the bar,’ said
Colin. ‘Of course, Rebecca’s problem would fade away if we had women on the course. Gallantry would become too expensive. Why don’t we recruit female intelligence
officers?’
‘We do,’ said Rebecca, ‘in theory. Apparently, we used to quite a bit after the war and SOE and all that, then they had a run of disasters and stopped. Arabs wouldn’t
speak to them, couple of nervous breakdowns, one ran off with a target, usual sorts of thing. So they decided to recruit only from within. Which is why we have a sprinkling of senior women and a
shortage of younger ones coming up. But they’ve decided to start recruiting again, according to Personnel.’
Colin looked about. ‘Where are they, then? Can’t find any, I s’pose. Don’t know where to look, or something pathetic.’
‘Why don’t you apply for the intelligence branch? You’re a graduate, aren’t you?’ Charles asked. ‘Unless you’re put off by us.’
‘When I can be a secretary and do a job like this, looking after all you babies and reading your files and knowing all about you and no other woman in sight? I wouldn’t have anything
like this access to you if I were one of you. I’d have to be much better behaved.’
‘You’ve been disappointingly well behaved up to now, so far as I can see,’ said Colin.
‘Change your optician, Colin.’ She smiled. ‘No, I’ve sort of half thought about bridging but I’m waiting to see how the course pans out, to see if I like it. I
might hate it. Meanwhile, I think I can put up with being the only woman around. I’m not about to burn my bra over it.’
‘What’s this about bras?’ Christopher Westfield joined them, slipping his arm around Rebecca’s waist. ‘G&T, while you’re about it, Charles. Ice and
lemon.’ He turned to Rebecca. ‘We’ll have to call you Need-To-Know. It’s all you ever tell us about anything. But will you tell us when we really do need to know?’
‘Depends, Chris. What d’you think you need to know?’
‘I need to know if you’ll be my exercise wife in a little plan I’m hatching for Danish Blue. I need a wife to support my cover.’
Danish Blue was a travelling exercise for which they were having to prepare their own legends, routes and itineraries. There was intense suspicion that unpleasant surprises were to be sprung on
them.
‘You’d better ask your non-exercise wife about that.’
‘Can’t. She doesn’t need to know. If you don’t agree I thought I’d ask Gerry if I could borrow French Kisser for a few days.’
‘You’re welcome to French Kisser.’
‘What’s she like? Have you met her?’
‘No, but I’ve heard enough about her.’
Harry rang the ship’s bell for dinner. Despite the Castle’s military origins, a preponderance of ex-naval staff made some of its traditions nautical. Thus, although the mess was not
a wardroom, its bedrooms were cabins; the parade ground was not a deck but leaving the Castle was sometimes described as going ashore. The ship’s bell, taken from a Second World War
destroyer, had been donated by an early post-war course.
Charles and Colin sat either side of Rebecca. Gerry, who was late, took the last empty place opposite. ‘All done?’ he asked her. She nodded. ‘Great stuff. You missed a good
exercise yesterday,’ he told Charles.
‘So I hear.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll arrange a nasty surprise for you later, won’t we, Becks?’ He laughed.
‘I’ve a bone to pick with you,’ Rebecca said quietly to Charles.
The phrase had uneasy resonances from childhood and youth, when it was used by parents and teachers to presage something more serious than the playfulness suggested. The last time he had heard
it was on his father’s lips, when his father had learned that Charles was – against all expectation – joining the army, but not the Royal Engineers, his father’s corps. His
father had used the phrase jocularly but beneath it, Charles realised, there was some
Colin. ‘Of course, Rebecca’s problem would fade away if we had women on the course. Gallantry would become too expensive. Why don’t we recruit female intelligence
officers?’
‘We do,’ said Rebecca, ‘in theory. Apparently, we used to quite a bit after the war and SOE and all that, then they had a run of disasters and stopped. Arabs wouldn’t
speak to them, couple of nervous breakdowns, one ran off with a target, usual sorts of thing. So they decided to recruit only from within. Which is why we have a sprinkling of senior women and a
shortage of younger ones coming up. But they’ve decided to start recruiting again, according to Personnel.’
Colin looked about. ‘Where are they, then? Can’t find any, I s’pose. Don’t know where to look, or something pathetic.’
‘Why don’t you apply for the intelligence branch? You’re a graduate, aren’t you?’ Charles asked. ‘Unless you’re put off by us.’
‘When I can be a secretary and do a job like this, looking after all you babies and reading your files and knowing all about you and no other woman in sight? I wouldn’t have anything
like this access to you if I were one of you. I’d have to be much better behaved.’
‘You’ve been disappointingly well behaved up to now, so far as I can see,’ said Colin.
‘Change your optician, Colin.’ She smiled. ‘No, I’ve sort of half thought about bridging but I’m waiting to see how the course pans out, to see if I like it. I
might hate it. Meanwhile, I think I can put up with being the only woman around. I’m not about to burn my bra over it.’
‘What’s this about bras?’ Christopher Westfield joined them, slipping his arm around Rebecca’s waist. ‘G&T, while you’re about it, Charles. Ice and
lemon.’ He turned to Rebecca. ‘We’ll have to call you Need-To-Know. It’s all you ever tell us about anything. But will you tell us when we really do need to know?’
‘Depends, Chris. What d’you think you need to know?’
‘I need to know if you’ll be my exercise wife in a little plan I’m hatching for Danish Blue. I need a wife to support my cover.’
Danish Blue was a travelling exercise for which they were having to prepare their own legends, routes and itineraries. There was intense suspicion that unpleasant surprises were to be sprung on
them.
‘You’d better ask your non-exercise wife about that.’
‘Can’t. She doesn’t need to know. If you don’t agree I thought I’d ask Gerry if I could borrow French Kisser for a few days.’
‘You’re welcome to French Kisser.’
‘What’s she like? Have you met her?’
‘No, but I’ve heard enough about her.’
Harry rang the ship’s bell for dinner. Despite the Castle’s military origins, a preponderance of ex-naval staff made some of its traditions nautical. Thus, although the mess was not
a wardroom, its bedrooms were cabins; the parade ground was not a deck but leaving the Castle was sometimes described as going ashore. The ship’s bell, taken from a Second World War
destroyer, had been donated by an early post-war course.
Charles and Colin sat either side of Rebecca. Gerry, who was late, took the last empty place opposite. ‘All done?’ he asked her. She nodded. ‘Great stuff. You missed a good
exercise yesterday,’ he told Charles.
‘So I hear.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll arrange a nasty surprise for you later, won’t we, Becks?’ He laughed.
‘I’ve a bone to pick with you,’ Rebecca said quietly to Charles.
The phrase had uneasy resonances from childhood and youth, when it was used by parents and teachers to presage something more serious than the playfulness suggested. The last time he had heard
it was on his father’s lips, when his father had learned that Charles was – against all expectation – joining the army, but not the Royal Engineers, his father’s corps. His
father had used the phrase jocularly but beneath it, Charles realised, there was some
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