London Spies: Phyllis Bowden Book 1 Read online

  Phyllis had applied for this position in the American Embassy in London from her cushy job at the War Department in Washington, D.C. because she wanted to make a difference for English civilians caught in a war between good and evil. She knew helping the war effort from war-weary England would make more of an immediate impact and that was important. She and Amy said little as they made their way through the devastation of the once beautiful city. The moment didn’t call for small talk and the ruination only made them more conscious of the significant work they were doing. For the English, for the Americans, for every single person threatened by German domination.

  It would be forever humbling.

  Angel’s stood out as the only small pub still in business in a block where most of the buildings had been mostly blown away. Fire had nearly destroyed the pub as well, but dedicated patrons had shown up before firemen to save what they could. Due to their brave efforts, the owner of the pub gave out free beer every Tuesday, which naturally collected a crowd. Luckily, this wasn’t Tuesday but the bright green entrance with colorful flowers in front flowerboxes gave the appearance of ‘all’s well and we’re happy to still be here’. Phyllis and Amy walked in the open doorway expecting a pleasant welcome, which is what they received. Mick, the owner, knew many of the Embassy employees and was proud to have their business.

  “Ladies! Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

  “Do you think it’s stamped on our foreheads that we work up the street?”

  Phyllis laughed. “I confess I’m in here more than I should be, so the blame lies with me.”

  They found a small corner table, took off their coats and hats and settled in.

  “I haven’t been in here before.”

  “Really, Amy? How come?”

  “I had an English boyfriend for a while and he preferred pubs closer to his neighborhood in Notting Hill.” She glanced around. “We never stopped in here, but I wish we had.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because,” she grinned, “it looks like it probably did when Henry VIII was on the throne. Wood floors, plain wooden tables with chairs that don’t match and a chimney I’d be scared to light.”

  “Don’t forget the pictures of previous kings and queens decorating the unpainted walls and the ancient beer barrels holding up the bar.”

  They laughed and Amy picked up the one-page menu. Phyllis plucked it out of her hands.

  “Don’t bother. Mick only has one or two dishes on the menu and if you don’t like what he has, don’t order. Generally, he orders for us anyway.”

  Mick was heading across the room. A giant of a man, he had to duck under a low beam to lumber to their table.

  “Ladies. What can I bring you to drink?”

  Amy looked at Phyllis who whispered, “Let me handle this.”

  “We’ll have two of the stout ale, Mick. Still got some?”

  “Always, my fine ladies and how about supper? Tonight John’s cookin’ Cumberland Pie.”

  Phyllis blinked, surprised. “Cumberland Pie? You have beef?”

  Mick blushed, stuck a large hand in his pocket. “Well…no. You know we ain’t got no beef, Miss Phyllis, but…” he brightened before continuing, “my sister has a victory garden with lots of great vegetables and you know what a great cook old John is. Why, he can make Toad in the Hole without sausage, but you could swear you was eatin’ it all the same!”

  “So we’ll think we’re eating Cumberland Pie with beef, but we won’t be.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Mick’s smile showed a tooth missing in the front, yet his enthusiasm was infectious. His love of country had been proven time and time again, another reminder to Phyllis why she loved living here.

  “Two, if you please.” Phyllis held up two fingers.

  Mick mimicked two fingers back. “V is for victory.”

  “And victory is at hand.”

  “God save the King!”

  “God save the King, Mick.”

  He beamed and left to bring over two glasses of warm ale in short order.

  “So you come here often?” asked Amy. Her first sip left a frothy layer on her upper lip. Phyllis pointed it out, making Amy laugh.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Phyllis, I haven’t laughed this much in ages. It’s wonderful to not feel uneasy every second.”

  “May I ask what happened to the boyfriend?”

  Her happy face drooped in an instant. Tears pooled in her eyes before sliding down her cheeks. Phyllis laid a hand on hers.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry. He broke up with you?”

  She took another drink, a hefty one this time, and wiped the froth from her mouth with a shaky hand. “He was…killed.”

  Phyllis’ lips parted. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “He was a…gunner in the RAF and was shot down. He was listed as missing in action, but I’m assuming he’s dead.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Colin Hughes. We actually met at the Embassy—he came in with his commanding officer for a meeting and we took to each other immediately. After a cup of coffee in the cafeteria, he asked me out that night.”

  “How’d he manage to get away from his commanding officer?”

  “Lt. Col. Lawrence wanted a private meeting and told us both to shoo for half an hour.” Amy smiled at the memory. “Thirty minutes later, we were hooked.” When her eyes flooded with tears again, Phyllis fished a tissue from her purse.

  “All that’s happened this week has hit you harder because he’s gone.”

  “He was shot down only six months ago,” she sniffled. “I know I’m still grieving, but I never expected to be ostracized as well.”

  Phyllis looked into the face of active suffering. “Maybe it would help to talk about it.”

  “Which? Colin’s or my boss’ demise?” She tucked the tissue in a pocket.

  “Both.”

