The Romance
Chapter 26
Hilda gazed at the telephone on its receiver for a full minute, wondering how Sir Francis had tracked her so successfully – and why. She had not seen him for almost three years. How could he know MI6 was her base? Part of her longed to pick up the phone and hear his voice, but the feelings he had stirred in her at BP made her hesitate. What if she said too much? What if she had quite disappeared from his thoughts? In truth, her own feelings had sunk to the back of her mind. He was gone from her life, and perhaps that was for the best. He was probably even married by now. At best, contacting him now might only lead to a chat about old times. Possibly even an evening out in the company of some of his friends, to mark the conclusion of hostilities and the contribution they had made, but no more than that.
She looked at the piece of paper which bore Sir Francis''s name and a phone number. She took a deep breath then exhaled. Nothing ventured.....
She dialled the number and held the earpiece close to her ear.
‘Good afternoon. Foreign Office. How can I help you?’
‘Er... could you put me through to Sir Francis?’
‘Sir Francis. Um... which Sir Francis do you mean? We have a few. Sir Francis Tomlinson? Sir Francis Ormond-Bryce? Sir Francis Simpson? Sir Francis...’
‘Sir Francis Simpson,’ she cut in.
‘And you are?’
‘My name is Hilda Campbell. Er... no, perhaps you should tell him it’s Frau Hilda Richter.’
A hesitation followed. It was not surprising; she must have given the telephonist pause for thought, though she would certainly have realized Hilda did not speak with a German accent. All the same, the woman must have been used to all kinds of deception in this government department above all.
‘Please hold the line while I put you through,’ she said, after a tense few moments for Hilda.
She held on to the receiver tightly, eyeing the door and hoping there would be no interruption. Would the conversation prove sticky, she wondered. Down the phone line she heard approaching footsteps.
‘Hello, Frau Richter?’
‘Sir Francis I... I presume?
‘Speaking. How are you, Hilda?’
‘Very well, and you? Back from Central Africa for good, I hear?’
‘Indeed, I came back last week. My new posting is to be in Finland.’
‘Out of the fire and into the snow, as it were.’ She gave a nervous laugh.
‘That’s the Foreign Office for you. They keep you on your toes. But I am looking forward to experiencing the fresh air of Helsinki. Right now, I’m relaxing here in London town.’
Her heart was beating out of control. She had to ask the right questions. ‘So... when will you leave for Finland?’
‘I was recalled to the Foreign Office for a couple of meetings, but I’ve some leave due. Ten days in total. It took a couple of days to track you down.’
Hilda''s heartbeat seemed loud enough to be heard through the receiver. She laid a hand over her chest to muffle the sound. Then the door opened to admit Dynes. He placed a glass of water by the phone and beat a hasty retreat.
‘Are you saying I have lost you two days leave? If so, I do apologize,’ Hilda said, and took a sip of water.
‘Not to worry. Actually, I was hoping my message had reached you, because I wondered if you would like to go to the theatre this evening. I can get two tickets for The Mikado. Would you be interested in accompanying me?’
It had been a concert which brought her romance in Hamburg in 1910. Thirty-five years later, and she hoped a little wiser, was acceptance of this invitation the first step to finding a new contentment in life?
‘I’d be delighted. Entertainment has not featured in my life for many a year now. I’d be absolutely thrilled to join you.’
‘I’ll call for you at five. We could dine before the performance. Where can I find you?’
Hilda thought quickly. A couple of days ago Thornton had invited her to treat the MI6 building as her base; dared she take him at his word?
‘The truth is I’m homeless at the moment. I shall have to find somewhere to live in short order, but meanwhile the MI6 building is the closest thing I have. Shall we meet here? In the reception at five o’clock?’
Sir Francis gave a huge guffaw. ‘That makes two of us. I’m almost homeless too. Well, I do have a house is in the Cotswolds, but I’m rarely there, and it''s a long way to travel for the night. Therefore, I’ve been put up at the Savoy. We can dine here.’
The Savoy! Gosh. She had heard of it, of course, but she had never crossed the threshold; surely it was only affordable to the wealthy and famous. ‘I look forward to that very much indeed,’ was all she could say.
‘Five o’clock it is, then.’
Hilda replaced the receiver on its cradle, her heart still beating fit to escape from her chest. She understood now why he wished to see her: she was to be company for him over his remaining leave, and then he’d be off to Finland. It would be enjoyable, but really, she told herself firmly, there could be no future in it. Unless... It was up to her, wasn''t it? If she wanted to see him again after this week, she needed to make an impression.
