The Pearl in the Ice

handed to you, he might let you choose how you spend this one miraculous existence you have been given?’
‘It’s hard to explain to him,’ Marina said, quietly. Her father did have a remarkable ability to silence her. Not by shouting; not even by not listening. He would simply nod slowly and then change the subject. Even Edward had not believed her when she said she was determined to choose her own path in the world. ‘I’m sure you’ll do whatever you want,’ he’d said. ‘But have you really thought about how difficult it will be?’
‘What do you mean?’ she’d asked.
‘Well . . . Who will look after your babies?’
‘Why is that my job?’
‘Just saying . . . Babies tend to be quite fond of their mothers. Even though Maudie is five and should be happy to be with our nanny, she won’t leave Mother’s side for a second. And mother can’t stand the crying so she lets her stay.’
‘Maybe babies should be trained to be fond of their fathers!’
Edward had looked sceptical. ‘Good luck with that, Marina.’
Marina looked at the young woman in front of her, who had so far resisted the lure of motherhood and the dreaded fate of being a ‘young lady’, and was working in the real world, not seated on a velvet-upholstered chair in a parlour waiting for her husband to come home and tell her what had happened in the world beyond the room’s four walls.
‘But what do you do? For your job?’ Marina felt as if Miss Smith might have some secret which she must discover if she were ever to choose her own life.
Miss Smith put her head on one side. ‘Let’s see. I write reports. I file memoranda. I check the communiqués coming into the Admiralty. I am very good at what I do. I have to be. There are many men there who do not believe a woman can spell, let alone compose reports! My work is not very interesting, perhaps, but it’s the life I chose. It’s mine and no one else’s. And it does have its charms. Today, for instance, I am not sitting in the office trying to fit a complicated naval problem into a cablegram of fifty words. Instead, I am travelling incognito to Portsmouth on important Admiralty business.’ She glanced at her leather portmanteau. ‘I have to give last-minute orders to one of our men, who is sailing deep into Mordavian waters. As you can imagine, such orders are too sensitive, in the current climate, to send by cable.’ She leant forward and whispered, ‘There are spies everywhere. I can’t risk these instructions being intercepted.’ She put her finger to her mouth, signalling that she had just told Marina something of great importance. ‘Please don’t give me away!’ She winked and smiled her dimply smile. ‘But as you are the daughter of Commander Denham, who is known to keep so much to himself, I feel I can trust you.’
‘Are there really spies everywhere?’ Marina asked. She felt thrilled to be talking to this fascinating woman.
‘I think there may well be a spy on every British boat.’
Marina gasped.
‘If I were the First Sea Lord,’ Miss Smith went on, ‘which of course I can never be, as I am but a frail woman –’ she made her voice tremble comically, which made Marina laugh – ‘I would make sure that there was a sailor on every boat who answered directly to me. I would make that sailor give me daily reports about the behaviour of every other member of the crew.’ She looked out of the window. ‘Do you know what makes a good spy?’
‘No.’ Marina could have kicked herself. If only she could have thought of a better answer.
‘Noticing things. Small things. Even things that don’t seem to matter. I sometimes make myself look around as if I were a spy. I force myself to see things that ordinary, silly people wouldn’t. I have trained my eyes to notice things – like the way that you keep scratching your foot, or how you didn’t want to sing. And then I wonder what those two things might mean.’
Marina felt rather important to have been the subject of such intense scrutiny, and uncomfortable at the same time.
‘And the puzzling fact that there is no mention of you in your father’s file. You should train yourself, too. Write things down in a notebook every day. Remember, it’s the little things you see that others might miss. If you were a spy, what would you notice about me, for example?’
‘Oh . . . Well . . .’
‘The First Sea Lord would not read a communiqué that started like that!’
‘You’re wearing a very short skirt . . .’ Marina started.
‘Go on,’ Miss Smith encouraged her.
‘I think it makes you look very new.’
Miss Smith clapped her hands and laughed. ‘Exactly! That’s the sort of detail that is very important! Now, are you hungry?’ She opened her portmanteau and brought out a greaseproof-paper packet. ‘I made biscuits. You could write that in your report: “The subject made biscuits. It means that she does not like to go hungry when she is working. It suggests that if she were to skip a meal, her judgement might be affected.” That’s the sort of thing you would need to notice and include in your report.’
She unwrapped the package and handed it to Marina. Inside were small iced stars. Marina took one and bit into it.
‘What do you think?’ Miss Smith asked.
‘Oh, they’re delicious!’ Marina said. ‘Should I put that detail in my report?’
‘Of course! Now take another! Biscuits should never be eaten singly.’ She pulled a serious face, but then dissolved into a fit of giggles. Marina laughed, too.
After finishing her biscuit, Miss Smith took a tiny silver-backed looking glass out of her bag and, scandalously, applied a deep red stain to her lips. She could see Marina staring and smiled. ‘Very good for feeling brave,’ she explained. ‘If I have a difficult task to complete, I always put on my war paint!’ She put her ‘war