Authors: Merryn Allingham
The woman he sought hadn’t been on night duty. She wouldn’t be sleeping. She’d been at that accursed funeral, so where had she vanished to? Then he knew. She’d recognised him, hadn’t she, so of course she’d gone to tell her fellow spy—gone to Ellen Street. Except there was no longer a house to visit and no longer a spy to tell. His heart raced with excitement. He knew he’d find her there. First, though, he needed to steal a car. That shouldn’t prove a problem. People were so careless with their property, particularly in wartime.
In half an hour, he had parked around the corner from Ellen Street and was walking slowly towards the damaged building. It was an incredible sight. To cause such chaos, and with such a small bomb. He’d seen an ambulance a few streets away. It must have been on its way to the morgue, though post-mortems wouldn’t be done today and there would be no identification for a while. He was safe from that. But not from her. He’d been right, she was here. She’d come straight to her contact and now he was no more, she would go straight to the SIS at Baker Street.
He took shelter behind a large van parked at the bottom of the road. A red-haired man he’d never seen before was by her side. Was he a friend? He didn’t seem it. The way
they were standing suggested a more formal relationship, but he saw the man bend his head towards her as though in sympathy. He was a passer-by perhaps, listening to her tale and feeling sorry for her. He could just about catch a glimpse of her face from where he crouched. She was very pale and it looked as though she might have been crying. Perhaps the spy in the attic had been more than just a colleague. Too bad. The SIS officer he’d seen her with before was nowhere around, but if Sweetman judged correctly, she would soon be on her way to Baker Street. He’d got to her in time.
The red-haired man was escorting her to a black saloon parked to one side. The man must have offered her a lift, and Sweetman would stake his life on it that they’d head immediately to the West End. He walked swiftly back to the stolen car and slid behind the wheel, waiting for the saloon to edge out of Ellen Street. It should be simple enough to follow at a distance. But it turned out to be far more difficult than he’d expected. The driver seemed to be choosing the most complicated route he could. Why that was so, Sweetman had no clue. All his concentration was focused on the saloon in front, following it on its tortuous journey down narrow streets and across back alleys. At first, he thought the car was travelling westwards and knew a glimmer of satisfaction. Baker Street it was. The driver would have to drop her near number sixty-four and, once she was alone, he would strike. But then the car in front swung suddenly east, then north. Every point
of the compass, Sweetman muttered to himself. And the man kept on driving. Where the hell were they going? Gradually, though, he could feel the journey settling into one direction, northwards, now always northwards. He was baffled but pleased. If he could have chosen an ideal direction for the girl to be driven, it would have been north. Everything was falling into place. It was clear his mission was blessed. He had right on his side.
It was a long walk back to Baker Street from Barts, but it gave Grayson time to digest what Connie Telford had told him. When he’d seen Daisy at Ellen Street a short while ago, he’d been pulled apart by a clash of emotions. Her small, upright figure, standing by the side of her murdered husband, was something that tugged ferociously at his heart. Yet at the same time he was angry with her, angry that once more he’d been dismissed on what seemed to him mere caprice. But her friend’s words had given him pause. On the surface, it still made no sense. This poor girl who’d died, whoever she was, had not committed suicide because of Daisy, but that hadn’t stopped Daisy from taking responsibility. The death hadn’t happened on her watch alone; the girl must have met and mixed with dozens of people every day. If you wanted to lay the blame somewhere, then surely it was the hospital itself that might have done more to prevent the tragedy. But that was not how Daisy saw it. And Connie was right
about her. These past few weeks she’d been forced to deal with more than anyone should, not least the reappearance of a dead husband. That was the key, of course. Old experience, painful experience, had reared its head. She’d never shaken herself free of India and what had happened there; she still felt a responsibility for the terrible events, though there was no earthly reason why she should. She hadn’t killed Anish or sent Gerald to a watery grave. Just the opposite. She’d almost perished herself.
