the door, “it was I who recommended you.”
• • •
At nine o’clock the following morning, Connie reported, as ordered, to Orchard Court, just off Baker Street. She gave her name to the doorman, who nodded and opened the gilded gates of the lift. He escortedher up to the second floor, unlocked a door along the corridor and ushered her inside.
“Right, miss, wait in here, please.”
Rather than finding herself in an office, Connie saw she was in a bathroom.
“They won’t be long, miss.” The doorman nodded as he closed the door behind him. Connie sat down on the side of the jet-black bath, choosing that over the onyx bidet, and wondered what on earth would happen next. Eventually, the door reopened.
“Follow me, miss,” said the doorman, leading her out of the bathroom and along the corridor into a room, where a tall, fair-haired man was sitting atop his desk waiting for her.
He held out his hand and smiled at Connie as the doorman withdrew.
“Mrs. Carruthers, I’m Maurice Buckmaster, head of F Section. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard many positive things about you.”
“And you, sir.” Connie returned the firm handshake, trying to hide her nerves. She’d heard this man’s name mentioned many times at MI5. Reputedly, Hitler had commented of him recently, ‘When I get to London, I am not sure who I will hang first—Churchill or that man Buckmaster.”
“Would you prefer to converse in French or in English?” Buckmaster asked.
“Either is fine.” Connie confirmed.
“That’s the ticket,” he said with a smile. “So, French it is. Now, I’m sure you’re eager to find out more about what we here at F Section are up to, so I’m going to pass you over to Miss Atkins, who will be looking after you from now on.” Buckmaster swung his long legs down from his desk and moved toward the door. Following him, Connie caught his energy and purpose as he strode off along the corridor and into another room, thick with cigarette smoke. “Now then, Vera”—he smiled at a middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk—“this is Constance Carruthers. And I shall leave her in your capable hands. Constance, meet Miss Atkins, the power behind the whole of F Section. See you shortly.” Buckmaster nodded at both of them and left the room.
“Please, sit down, dear,” said Miss Atkins, fixing her piercing blue eyes on Connie. “We are pleased you’re joining us for your special employment. I’m here to answer any questions you may have and to explain what will happen next. What have you told your family so far?”
“Nothing, Miss Atkins. My husband is missing in action in Africa, and I telephone my parents once a week on a Sunday. It’s only Friday today.”
“Your parents are up in Yorkshire, and you have no siblings,” Miss Atkins read from a file in front of her. “That makes it easier. You will tell your parents and any friends who enquire that you’ve been transferred to the FANY, which as you know, Constance, is the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. You will say you’ve been enlisted for driving services in France. You are not under any circumstances to tell them the truth.”
“No, Miss Atkins.”
“You’ll be leaving shortly for training at a location outside London. You’ll be there for a number of weeks, and your progress in all aspects of your forthcoming tasks will be monitored closely by me on a day-to-day level.”
“What will the training program consist of?” Connie enquired.
“You will learn all the skills you will require, Mrs. Carruthers. Smoke?” She offered Connie a cigarette.
“Thank you.” She took one from the packet and Miss Atkins did the same.
“You live alone in your flat in London?”
“I do.”
“Then there’s no need to change your address. However, having discussed your name with Mr. Buckmaster, we’ve decided you should use your mother’s maiden name from now on, which I believe was Chapelle. And your maternal aunt, who lives in
• • •
At nine o’clock the following morning, Connie reported, as ordered, to Orchard Court, just off Baker Street. She gave her name to the doorman, who nodded and opened the gilded gates of the lift. He escortedher up to the second floor, unlocked a door along the corridor and ushered her inside.
“Right, miss, wait in here, please.”
Rather than finding herself in an office, Connie saw she was in a bathroom.
“They won’t be long, miss.” The doorman nodded as he closed the door behind him. Connie sat down on the side of the jet-black bath, choosing that over the onyx bidet, and wondered what on earth would happen next. Eventually, the door reopened.
“Follow me, miss,” said the doorman, leading her out of the bathroom and along the corridor into a room, where a tall, fair-haired man was sitting atop his desk waiting for her.
He held out his hand and smiled at Connie as the doorman withdrew.
“Mrs. Carruthers, I’m Maurice Buckmaster, head of F Section. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard many positive things about you.”
“And you, sir.” Connie returned the firm handshake, trying to hide her nerves. She’d heard this man’s name mentioned many times at MI5. Reputedly, Hitler had commented of him recently, ‘When I get to London, I am not sure who I will hang first—Churchill or that man Buckmaster.”
“Would you prefer to converse in French or in English?” Buckmaster asked.
“Either is fine.” Connie confirmed.
“That’s the ticket,” he said with a smile. “So, French it is. Now, I’m sure you’re eager to find out more about what we here at F Section are up to, so I’m going to pass you over to Miss Atkins, who will be looking after you from now on.” Buckmaster swung his long legs down from his desk and moved toward the door. Following him, Connie caught his energy and purpose as he strode off along the corridor and into another room, thick with cigarette smoke. “Now then, Vera”—he smiled at a middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk—“this is Constance Carruthers. And I shall leave her in your capable hands. Constance, meet Miss Atkins, the power behind the whole of F Section. See you shortly.” Buckmaster nodded at both of them and left the room.
“Please, sit down, dear,” said Miss Atkins, fixing her piercing blue eyes on Connie. “We are pleased you’re joining us for your special employment. I’m here to answer any questions you may have and to explain what will happen next. What have you told your family so far?”
“Nothing, Miss Atkins. My husband is missing in action in Africa, and I telephone my parents once a week on a Sunday. It’s only Friday today.”
“Your parents are up in Yorkshire, and you have no siblings,” Miss Atkins read from a file in front of her. “That makes it easier. You will tell your parents and any friends who enquire that you’ve been transferred to the FANY, which as you know, Constance, is the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. You will say you’ve been enlisted for driving services in France. You are not under any circumstances to tell them the truth.”
“No, Miss Atkins.”
“You’ll be leaving shortly for training at a location outside London. You’ll be there for a number of weeks, and your progress in all aspects of your forthcoming tasks will be monitored closely by me on a day-to-day level.”
“What will the training program consist of?” Connie enquired.
“You will learn all the skills you will require, Mrs. Carruthers. Smoke?” She offered Connie a cigarette.
“Thank you.” She took one from the packet and Miss Atkins did the same.
“You live alone in your flat in London?”
“I do.”
“Then there’s no need to change your address. However, having discussed your name with Mr. Buckmaster, we’ve decided you should use your mother’s maiden name from now on, which I believe was Chapelle. And your maternal aunt, who lives in
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