It was after midnight when Mary finally turned into Lord North Street. Lindsay had been waiting on the steps beneath the shell of St John’s Church for more than an hour. Time counted in cigarettes. An air raid warden had approached him and demanded to know what he was doing. He had asked himself the same question more than once. In the end his uniform was explanation enough for the warden.
Mary was almost at her uncle’s door. ‘Hey,’ he whispered as loudly as he dared. She did not hear him. He walked down the church steps towards her: ‘Mary, it’s me.’ His voice shook a little. She had unlocked the door and was on the point of stepping inside.
‘Mary,’ he said again.
‘Douglas? What on earth’s the matter?’
He skipped the last few yards until he was standing beside her. ‘Nothing, nothing, don’t worry.’ Her hand was cold.
‘Then why are you here?’ She sounded very tired.
‘Oh an impulse. Can we go in?’
She hesitated for a moment: ‘My uncle may be here. Look, I’m very tired, Douglas.’
‘I see,’ he said shortly.
‘No you don’t,’ she said and pulled him towards the door.
‘No, really, I don’t want to force myself upon you,’ he said.
‘Don’t you? Then why are you here?’
In the hall, he helped her out of her jacket. She turned towards him, stroked his face with the back of her hand and then raised her chin a little, inviting him to kiss her, a quiet, tender kiss.
‘I so wanted to see you,’ he said. ‘Last time with Lange, well.. ’
‘I haven’t quite forgiven you for that.’ She turned and walked down the hall to the kitchen and Lindsay followed.
‘I don’t know where Uncle is.’ She switched on the light and began reaching into cupboards for tea and cups.
Lindsay stood blinking by the door. He felt a little guilty: ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t sure you’d come home but I knew I’d feel better if I tried to see you.’
Mary turned towards him, cup in hand, and gave him a tired, sweet smile. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said.
They sat at the kitchen table sipping tea and Lindsay asked her about Winn and the Tracking Room. She seemed distracted and answered only half heartedly. ‘Let’s not talk about work, I want to forget it,’ she said.
‘You’re right. Sorry.’
‘And stop saying sorry.’ She got up and carried her cup to the sink. ‘I want to go to bed.’
Her back was turned and there was nothing in her weary voice to indicate whether this was a dismissal or an invitation. Lindsay watched the graceful sweep of the hand she lifted to the nape of her neck — her coal black hair was tied in an unruly bun — hoping, willing her to turn to him with a smile. But instead she said sharply: ‘Well?’
‘Perhaps I should…’
‘What?’ And then she turned to look at him, an impish smile on her face.
He pushed back his chair, walked over to the sink and grabbed both her wrists.
‘You witch,’ he said, and kissed her, pushing her body hard against the sink.
She lifted her arms to his neck and she was laughing so much they had to stop. Lindsay began to laugh too.
‘You tease.’
‘I’m not. I want to go to bed.’ She was looking at him intently with her twinkling green eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. ‘And I want you to take me there.’
Lindsay leant forward and whispered: ‘Like this?’ His hands dropped to her hips and he began to lift her woollen skirt and slip. Her lips opened a little and he could hear her short shaky breaths, feel her arms tighten about his neck. And his hands slipped over the top of her stockings on to the soft warm skin of her thighs, and bending a little he lifted her from the ground.
‘Still tired?’ he whispered softly in her ear.
In reply she kissed his neck and whispered: ‘Come on, carry me.’
Later he watched her sleeping beside him, curled into a ball, her hair loose about her shoulders and the pillow. And he wondered at their lovemaking, a little miracle of forgetfulness in which for such a short time there was only comfort, excitement, joy. But it was over and even there in the stillness of Mary’s room, with her warm body pressed against his, restless thoughts forced their way to the front of his mind. Tomorrow he would interrogate Mohr again. He would be taking a risk, like a sapper pushing into dangerous ground.
He rolled from Mary on to his back and she whimpered a little, unconsciously pushing herself towards his warmth. Turning back to her, he swept a loose curl from her face then bent to kiss her cheek. Without opening her eyes she reached up to touch him and he caught her hand and kissed it.
‘Can’t you sleep?’ she asked dreamily.
‘No. Sorry.’
‘Why are you always sorry?’
‘Mother’s Calvinism.’
She smiled, her eyes still closed: ‘But you’re of the elect?’
‘No. A helpless reprobate.’
‘I can help you.’
‘You already have.’
She opened her eyes a little. ‘Kiss me,’ and he did, tenderly.
‘Why can’t you sleep? Are you thinking of the ship again?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘It’s tomorrow. Tomorrow I will interrogate the commander of the U-112."
Mary groaned.
‘I know. I know. I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But it’s important.’
And he told her about the wireless operators, that it was no coincidence they spoke English, that they had both joined the 112 for its war patrol south, and that Mohr had been ‘one of the six’ senior Staff officers at U-boat Headquarters.
‘I can’t be absolutely sure but I think it’s something to do with our codes…’
‘Again,’ said Mary sleepily. ‘Haven’t they ordered you not to get involved?’
He ignored the question: ‘It’s not proof they’re reading our signals but it’s evidence. Mohr was on the Staff. A word from him and I’d have the proof…’
‘And if you don’t get some sort of confirmation from Mohr that they’re reading our signals?’
Lindsay pulled a face. They were lying side by side now and Mary was gazing at him intently, suddenly wakeful and serious. After a long silence she pushed herself up and the sheet slipped from her. He reached up to touch her breast: ‘You’re so very beautiful.’
‘Douglas, you must leave this alone. You’re going to get into terrible trouble.’
‘You sound like your brother,’ he said shortly.
‘Perhaps he’s right about this,’ she said crossly.
Lindsay rolled away from her: ‘He’s an idiot.’
‘He’s my brother.’
‘That is his only redeeming feature.’
‘And is Rodger Winn an idiot too?’
Lindsay sighed loudly.
‘He wanted you to interrogate Mohr, didn’t he,’ she said. ‘But not codes, he doesn’t want you to question him about our codes.’
Lindsay turned his head sharply to look at Mary: ‘Did he tell you that?’
‘Not in so many words, I just know and so do you. It’s out of bounds. Leave it, Douglas. Promise me you will.’
‘Of course I won’t. I really can’t understand this. Why is it so impossible?’ he asked. ‘My God. Doesn’t anyone trust Section 11 or is it just me?’
Mary shook her head and said quietly. ‘Please, please just leave it.’
Lindsay looked at her, slender and pretty, her dark hair unruly about her face, and he wanted to feel her close again. Reaching up, he pulled her down so that her head was resting on his chest and they lay there for a while without speaking. It was Mary who broke the silence:
‘We should go away together.’
‘Paris?’
‘Very funny. Oxfordshire.’
‘Ah. When the war’s over I’ll take you to Berlin.’
‘If they win, someone might beat you to it.’
Lindsay laughed and reached beneath the sheet to gently caress her behind.
‘Do you think Germans would be interested in this?’
‘You are,’ she said.
Mary slept there on his chest, a short restless sleep, until at a little before six, he slipped away. He stepped into Lord North Street with her sweet scent on his skin, her words troubling his thoughts.