Even sooner than he’d thought. A pilot he’d talked to in the pub said, “Whenever it is, it’s soon. Three weeks from now they’re locking down the entire staging area. No one in, no one out, not even the post.”
“That’s to fool the Germans into thinking it’s in June,” Ernest told him. “There’ll be an attack then, but it’s only a feint, to draw the Germans off. The real invasion won’t come till mid-July,” but he was thinking, If I don’t find him by next week, I’m going to have to steal the Austin and take off for Wiltshire to find him.
But he didn’t have to. The next morning Cess leaned in the door and told him Lady Bracknell wanted the two of them to go make a pickup.
“I can’t,” he said. “I need to finish these and get them to the Call by four tomorrow, and I’ve barely started on them.”
“What vital news is it this time?” Cess asked, leaning over his shoulder as he typed, and thank goodness this wasn’t one of his articles. “Another garden party?”
Ernest shook his head. “Friendship Dance.” He read, “The Welcome Club of Bedgebury will host a Friendship Dance for the newly arrived American troops—”
“We’re officers,” Cess said, “and we’ll be driving Bracknell’s Rolls, not walking. There won’t be any mud. Or bulls.”
“No. I told you, I’ve got a deadline. Can’t Chasuble go with you?”
“No, he has a date to take Daphne to dinner.”
“Can’t he do that tomorrow night? Or the night after?”
“It is the night after, but Chasuble’s afraid we won’t be back by then, and he’s already in her bad graces for having had to cancel when we went to the Savoy to meet Monty.”
Tomorrow night? “Where is this pickup we need to make?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Cess said. “Lady Bracknell gave me a map. And he said something about Portsmouth.”
Which was right in the center of the invasion area, where Atherton was. “All right. Are we going as civilians?”
Cess shook his head. “Army officers.” Which meant they’d be picking up whatever it was at an Army camp, and no one would consider it odd if an officer asked where a Denys Atherton was stationed. He could even order an enlisted man to check the records and find him. He’d have to get away from Cess, but over the course of a two-day journey, there should be ample opportunities, and if they weren’t leaving till tomorrow morning, he might be able to drop his articles by the Call on the way. “When do we have to make this pickup?”
“Tomorrow morning at nine. Does that mean you’ll go?”
“Yes,” he said, and as soon as Cess left, he typed, “Music will be provided by the 48th Infantry Division Band,” yanked the sheet of paper out of the typewriter, rolled a new one in, and typed, “Mr. and Mrs. James Townsend of Upper Notting announce the engagement of their daughter Polly to Flight Officer Colin Templer of the 21st Airborne Division, currently stationed in Kent. A late June wedding is planned.”
Cess opened the door and leaned in. He was dressed in his officer’s uniform. “Why aren’t you ready?”
“I thought we were leaving tomorrow morning.”
“No,” Cess said. “Lady Bracknell wants us to leave now.” Which made no sense—Portsmouth was only a few hours away, but Ernest didn’t object. The sooner they got there the better, and if they stopped for the night along the way, he’d have even more opportunities to ask about Atherton.
“Give me twenty minutes,” he said.
“Ten. You don’t know where our map got to, do you?”
“I thought you said Bracknell gave one to you.”
“No, a map of this area.”
“Prism had it, I think,” Ernest lied, and as soon as Cess had gone off to look for it, he dug the map out of the pile on his desk, stuck it in his pocket, and bolted down to the mess to hide it in the silverware drawer. Then he ran to throw his razor and soap into a bag, answer Cess’s “Are you certain you didn’t have it after Prism?” and take the bag and his officer’s uniform back to the office. He put it on and began typing madly again.
He managed to finish another message—“Schoolgirl Mary P. Cardle won the war-saving stamp competition at St. Sebastian School last week. Fourteen-year-old Mary, known to her friends as Polly, earned the money to buy the stamps by running errands. Said headmaster Dunworthy Townsend, ‘Let’s hope we can all do as much for the war effort as Mary has.’ ”—before Cess reappeared with the map, saying, “You won’t believe where I found this,” and demanding to know why Ernest still wasn’t ready.
Ernest stuffed the articles into an envelope, sealed it, and hurried out to where Cess had already started up the Rolls. He pulled out onto the road before Ernest even had his door shut. “We need to run these articles by the Call office,” Ernest said, showing the envelope to Cess.
“We’ll have to do it on the way back.”
“But Croydon’s right on the way.”
Cess shook his head. “We have to go up to Gravesend and then back down to Dover and Folkestone first.”
“What?” If Cess had lied about Portsmouth, he’d kill him. “Why?”
“We need to write down the names of all the roads and all the villages we go through,” Cess said.
“Why? Can’t Bracknell get those off the map?”
“Yes, but not the landmarks. And the distances have to be right, in case a member of the German High Command happened to spend a holiday hiking through Kent
“Yes, but not the landmarks. And the distances have to be right, in case a member of the German High Command happened to spend a holiday
