‘Very officious,’ Keth remarked mildly, blinking rapidly as black spots caused by the torch glare danced in front of his eyes.
‘Just a couple more miles – and another checkpoint,’ the sergeant smiled. ‘Have your ID ready.’
The black spots were fading and Keth looked around him. The sun had sunk behind the hills, and in the half-light a crescent moon hung silver white at the end of a long avenue of tall pines.
The driver braked hard as a large bird ran across their path. ‘Damn it!’ she muttered. ‘I should have got it, but I always brake. Instinct, I suppose.’
‘What was it?’
‘A cock pheasant. Wish I wasn’t so squeamish. He’d have done nicely for the pot!’
She accelerated, drove at speed down the long, straight drive then slowed as they approached a second checkpoint.
This time only a pole barred their way; Keth offered his identification without being asked for it, closing his eyes against another beam of torchlight, which did not come.
‘’Night, Mick.’ The driver wound up her window then said, ‘There you are. Home sweet home, sir.’
Keth let out a whistle. Silhouetted against the sky it could have been Pendenys; Pendenys Place, Holdenby, but with more towers. Pendenys was in the North Riding of Yorkshire, though, and the great bulk ahead was in the wilds of Scotland. Somewhere in Scotland, and hidden and guarded and secret.
‘What’s it called?’ It was worth a try.
‘Home sweet home, sir, like I said.’
They slowed to a crawl as the car wheels crunched into the gravel of the circular sweep in front of the forbidding entrance.
Good security, Keth thought. Gravel made a lot of noise, even to walk on. It reminded him of the curving sweep of the drive at Denniston House, where Mrs Anna and Tatty lived, and he wished he were crunching up it now.
One of the massive double doors swung open, revealing a dimness beyond. The door closed again and torchlight picked them out.
The ATS driver got out, stretched, then rotated her shoulders.
‘Captain Purvis, sir – this way, please.’
Keth made to pick up the largest of his cases but it was at once grasped by a lance corporal and carried up the steps, together with his canvas bag, a second case and his respirator and steel helmet.
One, two, three … Mentally Keth counted the steps. Eight in all. He always counted steps as he climbed them; always had done. It irritated him, but still he did it.
The half-door grated open again, then slammed shut behind them. To his left an armed sentry sloped arms and stamped loudly as Keth passed.
This must, he reasoned, be the great hall. There had been a great hall at Pendenys with a floor patterned in highly polished tiles, massive arches and a grandiose staircase. The great hall in this secret Scottish castle was higher, its floor slabbed and worn and cracked in places. The staircase was oak, turned black with age, and a canvas strip covered its treads, though whether to protect the stairs or to deaden sound Keth couldn’t be sure.
To his right a massive iron fireplace crackled and spat wood sparks and it gave him strange comfort. He smiled his thanks to his driver who said, ‘Good night, sir. Good luck,’ then walked away down a long, echoing passage.
‘The CO is expecting you if you’ll come this way,’ said a regimental sergeant major, picking up Keth’s cap. ‘I’d take this, if I were you, sir.’
Keth thanked him, and settled it on his head, realizing he would be expected to salute.
They began to climb the stairs. Twelve steps up – dammit, he was counting again – the staircase branched to left and right. They turned left and the RSM knocked twice on the third door on the right.
‘Enter!’
‘Captain Purvis, sah!’ He did a smart about-turn, opened the door and closed it behind him with a bang.
Keth came to attention and saluted, all the while wondering about Pendenys and if army boots stamped all over Mrs Clementina’s floors and up her stairs and if everyone banged her doors like the muscular sergeant major.
‘Sir!’ Keth stared ahead, arms rigid at his sides.
‘At ease, Purvis. Take a pew.’ The brigadier nodded towards a leather chair opposite.
Keth sat, then removed his cap, placing it carefully on the floor at his side.
‘Good journey over? No bother?’
‘The best ever. The Queen Mary doesn’t waste time.’
‘Hm. Always fancied a trip on one of the queens. Comfortable, was it?’
‘Yes, sir, but very – er – basic.’
The liner had been stripped of all her luxury. A cabin intended for two now slept eight in iron bunks. He remembered his first luxurious crossing of the Atlantic in ’thirty-seven, then wiped all thoughts from his mind.
‘Drink?’ asked the senior officer. ‘We do manage to get the odd bottle of whisky from time to time.’ He rose to pour two measures.
‘A very small one for me; I haven’t eaten since morning.’
‘Water with it?’
‘Please, sir.’
‘Welcome.’ The brigadier raised his glass. ‘Good to have you with us.’
‘Thank you, sir. Glad to be here.’ How glad they would never know.
The brigadier had poured very small measures. He tilted his glass and drained it. Keth thought him a decent fellow but then perhaps he was a very senior boffin in khaki. Perhaps everyone here were mathematicians or scientists disguised as soldiers, just as he was.
‘How was Washington?’ He poured another small measure of whisky, nodding his head in the direction of Keth’s untouched glass.
‘Not for me, sir. I’m fine, thank you. And Washington has hardly changed.’
‘Hm. You were there before – at the Embassy?’
‘Yes, sir. In the cipher room. A civilian.’
‘And you volunteered to return – correct me if I’m wrong?’
‘I asked to be drafted home. I was told there would be conditions and I accepted them – though I don’t know yet what they are.’
‘All in good time. Tomorrow’s another day. Right now you’ll be wanting a kip, I shouldn’t wonder. Sorry you missed dinner but your batman will go on the forage for you.’ He glanced at his watch, a signal for Keth to get to his feet.
‘No hurry. Finish your drink.’ The brigadier
