Cold Harbour

About fifty yards from the entrance to the tube, a row of shops had been blasted into rubble. The warden said, ‘We should wait for the heavy rescue boys, but I heard someone crying out over here. Used to be a café called Sam’s. I think there’s someone in the cellar.’

They crowded forward, listening. The warden called out and almost immediately there was a faint answering cry.

‘Right, let’s get this lot cleared,’ the warden said.

They attacked the pile of bricks with their hands, burrowing deep, until after fifteen or twenty minutes, the top of the area steps appeared. There was barely room for a man to enter headfirst. While they crouched to inspect it, someone cried out in alarm and they scattered as a wall crumpled into the street.

The dust cleared and they stood up. ‘Madness to go down there,’ one of the men said.

There was a pause then Craig put his cap in his trenchcoat pocket, took the coat off and handed it to Genevieve. ‘Jesus, I only got his damn uniform two days ago,’ he said, dropped on his belly and slithered into the slot above the steps.

Everyone waited. After a while they could hear a child crying. His hands appeared holding a baby. Genevieve ran forward to take it from him and retreated into the centre of the street. A little later, a boy of about five years of age crawled out, covered in filth. He stood there, bewildered, and Craig emerged behind him. He took the boy’s hand and crossed to join Genevieve and the warden in the middle of the street. Someone cried a warning and another wall cascaded down in a shower of bricks, completely covering the entrance.

‘Blimey, guvnor, your luck is good,’ the warden said and he dropped on one knee to comfort the crying child. ‘Anyone else down there?’

‘A woman. Dead, I’m afraid.’ Craig managed to find a cigarette. He lit it and gave Genevieve a tired grin. ‘There’s nothing like a really great war, that’s what I always say, Miss Trevaunce. What do you always say?’

She held the baby close. ‘The uniform,’ she said. ‘It’s not so bad. It should clean up very well.’

‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re a great comfort?’ he enquired.

Later, driving on, she felt tired again. The bombing was well into the distance now, but even this area had seen action, glass crunching under the tyres. She saw a street sign – Haston Place – and Craig stopped outside number ten, a pleasant Georgian terrace house.

‘Where are we?’ she asked.

‘About ten minutes’ walk from SOE Headquarters in Baker Street. My boss has the top floor flat here. He thought it would be more private.’

‘And who might this boss be?’

‘Brigadier Dougal Munro.’

‘Now that doesn’t sound very American,’ she observed.

He opened the door for her. ‘We’ll take anything that comes to hand, Miss Trevaunce. Now, if you’d follow me please.’

He led the way up the steps and pressed one of the buzzers at the front door.

5

Jack Carter was waiting on the landing as they went up the stairs, leaning on his stick. He held out his hand. ‘Miss Trevaunce. A great pleasure. My name’s Carter. Brigadier Munro is expecting you.’

The door stood open. As she went in Carter said to Craig, ‘Everything all right?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Craig told him. ‘I wouldn’t expect too much at this stage.’

The sitting room was very pleasant. A coal fire burning in a Georgian grate, a great many antiques on display, all of them an indication of Munro’s original career as an Egyptologist. The room was shadowed, the main light coming from a table lamp of brass on the desk by the window. Munro sat behind it reading some papers. Now he stood up and came round the desk.