  “I miss Colin very much and I miss Ronnie too.” She leaned toward Phyllis. “He didn’t do what he’s been accused of, Phyllis. I’m sure of it.”

  “Here you go, Miss Phyllis and friend! Two hot Cumberland pies fresh from the oven.” Mick set two steaming plates before them. “Yeah, if I do say so myself, old John cooks the best pies from Knightsbridge to the West End. Been doing it most of his life, he has.” His broad smile stretched across his moon-shaped face. “Eat hearty!”

  Both Amy and Phyllis had been startled at Mick’s boisterous announcement and physically shrank at his presence. Phyllis recovered first.

  “Thanks so much, Mick. I’m sure this will be delicious.”

  They ate quietly for several bites before Phyllis ventured a word. She lowered her voice.

  “How do you know that Ronnie didn’t do anything, Amy? Do you have any proof?”

  Amy put down her fork, wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I was with him every day for the two years he was Military Attaché. He let me in for every meeting, every conference and I listened to many of his phone calls.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted someone else on the phone with him…just in case.”

  “In case of…”

  “In case of what happened today, I guess.”

  Phyllis took a sip. “Maybe he was meeting someone away from the Embassy, passing on information at a secret rendezvous.”

  “I highly doubt it. The man had a family here—his wife, Margaret, and three daughters. He never would have put them in jeopardy.”

  “Where’s his family now?”

  “I spoke with them this afternoon and they’re going back to the States as soon as they get the okay from the FBI and the Army. I can’t imagine the cloud they will be under in Washington until all this messy business is sorted out.”

  Phyllis fell quiet thinking about what Amy had said. As she chewed, she thought Amy’s absolute confidence in Ronald Lawrence seemed genuine and she wondered, not for the first time today, just what was going on.

  Amy p
icked at her food, pushed it around her plate.

  “I’m sensing there’s another question here.”

  “Phyllis, I need to ask you something.” She pushed her plate to one side.

  “I was right…”

  But Amy didn’t smile at her little joke; she was past laughing matters apparently.

  “You’re in a perfect position right now.”

  Phyllis waited for her to explain. When she didn’t continue, Phyllis put down her fork. “Perfect position for what?”

  Various emotions swept Amy’s face. When she took a deep breath, her final expression was grim. “To find out what’s going on at the Embassy. There’s a rotten apple somewhere.”

  Too stunned to reply, Phyllis took a huge gulp of her beer. A quarter of the liquid drained from the glass before she set it down.

  “Just hear me out.”

  Phyllis shook her head. “What can I do? I’m not in Investigations. I’m just a secretary.”

  “No one is just a secretary here. You may be writing reports or typing travel orders, but a secretary knows most of what her boss is doing. That’s why I’m certain that Ronnie is innocent.”

  “How am I in a perfect position?”

  “Because you’re Dick Simpson’s secretary. You will soon find out many things that the rest of us have no knowledge of. I speak from experience that your position in military intelligence just went up a notch in classified status.”

  Both hands curled around her warm glass. “Amy, what can I do?”

  “Listen. Listen hard. Anything that doesn’t seem right, probably isn’t. Be curious of anything out of place. Watch Dickie like a hawk. He may know something; he may know nothing, but he’s up there where the stream of intelligence is rapidly flowing. I know you have great ears, my friend, and if anyone can sort this out, you can.”

  “That’s what the FBI is doing and maybe MI5.”

  “MI5? What’s that?”

  “British security service.”

  Shaking her head briskly, Amy leveled a cool look her way. “They’ve made a mistake. I’d stake everything I hold dear on it. In fact…” she looked away, then locked her gaze on Phyllis. “I swear on Colin’s grave that someone else is the spy, not Lt. Col. Lawrence.”

  “Amy…I just can’t do it. I’m not a detective, I…”

  “Don’t tell me again you’re just a secretary because I know how thoughtful you are, how inventive you’ve been when it comes to replacing the constant shortages.”

  Phyllis refrained from rolling her eyes. “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

  “I know you have the skills to do this, if you really try. Ronnie once commented on your cleverness. Remember one week when our ration books hadn’t arrived and you were able to locate enough food for our daily lunches?”

  “Amy, that’s…”

  “And how about the time supplies went missing and you found out what happened to them?”

  Phyllis coughed, shook her head.

  “Please tell me you’ll at least consider it. There’s lives at stake, innocent lives. Ronald, his family, everyone at the Embassy is under suspicion—the heat won’t be off until there’s a guilty verdict or the real spy is discovered.”

  Amy stood, slipped on her coat. She looked through her purse. “Do you have any cigarettes? Because I don’t.” She laid some money on the table.

  Phyllis waved her away. “Don’t worry—I’ve got a few for the tip.”

  “I need to go. Tomorrow promises to be as horrible as today, so I’d better get some sleep.”

  “Wait, Amy…”

  “I’ve said enough, probably too much.” Her eyes beseeched Phyllis. “Think it over?”

  “I doubt I’ll think of anything else,” she muttered.

