The Cipher, page 9
“You haven’t seen the best part yet!” Claire exclaimed, leading her to the Gezira Sporting Club. “We are all allowed to join,” she said. “We can golf, play tennis, polo and cricket; we can swim in the pool and watch horse races.” She grinned.
Olivia had never done any of those sports, nor had she watched horse races, but she was thrilled nonetheless. She could learn. The paddleboat was massive, with three decks and eighty cabins. Soldiers on leave came and went, and for a week or two, their war receded.
“Let’s take these,” Claire said when they found two cabins that opened to a shared bathroom. They unpacked and settled in, amazed by the cleanliness, the wicker chairs and tables, the dining room, the promenade deck — all so unlike their previous rooms.
Since their arrival in Cairo, without Nardo present, Olivia and Claire had been spending more time together, and although Olivia enjoyed exploring the island in the daytime, she was reluctant to join Claire at night in a series of Cairo hotels and clubs.
“Don’t you miss Nardo?” she asked Claire, unable to stop herself, hoping Claire might have some news of Nardo. They were sitting in her cabin, getting ready to go to dinner.
Claire shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. But who knows where he is, or whether I’ll see him again? I’m not waiting around.”
Olivia envied Claire’s nonchalance. Of course she had to forget Nardo, though he was never hers to begin with. She felt a vague loyalty to Philip, whose letters sounded forlorn and unhappy; he told her he could hardly wait for her return so they could get married.
“I never promised to marry him,” Olivia said. “He never even proposed.”
Claire laughed. “Well, lucky you! Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”
“It’s not like that,” Olivia said. “I don’t know him that well. We haven’t. . .” She sighed. “I was only seventeen when I met him…”
“A childhood sweetheart then.”
“No, he was a colleague at work. A friend. And then I joined up and before I knew it, I don’t know, we went from friends to . . . a bit more. . . we only kissed, for God’s sake!”
“It’s all the time compression that happens during war,” Claire said thoughtfully. “I slept with my boyfriend before I left, mostly because I didn’t know if I would live or die, and also because it seemed the right thing to do before I left.” She shrugged. “But I don’t intend to marry him. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t want to be tied down right now. Things are too uncertain.”
Olivia fingered the locket around her neck. At the moment, it felt like a noose. She opened it and Philip’s face made her anxious, as if she were deceiving him. “I’m going to write and set him straight right now.” From a drawer, she slid writing paper and pen.
Claire slapped her hand over the paper. “No, no, no,” she said. “You can’t break his heart like this, long distance. There’s a war on. What if he’s killed? Do you want him to die totally devastated?”
“He’s not going to die!” Olivia said, exasperated. “And besides, I don’t want him to make up a life for me.”
Claire shrugged. “Suit yourself,” but Olivia put the paper away. She didn’t want to be responsible for Philip’s unhappiness. She rearranged the books on her desk. Besides, she reasoned, she might not ever return home; she might settle in Italy with her parents; her cousins might not relinquish their London house; her brothers might be captured or dead… She took a deep breath. She’d have to wait until she returned home, and see what transpired.
She tried to push Nardo out of her mind, but his memory persisted, infiltrating her thoughts. He takes my hand and holds it to his lips, blows warm air into my palm… Until we meet again. Well, they had met again, and he’d been cool towards her. At times, she convinced herself that she’d imagined his interest; other times she wondered if he was thinking of her as he sabotaged bridges, trekked through mountainous terrain, radioed messages, without being caught and tortured. She imagined him parachuting with his transceiver attached to his chest, and knowing how feeble an instrument it was, she listened to all the broadcasts with devotion and concentration. She hadn’t yet learned to read his “fist” — his particular Morse code keying that identified him like a fingerprint — so she treated each message as if it were coming from Nardo. She worked diligently through the contact sheet, listening carefully through the radio noise made by telegraphs, broadcast stations, jammers — continuous white noise that almost obliterated the agents’ transmissions. It reminded her of London, of standing in front of a bombed-out building, amid the shouts of emergency workers, cranes and excavators lifting the rubble, listening for the faint sound of a survivor. Often she and the other decoders worked together to decipher a message, fragment by fragment, and tried to do it as quickly as possible so the agent could stop transmitting, aware that danger shrouded every moment while the agent was transmitting.
A few weeks after her arrival in Cairo, she was promoted to instructor in wireless and ciphers. In June, she was startled by Nardo, who had been assigned to her for advanced cipher training. He stood in the doorway, as if hesitant to enter. Her heart beat wildly.
“We meet again,” he said. “I seem destined to be in your power.”
She frowned. What did he mean by that? Was it their student/teacher dynamic? She was in his power, though she’d never admit it. “There is no power here.”
“You had the power to ruin my career,” he said.
“And you to save it,” she said.
He stared at her for a moment. “Shall we call a truce?”
She nodded, then glanced at his file, trying to keep her hands from trembling. “You’ve already worked as W/T operator in the war.”
“Yes,” he said. “I trained for it when I was sixteen.”
