Miller Caldwell - A Reluctant Spy

‘Y… e… s…’ Where this comment was going she had no idea.

‘We have heard from one man there who seems keen to meet you.’

‘Meet me ? Are you sure?’

‘One Sir Francis Shepherd.’

For a moment Hilda was speechless; she had to restrain herself from hugging Dynes. ‘Sir Francis? That is… wonderful,’ she gasped. ‘But I thought… is he not in Central Africa?’

‘Oh, so you do know him. Yes, he was in Africa, Belgian Congo he told me. He’s now been posted to Finland.’

‘You mean, ambassador to Finland? What a contrast.’

‘Indeed it is. They move them around quickly in that department. I’m sure he’s missing the heat of the Dark Continent. But he’s not in Helsinki yet.’ He paused, reminding Hilda of an actor about to deliver an important line. ‘He’s on leave… in London.’

‘Really?’ Suddenly things were looking up.

‘Yes. Now I have a meeting to attend. But before I go,’ he said rising from his seat behind the desk, ‘I have something for you.’

‘I see,’ she said, not seeing at all.

He took a notepad from his drawer and produced a pen from his breast pocket. He glanced at a folder on his desk, made a quick scrawl and handed Hilda the sheet of paper.

‘Here, take my seat. This is Sir Francis’ telephone number. He is awaiting your call. I’ll send through a cup of tea for you.’

He began to make his way out of the room, and she called after him, ‘If you don’t mind, a glass of cold water might be better.’

Hilda gazed at the telephone on its receiver for a full minute, wondering how Sir Francis had tracked her so successfully – and why. And a knighthood. How did that come about? She had not seen him for the best part of three years. How could he know MI6 was her base? Part of her longed to pick up the phone and hear his voice, but the feelings he had stirred in her at BP made her hesitate. In truth, her own feelings for him had sunk to the back of her mind. He was gone from her life, and perhaps that was for the best. He was probably even married by now. At best, contacting him now might only lead to a chat about old times. Possibly even an evening out in the company of some of his friends to mark the conclusion of hostilities and the contribution they had made, but no more than that.

She looked at the piece of paper bearing Sir Francis’ name and a phone number. She took a deep breath then exhaled. Nothing ventured….

She dialled the number and held the earpiece close to her ear.

‘Good afternoon. Foreign Office. How can I help you?’

‘Er… could you put me through to Sir Francis?’

‘Sir Francis. Um… which Sir Francis do you mean? We have a few. Sir Francis Tomlinson? Sir Francis Ormond-Bryce? Sir Francis Shepherd? Sir Francis…’

‘Sir Francis Shepherd,’ she cut in.

‘And you are?’

‘My name is Hilda Campbell. Er… no, perhaps you should tell him it’s Frau Hilda Richter.’

A hesitation followed. It was not surprising; she must have given the telephonist pause for thought, though she would certainly have realised Hilda did not speak English with a German accent. All the same, the woman must have been used to all kinds of deception in this government department.

‘Please hold the line while I put you through,’ she said.

She held on to the receiver tightly for a few tense moments, eyeing the door and hoping there would be no interruption. Would the conversation prove sticky, she wondered. Down the phone line she heard approaching footsteps.

‘Hello, Frau Richter?’

‘Sir Francis I… I presume?

‘Speaking. How are you, Hilda?’

‘Very well, and you? Back from Central Africa for good, I hear?’

‘Indeed, I came back last week. My new posting is to be in Finland.’

‘Out of the fire and into the snow, as it were.’ She gave a nervous laugh.

‘That’s the Foreign Office for you. They keep you on your toes. Nevertheless, I am looking forward to experiencing the fresh air of Helsinki. Right now, I’m relaxing here in London.’

Her heart was beating out of control. She had to ask the right questions. ‘So… when will you leave for Finland?’

‘I was recalled to the Foreign Office for a couple of meetings, but I’ve some leave due. Ten days in total. I’ve had a quick visit to the palace, and it took a couple of days to track you down. So that still leaves eight.’

‘The Palace? Your knighthood has just been granted?’

‘Yes, I suspect a better European posting requires the gravitas,’ he said making light of the award.

Eight days doing what? she wanted to ask. Hilda’s heartbeat seemed loud enough to be heard down through the receiver. She laid a hand over her chest to muffle the sound. Then the door opened to admit Dynes. He placed a glass of water by the phone and beat a hasty retreat.

‘Are you saying I have lost you two days leave? If so, I do apologise, I was in Hamburg recently of course.’ Hilda said and took a sip of water.

‘My goodness, the war is hardly over and you back there. Permanently?’

There was a pause. Sir Francis detected a sob. ‘No, certainly not. My days in Germany are almost over. I’ve no family there now.’

‘I am sorry, Hilda, truly sorry. I’d like to hear more about that sometime if you wish.’

‘Well, in fact,’ she said recovering, ‘there is not much to tell. My son and in-laws are all dead. I cannot find a reason to return permanently to Germany. Of that, I’m quite sure.’

‘I am really sorry to hear of your losses, Hilda.’ He said and a moments silence followed. ‘Actually, I was hoping to get in touch with you, because I wondered if you would like to go to the theatre this evening. I can get two tickets for The Mikado . Would you be interested in accompanying me?’

It had been a concert, which had brought her romance in Hamburg in 1910. Thirty-five years later, and a little wiser she hoped, would acceptance of this invitation be the first step to finding a new contentment in life?

‘I’d be delighted. Entertainment has not featured in my life for some time. I’d be absolutely thrilled to join you.’

‘I’ll call for you at five. We could dine before the performance. Where can I find you?’

Hilda thought quickly. A couple of days earlier Thornton had invited her to treat the MI6 building as her base; dared she take him at his word. Could she actually stay there?

‘The truth is I’m homeless at the moment. I shall have to find somewhere to live in short order, but in the meantime the MI6 building is the closest thing I have to home. Shall we meet here? In the reception area at five o’clock?’

Sir Francis gave a huge guffaw. ‘That makes two of us. I am almost homeless too. Well, I do have a house in the Cotswolds, but I am rarely there, and it is a long way to travel for the night. Therefore, I have been put up at the Savoy. We can dine there?’

The Savoy! Gosh. She had heard of it, of course, but she had never crossed its threshold. Surely, it was only affordable to the wealthy and famous. ‘I look forward to that very much indeed,’ was all she could say.

‘Five o’clock it is, then.’

Hilda replaced the receiver on its cradle while her chest still pounded its audible heartbeats. She understood now why he wished to see her: she was to be company for him over his remaining leave, and then he would be off to Finland. It would be enjoyable, but really, she told herself firmly, there could be no future in it. Unless… it was up to her, wasn’t it? If she wanted to see him again after this week, she needed to make an impression.

Oxford Street was busy again. There were several women’s outfitters to browse. She peered into some windows before deciding which to try. Inside, she took her time, holding up one dress after another in front of a mirror, feeling the quality of the material, setting aside the ones she wanted to try on. She refused to rush; this was not a snap purchase of a cardigan or nylons; this was something special; she was going to dine at the Savoy, and be entertained at the theatre.