Page 39 of V2

They entered a wide street with shops on either side. A man was taking down the shutters on a bakery. There was a yeasty smell of fresh bread. Arnaud patted his stomach. ‘That makes me hungry.’

‘You are often hungry?’

‘Always!’

At the end of the street was a large building with pillars and an arched glass roof that reminded Kay of a grand Victorian railway station. He said, ‘It is quicker to cut through here.’

The vast empty space was dimly lit by the moon through the glass roof. A sudden clatter of pigeons echoing from the iron rafters made her heart jump. She was glad she was not alone. ‘What is this place?’

‘The food market – when there is food, that is.’

Once they were out the other side, he said casually, ‘I saw the radar vans beside the canal last week.’

‘Really?’ She was on her guard at once.

‘Is that what your work is – radar?’

‘I told you last night: I can’t discuss it.’

‘Forgive me. I didn’t know it was so secret. Now you see I am the one who must apologise.’

He sounded offended, and lengthened his stride, swinging his damaged leg angrily, his powerful shoulders rocking from side to side. She was careful to stay just behind him to avoid further conversation, and when they came to the bridge over the river, and the twin spires appeared faintly ahead, she said, ‘I’m fine now, thank you, Arnaud. I know the way from here.’

He halted at the edge of the water. ‘Are you sure? You go down to the Brusselpoort, and then turn right. The Boches’ place is on this side of the road.’

‘I remember.’

‘What time will you leave? If you want, I can meet you and bring you back again.’

‘No need. I can find my own way now, I think.’

‘Good, then.’ He stuck out his hand. She took it. Once again he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

‘Au revoir,’ she said, ‘et merci.’

She walked on. After half a minute she glanced over her shoulder. In the slowly dissipating darkness he was still watching her from the bridge. She raised her hand. He waved back, then turned and disappeared into the town. She quickened her pace, circling the old city gate and heading down the broad road. An army lorry went past, soldiers leaning out of the back. One of them wolf-whistled. She put her head down.

It was a five-minute walk to the bank, but when she reached it, she found the door was locked. She crossed the road to the headquarters, where the lights were on, and knocked. When nobody appeared, she went inside. There was an enticing smell of frying bacon. Upstairs in the mess, a couple of lieutenants from the Survey Regiment were helping themselves to tea from an urn. A pile of bacon sandwiches stood on a hotplate beside it.

‘Tea?’ One of the lieutenants insisted on pouring her a cup.

The other handed her a sandwich. ‘Are you one of the calculators?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Sandy Lomax.’

‘Bill Duffield.’

‘Kay Caton-Walsh.’

They balanced their plates on their cups and shook hands awkwardly.

Bill, who had a Yorkshire accent, said, ‘Why don’t you come and join us?’

They took the table furthest from the door. Transport must have arrived. At any rate, the room had started to fill with yawning, bleary-eyed officers. Wing Commander Knowsley stuck his head around the door, apparently looking for someone, and then withdrew it.

Kay said, ‘When did you arrive?’