said about the person he rang. Bea makes up a bed for him on
the sofa. She sees inside his case.
He has two white shirts, some socks and several folders with
papers inside. She cannot read what is written because it is in a foreign
language. As Arie sleeps that night, so Bea makes a telephone call herself.
*
Fog settles across Hyde Park and Westminster. Buses and
taxis appear and disappear in a great conjuring trick of theatrical mist. Hazy
figures scurry by then vanish. Bea and Arie walk quickly through the damp murk
towards Caxton Street. They find a café and Bea buys him coffee.
‘I’ll be an hour, maybe less. Wait here. Whatever you do,
don’t leave this place.’
She moves along the rank of cabs by St Ermine’s Hotel and
steps inside its marbled lobby. The place has been turned over to anonymous men
in army uniforms, busy about their business which is preparing for war. Bea
tells the receptionist she has an appointment with Major Peter Casserley. She
waits by a tall palm plant in a brass jardinière. Bea has met him several times
before. Daddy would like them to do this more often.
Peter approaches down the hotel’s sweeping staircase. He has
a trademark red carnation in the lapel of a well-tailored suit of grey worsted.
‘Beatrice – how lovely. Let’s go up to my office.’
Bea is wearing a wine-coloured afternoon gown with
embroidered reveres which her mother bought for her just before she died. It
came from Good Housekeeping and cost seventeen shillings and sixpence but she
had long since left Daddy so could spend as she liked.
‘So you’ve only just got back?’
‘Yes, I’m still quite tired.’
‘And you actually saw the Nazis march into Prague?’
‘It was utterly awful, Peter. Those Germans are unspeakably
wicked.’
‘Is that what you want to talk to me about?’
‘Partly, but I rang for another reason.’
Casserley’s office is at the end of a long carpeted corridor
on the third floor. It is quite small and poorly lit. He has a desk with a
sit-up-and-beg typewriter, a black telephone and a map of Europe on a plain
white wall. He bids Bea take the spare chair.
He smiles into her face and gives her his full attention. He
is a strikingly good-looking man, the right side of forty with receding dark
hair. Bea accepts his offer of a cigarette. He lights hers and puts his own in
a holder. It would be a mistake to think Casserley effete. He is setting up a
secret army of saboteurs to fight the Nazis behind their own lines when the
time comes. Bea knows this because Daddy told her.
‘I’ve met this man in Prague who could be useful to you.’
‘Go on.’
‘He’s got a French passport, speaks French like a native –
and other languages, too.’
‘Not too much use to me in Prague, Beatrice.’
‘No, that’s it, you see. He came back with me.’
‘Did he, by God.’
‘Yes, he’s here in London.’
Casserley fills his fountain pen from a small bottle of blue-black
ink and writes the date at the top of a lined pad. He waits for Bea to
continue.
‘He’s convinced that Herr Hitler plans to wipe out all the
Jews.’
‘Is he a Jew?’
‘Yes, from Vilna but he was visiting friends in Prague when
the Nazis invaded so he couldn’t get out in time’.
Casserley stops writing. He looks at Beatrice as if
wondering how far to trust her.
‘There’s been a lot of clandestine activity in Prague of
late.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Jews are smuggling their brethren out of Europe through
Prague then to Palestine. God’s chosen people are nothing if not resourceful.’
‘All I know is he says he’ll do anything to help the British
against the Nazis.’
‘How do you think I could best use him?’
‘For intelligence. He’s got connections, Peter – all across
Europe.’
‘Not a communist, is he?’
‘What if he is?’
‘It’s just as well to know these things, that’s all. Maybe I
should take a look at him.’
He stops writing and stands to look out of
the sofa. She sees inside his case.
He has two white shirts, some socks and several folders with
papers inside. She cannot read what is written because it is in a foreign
language. As Arie sleeps that night, so Bea makes a telephone call herself.
*
Fog settles across Hyde Park and Westminster. Buses and
taxis appear and disappear in a great conjuring trick of theatrical mist. Hazy
figures scurry by then vanish. Bea and Arie walk quickly through the damp murk
towards Caxton Street. They find a café and Bea buys him coffee.
‘I’ll be an hour, maybe less. Wait here. Whatever you do,
don’t leave this place.’
She moves along the rank of cabs by St Ermine’s Hotel and
steps inside its marbled lobby. The place has been turned over to anonymous men
in army uniforms, busy about their business which is preparing for war. Bea
tells the receptionist she has an appointment with Major Peter Casserley. She
waits by a tall palm plant in a brass jardinière. Bea has met him several times
before. Daddy would like them to do this more often.
Peter approaches down the hotel’s sweeping staircase. He has
a trademark red carnation in the lapel of a well-tailored suit of grey worsted.
‘Beatrice – how lovely. Let’s go up to my office.’
Bea is wearing a wine-coloured afternoon gown with
embroidered reveres which her mother bought for her just before she died. It
came from Good Housekeeping and cost seventeen shillings and sixpence but she
had long since left Daddy so could spend as she liked.
‘So you’ve only just got back?’
‘Yes, I’m still quite tired.’
‘And you actually saw the Nazis march into Prague?’
‘It was utterly awful, Peter. Those Germans are unspeakably
wicked.’
‘Is that what you want to talk to me about?’
‘Partly, but I rang for another reason.’
Casserley’s office is at the end of a long carpeted corridor
on the third floor. It is quite small and poorly lit. He has a desk with a
sit-up-and-beg typewriter, a black telephone and a map of Europe on a plain
white wall. He bids Bea take the spare chair.
He smiles into her face and gives her his full attention. He
is a strikingly good-looking man, the right side of forty with receding dark
hair. Bea accepts his offer of a cigarette. He lights hers and puts his own in
a holder. It would be a mistake to think Casserley effete. He is setting up a
secret army of saboteurs to fight the Nazis behind their own lines when the
time comes. Bea knows this because Daddy told her.
‘I’ve met this man in Prague who could be useful to you.’
‘Go on.’
‘He’s got a French passport, speaks French like a native –
and other languages, too.’
‘Not too much use to me in Prague, Beatrice.’
‘No, that’s it, you see. He came back with me.’
‘Did he, by God.’
‘Yes, he’s here in London.’
Casserley fills his fountain pen from a small bottle of blue-black
ink and writes the date at the top of a lined pad. He waits for Bea to
continue.
‘He’s convinced that Herr Hitler plans to wipe out all the
Jews.’
‘Is he a Jew?’
‘Yes, from Vilna but he was visiting friends in Prague when
the Nazis invaded so he couldn’t get out in time’.
Casserley stops writing. He looks at Beatrice as if
wondering how far to trust her.
‘There’s been a lot of clandestine activity in Prague of
late.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Jews are smuggling their brethren out of Europe through
Prague then to Palestine. God’s chosen people are nothing if not resourceful.’
‘All I know is he says he’ll do anything to help the British
against the Nazis.’
‘How do you think I could best use him?’
‘For intelligence. He’s got connections, Peter – all across
Europe.’
‘Not a communist, is he?’
‘What if he is?’
‘It’s just as well to know these things, that’s all. Maybe I
should take a look at him.’
He stops writing and stands to look out of
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