Oxford Street was busy again. There were several ladies’ outfitters to browse. She peered into some windows before deciding which to try. Inside, she took her time, holding up one dress after another in front of a mirror, feeling the quality of the material, setting aside the ones she wanted to try on. She refused to rush; this was not a snap purchase of a cardigan or nylons; this was something special; she was going to dine at the Savoy, and be entertained at the theatre.
She must have spent three hours shopping, and purchased a smart winter coat, two comfortable dresses which she was assured were fashionable as well, a pair of stylish brown leather shoes with a slight heel and a pair of gloves. She returned to MI6 with her hands full of packages.
She walked up the steps slowly and carefully, and as she approached the front door a hand stretched out over her shoulder to open it.
‘Not done much shopping for some time, I suppose?’ asked Thornton.
‘So true. I needed some new clothes anyway. I’ve been wearing the same things for too long, as you will have observed.’
Thornton smiled with a paternal gaze. ‘Not something we men would have noticed. It’s our Achilles heel, second-guessing a woman.’
‘Then I leave you to guess,’ she said, giving him a coy smile.
He threw her a teasing look in return. ‘Did Dynes have a word with you this afternoon?’
‘About...?’ she replied drawing him out.
‘I think you had a call to make.’
‘Indeed yes, you are right. That’s why I needed some new clothes.’
Thornton laughed, and gave a satisfied nod.
A more mundane thought came to her mind; she had spent so much of the afternoon shopping that the pressing question of finding somewhere to live had gone by the board. ''I don''t suppose MI6 can recommend a hotel, not too expensive, where a respectable widow lady wouldn''t be too out of place?''
''You mean you want to leave us?''
''I beg your pardon?''
''Did Dynes not tell you?
Mystified, she shook her head. ''Tell me what?''
''We assumed you would have nowhere to stay when you returned from Germany, so we made appropriate arrangements. There is a small apartment on the top floor of the building; it is generally used when agents return from abroad for briefings or recuperation after an injury. It''s unoccupied at the moment, so it''s yours for as long as you need it. If that suits, of course. Or you may prefer to make your own arrangements—''
A weight seemed to roll off Hilda''s shoulders, and she was hard pressed not to fling her arms around Thornton. ''I''d be delighted to accept,'' she said instead. ''Thank you, Mr Thornton. Thank you very much. How long can I stay?''
''As I said, as long as you need to. I expect you will want something more permanent in due course, but until then, you''re our guest. Consider it a small gesture of gratitude for what you''ve done for us.''
‘Thank you again. I suppose I need to decide where I want to be. Then find a house and a purpose in life again.’
‘I imagine you will stay here until you are summoned to Nuremburg. You can even return afterwards, and stay until you find somewhere to live. And as to a purpose – you could teach German, probably even at university level. Or you could be a translator in the private sector. There will be many opportunities.’
‘That confirms one thing, and I’m grateful for that too.’
‘That you’d be a good linguist?’ he suggested.
‘No, that I’m too old to be a spy again!’
‘You mean you didn''t enjoy it? You were a natural.’
‘Now you''re teasing me. I’m glad to have served my country, but I’ve been a very reluctant spy. I''m sure you know that.’
Precisely as the hour struck five, she was standing in the vestibule of the MI6 building when a car pulled up outside. She opened the door and waited at the top of the steps outside as Sir Francis arrived. He took her hand to help her descend, and at the bottom he turned and looked at her with a smile.
‘Hilda, your eyes...’ he said.
‘My eyes?’ she repeated, puzzled.
‘Yes, your eyes. Your eyes are the colour of holly blue butterflies.’
She felt weak at the knees; it was a greeting she could have never imagined, and it completely overwhelmed her.
‘W-whatever made you say that?’ she stammered.
‘Are you offended?’
‘Why would I be offended at such a charming compliment? It''s just that... it has been some time since the last one.’
The meal started on a high note which rose higher still through each course. It was a meal prepared with care and precision; she had never before experienced such a high standard of cuisine, or such a splendid setting.
They talked about how their lives had intermingled by chance in Hamburg, and how after her husband’s death she found herself caught up in the world of espionage till her work at Bletchley. She learned that his wife had died young, of breast cancer, and he had dealt with the tragedy by immersing himself in study and his career; but he had come to realize part of him was missing, especially after the heat and strain in Africa. Now, en route for the long, dark winter nights of the north, he felt that reading and crossword puzzles would not satisfy his soul. Even endless summer light would leave him weary. Some of his colleagues had turned to Bacchus, causing liver complications at best and early retirement and premature death at worst. That was not a prospect he had any wish to entertain. He had staff of course, but close relationships were difficult in his position.
