Miller Caldwell - A Reluctant Spy

‘Well, have you come to visit me, or are you staying? Will you catch mice for me, perhaps?’

She opened a tin of sardines. If he was a stray he was welcome to stay, she thought. He would not leave in a hurry now he had a bowl of fish to enjoy.

It took almost the rest of the day to unpack and get a feel for the house and its surroundings. The cat followed her every movement as if it was trying to trip her up. For as long as it stayed with her, no matter how long that might be, she decided she had better give it a name. It should describe its dark coat rather than its white socks, she thought; and so the name Inka became part of her new life in Portugal.

As the sun sank into the azure sea before her she heard a bicycle bell approach, its bell ringing. She looked out of the window to see the local priest arrive, bouncing over the rough ground.

‘Good evening,’ he said in Portuguese.

She hesitated before replying in English. ‘Pardon me, I don’t speak Portuguese yet. Come in, please,’ she said ushering him in with a wave of her arm.

‘So you are English. You are very welcome here.’

She smiled, unable to stop herself from correcting him. ‘I’m Scottish actually, but you were not to know.’

‘Ah, then we still speak English too. There are not many British people living here on the coast. Not as many as those who have made their homes further south.’

‘I am not sure how long I’ll be here. I plan to stay for at least a year, maybe longer. You see, it will take that time for me to write a novel.’

‘Ah, so you are an author?’

‘No, this is my first book. I thought I would write it in the sun, by the sea, away from the rush of the town. That’s why I chose to come here to Peniche.’

The priest cast his eyes around the room. ‘You have chosen well. You could have gone to France or Spain, but we are delighted to have you with us.’

‘Then perhaps you will be able to tell your parishioners why I have come to live with them?’

‘My parishioners? I was hoping you might join them, and then you can tell them yourself. You might even pick up the language. Of course, the Eucharist is in Latin. You’d be familiar with the hymns, I am sure.’

He clearly did not realise she was not Catholic, and she wondered how, or whether, she should inform him. She folded her arms and began to rub her elbows. ‘I… er… come from a different Christian tradition.’

‘Yes, I would have thought so. The Tridentate Mass might surprise you, however.’

He was persistent; she decided not to discourage him. ‘Do all your worshippers understand Latin?’ she asked, a little mischievously.

‘No, very few. It’s the tradition they like,’ he replied.

‘I see,’ she said. She realised the church played a significant part in local life.

Inka jumped up on her lap and she stroked him. The priest smiled.

‘I see you have a friend already.’

‘Yes, a stray who has settled with me. At least, I think it’s a stray.’

‘It will be. There are many stray cats. They find the homes that suit them. Perhaps you’ll find a home that suits you, here at St Peter’s?’

It would not endear her to the people if she stayed aloof and did not make any attempt to learn their language. She thought she might consider his suggestion.

‘You would be made most welcome.’

‘I am sure I would. Let me think about it.’

‘Certainly. There will always be a welcome,’ he said, standing up.

Hilda settled Inka on the floor. ‘Thank you for being my first human visitor.’

The priest smiled. ‘I hope I won’t be the last,’ he said, making for the door.

He was kind, Hilda thought, but she would not be attending his church just yet.

As evening fell she took a short walk outside. Lights dimmed in cottage windows as the light faded. Occasionally a dog barked, followed by shouting and the closing of a door. Over the sea the moon cast an eerie light and gradually disappeared among the rocks on the shoreline. She stood for a moment, mesmerized by the constant motion of the waves. Perhaps waves from the west started out near New York. Ah. Waves; New York. It was time to make contact.

She returned to the cottage and wedged a stone by the front door to keep it open, facing the sea. She unpacked her radio and looked around outside again. No one was about. She fetched a blanket and placed it on the floor by her feet. If someone approached unexpectedly, she could cover the radio immediately. As she prepared for her first transmission, her stomach lurched like the crashing waves below.

She secured the aerial, placed her earphones in position and dialled her code. She sent her message to Nancy, with the mixed feelings of success and doubt accompanying her transmission. She kept the message brief; she simply said she was now in position on the Portuguese coast and was ready to receive.

A response came a few minutes later. Great. Also in post… no news today… will keep you informed…

She tried to work out whether America’s east coast was five or four or even six hours behind as she closed the box and took down the aerial, packed away the earphones and hid the radio under her bed behind a pottery bedpan. She chuckled for a moment; it was known as a gazunder in her youth. She brought it out so that it was just visible under to the edge of the bed; if any visitors noticed it, they would quickly avert their eyes. She checked from all angles to ensure the radio was well back out of sight, then sank into the only armchair in the room and gave a long sigh.

She had made her first overseas contact. So far so good. Her hand was still shaking. How many more times would she have to do it? Would she become over-confident as time went by? Inka gave her a penetrating look, which did nothing to dissipate her unease.

After letting the cat out for the night, she sat down again and began to reflect on the whirlpool of events, which had brought her to this cottage on the Portuguese coast. Inka reappeared, startling her a little. She took the small creature up on to her lap, and as she stroked her velvety neck and back, it began to purr gently like a distant motorbike. The cat had made her feel welcome in Peniche.

She did not sleep well, tossing and turning in the bed. This eventually forced Inka to jump off and search of somewhere more restful to sleep. Nancy’s rather mundane message went round and round her head. It was hardly news, so what should she do with it? Did Berlin require reassurance that they were in position and that clear communication across the Atlantic was established? Moreover, who would receive her messages in the German capital? It made her uneasy that she did not know.

Eventually, she decided to get up. The moon shone brightly through the curtains giving her enough light to crawl under the bed and bring out the radio. She opened the door and let in a draught of cool air. She saw Inka stretch and go back to sleep. Outside the sky was still black; dawn was still some way off.

She set up the equipment and entered the code for Berlin. Made contact with New York. Good line. No current news .

The reply was almost instant. She realised someone was listening around the clock.

Glad to hear positions intact. Awaiting developments when they occur .

She was relieved about the tone of the message. They were not to know she had delayed several hours before sending it, and hoped they were impressed. Moreover, she also hoped they realised she was on duty at two thirty in the morning.

Sleep then came easily, and even Inka realised that the disturbances were over. The cat came back to her bed and lay down by Hilda’s feet. As she slipped under the coverlet, she could hear the faint rush of waves on the shore below. Perhaps she would go down there tomorrow.