Connie Willis - All Clear

She can’t be, he told himself, because if she was, you could rap on her window and warn her, and if you warn her, she’ll go back to Oxford and tell Mr.

Dunworthy what happened, and he’d never have let them come through. Just like with Bartholomew.

It’s Atherton you need to concentrate on finding, he thought. And there’s a phone booth. And Cess isn’t here. And Lady Bracknell had sent along a purse full of money in case something went wrong while they had the colonel and they had to phone the castle. He pulled over to the curb, took the purse out of the glove compartment, and got out of the car. He went into the phone booth, dialed the operator, and gave her the number the Wren had told him. “Just one moment, please,”

the operator said.

Let it go through, let it go through, he repeated silently.

“I have that number for you, sir,” she said.

“Yes, hullo, is Major Atherton there?” he said.

Too quickly. It was still the operator. “I have your number for you, sir,” she repeated. “I’ll connect you.”

He waited, thinking, Any second now I’ll see Cess turning that corner, wondering where the hell I’ve gotten to. “You’re through, sir,” the operator said, and in the next instant, an American woman’s voice said, “Major Atherton’s office.”

Thank God. “Hullo,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “I need to speak to Major Atherton.”

“I’m sorry, sir, he’s not here right now.”

Of course not. “When will he be back? It’s urgent.”

“I don’t know, sir. I can have him ring you as soon as he returns. Is there a number where he can reach you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m in transit. Will he be back tonight?”

“Yes, sir. Do you wish to try again later?”

No. I need to talk to him now.

“Yes,” he said. “And tell him I called. Tell him Michael Da—”

“I never,” a boy’s voice said, and he looked up sharply. A boy and a girl were coming down the street toward the phone booth. The boy was nine or ten, and the girl older. They were arguing loudly.

“You did so,” the girl said.

“I didn’t nick it,” the boy said. “She give it me.”

Oh, God, he thought, it’s Alf and Binnie Hodbin.

They hadn’t seen him yet, they were so busy arguing. He had to get out of here. He hung up and was out of the phone booth and back in the car in a flash. He snatched up the map Cess had left on the seat and opened it out to shield himself from them.

“I seen you,” Binnie said.

Oh, Jesus.

“You did not,” Alf said. They weren’t talking about him. They were talking about whatever it was that Alf had “nicked.” But his relief was short-lived. Because there was only one reason they’d be here, this far from the East End. They were on their way to see Eileen, or on their way home from seeing her. Which meant she was still here. And if he didn’t get out of here, Alf and Binnie would see him, they’d tell Eileen he was alive, that he’d gone off and abandoned them.

He reached to turn the key in the ignition, but they were already even with the car. They’d hear the engine start and look over and see him. He’d have to wait till they were past.

“I’m going to tell,” Binnie said.

“You better not!” Alf said, and then, “Look!”

Oh, Christ. They were running right at the car. He’d have to convince them he was Lieutenant Abbott and that he had no idea who this Mike Davis was. But when had anybody ever been able to put anything over on the Hodbins?

They ran straight past the car into the street. He peeked cautiously over the map. A staff car pulled up and stopped. The children ran up to the car window.

Oh, Christ, he’d been right about Eileen being a driver.

“Where’s Mum?” Alf asked. “She said to meet ’er ’ere.”

Mum?

“She’s going to be late,” a woman’s voice—not Eileen’s—said. Ernest slid up on the seat to where he could see the children leaning in to talk to a blonde in an ATS

cap and uniform. And now that his adrenaline wasn’t raging, he saw what he hadn’t before, that both children were wearing school uniforms and carrying book bags, and that their hair, or at least the girl’s, was neatly combed. They looked much too well cared for to be Alf and Binnie, in spite of the similarity in looks, in their voices.

“Your mother had to drive General Bates to Chartwell for a meeting,” the blonde said, and from what Eileen had told him about Mrs. Hodbin, he couldn’t imagine her driving anyone anywhere, and certainly not a general. “She told me to pick you two up and give you some supper.”

“Can we go to Lyons Corner House?” the boy asked.

“We’ll see,” the blonde said. “She also said to see that you did your lessons.”

“We haven’t any,” the boy said. “We done ’em all at school.” He turned to the girl. “Didn’t we?”

“Don’t be a noddlehead,” the girl said. “He’s got spelling, and I’ve got maths. But I’ve done my history lesson.” She pulled a paper out of her book bag to show the blonde.

The Alf and Binnie he’d seen that morning at St. Paul’s would never have done lessons in their life. Or have voluntarily gone to school.

It wasn’t them. He’d jumped to the conclusion it was because he’d been thinking about Eileen. He’d broken off his call to Denys Atherton for nothing, damn it. He watched the children, whoever they were, pile into the car, waiting for it to drive away so he could go call again. He’d have to tell the woman he’d talked to that he’d been cut off. Maybe the interruption would turn out to be a good thing. Atherton might be back by now, and he’d be able to talk to him instead of leaving a message.

The car rounded the corner and was gone. Ernest got out of the car and started over to the phone booth. And there was Cess, trotting toward him, waving. “They told me you’d come over here to park,” he said, coming up to him.

“Did you hand the colonel over?”

“Did you hand the colonel over?”

“Yes,” Cess said. “Now all I have to do is report in to Lady Bracknell, and we’re free to go home.”

If only that were true, Ernest thought, watching Cess as he went into the phone booth to call Bracknell. How was he going to call Atherton now? He might not have a chance to get away on his own for days, and he was running out of time.

“No luck,” Cess said, coming out. “I couldn’t get through.”

“We can try again on the way home,” Ernest said. And next time I’ll see to it I’m the one who makes the call. “An hour or two won’t make any difference now that the colonel’s been safely handed over.” He got into the car.

“Right,” Cess said. “It was a near thing, though.”

“A near thing? What do you mean?”

“After I’d handed him over and was leaving, who should I run into but Old Blood and Guts—”

“General Patton?”

“None other,” Cess said. “He looked straight at me, and I could tell he was trying to place me, and I was afraid he was about to remember he’d seen me at the reception and shout out ‘Holt!’ in that carrying voice of his. But luckily his aide came up just then and dragged him off, and I was able to get away with the colonel none the wiser.”

“And Patton didn’t see you with him?”

“No, and I’m fairly certain he didn’t remember where he’d seen me. But the sooner we’re out of here, the safer I’ll feel,” he said.

“My sentiments exactly.” Ernest started the car and pulled away from the curb.

“Besides, I’m starving,” Cess said. “Turn right. I know a little place on Lampden Road that has—Where are you going? That’s the wrong way.”