Page 31
“What?”
Peggy nudges me again. “The past week or so, you’re more willing to take a compliment.”
“You noticed that?”
“You’re not the only one who notices things.” She raises her chin. “I like your haircut too.”
I lift my hand to touch the ends of my hair, no longer resting upon my shoulders but just below my chin. “Beverly cut it this morning. I didn’t have the courage to let her bob it short like yours. Maybe next time.”
Peggy drops her focus to her handlebars. “You don’t have to look like me, Gemma, or like Mrs. Beurton.”
She pushes off, and I get the sense she’s doing it so I don’t have to reply. I’m thankful for that because I’m not certain what I’d say. As I race to catch her, I’m honest enough to admit she’s a bit right. Maybe not fully, but enough I feel warm with embarrassment.
Peggy’s confidence is contagious. At least I’d like it to be. To catch only a bit of it would be thrilling. And though I have only known Ursula a week and a half, I’m mesmerized by her. Her quick mind and her vitality. I’m equally impressed at how she can draw stories out of me. At first I thought it was because she is easy to talk to, but in our second lesson I noticed how she dips and raises her voice, talks while my focus is elsewhere, and pulls out confidences in an almost sideways manner. Do I think either Peggy’s confidence or Ursula’s vitality and acumen are captured within their hairstyles? Of course not, but it doesn’t hurt to try something new.
Or maybe it is in the hair. After all, I tried to employ Ursula’s manner of asking questions while we baked yesterday, and I finally asked about the antenna on her shed, but she dropped each query back into my lap with the accuracy of Fred Perry at Wimbledon, and I never got any answers.
“Peggy,” I call after her as I push down on the pedals to catch up. “Have you ever noticed the antenna that stretches above the Beurton house? You can see it from the street.”
“No. Why would they have an antenna? Most radios have an internal aerial now.”
“This is much bigger.”
Peggy stops and puts her feet down. I do the same. “Why?” she asks.
“Why what?” The intensity in her expression startles me.
“Why do the Beurtons have a big antenna?” She stares at me. “Show me.”
We get on our bicycles again and pedal hard back to the village. As soon as we come into the curve on High Street, just at the general store, and the moment you can catch sight of The Firs, the Beurtons’ home three blocks beyond, Peggy stops again.
Clear as day, we see the antenna reaching at least five feet above the roofline of the entire row of houses. She lets out a low whistle.
“That’s not normal, Gemma. You need to ask her about that.”
Something in Peggy’s tone puts me on the defensive for my new friend. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I’m not. We had an antenna that size in St. Eths during the war. But that was because our village was tasked to relay messages caught out on the Atlantic to London.” She turns to me. “You should tell your Charlie, at least.”
I pull back. “I can’t tell him. He’ll think I’m daft, and I’m not reporting to the police something that is in plain sight. They must know about it.” I point to the antenna. “It’s sticking up for the whole world to see.”
“I didn’t see it. It’s behind the house. It’s actually not that obvious.”
“Why are you acting like it’s wrong? They may not need it, but perhaps they want it to get better reception or something?” I’m not sure if I’m asking the question of her or of myself.
“The only reason someone needs an antenna like that is if they want to send and receive messages from far away. From very far away. Maybe Mr. Beurton is still working for the Communists. Maybe he’s one of the spies we keep reading about.”
“He can’t be.” I blow out a long breath, annoyed with myself for bringing up the antenna at all.
Peggy glares at me.
“What?”
“Either you find out about it and tell PC Charles or the chief, or I will.”
Charlie and I are halfway through dinner at The Pig and Dove before I gain the courage to mention the Beurtons, the antenna, and my chat with Peggy.
“I never noticed it.” Charlie leans back in his chair.
