“Yes,” she said defensively, “but I didn’t decide on World War II till last year.” She hesitated. “The evacuation of Dunkirk is
in World War II, isn’t it?”
Michael laughed. “Yes. May twenty-sixth to June fourth, 1940.”