She admired his frankness and found him charming. And, having shared his own hopes and anxieties for the future, he was eager to learn more of hers.
Coffee arrived and they retired to a snug corner, which the waiter pointed out. Hilda stirred her coffee then toyed with the wrapper of a chocolate which lay beside the saucer.
‘The future is very unclear for me,’ she said.
Sir Francis lifted his cup to his mouth. His eyes were on hers, and he waited for her continue.
‘I’m told I am to be a witness in the prosecution of my German handler, Gerhardt Eicke. That means I have to spend time in Nuremberg. Goodness knows how long.’
‘And then?’ he asked.
He had gone straight to her Achilles heel. ‘I don’t really know. I have no crystal ball to consult.’
‘What are your options?’
His questions seemed very precise. Was he trying to help her focus her thoughts? Or did he have other, more personal motives?
‘All I can offer by way of qualifications is a knack for code-breaking, which is probably redundant now, and fluent German. Perhaps I could be a teacher?’
‘And where would you teach?’
That was at the heart of her dilemma. She told him so. Now Germany was free of Hitler, she felt a certain loyalty to the country that had welcomed her so willingly. She loved the people, the culture and the land, and there were so many happy family memories. Her immediate family had all died, however, and it would not be the same. But the same applied to Scotland. So where was she to call home? It was an elusive concept.
‘You see why I am so confused?’
‘Yes, I do see, of course. But surely, you see that all these experiences have made you the remarkable woman you are. Your life has shaped your thinking, your determination to survive and... if I may make so bold... your charm.’
‘How kind of you to say so.’ He certainly had all the graces and politeness required of an ambassador. But it was not up to him to decide her future. To deflect him, she asked, ‘And you, where to next?’
Sir Francis crossed his legs and returned his coffee cup to its saucer. ‘Next week I head to Helsinki. For how long, you might ask. I wish I could tell you. The Foreign Office seems to play games with us. The face must fit in the right place, it seems.’
Hilda looked down on the diamond-patterned carpet. Sir Francis was a career ambassador whose loyalty to the Court of St James was his first and perhaps his only priority. His lifestyle was in constant change. She was not sure if that would suit her, or if she was too old to make concessions. Or even if their friendship was likely to progress to the point where it might become an issue.
Sir Francis leaned closer and took hold of her hand. It took her by surprise, and excited her. A warm shiver travelled from her stomach up to her cheeks.
‘Hilda, I have a few days left in London. I want to spend them with you.’
This was the first test. He caught her smile. It gave him the permission he sought, and he moved towards her. It was not a long kiss, but one that brought together two lonely people reeling from the devastation of the war years. For Hilda it opened a chink of light in the gloom of uncertainty, which shrouded her future.
‘Hilda, tomorrow I have tickets for King Lear. Do you wish to accompany me again?’
‘Of course I do,’ she said without hesitation.
‘Then I shall collect you at two thirty from your official dwelling.’
‘Two thirty? Is it a matinee performance?’
‘No, it starts at half past seven. I thought a walk around the Serpentine and a bite to eat before the performance. What do you think?’
‘Wonderful, Sir Francis.’
‘Oh, I think it''s time I became plain Francis, don''t you?’
Their relationship still had far to go but the journey had begun and she was eager to set out on the path that lay ahead. She stood up and held out a hand to him.
‘Time is moving on. We’d better get going to The Mikado.’
It was a short walk from the Savoy to the Aldwych theatre. Francis took her hand as they strolled, and to all and sundry they were just another happy couple, glad to be together again now the war was over. Her feet seemed to float a few inches above the ground, and she could not have been more content.
The Mikado was wonderful. The tunes stayed in her head all week. She saw herself first as one of the Three Little Maids, then, and more particularly, as a Wandering Minstrel, with her oboe in her hand. Gilbert’s carefully crafted words were sung as if they had been written especially for her that night, and Sullivan’s tunes were foot-tapping and unforgettable.
They walked back to her office residence arm in arm, humming some of the songs.
‘I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for a very long time,’ she said.
‘Nor have I. I think we both needed some light entertainment. Tomorrow will be more taxing; King Lear takes on human suffering. God knows how much of that we have all experienced recently.’
On the doorstep of MI6 Sir Francis took hold of her and held her close, and they hugged each other warmly for a few seconds. Then they kissed, for longer than she had anticipated. Hilda felt young again, and more importantly, no longer alone.
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Ron