V2 A Novel of World War II - Robert Harris Page 0,37

heels. The dog was barking. One of them was blowing on a whistle – an action as pointless as it was irritating. He was just about to turn and tell him to shut up when the trees bent towards him and he ran head first into what felt like a wall of earth. It filled his mouth and eyes. The ground dropped away beneath his feet. He trod air. His arms flailed in panic. His back struck something hard.

When he opened his eyes again, the trees around him were on fire. Burning leaves and paper floated in the smoke. He crawled on his knees, then pulled himself up and staggered through the blasted trees towards the smouldering crater. Just before he reached it, the dog trotted past him, proudly carrying something in its mouth that only afterwards he realised was a hand.

8

IN THE GROUNDS OF DANESFIELD House, in the dormitory at the far end of the hooped metal Nissen hut, Sunday night turned into Monday morning to the accompaniment of nothing more noisy than a murmuring of snores. Of the four women, only Kay was awake – lying on her side, studying the luminous green markings of her travel clock with such concentration she convinced herself she could see the big hand edging forward with infinitesimal slowness.

Beside the softly ticking clock, on the chair that served as a nightstand, lay the papers that were to be her passport out of this place. The first affirmed that WAAF Section Officer A. V. Caton-Walsh of the Central Interpretation Unit, RAF Medmenham, had been temporarily reassigned to 33 Wing, 2nd Tactical Air Force, the transfer having been requested by Wing Commander C. R. Knowsley, approved by her commanding officer, Wing Commander L. P. Starr, and authorised by Air Commodore M. S. Templeton, DFC. Attached to this chit by a paper clip was a second document: a crudely typed and duplicated movement order directing her to report to RAF Northolt by 0900 hours the next day. The rows of dots left empty for name, rank and serial number had been filled in by a careless hand in an indecipherable scrawl of blue ink.

She wondered how much aggravation it had cost Mike to pull rank and do her this favour – quite a bit, to judge by the way Starr had marched past her while she was sitting in the lobby of the Air Ministry and driven off without offering her a lift back to Danesfield House. Wing Commander Knowsley, lost in thought, had also ignored her. The bushy-browed officer from Bomber Command had given her a knowing wink. Finally, when the flight lieutenant who served as Mike’s aide had descended the stairs half an hour later to hand over her orders – ‘The Air Commodore asked me to give you this’ – his manner had been one of cold distaste, like a footman sent down by his master to pay off a tart.

Word of this would spread, she thought. Starr would see to that. She wanted very much to leave before the others were awake, but she didn’t dare set the alarm in case she disturbed them. She rolled onto her back and dozed through the night, occasionally hearing the cry of a waterfowl on the Thames or the hooting of the owls in the big elms. When she checked the clock for what felt like the twentieth time and saw that it was nearly six, she finally decided to risk it. She eased herself out from beneath her blanket and struck a match. The rasp sounded to her as loud as a gunshot. She lit a candle.

She had gone to bed half dressed. It took her only a couple of minutes to put on her skirt and jacket. She sat on the edge of the mattress and squeezed her stockinged feet into her shoes. The floorboard creaked. Someone stirred. A voice in the wavering shadows cast by the candle whispered, ‘What are you doing?’

It was Shirley Locke – inevitably.

Kay whispered, ‘Going to the loo.’

‘Why are you dressed?’

‘Never mind. Go back to sleep.’

She finished tying her laces, stood and put on her cap. Her suitcase was already packed. She shrugged on her heavy coat, closed the travel clock and slipped it into her pocket along with her papers.

‘Are you eloping?’

‘Don’t be silly.’

She collected the candle, picked up her suitcase and fumbled with the door handle.

‘When will you be back?’

‘I’m not sure. Go to sleep.’ She felt unexpectedly tearful at the thought of sneaking away