CHAPTER SIX

      The southerly wind bore the sharp smell of the nearby sea. Kitty lifted her head automatically to catch it, as she used to do so many times when back home the westerlies would carry the scent of the River Mersey to her front door. It took her back to her childhood, to when her mother was still alive and before she had had to take on the care of the household. She’d played in the street, looking up to Rita back in those days, chasing Nancy and borrowing her skipping rope, watching Sarah learn to walk and talk. Even though times had been tough, she hadn’t known any better and had just accepted how things were. Sometimes they’d hear Pop Feeny play his accordion and they would all sing along to songs from the music hall, or ones that Pop and Dolly knew from their own childhoods over in Ireland. Kitty could just about remember her mother joining in. She’d had a fine voice. It might not have been up to Gloria Arden’s standard, but they’d all gathered round on the rare occasions Ellen Callaghan stopped her never-ending housework and started a song.

      Kitty smiled to herself. Now there was another little Ellen Callaghan on Empire Street and Rita had written to say she also had a voice – a loud one, which she’d given vent to every night of her short life so far. Rita hadn’t sounded cross, simply delighted that her small daughter had such a healthy pair of lungs. She’d mentioned a date for the baby’s christening but Kitty had hardly registered it, as it was so very unlikely that she’d be able to go. Father Harding was going to do it; he’d been slightly put out that Rita and Jack hadn’t married in his church, although he’d understood that, given Jack’s brief and often unpredictable shore leaves, they hadn’t been able to arrange a ceremony in time. So they’d had a civil ceremony. But Father Harding had known both families for years and wasn’t going to turn down the chance to welcome the youngest member into his fold, Rita had written with relief.

      Kitty reached the square brick building that had been requisitioned for their office, quickly checking her watch to see if she was on time. She was very rarely late and only ever because of something out of her control, such as damage to the road forcing a detour. Even that was uncommon in this small town, whereas it had been an everyday occurrence when she’d lived in north London, and you just got used to it. She took off her light scarf and tucked it into her favourite handbag, now showing a depressing amount of wear and tear.

      ‘Miss Callaghan, you’re wanted in the boss’s office,’ said a young clerk, hurrying towards her.

      ‘Oh.’ Kitty refastened her bag to buy herself a moment. She couldn’t imagine what it might be about, and racked her brains to see if she’d done anything wrong. Surely it couldn’t be about that lapse of concentration a few mornings ago? Only Lizzie had noticed it, and she wouldn’t have reported it – unless Kitty had read the girl wrong for all this time. It wasn’t as if any calls had been missed or wrongly connected. ‘Do you know what it is about?’ she asked, keeping the uncertainty out of her voice, even as she realised it would be highly unlikely a junior member of staff like the clerk would be told anything serious.

      ‘No, ma’am. I mean miss. I mean, Leading Wren Callaghan.’ The clerk shuffled nervously, holding a manila folder to her chest for protection, overawed at being asked a question by one of the senior Wrens she looked up to so much. She wanted to please and impress her but didn’t know how.

      Kitty realised the young woman’s dilemma and instantly sought to put her at her ease. ‘Don’t worry, there’s no reason you should know,’ she said hastily. ‘Thank you for telling me. I’ll go through right now.’ She beamed at the clerk to allay any remaining nerves and the young woman’s face brightened, before she scurried back to her desk.

      Kitty squared her shoulders and knocked on the old oak door separating the most senior officer from the rest of the crowd and the ever-present noise of the telephone operators.

      ‘Come.’

      Kitty went in.

      Superintendent Knowles looked up from her impressive desk, which had once graced the local bank. The deputy manager had signed up for duty with the navy even though he hadn’t needed to go, and his wife had been so upset that she could not bear to have his desk returned to their home. She had offered it to the Wrens and Superintendent Knowles had eagerly accepted. It lent the little office some dignity – and a huge amount of paperwork could be stored in its capacious drawers.

      ‘At ease,’ she said at once, as Kitty stood smartly before her. ‘Let’s not stand on formality, Callaghan. Kitty. Sit down and do have a biscuit.’ She pushed a beautiful rose-patterned china plate across the highly polished desktop, and Kitty was astonished to see it held a variety of biscuits such as she hadn’t seen since the beginning of the war.

      ‘A perk of the job,’ said Knowles.

      ‘Thank you very much,’ said Kitty, sitting down as instructed, and helping herself to a bourbon. If she had been slightly worried before, she was completely confused now. She had always had a good working relationship with Knowles, but nothing had ever hinted at anything closer, still less anything informal. She wondered what was coming next.

      ‘Oh, take two,’ said Knowles. ‘That’s the spirit. Now, Kitty, are you happy here?’

      Kitty couldn’t stop her eyebrows from rising a little. ‘Well, yes. Of course,’ she said.

      ‘Excellent,’ said Knowles. ‘I’d expect nothing else from you. You clearly have a firm grip of your job and everything it entails, and you have also shone in your role of coaching the younger members of our unit.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Kitty, still none the wiser about what was going on.

      ‘How do you feel about that final part of your work?’ Knowles wanted to know. ‘The training aspect, I mean?’

      Kitty thought for a moment. ‘I enjoy it,’ she said. Then, ‘No, more than that, I love it. It gives me enormous pleasure to see someone come in fresh from initial training but not really knowing what to do when the pressure starts to build, and watch her change into a fully competent operator who can cope with anything. It’s more than a pleasure, it’s a privilege, ma’am.’

      Knowles nodded, as if she’d anticipated nothing less. ‘That is good to know, Kitty. In fact it is exactly what I predicted you would say.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Kitty, at a loss for words. Predicted to whom, she wondered.

      Knowles sat forward and clasped her hands on the beautiful old wooden desktop. ‘You see, Kitty, I have been asked to recommend one of my Wrens for a highly sensitive training position,’ she said. ‘It requires someone who is accurate and discreet, obviously; someone, in fact, who has immense and meticulous attention to detail. It also needs someone who can bring on others to the highest level, and to do so quickly. It is a position of great responsibility. Lives will be at stake; there can be no slip-ups.’ She paused to let her words sink in. ‘The first person I thought of was you,’ she concluded.

      ‘Me?’ said Kitty.

      Knowles nodded gravely, all pleasant friendliness gone. ‘Yes, you, Miss Callaghan. You are one of the finest telephone operators