Miller Caldwell - A Reluctant Spy

The response from Germany was pleasing.

Excellent work… more when you can. Heil Hitler.

The Parkin was ready. She took it out of the oven and left it to cool on a wire tray. Perhaps it was the swim, or the hill climb, or the bike ride, or the successful radio contact, or perhaps a combination, but she was tired and elated at the same time. She retired to bed at ten. Inka was not a night-time prowler so was glad to join her. Hilda had found herself a contented lap cat, and that was just what she needed.

Her dreams had a holiday feel at first, but later took on a more sombre tone. She wondered how her mother was coping on her own. She had a loyal staff, but she was not getting any younger. Would they ever meet again? Would Hilda herself ever see Otto again now the war was underway? Would he survive any hostile conflict? As for Karl and Renate, oh how she wished they were with her in Portugal.

She woke up shivering cold and covered in goose pimples. Rain battered her window as howling wind raced over the open sea, rattling the cottage windows like castanets. Her little home was on the receiving end of the full force of an Atlantic storm. The dwelling had been purchased by the German ambassador’s staff, and she knew she should not regard it as permanent, but in the few days she had been here, it already felt like home; she was beginning to love the setting and the friendly Portuguese people. She told herself the dreadful weather was no more than a minor irritation.

The war really did seem far away. It had not touched her yet, and she was satisfied she had not betrayed her real homeland by merely sharing a set of numbers. As the storm continued unabated, she ate her breakfast and studied her Portuguese language book. She had to get the basic phrases off by heart: not an easy task, especially as she was more of a numbers person. She wondered why she had agreed that writing would be her cover. Her leaning was definitely more towards mathematics, despite having taught English when she lived in Hamburg. As she finished her second cup of tea, she wondered what her eight private pupils would be thinking now they were at war with the British.

She could not get either her mother or Otto out of her mind. They were at the opposite ends of life, but both faced death in their daily existence. It occurred to her that they must each have been thinking of her as well.

By midday the storm had abated. The air was mountaintop fresh, and a slightly warm aroma of vegetation soon rose from the ground. The breeze was cool and more autumnal than before. Inka was reluctant to get her feet wet and meowed plaintively, as if she expected Hilda to dry the land for her. She was indeed a fair weather puss.

She placed her bag over her shoulder and set off to the port on her bike. People were beginning to emerge from their homes, and she waved to them as she passed by. Word must be out by now that a middle-aged English woman, probably eccentric, had settled in their community. Either that or they had recognised the bike. Their greetings were cordial.

She walked down to the port, holding on to the handlebars while rehearsing the Portuguese she had learnt as she went. At this stage of learning, she could make herself understood, but she would not be able to understand what they might say in response.

She arrived at the garage. It was quiet, and it seemed no one was at work until she saw a light in an office at the back of the workspace. She slipped past a car requiring attention and saw her benefactor at his desk with his back to her. She called out to him.

He seemed a different man. He had recently shaved and it gave his smile a youthfulness she had not seen before. He came out to greet her. She replied with a couple of phrases to which he listened patiently. Then he said the words back to her with the proper accent, and they both laughed.

‘I have a present for you,’ she said, handing him the Parkin wrapped in brown paper. He uncovered it and lifted it to his nose.

‘Mmm… Bonito, eu gosto muito disso ,’ he said with his face lighting up. She did not understand the words, but his expression left no doubt; he lifted her off her feet and planted a kiss on each cheek. She was taken aback but did not resist; in fact she enjoyed the feeling of a man’s arms around her after all this time.

To emphasize why she had brought the Parkin she pretended to be cycling. She held the imaginary handlebars apart, moved in a circle, and then rang an invisible bell. She then placed her hands in a cross over her chest. He understood perfectly how much she appreciated his thoughtful gift of transport.

At the grocery store her command of Portuguese improved, aided by the shopkeeper who costed each item and wrote down the total. She handed over the cash, more familiar now with the foreign notes and coins. To all intents and purposes, she felt she was being absorbed into the local community. She’d never be one of them, of course, but she was certainly being taken into their fold.

She cycled back to the cottage, having pushed the bike up the steep hill again, and parked it by the side of her new home. Inka was pleased to see her, or perhaps she was just hungry. Hilda opened a tin of sardines and spooned the contents on to the saucer. She had hardly withdrawn the spoon before Inka was sitting with her neck stretched over the plate.

As she finished her own sardine sandwich Hilda heard a car slow down. She looked through the window and saw a rather superior car stop outside. A uniformed driver stayed in the car as a man in a suit descended and looked at the cottage. She swiftly checked that the radio was out of sight, moved Inka’s dish away from the door and opened it.

‘Good morning, Miss Campbell. I am Herr Kurt Maurer, the second-in-command at the embassy.’

The man spoke in cultured High German. She stood back and gestured that he should enter. ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said, hoping her anxiety at his sudden arrival did not show on her face.

He looked around the room with a smile. ‘You like your accommodation?’

‘I could not have asked for anything better,’ she replied, returning his smile.

‘Even a cat, I see. You have settled in very well, it seems.’

‘It is a bracing spot. I love it.’

Herr Maurer cleared his throat. ‘Good. I knew you would. I chose it.’

‘Ah, so you know the house well.’

‘Indeed I do. With no barrier to the Atlantic Ocean, it is clear you will be getting good results. One of the reasons I have come to see you is to congratulate you on your work to date.’

It seemed clear he knew exactly what she was doing but she knew she should not jump to any premature conclusions. Such suspicions had been drilled into her as part of her training in both countries. She tilted her head, hoping to tempt him to tell her more.

‘Your communication with Berlin went down exceptionally well. You cannot imagine how well your work is being received at the very top.’

‘Thank you, Herr Maurer,’ she said, beginning to relax a little.

‘Can you show me how it is done?’

She hesitated once more, stressing the fact that it was very early in New York compared to local time in Portugal where it was just past midday. She stood up and looked out of the window.

‘Don’t worry, my driver will alert me if anyone approaches.’

She lifted the chair and placed it by the open door.

‘Excuse me, if I could ask you to sit over here. I need space and room to hide the radio at a moment’s notice.’ She moved the gazunder to the top end of the floor under the bed, and Herr Maurer laughed quietly. She placed her pencil and writing pad to the right of the radio. She opened the set, erected the aerial, switched it on, and donned the headphones.