Since receiving that first anonymous letter and then Max turning up out of the blue the night of the party just over a week ago, she had been thrown off balance; the equilibrium of each day thoroughly destroyed.
Some mornings she woke with such a weight of dread hanging over her she could hardly drag herself from her bed, the thought of driving to school to tackle the demands of two hundred and fifty lively girls and a staffroom of teachers too much for her. Many a time she found herself struggling to find the necessary patience and tact to deal with what she regarded as petty staffroom politics. Or the unruliness of a wilful child. Or an overly critical parent who could bore for England on the subject of how a school should be run.
In the past none of this would have taxed her in the slightest, but today it all felt too much. Which was why she was keeping a low profile by staying –hiding– in her office. Before setting off for Chelstead this morning, and thankfully after Kit had already left for a day of ground school teaching at the flying club, the postman had made his first delivery of the day. Amongst the mail was another vile letter accusing her of having been unfaithful to Kit.
Who was doing this to her?
Was it Max?
But he’d sworn it wasn’t him. Who then? And why? Was it somebody from their Bletchley days? Somebody who had a score to settle?
The second letter was in her handbag, as was Max’s card. He had been one of the last to leave the party and when he’d been saying goodbye he had given her his card with his telephone number. ‘Come and meet me in London,’ he’d said, ‘let’s have lunch. Or dinner if you’d prefer. For old time’s sake.’
Despite keeping his card, she had no intention of telephoning him. She had promised herself a very long time ago that she would never contact him again and she wasn’t about to break that promise.
Nor was she going to compromise the vows she made the day she stood in front of the altar with Kit and married him. Saying the wordsI dohad banished Max to the past.
Just as those same words had pushed Bletchley Park out of her life, including everything that had happened there.
ChapterThirty-Seven
Bletchley Park
January 1942
Evelyn
MaxBlythe-Jones made his appearance at Bletchley at the end of January in 1942.
He immediately attracted an above average rate of interest amongst the women at the Park because of his exotically good looks (his mother was half French and half Hungarian), and for being so charming. Within a short space of time, not only was he causing hearts to flutter at a considerable rate, but he had gained a reputation for being one of the best of the elite in Hut 6. It was widely understood that these codebreakers were of a superior breed of intellect and ability. Max was perfectly at home amongst them.
By this time my own ability for spotting patterns amongst the ‘quatsch’ – as we referred to the relentless chatter by enemy operators – had been recognised and I took pleasure in knowing that I was now of genuine use at the Park.
I first met Max in the canteen late one night when our shifts coincided. It was the day after I had found an important message secreted within the apparently innocent stream of chit chat. ‘You’re the girl who discovered that German sub tracking the convoy in the Atlantic yesterday, aren’t you?’ he said to me.
‘I might be,’ I replied in a low voice, conscious that secrecy, even amongst one’s colleagues, was vital to security. I was conscious also that he probably thought, as did quite a lot of men, that I had got above myself and should get back to the more menial work of filing and indexing.
‘That was good work on your part,’ he said. ‘How does it feel to know that you are personally responsible for saving all those lives?’
‘I was just doing my job,’ I said, certain now that he was patronising me. Under no circumstances was I going to admit that I was proud of what I had done, although, of course, I was. Especially as the officer with whom I had shared my discovery later informed me that as a consequence of what I’d spotted, the convoy had been alerted and straightaway changed course with wireless silence. It pleased me to picture the GermanU-boat arriving at the coordinates where it believed there to be a convoy of merchant shipping and finding nothing.
The next night Max approached me again in the canteen and setting down his tray on the table opposite me, said, ‘I believe we have a mutual friend: Romily Temple.’
‘You mean RomilyDevereux-Temple?’ I answered absently, turning the page of a book I was reading, and which was taking my mind off the awful food that was served up to us.
‘Ah yes, I keep forgetting that she married. What was her husband like? Quite the roué in his day, I believe.’
I was clearly not going to get any peace to read, so closed the book with a meaningful gesture and looked him squarely in the face. ‘How did you know that I was familiar with Romily?’ I asked.
He tapped his nose. ‘Careless talk costs lives.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ I promptly opened my book again to make the point that he was disturbing me and that unlike just about every other female at the Park, his looks cut no ice with me. Somewhat arrogantly I wanted him to know that I was above such things, that I was immune to his brand of charm and attractiveness. But the thing was, I wasn’t, which made it imperative that I gave no hint that I did indeed find him extraordinarily handsome. He was the sort of man who would age well, I found myself thinking.
‘What are you reading?’ he asked, my bluntness appearing to have no effect on him.
‘Do you really want to know, or are you simply determined to gain my attention?’
‘Both, I suppose. Is that so awful? By the way, we haven’t been introduced properly. I’m Max.’
