In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

“Well, it could have been much worse. The Germans were trying to get her to kill the king at a garden party, scheduled for this weekend. The king and Churchill gone in one fell swoop. But Buckingham Palace was bombed, so the event was cancelled. And, of course, she had no intention of carrying out the assignment, but because she warned us about it, we’ll be keeping an eye open for a future attempt. She’s a brave girl. True blue.”

Pamela returned. “Shall we?” she asked. She came over to Ben, leaned down, stroked back his hair, and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back in the morning,” she whispered. And Guy was right. The gaze that she gave him was not sisterly.





CHAPTER FORTY


At the village church


On Midsummer Day, the Reverend Cresswell held a special memorial service at the church in honour of Seaman Robbins. The whole village attended, as well as Lord Westerham’s family and the staff at Farleigh. Mr. and Mrs. Robbins sat together in the front pew, holding hands, looking down at their hymnbooks as the choir and congregation sang “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.” Alfie sat beside them, feeling sad and proud at the same time.

In the pew to one side, reserved for the Farleigh family servants, Miss Gumble was deep in thought. If Phoebe was to be sent away to school—and she had already recommended a couple of first-class girls’ schools that would make the most of Phoebe’s good brain—then she would no longer be needed here. She had a good brain herself, and she might be able to be of use to her country. She wondered whom she could speak to about it.

Ben had been released from hospital and was recuperating at home, being spoiled by Mrs. Finch. While he was still in hospital, he had received a visit from Maxwell Knight himself and been praised for his good work.

“I want to keep you on my books,” Knight had said, “even if you are an Oxford man.”

Pamela had come down from Bletchley for the occasion. She hadn’t seen Trixie since her arrest and still found it hard to come to terms with what had happened. Had Trixie been recruited even before the war and gone to Bletchley originally as a spy, or had she been turned or threatened while she was there? Pamela realised she might never know. And as for Jeremy . . . it was too painful still to think about him. She supposed the wound would heal eventually. Instinctively, she glanced across at Ben to see that he was looking at her, and she smiled.





HISTORICAL NOTE


This is a work of fiction but is closely rooted in the truth.

There were several pro-German societies and organisations working in England at the start of World War II. One of the most dangerous was a group called the Link. It was composed mainly of aristocrats, and they believed that it would be in Britain’s best interest to make peace with Germany before all the national treasures were destroyed. Whether they would have actively aided an invasion, nobody knows.

Maxwell Knight really did run a secret branch of MI5 from his flat in Dolphin Square, under the name of Miss Copplestone. Joan Miller really was his secretary, and a terrific spy herself. And he really did keep animals in his office.

Bletchley Park was exactly as I have described it. You can visit it today and see the spartan conditions under which such brilliant work was done.

You may notice similarities between fashion designer Gigi Armande and Coco Chanel, who was able to live in the Ritz and survive the war, thanks to her being the mistress of a high-ranking German officer.

Lord Westerham and Farleigh exist only in my imagination, but the location is in a real part of Kent, close to where I grew up and went to school. And I have drawn on two real stately homes in the neighbourhood—Penshurst Place and Knole, both worth a visit. Winston Churchill’s beloved Chartwell is also nearby.