  The brief smile was there and gone. “Good. That’s all I ask. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

  Phyllis watched the small woman leave the pub with lingering sadness. She felt like melting into a pool on the floor. Instead she raised her glass to Mick who soon brought another stout ale to the table. Whatever he saw on her face, Mick set the glass down, collected Amy’s dish and beat a hasty retreat behind the bar. The place had filled up during her conversation with Amy and she tipped her head towards a few regulars she’d seen from time to time. She studied the brown liquid in her glass.

  You’ve got to find out what’s going on.

  There’s a rotten apple somewhere.

  A rotten apple.

  She didn’t think Ronald Lawrence was a bad man either. Certainly, he wasn’t a spy. Or was he? If the Military Attaché was in a position to leak intelligence, would Dickie soon take up the slack? What did Dickie honestly know?

  He’d sounded genuine when he proclaimed his innocence this morning to her, but had that been an act? With the shock of the situation wearing off, Phyllis was thinking more clearly than she had all day. And what did she determine? That what Amy asked of her was impossible. She couldn’t spy on her boss—it would be like spying on her own country.

  Maybe ‘spy’ was too strong a word. It was certainly too strong to say out loud. That word brought the MPs, the FBI, and the condemnation of England, America and the Allied world. It was no small thing.

  Sipping her ale, her vision blurred and Phyllis’ mind wandered to yesterday at the Embassy. Dickie had been anxious. Her colleagues in the steno pool had been snippy, curt with one another. Everyone had been on edge or was she just imagining it now that she was looking back? She’d taken some papers upstairs to Lawrence’s office and the expression on his face was inscrutable. No, she decided, reaching into her memory—his features were drawn and anxious too.

  At the time, Phyllis had written all the anxiety off to the buzz bombs that had fallen the night before. They were horrible occurrences with such devastating consequences. Amy had commented that Lawrence’s residence had narrowly avoided being bombed. But her face too held a certain reserve. Usually Amy was one of the cheeriest secretaries around, but not that day. Maybe Ronnie’s anxiety had rubbed off on her, or maybe Phyllis was reading something more into the whole scene than actually happened.

  She shook her head and was still mulling over Amy’s request when Lorraine showed up later, scolding her for meeting some guy before she got there. Phyllis had told Lorraine a white lie to meet earlier with Amy. Keeping their meeting on the down low seemed a wise move and proved to be the smartest thing she’d done all day.

  Yeah, Amy was talking nonsense.

  SEVEN

  “Phyllis!” came the call from downstairs.

  “What, Mrs. Stewart?” She walked to the top of the staircase and peered down at her diminutive landlady. She was no larger than a garden sprite, but could breathe fire at her or any of Phyllis’ four roommates like a medieval dragon.

  “Phone for you—again. It’s that crabby sister of yours.” Phyllis started down the stairs quickly. “Tell her to quit calling at such late hours. Supper was long ago and decent people are going to bed now.”

  “I will, Mrs. Stewart. I’m so sorry to inconvenience you.”

  “Again…”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Phyllis hurried down to the main floor of the large row house where she and her roommates rented rooms while living in London. On a small table next to the library sat a large, black telephone used by everyone. She picked up the receiver, but waited until Mrs. Stewart went back into her flat before speaking into it.

  “Hello?”

  “I really think you should come home.”

  “Mary Ellen,” Phyllis sighed. “Don’t start this again.”

  “You’re out wandering the world when your duty is here at home.”

  “I’m not wandering around the world. You know I’m stationed in London and I can’t just up and quit my job. This is wartime!”

  “Don’t give me that I-have-a-duty-to-my country stuff.”

  “It isn’t stuff! I have a job to do.”

  “You’re a civi
lian working as a stenographer in the American Embassy. You can come home any time you want.”

  Phyllis took a calming breath, then another. “I’m a civilian working in the Office of the Military Attaché, located in the American Embassy in the personnel branch of the Military Intelligence division, if you want my exact job description, sis. And I signed a contract.”

  “I know, I know and with a G-2 clearance. Big deal.”

  “It is a big deal, Mary Ellen! It’s a classified status as well. I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this on the telephone.”

  Silence on the phone line stretched to a minute.

  “Is that all you called about?”

  “Dad’s worse. With Mother gone and my family to care for, I’ve got my hands full. I need help, Phyllis, and I need you to come home.”

  Phyllis sighed. “Just because you’re my older sister doesn’t mean you can dictate my life to me.”

  “I’m trying to appeal to your sense of common decency.” Her voice rose. “We’re your family and you’re letting us down!”

  “Shh, Mary Ellen. Keep your voice down.”

  “Tell that nosy landlady of yours to keep her nose out of our business. Why, do you have any idea what she says to me when I call?”

  Phyllis had a pretty good idea, since she always got a ration of complaints from Mrs. Stewart too.

  “Phyllis?”

  “Tell me what’s going on with Dad.”

  “His doctor said the cancer has spread to his lungs. I don’t know how long he will last—you must come home!”

  “You know travel is restricted right now.”

  “They’re saying here that the war is almost over.”