Back Room Girl: By the author of Paul Temple

The man on the bed heard someone move towards him, and a hand rested softly for a moment on the bandage on his forehead. So, he thought, the ankles, the voice and the hand are real. He opened his eyes, moved his head slightly and this time found himself looking up into a face framed in dark hair. The face seemed vaguely familiar, but for the moment he could not place it. The voice, pleasantly melodious he noticed, spoke again.

‘Feeling better?’ it asked.

‘I could hardly be feeling much worse and still be alive,’ Roy heard himself saying, though the voice didn’t in the least sound like his. ‘Where the deuce am I? What happened? Was I run over by a tank or something?’

‘Not quite so bad as that,’ said the woman, who sounded a little amused, ‘though I must say Joe doesn’t go in for half-measures. He was a Commando, I believe. Anyhow, I thought you were supposed to be pretty tough.’

‘Oh, I am, am I? And who, may I ask, is Joe?’ inquired Roy, thinking he would like to get his hands on him – though not just yet. ‘And how do you know who I am?’

‘Joe,’ said the girl, ignoring the last part of the question, ‘is just one of the boys we keep here to make sure that too curious people don’t get poking their noses into something that doesn’t concern them.’

That’s one for me all right, thought Roy. Well, he supposed it served him right for not staying at home and minding his own business. But, damn it, she might be a bit more sympathetic about it, instead of so cocky and self-assured, almost as if she were delighting in his discomfiture. Perhaps she was at that. He looked her over coolly. Pretty good-looking, he decided. Not exactly a film-star profile, but still, not bad …

She looked as coolly at him and then spoke again. ‘I gather you didn’t see him.’

‘See whom?’ asked Roy absently. He had just decided he rather liked the tilt of her head, even if it did give her rather a haughty air; she could carry it.

‘Joe, of course.’

‘I did not. If I had, do you suppose I should be here like this? But I would very much like to see him sometime – when I’m feeling a little less like a mashed potato. Joe wasn’t the only one who had Commando training, you know. If I’d had a little warning, there’s just a chance I could have dealt with him.’

The girl laughed.

‘It may be very funny to you,’ said Roy, as sarcastically as he could, ‘but at the moment I don’t feel exactly like rolling in the aisle.’

‘Well, it was your own fault,’ the girl retorted. ‘You shouldn’t have been so curious. I suppose it’s the newspaperman in you.’

‘I can’t say I care a lot for the contemptuous way in which you said the word “newspaperman”, even though I have retired from the profession, but we’ll let that pass for the moment. What I’m really curious about at the moment is how the devil you know so much about me.’

‘We make it our business to know all about the people who come near here. We knew all about you long before you moved into the chalet.’

‘Oh, you did, did you?’ said Roy rather lamely. ‘And you talk about me being curious. You’ve got a nerve, I must say. What business was it of yours or anyone else’s, might I ask?’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer for the answer to that question.’

‘All right,’ said Roy with patient resignation, ‘I’ll play mysteries for a while, anyhow, but how about telling me where I am and how I got here and who you are? I think we ought at least to be introduced, don’t you? Seeing how intimately you know me, that is.’

‘You don’t remember what happened?’

‘All I remember is that I set out with my dog for a perfectly innocent walk and that, just as I was getting near the entrance to the old mine – the existence of which I’d almost completely forgotten, by the way – someone or something, I don’t know who or what, came up behind me and hit me good and hard for six.’

He started up suddenly, forgetting his head. He winced and gingerly felt the bandage.

‘What is it now?’ asked the girl.

‘My dog,’ said Roy. ‘I’ve only just remembered. What happened to him? Where is he? If your damned Joe laid a finger on him, I’ll—’

‘Now don’t get impatient. The dog’s perfectly all right. He’s in the kitchen at the moment making crooning noises at the steward. As for Joe laying a finger on him, it was the other way round. Joe wasn’t at all pleased when he bit him in the juicy part of the calf.’

‘Good for Angus,’ nodded Roy with great satisfaction.

‘Angus.’ The girl repeated the name. ‘Rather sweet.’

‘A pity his master isn’t equally popular around here, then he might get a little well-deserved sympathy.’

