When Greta came through the door, Flick held her breath.
She wore a pretty cotton dress with a small false bosom. A pink cardigan softened her shoulder line and a chiffon scarf concealed her masculine throat. She wore the short dark wig. Her face was heavily powdered, but she had used only a little lipstick and eye makeup. By contrast with her sassy on-stage personality, today she was playing the part of a rather plain young woman who was perhaps a little embarrassed about being so tall. Flick introduced her and watched the reactions of the other women. This was the first test of Greta's impersonation.
They all smiled pleasantly, showing no sign that they saw anything wrong, and Flick breathed easier.
Along with Maude, the other woman Flick had not met before was Lady Denise Bowyer. Percy had interviewed her at Hendon and had recruited her despite signs that she was indiscreet. She turned out to be a plain girl with a lot of dark hair and a defiant air. Although she was the daughter of a marquess, she lacked the easy self-confidence typical of upper-class girls. Flick felt a little sorry for her, but Denise was too charmless to be likable.
This is my team, Flick thought: one flirt, one murderess, one safebreaker, one female impersonator, and one awkward aristocrat. There was someone missing, she realized: the other aristocrat. Diana had not appeared. And it was now half past seven.
Flick said to Percy, "You did tell Diana that reveille was at six?"
"I told everyone."
"And I banged on her door at a quarter past." Flick stood up. "I'd better check on her. Bedroom Ten, right?"
She went upstairs and knocked at Diana's door. There was no response, so she went in. The room looked as if a bomb had hit it-a suitcase open on the rumpled bed, pillows on the floor, knickers on the dressing table-but Flick knew this was normal. Diana had always been surrounded by people whose job it was to tidy up after her. Flick's mother had been one of those people. No, Diana had simply gone off somewhere. She was going to have to realize that her time was no longer her own, Flick thought with irritation.
"She's disappeared," she told the others. "We'll start without her." She stood at the head of the table. "We have two days' training in front of us. Then, on Friday night, we parachute into France. We're an all-female team because it is much easier for women to move around occupied France-the Gestapo are less suspicious. Our mission is to blow up a railway tunnel near the village of Marles, not far from Reims, on the main railway line between Frankfurt and Paris."
Flick glanced at Greta, who knew the story was false. She sat quietly buttering toast and did not meet Flick's eye.
"The agent's course is normally three months," Flick went on. "But this tunnel has to be destroyed by Monday night. In two days, we hope to give you some basic security rules, teach you how to parachute, do some weapons training, and show you how to kill people without making a noise."
Maude looked pale despite her makeup. "Kill people?" she said. "Surely you don't expect girls to do that?"
Jelly gave a grunt of disgust. "There is a bloody war on, you know."
Diana came in from the garden with bits of vegetation clinging to her corduroy trousers. "I've been for a tramp in the woods," she said enthusiastically. "Marvelous. And look what the greenhouse man gave me." She took a handful of ripe tomatoes from her pocket and rolled them onto the kitchen table.
Flick said, "Sit down, Diana, you're late for the briefing."
"I'm sorry, darling, have I missed your lovely talk?"
"You're in the military now," Flick said with exasperation. "When you're told to be in the kitchen by seven, it's not a suggestion."
"You're not going to get all headmistressy with me, are you?"
"Sit down and shut up."
"Frightfully sorry, darling."
Flick raised her voice. "Diana, when I say shut up, you don't say 'Frightfully sorry' to me, and you don't call me darling, ever. Just shut up."
Diana sat down in silence, but she looked mutinous. Oh, hell, Flick thought, I didn't handle that very well.
The kitchen door opened with a bang and a small, muscular man of about forty came in. He had sergeant's chevrons on his uniform shirt. "Good morning, girls!" he said heartily.
Flick said, "This is Sergeant Bill Griffiths, one of the instructors." She did not like Bill. An army PT instructor, he showed an unpleasant relish in physical combat and never seemed sorry enough when he hurt someone. She had noticed that he was worse with women. "We're just about ready for you, Sergeant, so why don't you begin?" She moved aside and leaned against the wall.
"Your wish is my command," he said unnecessarily. He took her place at the head of the table. "Landing with a parachute," he began, "is like jumping off a wall fourteen feet high. The ceiling of this kitchen is a bit less than that, so it's like leaping into the garden from upstairs."
Flick heard Jelly say quietly, "Oh, my gordon."
"You cannot come down on your feet and stay upright," Bill continued. "If you try to land in a standing position, you will break your legs. The only safe way is to fall. So the first thing we're going to teach you is how to fall. If anyone wishes to keep their clothing clean, please go into the boot room just there and put on overalls. If you will assemble outside in three minutes, we will begin."
While the women were changing, Paul took his leave. "We need a parachute training flight tomorrow, and they're going to tell me there are no planes available," he said to Flick. "I'm going to London to kick ass. I'll be back tonight." Flick wondered if he was going to see his girl as well.
In the garden were an old pine table, an ugly mahogany wardrobe from the Victorian era, and a stepladder fourteen feet high. Jelly was dismayed. "You're not going to make us jump off the top of that bloody wardrobe, are you?" she said to Flick.
"Not before we show you how," she said. "You'll be surprised how easy it is."
Jelly looked at Percy. "You bugger," she said. "What have you let me in for?"
When they were all ready, Bill said, "First we're going to learn to fall from zero height. There are three ways: forwards, backwards, and sideways."
He demonstrated each method, dropping to the ground effortlessly and springing up again with a gymnast's agility. "You must keep your legs together." He looked arch and added, "As all young ladies should." No one laughed. "Do not throw out your arms to break your fall, but keep them at your sides. Do not worry about hurting yourself. If you break an arm it will hurt a hell of a lot worse."
As Flick expected, the younger girls had no difficulty:
Diana, Maude, Ruby, and Denise were all able to fall like athletes as soon as they were shown how. Ruby, having done it once from the standing position, lost patience with the exercise. She climbed to the top of the stepladder. "Not yet!" Bill shouted at her, but he was too late. She jumped off the top and landed perfectly. Then she walked off, sat under a tree, and lit a cigarette. I think she's going to give me trouble, Flick thought.
Flick was more worried about Jelly. She was a key member of the team, the only one who knew about explosives. But she had lost her girlish suppleness some years ago. Parachuting was going to be difficult for her. However, she was game. Falling from the standing position, she hit the ground with a grunt and cursed as she got up, but she was ready to try again.
To Flick's surprise, the worst student was Greta. "I can't do this," she said to Flick. "I told you I'm no good at rough stuff."
It was the first time Greta had spoken more than a couple of words, and Jelly frowned and muttered, "Funny accent."
"Let me help you," Bill said to Greta. "Stand still. Just relax." He took her by the shoulders. Then, with a sudden strong motion, he threw her to the ground. She landed heavily and gave a gasp of pain. She struggled to her feet and, to Flick's dismay, she began to cry. "For God's sake," Bill said disgustedly. "What kind of people are they sending us?"