He said, “You don’t like the food?”
“Do you?”
“I’ll tell you something. I’ve debriefed pilots who have been shot down over France and made their way home. We think we’re experiencing austerity, but we don’t know the meaning of the word. The Frogs are starving to death. After hearing those stories, everything tastes good to me.”
“Austerity is no excuse for vile cooking,” Hermia said crisply.
He grinned. “They told me you were a bit waspish.”
“What else did they tell you?”
“That you’re bilingual in English and Danish-which is why you’re head of the Denmark desk, I presume.”
“No. The war is the reason for that. Before, no woman ever rose above the level of secretary-assistant in MI6. We didn’t have analytical minds, you see. We were more suited to homemaking and child-rearing. But since war broke out, women’s brains have undergone a remarkable change, and we have become capable of work that previously could only be accomplished by the masculine mentality.”
He took her sarcasm with easy good humor. “I’ve noticed that, too,” he said. “Wonders never cease.”
“Why have you been checking up on me?”
“Two reasons. First, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” This time he was not grinning.
He had succeeded in surprising her. Men did not often say she was beautiful. Handsome, perhaps; striking, sometimes; imposing, often. Her face was a long oval, perfectly regular, but with severe dark hair, hooded eyes, and a nose too big to be pretty. She could not think of a witty rejoinder. “What’s the other reason?”
He glanced sideways. Two older women were sharing their table, and although they were chatting to each other, they were probably also half-listening to Digby and Hermia. “I’ll tell you in a minute,” he said. “Would you like to go out on the tiles?”
He had surprised her again. “What?”
“Will you go out with me?”
“Certainly not.”
For a moment he seemed nonplussed. Then his grin returned, and he said, “Don’t sugar the pill, give it to me straight.”
She could not help smiling.
“We could go to the pictures,” he persisted. “Or to the Shoulder of Mutton Pub in Old Bletchley. Or both.”
She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said firmly.
“Oh.” He seemed crestfallen.
Did he think she was turning him down because of his disability? She hastened to put that right. “I’m engaged,” she said. She showed him the ring on her left hand.
“I didn’t notice.”
“Men never do.”
“Who’s the lucky fellow?”
“A pilot in the Danish army.”
“Over there, I presume.”
“As far as I know. I haven’t heard from him for a year.”
The two ladies left the table, and Digby’s manner changed. His face turned serious and his voice became quiet but urgent. “Take a look at this, please.” He drew from his pocket a sheet of flimsy paper and handed it to her.
She had seen such flimsy sheets before, here at Bletchley Park. As she expected, it was a decrypt of an enemy radio signal.
“I imagine I’ve no need to tell you how desperately secret this is,” Digby said.
“No need.”
“I believe you speak German as well as Danish.”
She nodded. “In Denmark, all schoolchildren learn German, and English and Latin as well.” She studied the signal for a moment. “Information from Freya?”
“That’s what’s puzzling us. It’s not a word in German. I thought it might mean something in one of the Scandinavian languages.”
“It does, in a way,” she said. “Freya is a Norse goddess-in fact she’s the Viking Venus, the goddess of love.”
“Ah!” Digby looked thoughtful. “Well, that’s something, but it doesn’t get us far.”
“What’s this all about?”
“We’re losing too many bombers.”
Hermia frowned. “I read about the last big raid in the newspapers-they said it was a great success.”
Digby just looked at her.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “You don’t tell the newspapers the truth.”
He remained silent.
“In fact, my entire picture of the bombing campaign is mere propaganda,” she went on. “The truth is that it’s a complete disaster.” To her dismay, he still did not contradict her. “For heaven’s sake, how many aircraft did we lose?”
“Fifty percent.”
“Dear God.” Hermia looked away. Some of those pilots had fiancees, she thought. “But if this goes on. .”
“Exactly.”
She looked again at the decrypt. “Is Freya a spy?”
“It’s my job to find out.”
“What can I do?”
“Tell me more about the goddess.”
Hermia dug back into her memory. She had learned the Norse myths at school, but that was a long time ago. “Freya has a gold necklace that is very precious. It was given to her by four dwarves. It’s guarded by the watchman of the gods. . Heimdal, I think his name is.”
“A watchman. That makes sense.”
“Freya could be a spy with access to advance information about air raids.”
“She could also be a machine for detecting approaching aircraft before they come within sight.”
“I’ve heard that we have such machines, but I’ve no idea how they work.”
“Three possible ways: infrared, lidar, and radar. Infrared detectors would pick up the rays emitted by a hot aircraft engine, or possibly its exhaust. Lidar is a system of optical pulses sent out by the detection apparatus and reflected back off the aircraft. Radar is the same thing with radio pulses.”
“I’ve just remembered something else. Heimdal can see for a hundred miles by day or night.”
“That makes it sound more like a machine.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Digby finished his tea and stood up. “If you have any more thoughts, will you let me know?”
“Of course. Where do I find you?”
“Number Ten, Downing Street.”
“Oh!” She was impressed.
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” she said, and watched him walk away.
She sat there for a few moments. It had been an interesting conversation in more ways than one. Digby Hoare was very high-powered: the Prime Minister himself must be worried about the loss of bombers. Was the use of the code name Freya mere coincidence, or was there a Scandinavian connection?
She had enjoyed Digby’s asking her out. Although she was not interested in dating another man, it was nice to be asked.
After a while, the sight of her uneaten lunch began to get her down. She took her tray to the slops table and scraped her plate into the pigbin. Then she went to the ladies’ room.
While she was in a cubicle, she heard a group of young women come in, chattering animatedly. She was
