London Spies: Phyllis Bowden Book 1 Page 6

  Tiptoeing to the slightly open door, she cautiously peaked in. He was on the phone speaking in low tones with his feet up on his desk, his tie and jacket tossed carelessly on a chair. She began to retreat when she heard him plain as day.

  “…From the salamander fund? What? No…that’s not what I was led to believe.” He paused for a moment, then spoke again so low she couldn’t hear until, “Oh, all right. Let me check.” He put the phone down swinging his legs off the desk.

  Salamander? Phyllis froze for a split second before stepping back quickly, nearly tripping on a box by the door. What to do? He might be suspicious that she was still here, so she ducked under her desk, curling inward as tightly as possible. The instant she closed her eyes and prayed for invisibility, Dickie strode into her office, standing right by her chair. If he’d looked down, he would have seen her hiding and asked her what the heck she was doing. Or maybe he’d be angry that she had overheard him. What was salamander, she was dying to ask. At any rate, he shuffled through various papers in her inbox, picked something up and walked back into his office not bothering to shut the door between their offices.

  Great. Now she’d be stuck here until he left.

  In the dead of night with very few sounds, she could hear his voice clearly. He picked up the phone.

  “No, I accidentally put it on Phyllis’ desk. No…no. Absolutely not…She wouldn’t understand it. Okay…Why? All right. That seems excessive but I’ll burn it now.”

  Burn it? Why would he need to burn anything? Embassy procedure dictated any materials to be discarded were to be shredded. Burning indicated a heightened sense of secrecy and was perhaps the reason he was still here at this late hour.

  In a few minutes, her nostrils picked up the scent of smoke. She stayed hidden under the desk longer than necessary after Dickie left the office. The heavy front door closed long ago when she pushed out from under the desk, stretching cramped legs and prickly feet. Stepping softly, Phyllis walked into Dickie’s office, nose upturned to locate the source of the smoke. His waste bin contained ashes and several small remnants of paper. She reluctantly reached in to pluck out the paper with shaky fingers soon coated with ash.

  What’s this? Numbers? Places? The scraps were unreadable, but it had to be incriminating for Dickie to burn it. What was he up to?

  After tonight, she would be fully on guard and watchful in the office of the Military Attaché. With an unidentified visitor and ashes in the waste bin, Phyllis knew the game was afoot.

  THIRTEEN

  Lorraine sat at a small table towards the back of the pub. The Blue Anchor was a mess on the outside and didn’t look habitable, but it was open due to resilient Brits desperate to keep as many pubs in business as possible through the never-ending war. Tarps were nailed to the windows and a grimy blanket covered the doorway. A makeshift bar of worn boards kept hands at bay for fear of slivers until glasses of ale were poured and grabbed immediately, slivers or no. Lorraine and other patrons preferred this bar to Angel’s because it had already been bombed, so there was little fear it would be bombed again. Even so, there was nothing left to destroy. Tables and chairs had to be shuffled to one side every night as strong men rolled kegs of beer into place behind the bar.

  It was a work in progress and a huge source of pride to the establishment’s clientele. Lorraine was only half-kidding when she told Phyllis a password was needed to get in. Generally, there was standing room only and she’d lucked out finding two unoccupied chairs. It probably helped that she’d met up with the bartender once, a cute bearded Scot with a shock of red hair and a pouting lip whenever she turned him down for another encounter. She sighed at the sleepy man at her table.

  “You’ve had enough, Henry.”

  “S-says who?”

  “Says me.” She shook her head at the good-looking man with eyes half-closed propping up his head with his hands on the table. Not always successfully. Lorraine had met Henry McKinnon at a State Department function a few months back and she noticed his loose lips almost immediately. She’d pried them open tonight with a few too many beers on purpose.

  Raising her hand to the Scot behind the bar brought over another glass. She was in this far, why not go a bit farther?

  “Sure ye should be a-fillin’ this one with more of our finest, Lorraine? He looks a wee bit wobbly.”

