James Benn - Billy Boyle

“Glad to meet you, Lieutenant…”

“Kazimierz. Call me Kaz if it’s easier. It is for most Americans.”

“OK, Kaz. I’m Billy. What’s Beardsley Hall?”

Daphne held up a hand. “Before you answer, Baron, Lieutenant Boyle has to sign something.” She fished through a file folder marked TOP SECRET.

“Baron? Like the Red Baron?”

Kaz looked embarrassed; his pale skin showed a red flush easily. I had almost said I didn’t know Polacks had barons, but was saved by Daphne.

“Piotr is a baron of the Augustus clan in Poland, not that I would expect you to know that,” Daphne said, as if I were the original colonial clod. “Now sign this.”

Polish barons, Norwegian royalty, and top-secret documents. Not my normal day, but I tried to hold my own.

“Sign what?” I asked.

“The Official Secrets Act. It means they can shoot one if one reveals any military secrets. We’ve all signed it,” she added casually, handing me a pen. Almost a little eagerly, I thought. I wrote my name, trying to keep my hand steady and look nonchalant.

“Don’t worry, Billy, they haven’t shot anyone yet,” Kaz offered helpfully. “But I hear there’s one chap who drew ten years’ hard labor.” He spoke the King’s English with a slight trace of an accent that was nothing like the heavily accented Polish I was used to hearing in a few Boston neighborhoods. I laughed to show him I knew he was joking. I hoped he was.

“I better be careful. I hate any kind of labor,” I said as I handed the pen back to Daphne.

“Do tell,” she said, snapping up the form as she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving me with the little Polish guy she’d been flirting with. Kaz smiled, barely able to suppress a laugh at my expense.

“What did I say?” I wondered.

“Daphne works very hard, and expects everyone to do so as well.”

“One must do one’s duty, right?”

“Well, well, Lieutenant… I mean Billy. I think it will be fun to watch you and Daphne work together. A real test of the Allied alliance.”

Behind those glasses I could see his eyes twinkle and one eyebrow raise. Most guys would get steamed at a crack about their girl, or at least jealous. Kaz seemed confident, like he knew Daphne could hold her own with me. Maybe even mop the floor with me.

“Have a seat,” I said, offering the chair next to my desk as I sat down. “Don’t pay me any mind, Kaz, I just like to ruffle feathers.”

“You like to pet birds?” Kaz asked, looking at me like I was nuts.

“No, no, it’s just an expression. Meaning that I like to stir things up, rile people up.”

“Ah,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek as he looked up at the ceiling, as if committing the phrase to memory. “I am a student of languages, but there is always so much to learn, so many idioms that are not in the textbooks. Ruffling feathers, yes. So, where were we?”

“Beardsley Hall. What and where is it?”

“It is where the Norwegian government in exile holds court, and where we are going tomorrow. North of the city, on the coast. If you will be so kind as to join me for dinner tonight, I will explain everything to you, in more comfortable surroundings. We must enjoy a good meal before we dine with the Norwegians. They are sure to feed us pickled herring and other arctic delicacies. Okropny.” He made a face like a kid who was made to eat boiled spinach.

“Lousy?” I guessed.

“Terrible. Stusznie okropny.” Kaz had a pleasant smile, the kind that said he found just about everything amusing, including himself. Since I couldn’t see the advantage in taking things too seriously myself, I admired this attitude.

“Dinner sounds good, best offer so far today, Kaz. Where?”

“In my rooms at the Dorchester. At seven o’clock.” He got up, tossed off a mock salute, and left.

Rooms? Maybe his command of the English language wasn’t so great after all. I got his room number and went back to my pile of files. I finished the stack of papers on my desk and very carefully put them back in a filing cabinet and locked it tight, thinking about the Official Secrets Act and wondering if Daphne had been kidding about getting shot. I visited the HQ company clerk and exchanged my dollars for British pounds before calling it a day and heading back to the Dorchester.

I had no idea what the dress code was, but I had only one uniform jacket, so I brushed it and tried to shake out the wrinkles. Kaz had worn the standard-issue British wool battle-dress jacket, but it seemed to have been tailored just for him. For a little guy, he wore a uniform well. I put on a clean khaki shirt and knotted my tie-scarf-neatly. I thought I looked good. At seven I went down the stairs to the tenth floor. I walked down the hall, which was nicely carpeted and well lit. The doors were very far apart. I wonder if Kaz had his own private bathroom.

When I gave his door a sharp rap, I got two big surprises. Daphne opened the door. She wore a smile and the kind of evening gown I had only seen in movies, like the dresses Ginger Rogers wore when she danced with Fred Astaire. And her light brown hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, setting off a necklace that sparkled with more diamonds than I had ever seen, except for the time I caught Tommy Fortunato after that jewelry-store heist.

Three surprises, actually. Daphne and her attire counted as two. Stretching behind her was a wide wood-paneled hallway lit by a crystal chandelier. The triple surprise must have shown on my face. Daphne took my arm in hers and led me in with a smile.

“So glad you could join us, Lieutenant. I take it your clothes haven’t arrived yet?”

I almost told her I had all my socks and underwear with me. I almost said, “Yessir,” but that only worked with Harding. Was she was needling me or on the level? I had to say something and was stunned to hear myself ask, “Are you needling me or are you on the level?”

She giggled, covering her lips with two delicate fingers, and I got my answer. We finally reached the end of that long hallway. It opened into a wood-paneled sitting room with an even larger chandelier hanging from a domed ceiling. Kaz stood at the window, closing the blackout curtains. I caught a glimpse of Hyde Park across the street, visible in the lengthening evening shadows. My room came with a windowpane the size of my hat that looked out at the next building.

He turned and extended his hand. “Welcome, Billy, to my humble home.” He was dressed in a tuxedo that didn’t look like a rental. There was a table set for three and champagne on ice.

“Nice place, Kaz. Sure your roommates won’t mind us eating without them?” I always thought a wiseass remark was a good substitute for self-confidence.

“Very good, Billy. Roommates. Wspotlokatorzy. I like that.” Kaz laughed as he opened the champagne. That pissed me off and at the same time made me like him even more.

“Let us drink to the Dorchester Hotel, an oasis of civility within a world in chaos. Do you know they never closed the kitchens, even during the Blitz?” He poured three tall, narrow glasses, and I decided not to tell him I preferred Guinness on tap.

We clinked glasses, and this champagne tasted a lot better than anything I ever drank at a Boston wedding. I felt a little nervous, like I’d been invited to a swanky party in Beacon Hill by mistake, and had to fig-ure out how to act with the swells. I looked around, trying to think of something to say.

“OK, Kaz, I gotta admit it. This place is really something. How do you rate this while I’m stuck in the attic?”

“Listen, Lieutenant Boyle,” Daphne spoke sharply, “you-”

“Call me Billy, please. It will make me feel so much better when you yell at me.”