Page 127 of Fire Must Burn

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But what occurs to me is that she rendered a constable hors de combat with a single blow. That’s not something a woman can normally do—’

‘I can,’ said Sparks.

‘So can I,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.

‘Normally,’ he repeated. ‘You’ve both had training. I suspect she’s had some as well. And if that’s the case, then I thinkthere may be more to this mess than is apparent. Given what I know about your background, Miss Sparks, as well as your early involvement in this matter, I am asking you directly: is there something crucial that you’re not telling me? Something that you can’t tell me because of security reasons? If there is, then you may not be allowed to testify against her.’

Mrs Bainbridge looked at her partner imploringly, but Sparks shook her head.

‘You’re a very good detective,’ Sparks said to him. ‘How long can you hold her without charging her?’

‘Realistically, until the morning,’ he said.

‘Let me see what I can do,’ she said.

The cab pulled up in front of the entrance to the courtyard. They climbed in and Iris gave the driver the address. Then she heaved a sigh as they pulled away.

‘Come on, it might work,’ said Gwen.

‘No, it wasn’t that,’ said Iris. ‘I’m just thinking about every poor decision I’ve made in my life to bring us to this moment.’

London, 1938

Sparks was engrossed in a report on increases in German steel output by Reichswerke Hermann Göring since the Anschluss, jotting down notes and statistics, translating on the fly the sections she’d incorporate into her own report. She didn’t see Mr Pelton, her supervisor, approaching until he was nearly on top of her, leaning over her desk and cutting off the light from the overhead dome lamps.

‘His Nibs wants you,’ he said. ‘He needs that report.’

‘Now?’ exclaimed Sparks. ‘But it’s due tomorrow. I’m not done updating the conclusions.’

‘Bring what you have, give him the gist orally on the end bits,’ said Pelton. ‘You can type those up later. Move, girlie. He doesn’t like to wait.’

‘Blast,’ she muttered, gathering the stacked completed sections along with her handwritten notes.

Her desk was one of dozens down in a large room in thebowels of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office building on King Charles Street. The undersecretary was three storeys up. She clutched her papers to her chest and slid sideways through the array of similar desks until she reached the hallway, then she half-walked, half-ran, dodging clumps of conversations clogging her route until she reached the staircase.

She was mentally rehearsing her conclusions as she walked into the undersecretary’s anteroom. His secretary glanced at her, then more pointedly at the mantel clock which sat under a portrait of Edward Wood, the current Secretary of State.

‘He’s been waiting,’ she said ominously.

‘I was only told eight minutes ago,’ said Sparks.

‘Then you should have been here four minutes ago,’ replied the secretary, picking up her telephone and dialling. ‘She’s here. Yes, sir, I’ll send her right in.’

She hung up and pointed over her shoulder to the oaken door to the inner office. Sparks walked up to it, knocked and went inside.

Rab Butler, the undersecretary, was seated behind a massive desk, with a pair of green banker’s lamps flanking the blotter. There were all manner of maps mounted on easels on one side of the room, while a large, burgundy leather-covered sofa took up the other side, a low table in front of it. A man she had never seen before was sitting there, observing her while smoking a Dunhill, his cigarette case on the table.

‘Good morning, Mr Undersecretary,’ she began. ‘I understand you wanted my report now instead of tomorrow. I was going to finish typing it this morning so as to incorporate the newest production statistics, but I’d be happy to summarise my conclusions orally.’

He waved off the proffered stack of paper.

‘All a ruse to fetch you here, my dear,’ Butler said with a genial smile. ‘I wanted you to meet someone. Brigadier Thomas Meredith, may I present Miss Iris Sparks, one of our best and brightest.’

‘How do you do, Brigadier?’ she said, turning to him as he rose from the sofa.

‘Miss Sparks,’ he said.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Butler.