  “He’s fine, Malcolm. Thanks.” Looking doubtful, he left the foamy glass on her table.

  “Here you go, Henry. Drink up.”

  Henry’s brown eyes glazed over at the sight of a fresh drink at his elbow. But he must have been seeing double and reached for the wrong one. Lorraine grabbed his hand to place the glass in it. After he gulped a quarter of the ale leaving foam all over his mouth and chin, she wiped him clean with a napkin before leaning in.

  “So Henry…”

  His watery eyes tried to focus. “Whatsh up, honey? Wanna kiss?” Henry puckered his lips with eyes closed tight. She stifled a laugh.

  “Not right now, but I do want something. Henry?” She shook his shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

  Nodding, he grabbed for his glass, nearly dumping it into her lap.

  “Hey! Watch it!”

  “Sorry, sorry…”

  “Henry, sweetie.”

  He smiled a baby-faced smile in her direction, but she wasn’t sure he could actually see her any longer. No matter.

  “Henry, what’s the buzz at State these days about our new military attaché. You know,” she poked him in the arm, “Dick Simpson.”

  His cheerful composure slipped. “Simpson. Whatanidiot. He better, hic, watch his step.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Jus’ wha’ I said.” Henry’s head went down on the table and he was out for the count.

  “Great,” sighed Lorraine. “Just when he was getting interesting.”

  A shadow fell across Henry and the table.

  “Need some help here, miss?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks, mister…”

  The tall man stuck out his hand. “Joe Schneider at your service.” He angled his head towards the sleeping man. “I work with Henry at the State Department. It looks like you could use some help.”

  Lorraine smoothed her pageboy, glanced around the packed pub. She was ready to ditch Henry and find someone new for a few hours. Curfew would be soon and she wanted to have a little fun. Henry hadn’t cut it tonight and he certainly hadn’t told her what she wanted to know. She looked up into the enquiring gaze of handsome Joe Schneider.

  “You know where he lives? Could you take him home?”

  His quick smile seemed…something, she couldn’t put her finger on what.

  “I do. How about…” He leaned a hand on her table. “I take him off your hands in exchange for…”

  “For what?” She picked up her purse, fished around in it. “I don’t have any cigarettes for trade tonight.”

  “I’d like something else.”

  She snorted. “Nice try but you’re not my type, Joe.” She waved a hand. “Feel free to take Henry home or leave him, I don’t care.”

  “I’ve seen you in here with a lovely lady I’d like to meet. That’s my price for the exchange.”

  “What lovely lady?” she frowned. “I’ve been in here with lots of friends.”

  “She has curly brown hair cut to about here,” he indicated his shoulder. “She’s pretty and I’d like to make her acquaintance.”

  Frowning, she looked him over. “How do I know you aren’t Jack the Ripper?”

  The wattage of his smile increased. “You friends with Malcolm? So am I, so ask him about me. I’m fairly well-known here as a nice guy and generous tipper.”

  When Lorraine continued to stare at him, he raised three fingers. “I promise I’m not Jack the Ripper.”

  She softened somewhat and beckoned to Malcolm. After the bartender verified that Joe was okay, Lorraine nodded her head. “Okay, I think you’re talking about my friend, Phyllis. About 5’5”, brown eyes, worn-out trench coat?”

  “That’s her. Could you introduce us?”

  She stood, helped Henry to his feet. When Joe took him, Lorraine tapped him on the shoulder. “Seven Addison Bridge Place in West Kensington tomorrow night at eight. We’re having a little party for the boys from the 474th in town from Ipswich.”

  “I’ll be there,” he beamed. “Thanks, Lorraine.”

  “I won’t even ask how you know my name.”

  His grin never faltered. “Malcolm told me.”

  She wasn’t sure Malcolm had, but he seemed all right, so she felt Phyllis would be safe—and on neutral territory where all her roommates could stand guard.

