Hillier’s eyebrows arched upwards.
‘Very well…’
Tread carefully with this one, he told himself.
‘This man who called himself Gunnar…,’ he paused. ‘We’re anxious to know if he’s contacted you again?’
‘Certainly not! He won’t come back after what I said to him.’
She searched their faces for clues. Their blank expressions made her shiver.
‘You think he will?’
The footsteps round the house last night…
‘We think he might, yes.’
‘He’ll be in Moscow by now, surely?’
‘We believe not, Mrs Hitchens,’ Black chipped in. ‘A man fitting his description was seen near here yesterday.’
‘Oh…’ Her voice caught in her throat.
‘The fact is, we’re keen that he should contact you,’ Hillier added.
‘Why?’ she snapped defensively.
‘We want you to tell him something; give him a specific piece of information.’
‘What sort of information?’
‘We’ll come to that in a minute. But do you agree to help us?’
Hillier’s face was friendly, Black’s hard. In the familiar warmth of her kitchen the two men seemed enormous, threatening.
‘I don’t know. Why should I?’
Hillier folded his arms and sighed, like a schoolteacher whose patience was reaching its limits.
‘I’m told you’re an intelligent woman, Mrs Hitchens. I don’t need to spell everything out, do I? Suffice it to say, your husband is approaching the coast of Russia with a boatload of sophisticated weaponry. He’s not behaving normally. Thousands of lives may be in danger, his being one of them.’
‘Oh, God!’
Her worst fears were suddenly being confirmed.
‘But what can I do about it?’
‘Within forty-eight hours your husband may trigger off a spot of genocide. Now, of course all sorts of things are being done at official levels to ensure it doesn’t happen. But it’s just possible the Navy may not stop him in time. So, we — that’s you and us — we’re like an insurance policy. To give the Soviets an inkling that we’ve a problem we may not be able to handle. Have to do it indirectly, though. And that means you.’
Sara swallowed. Her heart was racing. Genocide? For God’s sake!
‘But…, how’s that going to help, if the Russians know about the problem?’ she demanded.
‘It means they’ll keep well out of the way, if they’ve any sense,’ Black answered briskly. ‘They don’t want a war any more than we do.’
Sara felt sick. To think she’d started all this!
‘Now, there are things we need to know,’ Black continued. ‘When you were seeing this man, how did you make contact?’
‘He would ring when he came to Plymouth. If I wanted to contact him, I’d leave a message at the Holiday Inn. Even when he wasn’t in Plymouth, they’d take calls for him.’
‘I’ll bet he’s not using them any more,’ Black growled. ‘We think he’ll contact you soon. A phone-call or a message of some sort.’
‘But what does he want? I told him I’d never see him again.’
The two men shifted uncomfortably.
‘He’s obviously very fond of you, Mrs Hitchens,’ Hillier said in an oily tone.
‘There’ll be no risk to you in all this,’ Black explained. ‘You’ve got protection. Twenty-four hour cover.’
Sara looked startled.
‘Protection? From Gunnar?’
‘Just a precaution,’ Hillier soothed. ‘One of John Black’s men is keeping an eye on the house. You’ll be quite safe.
‘Now, this message you’re going to give him. You mustn’t say it’s from us, of course. Pretend it’s based on something your husband said to you, just before he sailed.’
‘What?’
‘That he intends to lay mines at the entrance to the main Soviet submarine base at Polyarny.’
‘Poly… what?’
‘Think of Polyanna. Tell him that, in fact. Mis-remembering the name will make it more convincing.’
‘Is this true? How do you know what Philip’s going to do?’
‘We don’t,’ admitted Black. ‘It’s a guess. But if the Russians send submarines to sea from Polyarny, and they’re blown up by your husband’s mines — that’ll be war, Mrs Hitchens.’
‘What we need is time,’ Hillier took over. ‘If the ‘Soviets keep their boats out of the way, it’ll give our Navy more time to find your husband and bring him back.’
‘But supposing Gunnar doesn’t make contact, or I don’t convince him?’
‘Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’ answered John Black.
‘I’m sure you’ll do your very best. You must want to — after what’s happened,’ Hillier added pointedly.
Eventually they left. They gave Sara a card with two telephone numbers on it. One was Hillier’s desk in London, the other a Plymouth number for the local watchers.
The silence in the house terrified her. She wandered from room to room trying to peer from windows without being seen. Somewhere out there were two men. One to protect her, the other…? What did he want? Why had Gunnar come back?
It was unreal. Soon she would awake and the nightmare would fade.
And there was a third man, Philip. What wild obsession had gripped him? It wasn’t just because of her — it couldn’t be! The security men were blaming her for everything, but that was unfair!
There was much more behind it. If only she knew what.
Outside in the garden, a pigeon took flight with a clatter of wings. Somewhere upstairs an unfastened window banged shut in a sudden breeze. She shivered.
She was scared to be in the house alone, but they’d told her to wait.
Waiting for Gunnar. A title for a melodrama.
Suddenly there was the crunch of tyres on gravel. Her heart pounded. He wouldn’t just arrive, would he?
She strained to see out.
Patsy Tinker. What did she want? If Gunnar came and saw the car he’d be put off.
She’d pretend not to be in.
Too late. Patsy saw her and waved.
‘Thought I’d drop in,’ Patsy explained. ‘You seemed so down when we met on the Hoe yesterday…’
‘Oh, I’m okay. I’m expecting someone, that’s all.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Patsy looked embarrassed. ‘Should I…?’
‘No, no. Come in. Have some coffee or something.’
They moved to the kitchen.
‘Oh, you’ve had it done since I was last here,’ Patsy exclaimed admiringly. ‘New units. Very smart.’
‘That was last year. Shows how long it’s been.’
Sara busied herself with the kettle and mugs.
‘That was pretty startling, what you told me yesterday,’ Patsy ventured. ‘All that security business. I’d be scared to death living out here on my own with all that going on.’
‘Well, with kind neighbours like you dropping in to get all the juicy details, I don’t have time to be scared, do I?’
‘Sara, that’s not why I came! I simply thought you might want someone to talk to. It’s bad for you, keeping it all bottled up. All those feelings locked up inside you. You’ll burst.’
Sara was on the point of doing exactly that. She shook with anger at being lectured.
‘Look, sod off! I didn’t ask you here!’
And she burst into tears. It was what Patsy had hoped would happen. The tension was broken.
Patsy let her cry, saying nothing, until Sara’s shoulders had stopped shaking.
The kettle began to whistle.
‘I’ll do that,’ Patsy said. Coffee and tea had been left out, and there were unwashed cups and saucers in the sink. So, there’d been other visitors that morning.