But crazy or not, her desolation at the girl’s death was closely linked with that disaster. He tried to think it through, to put himself in her shoes. Maybe it wasn’t that remarkable that she’d reacted as she had. While war had pushed most of the world into a frantic merry-go-round—breaking old connections, making unlikely friends, falling in love with strangers—she had anchored herself to the safety of her nurse’s world. She’d used its protection to build a shield, or rather rebuild the one she’d carried with her since her orphaned childhood. He couldn’t really know, couldn’t really understand, what that had been like. His life had been happy. His father had died when he was small, it was true, but he’d been too young for it ever to have had a lasting effect. He’d been reared by a doting mother who had done everything in her power to make his life easy, and to set him on the path to success. He’d made one or two mistakes, found himself up one or two blind alleys, but eventually he’d settled in a job he loved, a life he loved. And always he’d had the reassurance of a
loving family. Daisy had not been so blessed, and he could see that the defensive wall she’d built had been necessary. Since she returned from India, she’d hidden behind it. Until that is, Gerald had resurfaced, the dead made living, and did what he was so good at, Grayson thought sourly, destroyed her peace of mind, destroyed her happiness. With her husband’s coming, past and present had coalesced for her, and old and new tragedies become one.
And whether he liked it or not, he was part of that tragedy. Whenever he got too close, she ran from him, thinking to escape back into safety. But there was no escape: recent events had proved that. Sooner or later, she would have to face her demons, face what had happened in India and what was happening right now, here in this injured city. He hoped it would be with him by her side. He was too much of a reminder now of what she didn’t want to recall, but, one day, things might be different. Surely the love they’d shared had to mean something? But even if it didn’t, even if he never managed to change her mind, he would move heaven and earth to keep her safe. He quickened his pace. He must get to Baker Street and see Mike. His colleague would be returning soon with news of Daisy and the small house in Highgate.
Daisy was relieved when the car finally slowed and pulled in to the kerbside. It had been a hazardous journey, racing down the narrowest of roads, charging up one-way
streets, constantly changing direction, constantly doubling back on the way they had come. And always travelling at speed. It was the stuff of every spy story she had ever read, but when they finally stopped, she felt an odd disappointment. She didn’t know what she’d expected but the street they were in was at best unprepossessing, one of the many anonymous residential roads dotted across the north of London. A curtain twitched to her left, but other than that, there was no sign of life. She stared up at the house she imagined was their destination, and its blank windows stared back. Then Corrigan was helping her from the car. Her legs felt frail, as though at any moment they would fold beneath her. Was that reaction to a terrifying journey or simple exhaustion from the events of the day? She could hardly believe it was only this morning that she’d attended Willa’s funeral, only this morning she’d seen the face of the man who’d stalked her, the man from whom she must be kept safe.
‘The police will want to talk to you,’ Mike said, leading the way into a hall papered from top to bottom with cabbage roses. Their feet slapped against the bare linoleum. ‘They’ll send an officer quite shortly. I imagine he’ll be accompanied by a police artist. They’ll hope to get a reasonable description of the man.’
She felt flustered. ‘I’m not sure I’m going to be much help. I would know his eyes, but the rest of him was so thoroughly muffled. The trilby, you see …’
‘But you could describe his eyes, his face shape? And his height, weight, that kind of thing.’
She felt heavy and tired. She wanted to sleep. ‘I think so. I’m sorry if I sound useless, but today was the first time I saw him at all properly.’
‘You’ll do your best, I’m sure.’ Corrigan was upbeat. ‘It will probably be enough. These artist chaps are pretty good.’
He ushered her into the sitting room and her first impressions of the house were confirmed. She hoped she wouldn’t have to make a lengthy stay. Here and there the carpet wore bare patches and the chairs looked uncomfortable. She wished Connie was with her, and wondered what her friend was doing right now and what she was making of Daisy’s absence. She’d promised to be back at Barts in a matter of minutes, but instead, she was likely to be away for days—unless, until, the man was apprehended.
‘Shall I make some tea?’
‘Not for me, thank you,’ she assured him. She had an immense longing for quiet, a need to be on her own.
‘Then I’ll take you round the house and be off. There’s not a lot to see, but that’s the whole point. Nothing showy, nothing to stand out. You’ll be perfectly safe here.’
‘Where are we exactly?’
‘Highgate. Well, to be honest, not quite Highgate. The less salubrious bit, I’m afraid. But it’s convenient.’