Olivia concentrated on the work, sequestering the part of herself that couldn’t forget their first meeting. Nardo mastered cipher, double transposition. He was smart, charming, easygoing, but showed no further interest in her. Olivia longed for him. And she wasn’t the only one. All the women in the Cairo office flirted with Nardo, and he responded to them all equally. Olivia had watched Claire’s reaction carefully when she told her Nardo was back, but Claire appeared indifferent. Rumours abounded: Nardo had dated a number of the agents, without commitment; he was married; he was divorced; one of the older young women said he was a womanizer, and they should all be on their guard. This didn’t stop anyone from going out with him.
One afternoon, in mid-June, Claire asked her if she’d like go to a party. Olivia hadn’t exactly been avoiding parties or social occasions, but when she joined the others at social occasions, she felt awkward. “What kind of party?” she asked.
Claire leaned forward, whispering. “It’s one of those best-kept secrets,” she said, smiling. “A party at Tara, a villa where famous people go — agents, officers, diplomats — that kind of thing. Very high-spirited kind of party.” She raised her eyebrows in mock shock. “Something you’ve probably never seen before.”
Olivia thought for a moment. She’d heard all about Tara, the legendary party villa on the island, named after the ancient seat of the High Kings of Ireland, where four SOE agents and a Countess lived. Everyone knew the stories of wild parties and crazy hijinks, of broken windows, burning sofas in the garden, light bulbs shot out, crates of champagne, but also of kings and writers and war correspondents and diplomats.
“Well, what do you say?”
Olivia hesitated a moment longer. She wondered if Nardo would be there. He seemed exactly like the kind of partygoer who would be there. She forced herself to smile. “Sure.”
Later, after dinner, Claire led her up the stairs at Tara, then beneath one of the great arches leading to the loud music and laughter. Although Olivia had seen plenty of splendid villas on the island, she had never been inside one. Claire pulled her into a great ballroom with parquet floors, and she recognized several of the girls from the office, who turned and looked a little surprised to see her. Olivia flushed. Did they think she didn’t belong here? It wasn’t that she didn’t want to join the other girls, or have a good time, but merely that she had been raised in a strict household, and was both shy as well as slightly fearful about how she would be viewed by others. Partying with young men was something her parents would certainly prohibit. It made her wonder why young men could do whatever they wanted, while young women had to be extremely cautious, though right now the other girls from the office were dancing, twirling on the arms of handsome young officers without a care. It’s wartime, Olivia thought, rules don’t matter anymore.
Then Nardo was at her side, pulling her onto the dance floor.
“I don’t know—”
“It’s very easy,” he said, circling her waist. “Just follow me.”
It wasn’t exactly true she didn’t know how to dance. Back in London, in what felt like a century ago, she and Barbara had practised, in case this opportunity should arise.
“You’re a good dancer,” Nardo said. “You protest way too much.”
She let herself relax, happy to be in his arms. However, this did not last long. Claire came by and playfully pulled Nardo away from her. “You can’t monopolize this handsome man,” she said, laughing. She put her arms around his neck, and the two of them were away, dancing. Olivia was left staring after them, wishing she’d been able to hang onto Nardo. But she was not the type of girl who would be able to do that, though she envied girls who could freely express themselves.
She was standing there still, staring wistfully at Nardo, when a tall young man came by and touched her elbow.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked
She looked up into his face. He was smiling. He had large straight teeth and hooded dark eyes. His curly black hair was cut short, and he was smoking a cigarette. He didn’t wait for her response but whisked her onto the dance floor. He placed his hand flat against her back, and pulled her closer than she was comfortable with. She pushed against his chest, and he relented a little.
“You’re one of the new girls, aren’t you?” he asked. “I think I’ve heard about you. You’re the one with the weird memory, right?”
“Maybe,” she said, startled. She wondered what exactly he’d heard about her. Has she become a party trick for them all?
“What’s your name?” he asked, pulling her a tad closer again.
“Viola,” she said, pushing against him once again, to create a space between them.
“Viola, huh?” he said and looked into her eyes. “Like the instrument.”
She nodded and smiled. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jaybird,” he said, “which suits me perfectly.” He let go of her and twirled around a couple of times, then embraced her again. “Get it? Like a bird. Free.”
She wondered if he meant it as a personality trait or a warning. She looked away, wishing for the dance to end so she could go and sit down. Nardo was still dancing across the room, with a different girl this time.
“Do you know what they call you? The girls, I mean?” he asked.
She looked at him perplexed. Were they really talking about her? She’d been keeping too much to herself, she thought now, not socializing with the girls like everyone else, turning herself into an outsider, a kind of joke. “No,” she said. “What are they calling me?”
“Mnemosyne,” he said, and when she frowned, he added, “You know. The goddess of memory, daughter of heaven and earth.” He laughed. “A pretty good name, I’d say. You should be flattered.”
The music stopped, and Olivia quickly extricated herself, but just as quickly the music began once more, and Jaybird twirled her back onto the dance floor. Over his shoulder, she saw Nardo approach from across the room.
“My name’s not really Jaybird,” he said confidentially, his breath hot in her ear.
“I didn’t think it was,” she said, though she had actually believed him.
