All Clear

The war in the North Atlantic? Several important convoys had been sunk during that period, but being on a destroyer had to be a ten. And if Mr. Dunworthy was canceling assignments that were too dangerous …

But anywhere in the autumn of 1940 was dangerous, and he’d obviously approved something. The intelligence war? No, that hadn’t really geared up till later in the war, with the Fortitude and V-1 and V-2 rocket disinformation campaigns. Ultra had begun earlier, but it was not only a ten, it had to be a divergence point. If the Germans had found out their Enigma codes had been cracked, it clearly would have affected the outcome of the war.

Polly looked over at the lifts. The center one was stopping on third. They’re here—finally, she thought, but it was only Miss Snelgrove, shaking her head over the negligence of Marjorie’s nurses. “Disgraceful! I shouldn’t be surprised if she had a relapse with all her running about,” she fumed. “What are you doing here, Miss Sebastian? Why aren’t you on your lunch break?”

Because I don’t want to miss Mike and Eileen like I missed Eileen when I went to Backbury, but she couldn’t say that. “I was waiting till you got back, in case we had a rush.”

“Well, take it now,” Miss Snelgrove said.

Polly nodded and, when Miss Snelgrove went into the stockroom to take off her coat and hat, told Doreen to send word to her immediately if anyone came in asking for her.

“Like the airman you met last night?”

Who? Polly thought, and then remembered that was the excuse she’d given Doreen for needing to know the names of airfields. “Yes,” she said, “or my cousin who’s coming to London, or anyone.”

“I promise I’ll send the lift boy to fetch you the moment anyone comes. Now, go.”

Polly went, running downstairs first to look up and down Oxford Street and see if Mike and Eileen were coming, and then going up to ask the shop assistants in the lunchroom about airfields. By the end of her break, she had half a dozen names that began with the correct letters and/or had two words in their names.

She ran back down to third. “Did anyone ask for me?” she asked Doreen, even though they obviously hadn’t come.

She ran back down to third. “Did anyone ask for me?” she asked Doreen, even though they obviously hadn’t come.

“Yes,” Doreen said. “Not five minutes after you left.”

“But I told you to send word to me!”

“I couldn’t. Miss Snelgrove was watching me the entire time.”

I knew I shouldn’t have left, Polly thought. This is exactly like Backbury.

“You needn’t worry, she hasn’t gone,” Doreen said. “I told her you were on lunch break, and she said she had other shopping to do and she’d—”

“She? Only one person? Not a man and a girl?”

“Only one, and definitely not a girl. Forty if she was a day, graying hair in a bun, rather scraggy-looking—”

Miss Laburnum. “Did she say what she was shopping for?” Polly asked.

“Yes,” Doreen said. “Beach sandals.”

Of course.

“I sent her up to Shoes. I told her it was likely too late in the season for us to carry them, but she was determined to go see. I’ll watch your counter if you want to go

—oh, here she is,” she said as the lift opened.

Miss Laburnum emerged, carrying an enormous carpetbag. “I went to see Mrs. Wyvern and obtained the coats,” she said, setting the carpetbag on Polly’s counter,

“and I thought I’d bring them along to you.”

“Oh, you needn’t have—”

“It was no bother. I spoke to Mrs. Rickett, and she said yes, your cousin could share your room. I also went to see Miss Harding about the room for your Dunkirk friend. Unfortunately, she’d already let it, to an elderly gentleman whose house in Chelsea was bombed. Dreadful thing. His wife and daughter were both killed.” She clucked sympathetically. “But Mrs. Leary has a room to let. A second-floor back. Ten shillings the week with board.”

“Is she in Box Lane as well?” Polly asked, wondering what excuse she could give after Miss Laburnum had gone to all this trouble if it was in a street on Mr.

Dunworthy’s forbidden list.

“No, she’s just round the corner. In Beresford Court.”

Thank goodness. Beresford Court wasn’t on the list either.

“Number nine,” Miss Laburnum said. “She promised me she won’t let it to anyone else till your friend’s seen it. It should do very nicely. Mrs. Leary is an excellent cook,” she added with a sigh and opened the carpetbag.

Polly caught a glimpse of bright green inside. Oh, no, she thought. It hadn’t even occurred to her when she’d asked Miss Laburnum about the coats that she might

—

“I hoped to get a wool overcoat for your gentleman friend,” Miss Laburnum said, pulling out a tan raincoat, “but this Burberry was all they had. There were scarcely any ladies’ coats either. Mrs. Wyvern says more and more people are making do with last year’s coats, and I fear the situation will only grow worse. The government’s talking of rationing clothing next—” She stopped at the expression on Polly’s face. “I know it’s not very warm—”