He waited, thinking, Any second now I’ll see Cess turning that corner, wondering where the hell I’ve gotten to. “You’re through, sir,” the operator said, and in the next instant, an American woman’s voice said, “Major Atherton’s office.”
Thank God. “Hullo,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “I need to speak to Major Atherton.”
“I’m sorry, sir, he’s not here right now.”
Of course not. “When will he be back? It’s urgent.”
“I don’t know, sir. I can have him ring you as soon as he returns. Is there a number where he can reach you?”
“No,” he said. “I’m in transit. Will he be back tonight?”
“Yes, sir. Do you wish to try again later?”
No. I need to talk to him now.
“Yes,” he said. “And tell him I called. Tell him Michael Da—”
“I never,” a boy’s voice said, and he looked up sharply. A boy and a girl were coming down the street toward the phone booth. The boy was nine or ten, and the girl older. They were arguing loudly.
“You did so,” the girl said.
“I didn’t nick it,” the boy said. “She give it me.”
Oh, God, he thought, it’s Alf and Binnie Hodbin.
They hadn’t seen him yet, they were so busy arguing. He had to get out of here. He hung up and was out of the phone booth and back in the car in a flash. He snatched up the map Cess had left on the seat and opened it out to shield himself from them.
“I seen you,” Binnie said.
Oh, Jesus.
“You did not,” Alf said. They weren’t talking about him. They were talking about whatever it was that Alf had “nicked.” But his relief was short-lived. Because there was only one reason they’d be here, this far from the East End. They were on their way to see Eileen, or on their way home from seeing her. Which meant she was still here. And if he didn’t get out of here, Alf and Binnie would see him, they’d tell Eileen he was alive, that he’d gone off and abandoned them.
He reached to turn the key in the ignition, but they were already even with the car. They’d hear the engine start and look over and see him. He’d have to wait till they were past.
“I’m going to tell,” Binnie said.
“You better not!” Alf said, and then, “Look!”
Oh, Christ. They were running right at the car. He’d have to convince them he was Lieutenant Abbott and that he had no idea who this Mike Davis was. But when had anybody ever been able to put anything over on the Hodbins?
They ran straight past the car into the street. He peeked cautiously over the map. A staff car pulled up and stopped. The children ran up to the car window.
Oh, Christ, he’d been right about Eileen being a driver.
“Where’s Mum?” Alf asked. “She said to meet ’er ’ere.”
Mum?
“She’s going to be late,” a woman’s voice—not Eileen’s—said. Ernest slid up on the seat to where he could see the children leaning in to talk to a blonde in an ATS
cap and uniform. And now that his adrenaline wasn’t raging, he saw what he hadn’t before, that both children were wearing school uniforms and carrying book bags, and that their hair, or at least the girl’s, was neatly combed. They looked much too well cared for to be Alf and Binnie, in spite of the similarity in looks, in their voices.
“Your mother had to drive General Bates to Chartwell for a meeting,” the blonde said, and from what Eileen had told him about Mrs. Hodbin, he couldn’t imagine her driving anyone anywhere, and certainly not a general. “She told me to pick you two up and give you some supper.”
“Can we go to Lyons Corner House?” the boy asked.
“We’ll see,” the blonde said. “She also said to see that you did your lessons.”
“We haven’t any,” the boy said. “We done ’em all at school.” He turned to the girl. “Didn’t we?”
“Don’t be a noddlehead,” the girl said. “He’s got spelling, and I’ve got maths. But I’ve done my history lesson.” She pulled a paper out of her book bag to show the blonde.
The Alf and Binnie he’d seen that morning at St. Paul’s would never have done lessons in their life. Or have voluntarily gone to school.
It wasn’t them. He’d jumped to the conclusion it was because he’d been thinking about Eileen. He’d broken off his call to Denys Atherton for nothing, damn it. He watched the children, whoever they were, pile into the car, waiting for it to drive away so he could go call again. He’d have to tell the woman he’d talked to that he’d been cut off. Maybe the interruption would turn out to be a good thing. Atherton might be back by now, and he’d be able to talk to him instead of leaving a message.
The car rounded the corner and was gone. Ernest got out of the car and started over to the phone booth. And there was Cess, trotting toward him, waving. “They told me you’d come over here to park,” he said, coming up to him.