All at once, as if by some signal, the couples on the dance floor moved to the sides of the ballroom, exposing two young officers in the middle, one who held a great red cape, and the other who had his fingers up by his temples, like two horns.
“Olé!” the crowd began to chant, and the two men ran toward each other, in a pantomime bullfight.
I really am in the wrong place, Olivia thought, or at the very least, in an alien place. While everyone was focused on the playacting, a man was slowly circling the room, looking directly at her. He was alone, indifferent to the entertainment. She flipped through her catalogue of faces: Yesterday. 1:15 p.m. It’s lunchtime, I’m on the roof, watching passersby on the street, which is clogged and noisy. The humid air hangs like a transparent scrim. Below, across the street, the man stands alone, watching the building. I think he must be an agent, waiting for a friend. He had not come upstairs, and she had thought nothing of it. Now, this information took on significance. Who was he and why was he looking in her direction? She frowned. Something about him was not right. The man lingered at the perimeter of the room, then slipped out.
“Did you see that man?” she said.
Jay turned, but the man was gone. “You need to be a little more specific,” he said, laughing. “There are a lot of men in this room.”
“He wasn’t mingling—”
“Probably a newbie,” Jay said. “These parties can be a little intimidating.”
And then, Nardo tapped Jaybird’s shoulder and he turned, surprised. “Cutting in,” Nardo said, whisking Olivia away.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I could see you needed a little saving,” he said, smiling. “And Jay is one of the wilder boys. I’d be careful around him.”
“Yes, I figured as much,” Olivia said. “I’m afraid I’m not a very good party girl. I’m not used to this kind of thing.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little laughing and a little dancing, especially in the middle of the war,” he said. “It’s the illusion of a healthy normal life.”
“I don’t even know what a normal life is anymore,” she said, with an impassioned seriousness. “Here, I’m surrounded by agents who drop into foreign countries, and may or may not return, while we go to parties.” She sighed. “My father was taken away by the police in the middle of the night, my mother is in a little Italian village she’s never been to, trying to communicate in a language she’s never spoken. My younger brother is lost at sea, we don’t even know what that means, and my older brother ran away and joined the partisans or a communist party in Italy. I don’t know if any of them are alive or dead. That’s my normal life.” She took a deep breath. In her head, the words sprang up: …an agent should not tell people more than they need to know… “I think I’ll go now,” she said.
He tightened his grip. “I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “I didn’t know.” He released her then, and took her hand. “I’ll see you back,” he said, and led her outside.
The house sufragi stood at the top of the steps, his tarboosh held out for a donation. Nardo reached into his jacket pocket, and put some money in the hat. “They’re always short of money at Tara,” he said, smiling. “Alcohol is hard to come by.” He nodded to the young man.
The hot June air was scented with night jasmine that grew around the arches of the villa. Olivia and Nardo descended the steps to the road, Olivia carefully avoiding any cracks in the cement.
“I’m being sent to Italy soon,” Nardo said. “But you probably know that already.”
She nodded, hoping all would go according to plan. Weeks earlier, British Intelligence had taken the body of a homeless man, dressed him up as a British Marines officer, and planted fictitious documents in a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, in an effort to disguise the Allied invasion of Sicily. The body had been transported in a submarine and released a mile off the Spanish coast, where it drifted onto the Spanish shore and was discovered the following morning by fishermen. The hope was that the Spanish government, being neutral, would photograph the documents, then pass them to German Intelligence via Nazi sympathizers. The “secret” documents detailed a fake Allied attack on Greece and Sardinia. It appeared that the deception was working, because the Germans had been moving tanks, artillery and boats into those areas.
“I’ll be coming too,” she said. “Later in the fall with Force 133.”
“It’s a date,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“Will you work with partisans in Italy?” she asked him, thinking of Aldo, wondering where he could be, wondering if Nardo could help her find his whereabouts.
“Probably. But it’s all extremely complicated,” Nardo said. “In Italy, there aren’t two or three easily defined political parties. There are a dozen or more, each with varying degrees of loyalty or disloyalty to Mussolini, with varying degrees of communist or socialist or democratic ideals. Even the partisans have varying affiliations.” He paused. “So it’s difficult to predict who I’ll be working with or where.”
“I think my brother might be with the partisans, but I have no idea where or with whom,” Olivia said, though she knew she should not: a) confide in friends just to relieve the strain of nerves; b) answer questions in such a way as to arouse curiosity; c) tell people more than they need to know, no matter how important or how close the association… She shook the rules out of her head. What’s done is done, she thought. They headed along the road towards the river. Soldiers of various nations walked around, in khaki-drill uniforms, corduroy trousers, long baggy shorts and open-necked shirts, army boots or city shoes, their headgear identifying their affiliations.
“Maybe he’ll find you,” Nardo said. “Are you in touch with your parents?”
“I was,” Olivia said, “but that was back in Kent. I’ve had no news for over a year.” Time these days seemed to her slower when she was awaiting news, and quicker when she wanted to slow it down, like right now with Nardo. Although she could recall exactly how they got here, she wished they’d lose their way, so they could wander together longer. She forced her mind back to her parents. Right now, they were a world apart. “I don’t even know if they’re alive.”