The girl ignored the remark. Roy gave her another long look. Despite her manner, which still annoyed him, he had to admit she was damned attractive. She was tall and slim and the business-like white coat she was wearing did not altogether conceal the by no means inconsiderable curves of her body beneath it. She returned his gaze coolly and then looked away again.

‘Well,’ said Roy after a pause, ‘at least I was right in one thing. They were a woman’s footprints. Yours, I presume?’

‘You presume correctly, but you should never have been given the chance even of seeing them. It was gross carelessness. The culprit has been suitably dealt with.’

Roy laughed. ‘You sounded just like a headmistress then. I suppose you had him hung, drawn and quartered?’

The girl smiled. That’s better, he thought. Why didn’t she do it more often?

‘Not exactly,’ she said, ‘but he won’t have the chance to make the same mistake again. We can’t afford to take the slightest risk.’

‘Who are “we” and why can’t “we” afford to take any chances? You really do make the most curiosity-rousing remarks and then you don’t satisfy it. What is this place, anyway – the smugglers’ lair or something?’

‘No,’ said the girl, ‘and I don’t propose to satisfy your curiosity either. I’ve nothing to do with the security aspect, only the scientific. You’ll have to wait until the Chief gets back and you’ll probably have another surprise when you see him. I hope it will be a pleasant one – for both of you.’

‘Security? Scientific? The Chief? I don’t get it. The war’s over – or is it?’

‘Not our part at any rate.’

‘And what is your part?’

‘It’s no good your going on asking me questions. You won’t get any more information out of me. I’m afraid I’ve said too much already, I don’t know why, and to a complete stranger.’

‘For one who’s a complete stranger to you, you seem to know a heck of a lot about me,’ retorted Roy, slowly and painfully raising himself to a sitting position. The effect made his head swim. ‘Are you a first-aid expert, too?’ he asked the girl, who, he thought, seemed to be eyeing him a little more sympathetically. From this position she was even better-looking than he had surmised earlier. He was sure he had seen her somewhere before, but he could not recall where.

He looked around him. He appeared to be in some sort of a cave, but it was lit by electric light and the air, he noted, was warm, not cool and dank. The cave was sparsely furnished, if you could call it that. There was the camp bed on which he was now sitting, a table covered with papers and documents and a portable typewriter. There was a shelf fixed against one wall. It contained some massive books, probably scientific works, he guessed. Underneath it was a steel filing cabinet. Behind the door was a small mirror, the only touch of femininity. Apart from this and the square of coconut matting covering the floor, the cave was devoid of decoration.

Roy’s eyes came back to the girl. She had been watching him curiously as if not quite sure how to treat him.

‘You still haven’t told me who you are and where I am,’ he remarked.

She hesitated a little before replying. ‘I’m Karen Silvers, if that conveys anything to you,’ she said finally, ‘and we’re in the old tin mine, but I can’t say anything more about that. You have to—’

‘I know, I know,’ interposed Roy, ‘I’ll have to wait till the Chief gets back. I’ll wait, but that’s no reason, is it, why I shouldn’t go on trying to solve the Karen part of the mystery?’

‘I don’t know that there’s any mystery to solve about me,’ said Miss Silvers.

‘There is for me. I’ve heard your name before and I’m sure I’ve seen you, too, though I don’t think we’ve met.’ Roy repeated her name thoughtfully. ‘Sounds nice, anyway.’

She laughed, and he looked at her, liking it, trying to remember. She returned his gaze steadily. Suddenly he slapped his knee and exclaimed: ‘Of course, that’s it – or, rather, you. You’re the girl scientific wonder who got the George Cross for that magnetic mine job. I remember seeing your photograph in the paper at the time. He frowned and added, ‘It didn’t flatter you.’

Roy thought he saw the suspicion of a blush. He went on: ‘Brilliant career at Oxford, took all the degrees there were and a few others besides, didn’t you, or something like that? I remember Dick Thomas, one of our reporters who tried to interview you when the award was announced, coming back to the office disgusted because you wouldn’t talk. But he wrote a nice little piece about Britain’s prettiest blue-stocking.’