‘I can see why that would make you want to join the AASF, but how did you know the Polish pilot?’
‘Foxden is a couple of miles from two Commonwealth aerodromes, Bitteswell and Bruntingthorpe.’ The colonel nodded as if he knew both places. ‘Franek – that’s the name of the pilot who taught me Polish – was billeted with us while they built living quarters at Bitteswell. I taught him English and he taught me Polish – and some German.’
‘And French?’
‘I didn’t start learning French until I joined the WAAF and went to RAF Morecambe. When I was proficient in the language, I was sent to stay with a French family in the North East, before going to RAF Coltishall and taking my oral examination.’
The colonel nodded again and picked up Claire’s file. ‘Except for joining the WAAF, your life could have been lived in France.’ Claire tilted her head and looked at the colonel enquiringly. ‘All you need to do is change the name of the country estate, village, town and school, and you have a ready-made French history. We find if operatives base their French covers on their own experiences it’s easier to remember. Then, if you are interrogated, it will ring true. But that’s for another day.’ Colonel Smith stood up and walked to the door. Claire followed. ‘Miss Halliday, my personal assistant, will take you to your apartment. If there is anything you need she will be happy to help you.’ The colonel opened the door, proffered his hand and, leaning forward, looked into Claire’s eyes. ‘China Blue.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Your code name is China Blue.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Claire shook his hand, picked up her case, and left with Miss Halliday.
Dusk fell and the wind blowing across Portman Square whipped the last of the winter leaves from the trees. Claire closed the blackout curtains and switched on the light. She sat on the settee and cast her eyes over the small neatly furnished sitting room. She had never lived on her own before and found the silence disconcerting. At home, in the cottage on the Foxden estate, she’d had her parents, brother and sisters – until last year when her second oldest sister Margaret married Bill and went to live in Coventry with his parents, before following him to London. Her younger sister Ena had been in service as a nanny but came back when war was declared and her older brother Tom, who she and her sisters looked up to, joined the Army. And when she joined the WAAF, and was stationed at Morecambe, she shared a room with Eddie; in Coltishall too. Now, for the first time in her life, she was living on her own.
Claire wandered into the kitchen and explored the cupboards. First on the left was home to the iron and ironing board, carpet sweeper and small brush and pan. In the cupboard opposite there were two tins of Danish ham, a tin of spam, and a packet of dried egg. To the left, crockery and the teapot, and to the right, a bowl with four real eggs, a loaf of bread, a bottle of coffee, quarter of tea, and small bag of sugar. The cupboard beneath the sink held pots and pans, and the cold store next to it, a pint of milk and half a pound of butter. Claire was hungry, but didn’t fancy tinned meat. She put a little water in a saucepan, put it on the stove and lit the gas. She turned the gas down when the water began to boil, and cracked two eggs into it. Poached eggs on toast would be enough. She filled the kettle, put it on the stove, and while it boiled cut a couple of slices of bread and put them under the grill. While the eggs simmered she turned the bread and made a pot of tea. Then she took the toast from the grill and buttered it, before spooning the eggs onto the plate. Putting her supper on a tray, she returned to the sitting room.
When she had finished eating, Claire took the dishes into the kitchen. Instead of washing them up she was distracted by classical music. She ran to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall. The music, louder now, was coming from the floor above.
The door of the flat opposite opened and a girl wearing a bathrobe came out. ‘RAF,’ she said, tutting. ‘Plays that awful noise every night.’ The girl ran up the stairs and banged on the door. ‘Turn that racket down!’ she shouted. She stood with her arms folded. She was about to knock again when the music quietened until it was hardly audible. ‘There,’ she said, running down to join Claire. ‘Now I can hear myself think. I’m Milly,’ she said. ‘I don’t usually mind, but I’ve got a test tomorrow.’ Milly put her hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, ‘If I pass I’ll be translating Luftwaffe pilots’ gespräche on the south coast.’
Claire was about to say something congratulatory in German, but thought better of it. ‘I’m sure you’ll sail through it.’
‘Thanks. I’ll let you know when I get back in a couple of days.’
‘Please do. Good luck,’ Claire called after her, as she disappeared into her flat.
Claire stood for a moment and listened to the sound of the muffled music. She liked it. She liked Milly too, and hoped she would call on her with good news.
The next day Claire strolled down to Oxford Street. Some stores still had Christmas decorations in the windows, others were preparing for the January sales, and a couple were bravely advertising New Season and Spring Fashions. She shivered. It was still winter, much too cold to be thinking
