‘Rats,’ he said. Sophia thought of Greta and shuddered. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he went on, ‘some fellows are going down there this evening to have a look round. I expect you could go with them if you like.’
Sophia asked what time, and when she was told at half-past ten, she declined the offer. It would require a bigger bribe than the main drain to get her back to St Anne’s when her work there was finished.
She spent the rest of the day learning Morse Code, partly because she wished to be a well equipped counter-spy and partly (and this spurred her to enormous industry) so that she could wink at Olga in it the next time they met. There was a photograph of Olga in that week’s Tatler wearing a black velvet crinoline with a pearl cross, and toying with a guitar, beneath which was written the words, ‘This Society beauty does not require a uniform for her important war work.’
Sophia, thinking of this, redoubled her efforts of dot and dash. But she found it far from easy, even more difficult than counting overalls, though the reward of course was greater. She sat, winking madly into her hand looking-glass, until she was off duty, by which time she knew the letters A, B and C perfectly, and E and F when she thought very hard. The opportunity for showing off her new accomplishment came that evening. She had gone on duty at the Post earlier than usual, as Sister Wordsworth wanted to go out; leaving it correspondingly early, she was on her way home when she remembered that her house would be full of Brothers. So she looked in at the Ritz. Here the first person she saw was Rudolph, and sitting beside him was a heaving mass of sables which could only conceal the beautiful Slavonic person of La Gogothska herself, in the uniform, so to speak, of her important war-work.
‘Hullo, my darling,’ said Rudolph, fetching a chair for her. ‘You’re off very early. I’m dining with you tonight, though you may not know it. Elsie said I could, and she’s telling your cook.’
‘Good,’ said Sophia, without listening much. Her eyes were fixed upon Olga and she was working away with concentration.
‘What are you making those faces at me for?’ said Olga crossly.
‘Dear me,’ said Sophia, ‘how disappointing. It was just a bet I had with Fred. I betted him sixpence that you were in the secret service, he was so positive you couldn’t be, and I said I could prove it. Well, I have proved it, and I have lost sixpence, that’s all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, darling, I was just telling you, in Morse Code, to proceed to the ladies’ cloakroom, and are you proceeding? No. Have you made any excuse for not doing so? No. Therefore, as you evidently don’t know Morse Code which is a sine qua non for any secret agent, you can’t be that beautiful female spy we all hoped you were.’ Actually, of course, Sophia had only been winking out, and with great trouble at that, A, B and C.
Olga said, ‘Nonsense. Morse Code is never used in this war; it’s completely out of date. Why, what would be the use of it?’ and she gave a theatrically scornful droop of the eyelids.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, dear, it would be a very great deal of use indeed under certain circumstances. Supposing one happened to be gagged, for an example, it would be possible to wink out messages to the bystanders which, if they understood Morse, would save one’s life.’
‘Gagged,’ said Olga, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Gagged indeed. Bystanders! Darling, you have been reading Valentine Williams, I suppose. Let me tell you that in real life the secret service is very different from what the outside public, like you, imagine it to be. Gagged! No, really, I must tell the Chief that.’
‘Do,’ said Sophia. ‘He’ll roar, I should think. Naturally, I don’t know much about these things. Well, then, what shall I do with the sixpence?’
‘I’ll tell you when the war is over. Are you working very hard in your little First Aid Post? Poor Olga is overwhelmed with work. Figure to yourselves, last night I was up till six – even the Chief with his iron constitution was half dead. I had to keep on making cups of black coffee for him, and even so he fell asleep twice. Of course, the responsibility is very wearing, especially for the Chief – if things went wrong, it doesn’t bear thinking of, what would happen. My knowledge of Russian, however, is standing us in good stead.’
Olga had learnt Russian when she was courting Serge, to but little avail so far as he was concerned, as he did not know a word of it. However, as she had taken the name of Olga, broken her English accent, and in other ways identified herself with the great country of Serge’s forbears, she rather liked to be able to sing an occasional folk-song from the Steppes in its original tongue. She felt that it put the finishing touches to her part of temperamental Slav.
‘I wonder they don’t send you to Russia. I hear they find it very difficult to get reliable information.’
‘Darling, it would be certain death.’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot. You would be handed over to the grandchildren of Serge’s grandfather’s peasantry, wouldn’t you? Very unpleasant. But couldn’t you go disguised as a member of the proletariat in no silk stockings and drab clothes? I could give you lots of hints. You share a room with about seven other people and their bulldogs if they have any, and you have no pleasures of any kind. I really think, speaking Russian as you do, that you ought to volunteer.’
‘Far, far too dangerous. The Chief would never let me. I may of course