She wondered at the adjective. ‘Grayson and I will be just next door—in Hampstead,’ he explained. ‘We’ve been
designated the welcoming committee at Pitt House when Chandan Patel arrives tonight.’
‘He’s the envoy from Congress, isn’t he?’
‘I see you’ve been doing your homework,’ he joked. ‘The meeting was set for tomorrow, but it’s been advanced. It’s become too crucial to wait longer. The Foreign Secretary will be present. It’s very hush-hush but your knowing won’t hurt. It will be over in hours.’
‘Why at night though?’
‘At midnight, in fact. The witching hour!’
‘Then it must be “hush-hush”. I can’t imagine the Foreign Secretary would be willing to travel so late otherwise.’
‘A lot’s at stake, Daisy,’ he said seriously. ‘The Government needs to get an agreement as soon as possible and it’s very important for us, for Britain, that it is.’
‘And you’ll be at the centre of things.’ And Grayson, too, she thought. No wonder he loved his job.
‘Only a very few of us know what’s happening. It’s had to be kept top secret—there’s already been an attempt on Patel. A kidnapping that failed. I believe you saw it.’
The heaviness returned. ‘I did. It was the man I saw today, I’m almost sure.’
‘Quite likely, but we’re not closing any avenues just yet. Someone is out to get the envoy and whoever he is, we need to make sure he doesn’t succeed. Patel will have an armed guard to Pitt House and there will be soldiers on the gate.’
‘I’ll let you get on with your adventure then.’
He ignored the mild mockery and waved his hand towards the hall. ‘The kitchen’s through there by the way. There’s tea and milk and a small amount of food, though not much. Grayson will send one of our junior officers as soon as he can. The man should be here in a while and he’ll bring fresh supplies with him.’
‘He’ll be staying in the house?’
‘Until we’re sure you’re no longer in danger. And that shouldn’t be too long. Once the meeting is over, Patel will be driven under escort to Southampton and put on a P&O back to Bombay. That will be one of our problems out of the way. Maybe more than one. If your villain is after Patel, as we suspect, there’ll be nothing to keep him here once the Congressman has sailed. He’ll want to get out of the country as soon as he can. Probably back to India, and we can nab him at the port.’
‘And if you don’t? If he doesn’t try to leave England?’
‘He’ll be hunted down and arrested. Then he’ll stand trial for kidnapping. Possibly murder.’
‘And I’ll be the primary witness?’
‘I’m afraid you will. But he’ll be banged up for years—if he’s lucky. And executed, if he’s not. So no need for you to worry.’ His voice was full of cheer and Daisy wished she could feel as sanguine.
‘By the way, there are two bedrooms upstairs. One of them has the bed made up. Briant, if he’s the man Grayson sends, will sleep on the sofa.’
She wasn’t looking forward to her captivity and with a
man she’d never met, but she thanked him dutifully. ‘You will keep in touch, Mr Corrigan?’
‘Mike, call me Mike. I will or Grayson will. Like I said, we’re only a few miles away. We’ll let you grab some sleep tonight, but one of us will be round in the morning to see how you’re doing. Probably Grayson.’
She found herself flushing and she knew that he’d noticed. ‘It’s not my place to say this,’ he said diffidently, ‘but you should know that he’s very cut up about this whole business.’ Her flush deepened. ‘I realise it’s been difficult for you these last few weeks, pretty bloody awful as far as I can make out, but Grayson has done his best to protect you. He risked his career to get those papers.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘I didn’t know if you knew that.’
She hadn’t known, but if she’d thought sensibly for one moment, she would have realised the risk Grayson must have run. She felt ashamed and had no answer for his friend.
‘Anyway, I’ll be off now.’ He held out his hand. They walked to the door together and he stepped out onto the pavement. ‘Keep this door locked until Briant comes—I think it will be Briant. He’ll give one long and two short rings on the bell and you’ll know it’s him. And remember, he’s just there to make sure you feel safe. There’s no real danger, so don’t be worried.’
She smiled faintly and watched him walk over to his car. Then she shut the door and locked it behind her. She
didn’t see the second vehicle that had pulled out a hundred yards up the road and was following on Corrigan’s tail.