‘I’m sorry, Douglas, but I couldn’t tell you about the Enigma ciphers. We’ve been told to say nothing to anyone, to husbands, to lovers, to anyone.’
‘Does Checkland know?’ He sounded tired and low. He had finished pouring a cup of tea for himself but was still kneeling at the table with his back to her.
‘Checkland? I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Probably. Yes he does.’
‘And your brother?’
‘Perhaps.’
Lindsay’s cup and saucer rattled a little as he lifted them from the tray. With what seemed like a great effort he stood up and made his way to one of the armchairs on the other side of the table. Only when he had settled in it did he look up at Mary.
‘What an idiot you must think me, all of you.’
‘Darling, of course not.’
‘No one considered telling me, I suppose. Why? I couldn’t be trusted?’ He felt wounded and was making little effort to disguise it.
‘Douglas, I don’t know how or why Checkland and my brother know — perhaps they guessed…’
‘Samuels,’ said Lindsay breaking in, ‘I think Samuels must have.’
‘But most people in the Division don’t know,’ she said. ‘Rodger Winn told me most of the government don’t know, so, you can’t really…’
Lindsay was shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Aren’t you listening to me?’ she asked exasperatedly.
He raised his head to look at her, and his expression was stiff, almost hostile. ‘I’m still a bloody idiot. God, I was so sure.’
‘Douglas, please.’
‘I suppose I understand why no one else told me. Of course it’s of the first importance, but you, you…’
He did not finish and he did not need to because Mary knew what he was thinking and she flushed hot with embarrassment.
‘I was told to say nothing.’
‘Yes, yes, husbands and lovers, you explained.’
‘But you don’t believe me or you blame me…’
‘…for allowing me to make an idiot of myself? Of course not, I applaud your discretion,’ he said bitterly.
‘You know now and it could cost me my job, who knows, my liberty too.’
Lindsay put down his cup, got to his feet and walked over to the fireplace, cursing quietly under his breath: ‘Such a bloody idiot.’
‘Please, Douglas, come here, please.’ She wanted to end this hateful talk of secrets and codes but his back was resolutely turned towards her. He seemed to have forgotten the love, the intimacy they had shared only hours before, brushed it aside. When she spoke again her voice trembled:
‘Please, Douglas, I’m sorry but I…’
She stopped abruptly in an effort to control her feelings. Her chest felt tight with frustration and disappointment and exhaustion. And Lindsay must have sensed that she was close to tears because he was at her side, his arm about her.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what else could you do?’ he whispered as he stroked her hair. And he lifted her chin and brushed away a silent tear with his lips.
It must have rained in the night because a fine mist was rising from the roofs, the sun blindingly bright on the wet grey slate. It was after nine o’clock but Sunday quiet. Standing at the sitting-room window, Lindsay could hear the bells of Westminster Abbey calling, an insistent but comforting round from treble to tenor. He had slipped out of bed without waking Mary, gently lifting her arm from his chest, and he had watched as she curled into the warmth they had shared, tracing with love the curve of her breasts and hips beneath the thick cotton sheet. Her face was white with exhaustion, worn down by the emotional battering of the night and long hours at the Citadel. ‘God, I love you,’ he had whispered, ‘I love you so much.’ But now, standing there at the window, gazing out to the world beyond the bedroom, he felt empty and useless, as if someone had kicked the stuffing from him. And yes, he loved Mary very deeply, but no matter the words and kisses of reassurance, he could not quite forgive her. She had been part of a conspiracy to hide the truth from him. He knew it was foolish to think so but he could not help it. Yes, orders, a secret of the first importance, but Mary had watched him throw away his position, behave like an idiot. She had told him about the Enigma ciphers only when the damage had been done.
He walked across the room to his dark galley kitchen, picked up his cigarettes and lighter, then, returning to the window, lit one and exhaled, a comforting stream of smoke. He had noticed he was smoking more, forty or even fifty a day, but he could think more clearly with a cigarette in his hand. And in its reflective haze it was easier to admit that the emptiness he felt was not just disappointment that Mary had hidden the truth from him. He wanted to be right. He had been so certain the Navy’s codes were compromised, so sure that he was doing something useful, something that would help to wipe the slate clean. And now that hope was gone.
PART TWO
JULY 1941
LANGE Helmut Leutnant z S (PK)
PW No 86993
Br. of Service Navy
Date of Capture 24-2-41
Nationality German
Date of Birth 8 Aug. 21
Weight 170
Hair Brown
Chin Flabby
Mouth Large
Height 5? 9?
Complexion Fresh
Eyes Brown
Teeth Regular
Scars Appendix
Languages German and a little English
Religion Roman Catholic
Remarks Amiable
29
