Valerie is
not my real name of course, it is a pseudonym I use when on “assignment” as I
like to call these random, but increasingly frequent requests to divert
attention, and ‘deliver the spoils’. The war years is where I really gained my
experience, and made connections, which are still very dear to me today.
Betty
Croxted from Huddersfield, is what is on my original birth certificate. Betty
is not quite as alluring as Marguerite, Helene, or any of the many sexy
pseudonyms I employ during my work as a seductress. All my ‘names’ have
characters to suit, and a wardrobe which compliments the whole persona. With
wigs, make up and dresses, I pass for American, German, Russian, French or
Dutch, of course I take my work seriously, I may not be officially employed as
an agent, but I take the same risks and am invaluable to agents in achieving
their goals. As the only girl in a family of 5 boys, I learnt how to defend
myself, even before I had to fight off unwanted attention from officers. I am not being arrogant here, but I always
knew that I was blessed with a figure many would die for, flawless skin, doe
eyes that could shed a tear just by thinking about it, and a silky mane. Standing at 5feet 8 inches, still tall for a
woman. My natural talent for picking up accents and foreign languages belies my
modest beginnings as a Yorkshire lass.
I don’t
often get this opportunity for moments of reflection, but I am feeling the
enormity of the magnitude of this assignment, and am feeling uneasy that 24
hours later, no-one has yet arrived to retrieve the document. Crickey! at one point, I thought that I would
never retrieve it from that shoe heel, as it was virtually sealed shut.
However, my instructions had been to wait. So here I am pacing back and forth,
in this small well furnished apartment. All I have eaten in 24 hours is an
apple and copious amounts of coffee and a few shots of whisky. There is enough here
to prepare a three-course meal for 4 adults for the next four days, but food
and its preparation are the last thing on my mind right now. These mild
palpitations are reminiscent of previous dangerous encounters. Sometimes there
really is no clue as to what lurks ahead, I just feel a deep sense of
foreboding, a knowing even. It is
this ‘knowing’ that now plagues me.
I’m feeling
relief that I’d told my family that I would be visiting friends for a
fortnight, and so, on that score I’m covered for another 5 days at least. I
have no interest in the item I recovered, but I feel like my professional pride
is at stake, I am keen to do a job well.
***
Betty now
sat, as she lit yet another cigarette, and gazed nonchalantly at the
reproduction of Constable’s Kitchen Garden, her mind wandered through the hills
and valleys to a time when she was not old enough to do more than tie shoe
laces properly. As she remembered making daisy chains, skipping, picking
dandelions and playing hide and seek in the undergrowth until dusk accompanied
by the family dog Pookie. She imagined Pooky licking her face as a ray of
sunlight caressed her cheek, as it stretched through the soft cotton clouds in
a clear blue sky. The corners of her mouth were now upturned in a glorious
smile as she sunk further into the dark brown Chesterfield and let her arms
dangle to the sides, and there she dozed off, overcome with exhaustion.
Betty jerked
from her slumber and opened her eyes, as she was brought back to reality by
what sounded like a knock on her door. Her cigarette had now slipped from her
fingers into her whisky glass. She stood up quickly, straitened her dress,
checked her wig and makeup in the mirror.
She now listened again for the rhythm of the knock. For a while there
was nothing, then, knock-knock; knock-knock; knock -knock-knock silence. This rhythm was repeated once more and Betty
knew it was time to open the door.
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