While she made the tea, Ena went through several scenarios as to how she was going to convey the importance of treating Freda normally to her boss. ‘Commander Dalton phoned just before you arrived,’ she said, handing her boss his cup.
‘Does he want me to ring him back?’ he asked, reaching for the telephone on his desk.
‘No! He rang to make sure I understood the importance of treating Freda as I always have. I – we – mustn’t act differently towards her.’ Ena lowered her voice. ‘He said MI5 was planning something, and it was imperative that we don’t give her cause to suspect anything’s wrong. You know.’ Ena nodded at the stack of letters.
Her boss shrugged. ‘I shan’t say a word. I was angry. I am still angry. She has brought the Silcott name into disrepute. We may never be trusted to work for the MoD again. This business could be the end of Silcott Engineering.’
Ena put her hand on her boss’s arm. He looked up at her. She could see he was fighting back the tears. ‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ he said. ‘I won’t let Horace Dalton or damned MI5 down. I want the woman caught and thrown in jail. The last thing I want is for her to disappear back to Germany.’
‘Quite right, sir. I told the commander not to worry, that we will both act normally for however long it takes. There is just one thing.’ A puzzled frown appeared on Herbert Silcott’s face. ‘If Freda bats her eyes at you, you know the way she does sometimes for a joke, you mustn’t react differently. Treat it as a joke, as you always do. Every aspect of the working day must be normal. As you said, sir, if she gets an inkling we’re on to her she’ll disappear, and we don’t want that.’
Herbert Silcott put up his hand. ‘No, we do not! Trust me, Ena, if she does suspect we’re on to her, it will not be because of anything I have said or done!’ A sharp nod told Ena that, as far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.
The moment Ena dreaded came just after eleven o’clock. She heard the door open, the distinctive clip-clop of Freda’s high-heels as she came into the annexe, and again when she turned and closed the door. Ena shot a look at Herbert Silcott and saw his back stiffen. She was annoyed that he hadn’t acknowledged Freda’s arrival, which he always did.
‘Hello, Freda,’ Ena whispered, ‘shan’t be a minute.’ Pulling the last of the wires through the rotors on the X-board, she picked up the small drill and found the right bit. Usually used for boring holes in metal, Ena used it to engrave her initials on her work. Not as big in circumference as a knitting needle, the cutting tool created perfect cylindrical holes and…and was ideal for…piercing holes in pear drops!
Ena stared at the twist drill bit. Fingers of fear walked down her spine as the realisation of how the sleeping draught had been put into the pear drops, hit her. Her hands trembled. She made fists of them, clenched them beneath the desk and, leaning close to the work, pretended she was checking it. She needed time to calm down, put the poisoning of the pear drops and the theft of her work out of her mind. She needed to play the part of Freda’s friend, as Freda had played the part of being her friend these past three years.
‘That looks… fine!’ she said, lifting her head from the work. She put down the drill and exhaled loudly. Not with relief, because she had finished the job, but because until then she hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath. ‘Welcome back,’ Ena said, beaming a smile at Freda, which she hoped looked natural.
Freda took off her coat and hung it up. Sighing heavily, she crossed the room to her desk and dropped onto her chair. ‘I’m exhausted. I’ve hardly slept for forty-eight hours.’
‘Tummy upsets are horrid,’ Ena said, sympathetically. ‘You open your post and--’ Damn! She could have bitten off her tongue for mentioning the post so soon after Freda had arrived. It was too late now. ‘You took your post, didn’t you, Mr Silcott?’ she said, her voice suddenly an octave higher.
He mumbled, ‘No’, but didn’t turn round.
‘What’s he doing?’ Freda mouthed, running the letter opener along the top of the first letter. Ena lifted her shoulders and shook her head.
Ena understood how her boss felt – she felt the same – but he needed to play along as she was doing. Freda was an intelligent woman. The slightest inkling that anything was wrong, and she’d be gone. Ena reckoned that knowing what he knew about Freda, Herbert Silcott would either pull out all the stops and treat Freda as he always had, or let fly at her. Ena couldn’t let that happen.
‘If there are any letters for Mr Silcott, take them over to him, will you, Freda?’
Freda flicked through the pile. ‘Only bills I’m afraid, Herbert,’ she said, putting them on his desk.
‘Thank you,’ he mumbled, without looking at her.
Freda glanced over Herbert Silcott’s shoulder at the sheet he was working on. She raised her eyebrows. Back in her own seat, she whispered, ‘He’s costing a job. Do you think we should buy him an abacus?’
‘I heard that,’ Herbert Silcott said. Turning round, he looked over the top of his glasses and winked at Ena. ‘And what time do you call this, Miss King?’ he said to Freda in an overly stern, theatrical, voice. Both women laughed. ‘Good to have you back,’ he said, and returned to
