each other, so she took the maps back to Lark’s rooms to memorize, stopping on the way to ask Wardrobe when her black skirt would be ready.
“Three weeks,” the tech said.
“Three weeks? I told you to put in a rush order.”
“That is a rush order.”
Which meant she’d better settle for the navy blue. She didn’t want the lack of a skirt to keep her from going. For want of a nail, the shoe was lost… she thought, quoting one of Mr. Dunworthy’s favorite adages.
She told the tech she’d decided the navy blue would work after all. “Oh, excellent,” the tech said, relieved. “Will you need shoes?”
“No, the ones I have will work, but I’ll need a pair of stockings.”
The tech found her a pair, and Polly took the clothes over to Magdalen, memorized the map, and reread her notes on department stores. She was only halfway through them when the phone rang.
Colin, I do not have time for this, she thought. But it was Linna. “We’ve found a site, believe it or not, but the problem is, I can’t fit you in till a fortnight from now unless you can get here in the next half hour. If you’re not ready yet—”
“I’m ready. I’ll be there,” Polly said and scrambled into her costume, nearly running her stockings in her haste. She grabbed her ration book, identity card, departure letter, and letters of recommendation, and crammed them into her shoulder bag. Oh, and her money. And Mr. Dunworthy’s twenty extra pounds. And her wristwatch.
And now all I need is to run into Mr. Dunworthy, she thought, putting it on as she dashed out of Magdalen and hurried along the High, but her luck held, and she arrived at the lab with five minutes to spare. “Thank goodness,” Linna said. “I was wrong about that slot a fortnight from now. The next open time I have is the sixth of June.”
“D-Day,” she said.
“Yes, well, your D-Day’s exactly five minutes from now,” Badri said, coming over. He positioned her in the net, taking measurements and then adjusting her shoulder bag so it was farther inside the net. “You’re going through to 6 A.M. on the tenth of September.”
Good, Polly thought. That will give me the entire day to find a flat and then go apply for jobs.
Badri adjusted the folds of the net. “Ascertain your temporal-spatial location as soon as you go through, and note any slippage.” He went back to the console and began typing. “And make certain you use more than one landmark to fix the location of your drop, not just a single street or building. Bombing can change the landscape, and it’s notoriously difficult to judge distances and directions in a bombed-out area.”
“I know,” she said. “Why do you want me to note the slippage? Are you anticipating more than usual?”
“No, the estimated slippage is one to two hours. Linna, ring up Mr. Dunworthy. He wanted to be notified when we found a drop site.”
No, Polly thought, not when I’m this close.
“He’s in London,” Linna called back. “He went to see Dr. Ishiwaka again. When I phoned his secretary with the slippage data, he said he won’t be back till tonight.”
Thank goodness.
“All right, never mind,” Badri said. “Polly, you’re to report back to us as soon as you’ve located a place to live and been hired on.” The draperies began to lower around her. “And note exactly how much slippage you encounter when you go through. Ready?”
“Yes. No, wait. I forgot something. Colin was doing some research for me.”
“Is it something necessary for your assignment?” Badri asked. “Do you need to postpone?”
“No.” She couldn’t risk Mr. Dunworthy canceling her drop, and she had the times of the raids. Colin had said the sirens had generally gone twenty minutes before the raids began, and she could get the list from him when she came back through to tell them her address. “I’m ready.”
The net immediately began to shimmer. “Tell Colin—” she said, but it was too late. The net had already opened.
Every owner of a motor vehicle should be ready, in the event of invasion, to immobilize his car, cycle, or lorry the moment the order is given.
—BRITISH MINISTRY OF TRANSPORT POSTER, 1940
Warwickshire—Spring 1940
THE VICAR CAME TO GIVE EILEEN AND THE REST OF THE staff their first driving lessons the day after she returned from Oxford. “Aren’t you frightened?” Una asked Eileen.
“No,” she said, taking off her apron. “I’m certain the vicar’s an excellent teacher.” And, thanks to my time