Page 37 of The Berlin Agent (John Cook #2)

We took the coast route back. Better to avoid London, and I wanted to stop at Lewes. The county town was the site of the records office. If there had been sales of properties on the Forest, there’d be paperwork.

‘I feel like a farmer’s wife going to town for a big adventure,’ Margaret said, as we stepped out of Lewes station, with the town laid before us.

‘I’m not sure how many adventures Lewes has to offer,’ I said.

‘Nonsense,’ she said, ‘I hear the women at the WI talking about it all the time. Apparently the slices of cherry cake at Schofield’s are quite the thing.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got the morning planned out,’ I said.

*

Lewes was full of troops, spilling from the pavements onto the narrow streets. Most shops had their windows boarded up against potential bomb blasts, and those that weren’t boarded up were covered in tape, criss-crossed to hold the glass together against potential shock waves. There was a buzz in the air. If the Germans invaded, Lewes would be in their way, a strategic gap in the otherwise impassable barrier of the South Downs. The Norman castle on the hill was a constant reminder that this was a strategic position between the coast and the rest of the country.

‘Excuse me, sir.’ A policeman stood, watchful. ‘Can I see your identity papers?’ he asked, polite, but alert.

‘We’re allowed to be here,’ Margaret said.

I pulled my identity card from my inside pocket, glad I’d brought it with me. Margaret made a show of digging through her handbag. The policeman took mine and studied it. He was doing his job, I reminded myself, doing his bit to keep the country safe.

‘What brings you here?’ he asked, addressing me as if Margaret didn’t exist.

‘Cherry cake, apparently,’ I said, raising my eyebrows and nodding to Margaret.

The policeman didn’t smile.

‘This is a quarantined area,’ he said.

‘We’re exercising our right to travel in our own country,’ Margaret said, ‘before the Germans get here and put an end to it all.’

She found her card and handed it to the policeman.

‘Is there a problem?’

He read her card and I waited for the change.

‘Lady Margaret,’ he said, his face colouring.

‘I asked if there was a problem.’ She put some edge into her voice. She knew what she was doing, using her status as a weapon. A side of her I hadn’t seen before.

‘No ma’am,’ he said, studying every detail on the card as if the security of the whole country depended on it.

‘As Mr Cook said, I was hoping to get a slice of cake. Could you direct me to Schofield’s?’

He gave us our papers back.

‘Past the town hall, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Can’t miss it.’

‘Thank you,’ Margaret said.

‘Keep your hand on your wallet when you’re in the street,’ he said, now our protector. ‘Whole place is under siege from pickpockets, down from London to help relieve the -Tommies of their pay.’

‘A bit hard on the man, weren’t you?’ I said, as we walked away.

Margaret snorted. ‘That’s rich,’ she said. ‘He didn’t look at me once, just the little lady, and your way of getting him on your side was to ridicule me.’

Margaret had a way of putting things that made sense. I’d been a fool.

‘And when I bare my claws the tiniest bit I get a rebuke from you.’

I didn’t answer. Probably best.