Vengeance 10

It was late evening before Memling returned to Janet’s flat for his things. The session had lasted all day and into the evening. Meals fetched by the SP guarding the door were taken in the training room. The two men, both Czechs, were quick to learn. Both had university training and so he was able to cover the concepts of statistical sampling, specifications establishment and production records smoothly, in western countries,’ he told them, ‘the quality control organisation almost invariably reports to the legal department. In occupied Europe it seems to report directly to the occupation forces in the person of the German works manager. In the former instance the object is to prevent undue influence by the production or accounting sections, while in the latter case it is to provide a very close check on the native workers to ensure that sabotage is eliminated or at least minimised.’

They left once for an hour in mid-afternoon, and Simon-Benet came in to question him about their progress.

‘Just get them speaking the lingo. All you scientist types have your own jargon meant to confuse the layman and keep him outside your magic circle. By the way, I’ve arranged to transfer you back to your unit as soon as you’re finished here. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to remain and work with me?’

Memling did not hesitate, and he thought afterwards that he may have injured the colonel’s feelings by his quick rejection. ‘Thank you, sir, but no. I would rather return to my unit. I’ve discovered that ‘I’m really not cut out for clandestine work.’ Simon-Benet nodded. ‘As you wish, my boy.’ He hesitated, then said quietly, ‘We’ve just had the news through from MILORG headquarters. The parachute raid on Rjukan failed. Both gliders crashed on the plateau. The survivors were shot. I thought you would want to know.’

* * *

The flat was empty when he unlocked the door and entered. Janet had left a note stating that a billet had become available at the officers’ club but inviting him to stay on if he wished. When he looked into the bedroom he found his clothing was gone. Another note told him that it had been sent out for cleaning, and gave the address where he could call for it the following afternoon. The notes provided a sense of contact that surprised him. They, like the author, had a certain vivacity that had become almost foreign to Memling. A third note, slipped into the frame of the bathroom mirror, told him that she did not expect to return until after eight o’clock again, but that she would then cook him the meal that he had missed the previous evening. The proposition startled him; its generosity reminded him so powerfully of Margot that he could only stare at the slip of paper in shock. He snatched up his kit then and hurried out of the flat.

* * *

Memling finished his course of instruction on Thursday afternoon, satisfied that short of actual practice in a factory, he had taught them all he could. He watched them go and, for some unaccountable reason, shivered. The SP asked Memling to wait, and a few minutes later Simon-Benet came to thank him for his help. Memling had not seen the colonel since the first day, and now he appeared preoccupied.

‘Really appreciated your help, Memling. Anything I can do for you, just let me know.’ He started for the door, then hesitated. ‘None of my business really, but I was in Englesby’s office this forenoon. His girl, Janet, asked about you. Pleasant enough little thing. Your orders allow you to stay over until tomorrow evening if you like.’

He gave Memling a wave and, as if embarrassed, went out quickly. The SP motioned for him to follow, and at the front door he was handed a packet containing travel orders and train ticket.

A car and driver were waiting. The weather had moderated, and with the omnipresent stench of coal smoke banished by the war rationing board, the air was springlike. Memling got into the car, and the driver waited until he remembered to tell him to go to the officers’ club in Curzon Street.

Janet had asked about him. Then she obviously had not yet received his thank-you note. The mail, like all other civilian services, had been slowed by the requirements of war. He decided to take advantage of Simon-Benet’s generous offer of an extra day’s leave. He could call at the flat, and perhaps they could even have dinner. He was struck by a powerful longing for her company that was clearly sexual. What the hell, he chided himself, the first damned skirt that shows an interest… Yet he knew that there was more than a casual attraction between them. Not even in wartime London did women invite men to share a flat so readily.