This is the thirty-eighth part of a fiction serial, in 744 words.

As the end of March approached, Hettie thought she would lose her mind. She hadn’t been eating properly, and was not concentrating at work. Not a word from George, so she became convinced he was dead. Then one morning as she reluctantly showed up in the basement, Bill was waiting for her.

“You have a visitor, she’s in the dining room upstairs”. He had said ‘she’, so it wasn’t George. That immediately dashed the momentary joy she had felt when Bill had smiled at her.

The visitor was Miss Taylor. Immaculate as ever, she never seemed to age a day. Gesturing to a chair, she stayed professional. “Sit down, Mrs Wheeler, I have some news for you”. Hettie steadied herself on the back of the chair as she sat, fearful she might pass out. Miss Taylor lit a cigarette and started to tell her what the news was.

“I should say straight away that Sergeant-Major Bowes is alive. However, he is a prisoner of the Soviets, and we have no idea where they are holding him. The only reason I know is that they approached us to suggest a prisoner exchange. They want a top-level double agent who was arrested in America, at San Diego Naval Base. Unfortunately, the Americans will not even confirm his arrest, let alone hand him over. It was reported that they would not consider exchanging him for a British soldier even if they had him, which of course they refuse to admit. In the meantime, I am sorry to inform you that George will remain a prisoner until such time as a suitably equal exchange can be arranged. Those exchanges are usually carried out here, in Berlin”.

Stubbing out the cigarette as elegantly as she had smoked it, she raised her eyes and looked along the table. “You may have more questions, but I have no more answers”.

Hettie thanked her, and walked back to her basement office in a daze. Had poor George been wounded? Perhaps he had been tortured for information. The thought of him being hurt made her tearful. Margaret noticed and walked over to her. “Go to your room for a while, I’ll speak to Bill”. Alison said nothing, just carried on working attentively. In her room sitting staring out of the window, Hettie realised that both Bill and Margaret must have been privy to the news before her. Perhaps Miss Taylor had thought she was going to become hysterical, or that the news would compromise her ability to work.

Alone at last, she cried until she had no tears left.

If the exchanges were carried out in Berlin, then Hettie concluded she was in the best place, and should stay there. When George was released, she wanted to be on hand to welcome him and comfort him, even though she knew he would be de-briefed for a long time before he was allowed to see her. At least he was alive, so that news allowed her to grit her teeth and get back to doing her job as best as she could.

When the summer arrived, she admitted to herself that she was feeing desperately lonely. Walking alone in the parks or by the river was no substitute for doing the same things with George. But she couldn’t bring herself to socialise with the others in the evenings, and went back to her books, reading anything she could buy or borrrow in English, and even struggling with some German-language novels.

One morning there was a sharp knock on her door as she was getting dressed to go down to work. Putting her dressing gown on, she was surprised to see two men outside as she opened the door. The older one showed her an SIS identity card in a wallet, and spoke aggressively.

“Mrs Wheeler, you are to remain in your room. Do not go down to your work station, and stay here until someone comes for you. Everyone is to be interviewed. On no account try to leave the building, there are armed men outside on the street. Am I making myself clear?” Hettie nodded, having no idea what to say. She finished getting dressed, and sat on her bed staring at the door. it seemed an eternity before someone knocked again, but it was less than two hours. She was relieved to see it was Bill.

“Hettie, you need to come down and speak to the SIS operatives. Alison has been arrested”.

This is the thirty-seventh part of a fiction serial, in 747 words.

The time with George in Berlin was the best that Hettie could remember. Walks in the parks, small cafes for coffee and cake, even an afternoon in a rowing boat on the river. Each date they had was memorised, from his witty remarks, self-deprecating jokes, or the feel of his strong arm as they walked along the street.

His trips away rarely lasted more than forty-eight hours, and though she was desperately worried every time he told her he wouldn’t be around for a while, he always came back safely. The nights in his room seemed to get better every time, and they would talk about when they could get married and live together properly. It had stopped becoming a dream for them, and they were planning for the reality. George talked about charming villages on the north-east coast near when he came from. Property was cheap, and nobody would know their past.

At work, she continued to get on well with Margaret, and Colin was replaced by a woman. She was very serious, and had a degree in German from Cambridge. Her name was Alison Magee, and although she spoke like any other posh university graduate, her family had originally come from Ireland. There was something about her that Hettie couldn’t put her finger on, but she found it hard to trust her.

The years passed by, with Hettie feeling completely settled in Berlin. Then something happened. Something big.

In the autumn of nineteen fifty-six, there was a popular uprising against Soviet rule in Hungary. It didn’t last long, with the Russian army invading the country and putting the revolution down ruthlessly. And it had little effect on Hettie, who carried on as normal. But it was common knowledge that MI6 had agents in Budapest, both British and Hungarian. With little news coming out, and many agents unable to be contacted at all, decisions were made in London that would affect Hettie more than she could ever imagine.

George told her one night in bed, after a romantic dinner in the first restaurant they had been to so long ago. He had to go on a job, and all he could tell her was that it involved the urgent extrication of a particular agent before they fell into enemy hands. She didn’t bother to ask more, she knew in her heart it was Hungary. That would involve crossing into Austria, then making his way to the border. If he was going to Budapest, that would be across almost two hundred miles of hostile territory.

Hettie reminded herself that he knew his job, and would almost certainly be part of a small team. The operation would have been planned in detail before he had felt able to tell her about his absence. They did this kind of thing all the time, and were not about to take any chances. But that didn’t stop her being worried sick.

Especially when he told her he was leaving the next day.

As always, he had been casual, upbeat, almost dismissive. When he saw her furrowed brow he tried to ease her worries. “Howay, pet. I’ll be back long before Christmas, and might even bring you back a turkey”.

Not wishing to add any stress or complications, she laughed it off, telling him to try to find some Christmas Pudding where he was going, and to make sure he told her what he wanted as a Christmas present in plenty of time. But when she left his room the next morning, she was trembling as she walked along the street.

Trying to pretend all was well at work wasn’t easy. She couldn’t discuss his mission, as she was not supposed to know anything about his movements. Besides, she worked in the German Section, and they had nothing to do with Hungary. Even if she wanted to know more she would have to make a formal request to another section, and that just couldn’t happen.

When he wasn’t back by Christmas, she sat alone in her room looking at the snow outside and wondering if George was hiding out somewhere, freezing cold. Margaret and Bill had said there were going to be drinks after dinner, but she had taken her meal back to her room and made the excuse she wasn’t feeling well. If they suspected why her mood was low, nothing was said.

The day she turned fifty-six in the new year was bitingly cold. And she still hadn’t heard from George.