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Authors: Kate Johnson
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quickly.
‘I see, sir,’ he said, which was a direct lie.
‘No,’ Wheeler gave him a faint smile, ‘you don’t. I don’t expect you to. I would explain it to you, Harker, but I’m afraid it’s on a need-to-know basis right now, and you don’t need to know. Colonel Watling-Coburg has made her recommendation, with which I agree.’
‘Do I get any choice in this?’ Harker asked gloomily.
‘No,’ Wheeler said cheerfully. They’d reached the car, and its crisply saluting driver. Harker glanced at the kid; you didn’t get boots as shiny as that unless all you did was drive around in them all day. They were not, Harker considered, boots that had seen many muddy battlefields.
‘Do I get to find out who it is?’
‘A Captain Wilmington. I don’t think you know him. Exemplary service record.’
‘Then surely I would have heard of him?’ Harker muttered, but Wheeler caught it.
‘Not every officer is promoted for heroism,’ she said sharply. ‘I have been known to look kindly on soldiers who have simply done nothing wrong.’
Harker refrained, but only just, from rolling his eyes.
‘And then there are officers like you,’ Wheeler said, looking him over in much the same way Harker imagined his mother might have done, had she still been around. Despairing, but with, he hoped, a touch of affection. ‘Harker, where is your overcoat?’
‘Oh.’ He thought about it. ‘Damn. I left it with Eve.’
Wheeler let out a theatrical sigh. ‘How have I promoted this far from the ranks a man who can’t even keep track of his overcoat?’
‘Don’t know, sir. Must have done something else right, sir.’
Wheeler gave him another faint smile. ‘Yes, Harker. You must.’
‘So. For what did they catch you?’
The speaker was a black girl with a French accent. She was dressed in jeans and heeled boots and looked, to Eve, like the first normal person she’d seen since her glider collapsed.
Eve closed her book but kept her finger on the page. They were in the small, pleasant library of the Palace of St James; smaller than Eve might have expected, but a quick inspection of the titles on offer gave one explanation: there just weren’t enough books printed in English for a large library.
‘Paragliding over the Thames.’
‘Para … ah, oui .’ The girl nodded. ‘You were doing the spying?’
‘No! But they seemed to think I was.’ Eve glared angrily at the book in front of her. ‘And how do I prove I wasn’t?’
‘You can’t,’ said the girl. ‘It is why they put us here, yes? My name is Lucille.’
‘Eve,’ Eve said distractedly.
‘You are English? From where do you come?’
At that, Eve let out a laugh. It was the sort of laugh she’d become familiar with in the months following the news that her accountant hadn’t paid her tax bill, and her mother had taken all her money and run off to the Bahamas. It was the kind of laugh that came from hearing something so mercilessly unfunny that it had gone round the other way into hilarity.
‘London,’ she said. ‘But not this London.’
Lucille frowned. ‘Not this London? But how many are there?’ she said. ‘Perhaps I am not understanding. I do not have the good English.’
‘No, your English is really good. Where are you from?’
‘Mozambique. I come to England to help with the children, and the hospitals, you understand?’
‘An aid worker,’ Eve said heavily.
‘Yes, just so. But when there was the Battle of Southwark it was decided I was doing the espionage, and I was put here.’
An aid worker from Africa. It made total sense, in a way that didn’t.
‘When was this?’
‘It is since three years.’ Lucille shrugged. ‘But it is not so bad. The food, it is good, I have my own bedroom and there is much to do.’ She waved a hand at the book on Eve’s lap. ‘What is it you read?’
Eve looked at the mistyped title page of the book, which had a sad, cheap, hand-printed look about it. ‘ A History of the Untied Kingdom
‘I see, sir,’ he said, which was a direct lie.
‘No,’ Wheeler gave him a faint smile, ‘you don’t. I don’t expect you to. I would explain it to you, Harker, but I’m afraid it’s on a need-to-know basis right now, and you don’t need to know. Colonel Watling-Coburg has made her recommendation, with which I agree.’
‘Do I get any choice in this?’ Harker asked gloomily.
‘No,’ Wheeler said cheerfully. They’d reached the car, and its crisply saluting driver. Harker glanced at the kid; you didn’t get boots as shiny as that unless all you did was drive around in them all day. They were not, Harker considered, boots that had seen many muddy battlefields.
‘Do I get to find out who it is?’
‘A Captain Wilmington. I don’t think you know him. Exemplary service record.’
‘Then surely I would have heard of him?’ Harker muttered, but Wheeler caught it.
‘Not every officer is promoted for heroism,’ she said sharply. ‘I have been known to look kindly on soldiers who have simply done nothing wrong.’
Harker refrained, but only just, from rolling his eyes.
‘And then there are officers like you,’ Wheeler said, looking him over in much the same way Harker imagined his mother might have done, had she still been around. Despairing, but with, he hoped, a touch of affection. ‘Harker, where is your overcoat?’
‘Oh.’ He thought about it. ‘Damn. I left it with Eve.’
Wheeler let out a theatrical sigh. ‘How have I promoted this far from the ranks a man who can’t even keep track of his overcoat?’
‘Don’t know, sir. Must have done something else right, sir.’
Wheeler gave him another faint smile. ‘Yes, Harker. You must.’
‘So. For what did they catch you?’
The speaker was a black girl with a French accent. She was dressed in jeans and heeled boots and looked, to Eve, like the first normal person she’d seen since her glider collapsed.
Eve closed her book but kept her finger on the page. They were in the small, pleasant library of the Palace of St James; smaller than Eve might have expected, but a quick inspection of the titles on offer gave one explanation: there just weren’t enough books printed in English for a large library.
‘Paragliding over the Thames.’
‘Para … ah, oui .’ The girl nodded. ‘You were doing the spying?’
‘No! But they seemed to think I was.’ Eve glared angrily at the book in front of her. ‘And how do I prove I wasn’t?’
‘You can’t,’ said the girl. ‘It is why they put us here, yes? My name is Lucille.’
‘Eve,’ Eve said distractedly.
‘You are English? From where do you come?’
At that, Eve let out a laugh. It was the sort of laugh she’d become familiar with in the months following the news that her accountant hadn’t paid her tax bill, and her mother had taken all her money and run off to the Bahamas. It was the kind of laugh that came from hearing something so mercilessly unfunny that it had gone round the other way into hilarity.
‘London,’ she said. ‘But not this London.’
Lucille frowned. ‘Not this London? But how many are there?’ she said. ‘Perhaps I am not understanding. I do not have the good English.’
‘No, your English is really good. Where are you from?’
‘Mozambique. I come to England to help with the children, and the hospitals, you understand?’
‘An aid worker,’ Eve said heavily.
‘Yes, just so. But when there was the Battle of Southwark it was decided I was doing the espionage, and I was put here.’
An aid worker from Africa. It made total sense, in a way that didn’t.
‘When was this?’
‘It is since three years.’ Lucille shrugged. ‘But it is not so bad. The food, it is good, I have my own bedroom and there is much to do.’ She waved a hand at the book on Eve’s lap. ‘What is it you read?’
Eve looked at the mistyped title page of the book, which had a sad, cheap, hand-printed look about it. ‘ A History of the Untied Kingdom
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