Connie Willis - All Clear

“Yes. Mr. Watson and Mr.…” She frowned and bit her lip. “I can’t remember, it began with an H, like Hawes or …”

“Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, that was it. Mr. Watson and Mr. Holmes.”

That cinched it. It was the retrieval team.

“They knew all about you having been at Dunkirk and in hospital,” Daphne said. “They said one of the nurses told them you might have gone to Saltram-on-Sea.”

Which meant they’d traced him as far as Orpington, but they obviously hadn’t talked to Sister Carmody or she’d have told them he was in London. “What did they look like?” he asked. “Were they in uniform?”

“No. Civilian clothes. Very posh, and very posh accents, and they were both terribly handsome”—she cocked her head flirtatiously—“though not so handsome as you, speaking quite impartially. I’m a married woman, you know.”

Yes, I know.

“You said they came in twice,” he said, trying to get her back to the subject at hand. “The same day?”

“No, they came in on, let me see, when was it? The first Saturday in December, I think.”

When he was in Oxford, trying to find out whether Gerald Phipps had been there.

“And then they came in again the next night, and that was when Rob got jealous and told me to stop flirting with them, and I said, ‘I wasn’t flirting, and even if I was, you’ve got no call to tell me not to, Rob Butcher. I’m not your wife,’ and he said, ‘I wish you were,’ and the next thing you know he’s been to Dover and got a special license so the vicar could marry us straightaway. Dad wanted us to wait, but Rob said no, who knew what might happen tomorrow or how much time we might have together, and then he found out he was being sent here, and—”

“When the men came the second time,” Mike finally managed to get in, “what did they say?”

“They said if I did hear from you, to contact them immediately, and they wrote down their address for me. I meant to send it on to you, but then in the excitement of the wedding and all, I forgot. Oh, it was a lovely wedding. Rob looked terribly handsome in his uniform, and the church was all decorated with holly and—”

“Do you remember the address?”

“No.”

Of course not.

“But I’ve got it. I put it”—she frowned in consternation—“now, where did I put it?”

Please don’t say you stuck it behind the bar, and now I’ll have to trudge all the way back across the country to Saltram-on-Sea for it, Mike thought.

“I put it … oh, I know,” she said. “I put it in my vanity case so I wouldn’t go off without it. It’s upstairs. Hang on.” She started up and then turned to look at him over the railing. “You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

Not anymore, he thought.

“I mean, the authorities aren’t after you or anything?” she asked, concerned.

“No. I think I know who the men were. They’re a couple of guys who were on the boat with me coming back from Dunkirk. Reporters.”

“Oh, I wish I’d known they’d been at Dunkirk. I could have asked them about the Commander and Jonathan. They might know what happened to them.”

“I’ll ask them when I see them,” Mike lied. “You were going to go get the address?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, and pattered up the stairs, turning as she ran to give Mike one of those over-the-shoulder smiles that had no doubt snared her new husband. “I’ll only be a moment.”

She was as good as her word, reappearing almost immediately with a sheet of lined paper torn from a notebook like the one he carried. “Here it is,” she said, handing it to him.

He looked down at the address. It was in Edgebourne, Kent. That must be where their drop was.

“It’s near Hawkhurst,” Daphne said.

Hawkhurst. Well, he wouldn’t have to go all the way back to Saltram-on-Sea, but almost. He’d have to make that whole long, uncomfortable trip back in a packed train.

At least it wasn’t on the coast, so he wouldn’t have to deal with guards and checkpoints. But he was afraid it wasn’t big enough to have a railroad station. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He felt all the near panic of the last six months melt away. The retrieval team was here, and they were going home.

“Thank you,” he said, and kissed Daphne impulsively on the cheek. “You’re wonderful.”

“Now, then,” she said, blushing, “you mustn’t do that sort of thing, you know. I’m a married woman. Rob—”

“Is a very lucky guy.” And so am I. You have just saved my life. All our lives. “Listen,” he said. “Be careful. When the sirens go, don’t be a hero. Get yourself to the shelter. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Oh, dear, I did break your heart, didn’t I?” She smiled sympathetically at him. “You mustn’t worry. You’ll meet someone, and you’ll be just as happy as Rob and I are. You’ll see, it will all work out for the best. Rob says—”

The sirens went, and Mike used them as an excuse to leave. “Remember what I said,” he told her. “You get to that shelter.” And he limped off before she could tell him what Rob had said and what her wedding dress had looked like and how he’d find a nice girl.

I already have a nice girl, he thought. Two of them.

Who he needed to call and tell the good news to as soon as he got to the station. He hadn’t wanted to call them before for fear he wouldn’t be able to find Daphne or for fear she wouldn’t have the retrieval team’s address, but now they needed to quit their jobs and get ready to go. And he needed to ask Polly if Manchester had been bombed on the twenty-second and how badly.

In spite of the sirens having gone nearly fifteen minutes ago, he still didn’t hear any planes. Manchester must have a longer warning period than London, since they In spite of the sirens having gone nearly fifteen minutes ago, he still didn’t hear any planes. Manchester must have a longer warning period than London, since they were farther north and west. He didn’t hear any guns either, and the only searchlights were out toward the docks. But they gave off enough light to see his way by.

He hobbled on toward the train station, cursing his limp. Which I won’t have in a few more days, he thought. I’ll have a brand-new foot, and Polly won’t have to worry about still being here on her deadline, and Eileen won’t ever have to suffer through another raid.

A man hurried past him, carrying a spray of holly.

We’ll be home for Christmas, Mike thought. He pushed through the station door and headed for the line of red phone booths along the far wall to call Polly and Eileen. Would it be better for him to go back to London and get them, and the three of them go to Edgebourne together, or should he have them meet him there? That would be faster, and it would mean Eileen and Polly were safely out of London sooner. But if something went wrong and they got separated …

Maybe he’d better go get them. That way they’d all be together and—

What am I talking about? he thought. All I have to do is get to Edgebourne and tell them where Polly and Eileen are, and they can have another team go get them.

Tonight if they want. Or the night I left for Saltram-on-Sea. This was time travel. Eileen and Polly were probably already in Oxford. In which case all he needed to do was get back to Kent and tell the retrieval team where they were the day he’d left.

He looked up at the departures board. There was an express leaving for Reading in six minutes. He limped over to the ticket counter. “One way to Reading on the 6:05,” he said.

The ticket agent shook his head.

“Or on the next train east I can get a space on.”

“No departures during a raid,” the agent said, and pointed up at the high ceiling, where a sudden buzz of planes was becoming a dull roar. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, mate. I’d find a shelter if I were you.”