The Book Group 47
flight
‘May I join you?’
Paul looked up to see a fellow officer, standing beside him. He was dressed in a greatcoat, fingerless gloves and a woollen cap comforter against the weather, and Paul nodded, then he saw the crossed baton and sword with the crown above it on the epaulettes and he stood from his chair and saluted. ‘Of course sir.’
The Major General shrugged off his coat. Beneath it he wore the dog collar of a catholic priest. Speaking with a well-worn Irish brogue while peeling off his gloves, he said, ‘Bugger the rank, sonny, I’ll be happy to share a drink with a fellow soldier.’
‘I’ll get you one sir. Whiskey?’
The priest pulled off his cap, raised two fingers in imitation of Churchill’s salute as he sat down on the battered old sofa with a sigh. ‘V for Victory,’ he said with a smile.
When Paul returned with a large whiskey for the priest and another beer for himself, he found the man with his boot off, picking at a hole in his sock. ‘Needs darning, oh, thanks,’ he said taking the whiskey and downing it in one go.
Paul returned to the bar for another, not sure how many trips he could make before he ran out of money but the barman said it was on the house as the drinker was a priest. ‘And a Major General,’ Paul added quietly.
‘With God and the British Army on our side, how can we lose?’ the barman said with a grin.
Paul returned with the second large whiskey and this time the priest only sipped it before fastening up his boot. He looked out of the window, ‘It’s pissing down out there.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Told you. Stop with the sir business, I’m a priest.’
‘You’re a major general, sir.’
‘Flag of convenience.’ He turned to look properly at Paul. ‘Now tell me something about you. I see a lot of sailors in this pub, and quite a few airmen. What’s an Army Major doing drinking by himself on a rainy Thursday in my local?’
‘Paul.’
He felt someone squeezing his hand. He opened his eyes. He saw a small window, clouds. They were in an aeroplane.
‘Penny,’ he said.
He looked down and found he’d been holding her hand. He relinquished hold, embarrassed. ‘Was I asleep?’ He answered himself before Penny could. ‘Seems like I was. I must apologise Penny. It’s not done for a man to fall asleep in the company of a pretty woman.’
In the background he could hear, feel, the steady hum of the twin propellers.
‘Or any woman, I hope,’ Penny said. She smiled, and he realised that her stern expression was just a tease. ‘I don’t mind really,’ she said. You look quite beautiful when you’re sleeping, she thought, but decided not say it out loud.
‘You’re blushing, Penny. Did I say something terrible?’
‘No, silly. You were dreaming. I shouldn’t have woken you.’ I just wanted to see your eyes, she thought to herself but, again didn’t speak this thought out loud.
‘I don’t mind you waking me.’
‘What was your dream about?’
‘I got drunk with a priest one time, in a pub on Portland. He was a Major General. Told me it was an honorary rank.’
‘That is such an odd, Paul Carter, type of story. Did he convert you?’
‘No, sadly. But I think he saved me.’
‘Do tell,’ she said, leaning closer.
‘I will. But not now.’
‘That’s a deal.’ She sat back in the seat. ‘So what next?’
He stifled a yawn, covered his mouth before he spoke. ‘Well, I told you what they told me. TT is kaput. Your ruse worked perfectly.’ He smiled, it was sleepy and warm, and it gave her a shiver. ‘You should have worked for SOE,’ he said.
‘Oh, I couldn’t have. I’m a morse coder, I told you. The very best.’
‘You’re a musical morse coder.’
‘I am.’ Her face grew serious. ‘So you’re in the clear?’
‘I think so. But I’ll need to speak to Mrs. Kelley when we return. There’s the small matter of the contents of a strongbox in a Swiss Bank to deal with.’
The night before, they had decided that Penny and Sid should not be seen together on the journey home. They didn’t expect any trouble, but if there was, and if anyone had seen them together when the priest was assaulted, some bright police officer might put two and two together. So they’d separated, and Paul had taken Penny to a tiny restaurant called Checchino on the east side of the river, a couple of miles south of the Vatican. The restaurant was tiny, built into the hill behind it, the food was excellent and the occasion was special.
At one point a waiter had approached, ‘Signore? Mr Carter? Telefonata.’
‘Grazie,’ Paul had said. Turning to Penny, he said, ‘Would you give me a minute?’
He’d returned five minutes later, apologised to Penny for the interruption and would have moved on as though nothing had happened until Penny asked, ‘Does ever restaurant in Rome act as your personal switchboard?’
He paused, smiled, his eyes deep wells in the candle light, ‘That was Whitehall. Sir Timothy has been detained. Permanently.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That’s perfect. You’re off the hook.’ She noticed he hadn’t explained how Whitehall had known where to find him. There were depths to this spy business in which Paul seemed deeply comfortable. ‘Paul,’ she asked him, ‘are you done with that world now?’
He paused from his garofolato, picked up the wine bottle and refilled both their glasses. ‘I do hope so,’ he said. ‘I think so, yes.’ He lifted his glass, ‘To the future.’
‘To the future,’ she said, lifting her glass and clinking it against his.
And now they were sitting together on a DC3 flying north and east back towards London, and Paul, this quiet man with a terrible past, had fallen asleep holding her hand. He was awake now but she could tell he needed his rest . ‘Are you always tired when a job is over?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘It was a thing that happened to me. I’d get picked up after a job, it might be a Lysander or a Catalina or something, and I’d know I was safe, for now at least, and the sound of the engines and the feeling of safety would lull me to sleep.’ He stared out of the window for awhile. ‘It’s been quite a year,’ he said.
‘It has been quite a year,’ Penny agreed.
‘I’m glad you came into my shop,’ he said.
‘Go back to sleep now,’ Penny said, her smile gentle. She took his hand in hers. ‘I’ll watch over you.’
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Note on Father John Coghlan, CBE, veteran of two world wars, and British Army Vicar General.