Read Online Dominion by C.J. Sansom - Free Book Online

slowly, was he. He learned, in Soho, more of the truth behind the propaganda in the press and on the
BBC; the strikes and riots in Scotland and the North of England, the chaos in India, the endless savagery of the German war in Russia. He saw the increasing confidence of the Blackshirts on the
streets as the Jews, marked by their yellow badges, shuffled along, eyes on the ground.
    It was January before he managed to see the key. Watching her, David had seen that at work Carol kept it in her handbag, always giving it to the porter before they went out. At their last
concert David had noticed she seemed a little distracted. She told him over lunch that her mother was being especially difficult, and had accused her daughter of taking money from her purse, which
was absurd because it was Carol’s salary that kept them both. She feared the old lady might be going senile.
    He worked out how he might do it. The following week he suggested another concert, in Smith Square. Carol agreed enthusiastically. He said he would get the tickets on his way home. On the day of
the recital, bringing a file into Registry, he went over to her desk. She was splitting one of the secret files into two, carefully moving documents from one folder to another. As usual, David was
careful to avoid glancing at them; she was well trained and whatever Carol felt about him she would have noticed that. ‘Looking forward to the concert?’ he asked.
    He saw that sparkle in her eyes. ‘Yes. It should be good.’
    ‘What seats are we in?’
    She gave him a puzzled smile. ‘You’ve got the tickets.’
    ‘No, no. I gave them to you.’
    She stared at him. ‘When?’
    ‘Yesterday. I’m sure I did.’
    She closed the files carefully, picked up her handbag and, as he had hoped, opened it on the desk. She took out her purse, then bent her head to look through the compartments. The bag lay open.
David looked round quickly but no-one was watching them; their friendship was stale gossip now and Dabb, the Registrar, was busy checking a file. David bent over a little, enough to see into the
bag. There was a powder-puff, a packet of cigarettes and the key on its metal tab. Squinting, he made out the numbers stamped onto it: 2342. He stepped away just as Carol looked up from her
purse.
    ‘They’re jolly well not here.’ There was anxiety in her voice.
    David took out his wallet, checking. With an expression of surprise, he pulled out the tickets. ‘I’m terribly sorry. They were here all along. I am sorry, Carol.’
    She sighed with relief. ‘For a moment I was frightened I was going potty, with all this worry over Mother.’
    Walking back to his own office David had to stop at the gents. He went into a cubicle and was violently sick. He crouched, breathing heavily; the vomiting relieved the almost unbearable tension
he had felt since getting the number, but did nothing to assuage his shame.
    And so he began to come in at weekends and photograph papers from the secret files. At least once a month he met in Soho with Jackson, Geoff – who was indeed the
Resistance agent in the Colonial Office – and Boardman, a tall, thin man from the India Office, an old Etonian like Jackson. The quiet discussions in the squalid Soho flat went on for hours,
while next door a prostitute – another Resistance supporter – plied her trade, cries and bumps occasionally audible through the wall. David learned more and more about the fragility of
Fascist Europe. The Depression and the demands on her economies to feed the gigantic, endless German war effort in Russia were sucking the continental countries dry, while labour conscription to
Germany was sending young men in France and Italy and Spain literally running to the hills. On the other side of the world Japan was as deadlocked in its war with China as Germany was in Russia.
Its strategy towards the Chinese was the same as the Germans towards the Russians, summed up in their policy of the ‘three alls’: kill