James Benn: Billy Boyle

That cheered me up some, and I headed out to find Grosvenor Square. I asked my pal at the desk, and I guess he saw that I had worked hard at cleaning up, and so I was worth a civil answer.

“Go left out the main door, you’ll see South Audley Lane straightaway. Go left again and it’s a five-minute walk direct to Grosvenor Square. Are you looking for the American headquarters?”

“Yes, I am.”

“It will be directly across the square as you enter it. You can’t miss it-sandbags, American sentries, and all that.”

“Great. Thanks a lot.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“Seems like a nice hotel,” I said, holding back half a dozen wisecracks about my closet-sized room.

“No,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows and looking me in the eyes. “Thank you for coming to England.”

I said something that I hoped didn’t sound idiotic and followed his directions. His thanks unsettled me. I didn’t want to be here, never was a fan of the British Empire, and the only American I had met so far didn’t act like he gave a rat’s ass if I was here. I thought about the woman and the V-for-victory sign. Was she still alive? The image of her swam through my mind as I wondered if she had made it. I noticed I had already crossed South Audley without turning left. I tried to forget about her and concentrate on not getting lost.

I saw a sign for Piccadilly and knew that was something a tourist would go see. I was tempted to explore. But duty called and, more important, I thought they’d have coffee at the office. Coffee at the office. OK, that sounds almost normal, I thought. It may not be Boston or even the States, but I’m in London walking to the office. How bad can this be?

A few minutes later, standing at my best imitation of attention in front of Major Harding, I began to get an inkling of just how bad it could be. He sat behind his desk, leaning back in a swivel chair, reading a file. My file, I guessed from the expression on his face. He wasn’t smiling. He had a row of campaign ribbons and medals on his uniform jacket that made it look like he had been in the army since God was a child. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache, and a brush haircut that almost hid the gray at his temples. He looked pretty trim, like he had been a football player-maybe a quarterback-who worked at not going soft when he hit forty, which is about what I guessed him to be. He wore a West Point ring and no wedding band. Worst of all, he sipped from a china cup of steaming black coffee while he read. I didn’t see a service for two.

“Now listen up, Boyle,” he finally said, throwing the file on his desk. “Ike wants me to babysit you while you get your feet wet. I’ve got too much to do already without taking on some relative who pulled strings to get a soft staff job. I don’t know what Ike’s got in mind for you, but if I had my way you’d be carrying a rifle in an infantry platoon.”

“Major, I-”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Lieutenant!”

“Yes, sir.” That phrase sure was coming in handy.

“Do you have any idea at all why you’re here?”

Now let’s see, I thought. Should I tell him about how my mom and dad and Uncle Dan didn’t want me to get killed? Or about the congressman who got me this job? Then the perfect answer came to me.

“No, sir.” It was a variation on a theme, but I thought I was beginning to get the hang of it.

“Well, neither do I. However, although I’ve only worked with General Eisenhower for a few weeks, since he came over here from the States, I respect his judgment. He’s made a real difference in a short time. I don’t want you screwing things up, Boyle. For some reason Ike thinks you can help him out. Doing what I don’t have a clue, but if you step out of line just once…”

“Major.” I spoke up quickly to avoid another lecture. “Sir, I don’t know what the general wants me for. I don’t plan on screwing anything up or getting in your way, but I don’t think I’d be much use to anyone in an infantry platoon. I’m a city boy, a police officer.” I was beginning to get a little steamed.

“I read your file, Boyle,” he said irritably. “I know you’re no coward. There’s a commendation in here from the mayor of Boston for saving a little girl from a burning house. Why did you bother to risk your life for her, city boy?” Harding leaned back in his chair and seemed to focus on my eyes. It made me feel uncomfortable so I shrugged to show him I wasn’t. I wanted him to know he didn’t get to me.

“That was little Mary O’Shaughnessey. I saw her every day on my beat. I knew her folks. My dad would have whipped my butt if I hadn’t gone in after her. We look out for each other in South Boston,” I said rather proudly.

“What if you left here and came upon a burning building?”

“Call in the alarm, what else?”

“Go in and look for another little girl?”

“That’s a job for the London cops and firemen, isn’t it? Sir?”

“The London cops have quite a lot on their hands right now, Boyle. We’re here to help them, not to sit around while they do the heavy lifting.”

I’m no scholar, but even a dumb Mick like me knew this was a metaphor. Or a simile, I could never remember which was which. I also knew what the right thing to say was.

“Yes, sir.”

A rap on the door saved me from a further lecture on how we have to help our good pals the Brits.

“General Eisenhower is ready to see you now, Major Harding. And the lieutenant.” The beautiful voice belonged to a honey-haired young woman in a blue uniform. She spoke like an angel-an English, very upper-class angel.

I stood and introduced myself. “Billy Boyle, Miss…?”

“I know your name, Lieutenant.” Her disapproval hit me like a hammer. Harding came to the rescue, which meant her dislike of me must’ve been pretty apparent.

“This is Second Officer Daphne Seaton, Women’s Royal Naval Service, attached to U.S. headquarters. Daphne… Second Officer Seaton… holds a rank equivalent to yours. She’s my administrative assistant.”

“Pleased to meet you, Second Officer.” She nodded.

“We’ll be right there, Daphne. When we’re done, please take Lieutenant Boyle to his desk and show him around. He looks like he could use some chow.” I almost fell over when I heard Harding say that. He seemed almost human.

“Certainly, Major, I will be glad to.” As she turned to leave, she looked at me as if Harding had asked her to take out the garbage.

I was beginning to get the feeling that the English were pretty good at letting you know that they meant exactly the opposite of what they were saying. I looked at my shoes. No, they were clean and shiny.

“You’ll have to excuse Daphne,” Harding said as he stood up from his desk. “She’s gone through the Blitz from the beginning and lost some friends. It didn’t make her and some of the other staff happy to hear Ike’s nephew got himself appointed to a soft job here. Especially not with the news that they’ve just lost Tobruk in North Africa, along with twenty-five thousand prisoners. Now let’s go see Ike.”

I considered how I could thaw out Daphne while I followed Harding up the stairs. He led me through a suite of offices and knocked on a set of double doors. I stopped thinking about Daphne with some difficulty. I had just time enough to feel nervous about meeting Uncle Ike again. A sergeant opened the doors and gestured us in.

“William, very good to see you!” Though he was a distant relation, Ike grinned widely and extended his hand to shake mine. He looked older, of course, than the last time I saw him. He was smiling but the rest of his face looked serious. His eyes locked on to mine and it seemed like he was trying to see inside my head. It was as if he was looking for something that he wanted, something that I could give him. Only I didn’t know what it was. Or if I even had it.