  “Tomorrow then.” He hoisted drunken Henry up and staggered towards the doorway.

  “How you getting him home?” she called out.

  “Taxi. See you soon.”

  With few misgivings, Lorraine took out her tube of lipstick, freshened her lips. Malcolm waved to her from the bar and she trotted over, forgetting about Joe Schneider on her way over to flirt with the cute Scot.

  The fat was in the proverbial fire.

  FOURTEEN

  Mrs. Stewart wouldn’t approve. Luckily, she was visiting her sister in Stratford so the girls had the house to themselves. Rather they were sharing the house with what seemed like most of the boys from the fighter base up in Ipswich.

  It was the first wild party they’d had in months. There was a major mess in the living room with cups and glasses everywhere, none of them broken—yet. Mildred and Norma had dashed next door to borrow ice cubes from Mrs. Smith, a friend of Mrs. Stewart. When she’d asked what was going on over there, the girls smiled demurely and remarked they just had a few friends over. Mrs. Smith had huffed at that and they knew Mrs. Stewart would be informed as soon as humanly possible. Until then, they would eat, drink and be merry!

  Two or three bottles of champagne were opened and one bottle of V.O. No one was sure who had brought the Canadian whiskey, but the rowdy group was happy that someone did.

  “Whew! I haven’t had anything to drink since—”

  “…Our trip to the base last weekend?”

  Phyllis laughed, took another sip of champagne. “Something like that. Say, Lorraine. Who’s that handsome guy who keeps staring at me?”

  She glanced in the direction Phyllis was looking. “Oh, that’s Joe Schneider.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Some State Department friend of Henry’s.”

  “You seeing Henry again?”

  She shrugged, pushed hair off her shoulder. “Off and on.”

  “Who invited him?”

  Lorraine’s eyes widened. “Oh, I did. I forgot. He did me a favor by taking a very snockered Henry home last night and I promised him I’d introduce you.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “He wants to meet you. Guess he’s got a minor crush or something. Humor him tonight. Malcolm says he’s okay.”

  Laughing again, Phyllis reached over to pour a little more champagne in her glass. “Fine. Introduce us then. I haven’t got all night.”

  “Actually, sweetie, you do.”

  Chuckling, they headed in Joe’s direction. He immediately broke off the conversation he was having with Mildred, Sparky and Dave to meet Lorraine and Phyllis in the middle of the room. He put out his hand as Lorraine made introductions.

  “Joe Schneider, State Department, meet Phyllis Bowman, American Embassy. Who says government agencies can’t communicate?”

  “Funny,” said Phyllis. “Nice to meet you, Joe.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

  Lorraine stepped away. “And this is where I leave you.” Neither watched her go.

  “Why is that? I’m a lowly secretary at the Embassy. No one of great importance.”

  “I guess that’s in the eye of the beholder, Miss Bowden.”

  She laughed. “I’ve already called you Joe, so I believe it’s appropriate for you to call me Phyllis.”

  They shook hands longer than was necessary. He waved a hand toward the dining room. “It’s not as noisy in there as in the kitchen and parlor. Shall we?”

  Nodding, Phyllis made for the dining room, dodging rambunctious fliers on the way. Val and Cliff each had two drinks apiece complaining about the lack of ice. They must be out…again.

  “What happened here?” Joe reached out to touch the enormous tarpaulin covering the space where the window used to be.

  “I’m sure you can guess—a buzz bomb.”

  “Of course. I’m over by Covent Gardens and the house two doors down was hit a couple of nights ago.”

  She shuddered. “When will this war be over?”

  “Even when it is, some bomber won’t get the message in time and the destruction will continue for a while longer.”

  “I can’t wait until it’s over.”

  “You and me both. So tell me, Phyllis, where’s home?”

  “I live in Arlington, Virginia, outside of Washington, D.C.”

  He nodded. “Sure, I’ve been there. Beautiful area. You have family there?”

  “My whole family—my sister and her family, plus my father. I was living with him when this transfer came through to London.”

  “He probably didn’t want you to go, but…”

  “…There’s a war on,” she finished looking down at the floor. “He isn’t well and I…ah, I haven’t been as good a daughter as I should be.”

  “Let me guess: he’s sick and your sister is pushing you to come home to help with his care.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How do you know that? Been reading my mail?”

  He chuckled. “Hardly. I’m snoopy and asked a few people about you.”

  “You are snoopy.”

  “Guilty as charged. I was just interested in meeting you, hope you don’t mind.”

  She took another sip and glanced up at him. “As long as that’s as far as your snooping goes. I don’t want a stalker.”

  “And you won’t have one. Honestly…” His smile seemed innocent, but there was something familiar about him.

  “Have we met before?”

  He shook his head before she finished her question. “I’d’ve remembered, trust me.”

  He was handsome with dark wavy hair and piercing eyes that reminded her of some silent film star. Valentino maybe…without the makeup, of course.

  “What’s the smirk about? Am I funny?”

  No, you’re very attractive. “I think I need more champagne.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Be right back.”

  They spent the rest of the party talking, dodging more tipsy fliers and perky roommates until it was close to two in the morning. After the whiskey and champagne were gone, the squadron boys sadly began their farewells. Joe touched her hand.

  “Could I take you to dinner tomorrow?”

  “Well, I…”

  “Because Mick at Angel’s has gotten in some sausage, so John’s cooking—”

  “Toad in the Hole?”

  He grinned. “You bet. How about it?”

  Why not? “Sure. I’ll be done at the Embassy around five. Major Simpson kept us late all last week and he swore we’d be back to normal hours again.”

  “Where shall we meet?”

  “How about outside the Embassy at 5:30?”

  “Sounds good.” He leaned closer. “May I?”

  When she smiled, he kissed her cheek softly. “Until tomorrow.”

  FIFTEEN

  Why was Joe here so early? A glance at her watch told Phyllis it was 4:30, a full hour before they’d arranged to meet. She’d walked out of the Officers’ Mess after a late cup of tea when she spotted him talking to several girls from the steno pool. What was he, a ladykiller?

  She and Lorraine watched him for a few minutes, her frown morphing to a scowl just as he looked over. However upset she was at his untimely entrance, there was no mistaking the sexy smile he proudly donned at seeing her. All the girls turned to see who had stolen his attention; their expressions registered disappointment and resignation. Super. Another reason for them all to hate her. Thanks, Joe.

  Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Good luck, sweetie. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

  Laughing, Phyllis lightly punched her arm. “That gives me lots of room to maneuver.”

  Ignoring the man heading over, she and Lorraine parted ways at the staircase. She’d started up the steps when Joe bounded to her side.

  “Hi Phyllis. How are you today?”

  “You’re early, Joe.”

  “I had some papers to deliver to your boss, so it’s part business, part pleasure.”

  “How nice for you.”

  He fell in step with her. “You don’t seem overjoyed to see me. We did have a supper date, right?”

  Glancing back at the women still watching them, she shrugged. “Didn’t know you were so popular at the Embassy.”

  “I’m not, but it’s not my first time here either. I know a few gals in the pool.”

  She bet he did. “Maybe it’s not a good day for me.”

  “Phyllis.” He stopped her before they went into her office.

  “What?”

  “I’m on the level. No hidden agenda. I just wanted to take you to dinner, spend some time with you.” He cupped her chin. “Is that so awful?”

  His gaze locked with hers and she couldn’t look away. Maybe he was a smoothie, but her gut said he was all right. Of course, it remained to be seen how correct her gut was.

  “Phyllis!” Dickie’s voice rang out. “I need you!”

  She shrugged at Joe. “Duty calls.”

  “Introduce us, would you?”

  She took him into Dickie’s office, stood to one side when Joe marched to the front of his desk.