Chapter 3

When Irina left the Lodge – to be debriefed and schooled in her new identity – Eugenie and I went back to the nearest thing to a routine that exists at the Lodge. Physical fitness, classes, shifts in the clinic for me and the IT suite for my wife. I had a day off to take necessary exams courtesy of Hallam University. Eugenie had several days off to complete her baccalaureate exams. But then, as winter approached, we had to travel to Wales, to the Brecon Beacons, for advanced survival training. Not great fun. I knew of recruits who had died during such training. But we lived through it without serious problems and that was added to our official records.

We had to have new uniforms. Eugenie as a commissioned officer and myself as a warrant officer could not continue with our old uniforms even though we’d rarely need to wear them. The combat dress, of course, was unchanged. But then came the paratroop training. Followed by free-fall training. That was fun, actually. I would never have voluntarily jumped out of a perfectly good aeroplane, and having to prebreathe for HALO was a pain. But we qualified. And still we had to push ahead with our other qualifications. It was almost a relief to find ourselves back at the Lodge, facing the Colonel in his office.

“Lieutenant. Sergeant Major. I have received a request. It seems that Irina ... Broadhead has asked for your assistance. She was delivered of a healthy daughter a month ago, and wishes for you to stand as godparents, if you are willing, that is.”

“I’m not unwilling,” I said with a glance at Eugenie, “but neither of us are churchgoers. I believe Godparents are supposed to help a child grow up in the faith?”

“I think you’re correct, at least in theory. Why don’t you talk to her?” He handed me a card with a mobile phone number on it. “Lieutenant, Sergeant Major, you are dismissed.”

We did the stiffen, salute, about turn thing, and left. In our quarters, Eugenie took out her mobile and carefully input the number, then pressed ‘speaker’.

“Hello?” Female voice, somewhat familiar, tentative.

“Irina?” Eugenie spoke before I did. “It’s Ginger. Chalky is here with me. Apparently you want us to stand as godparents?”

“Will you? I don’t have anyone else. The Church would find someone, but I know you.”

“We aren’t churchgoers. We have the basic knowledge of Sunday school as kids, but we thought godparents needed to be practising members of the Church. We don’t even know what Church you belong to. Are you Orthodox?”

“No, I’m Catholic. I did speak to the Priest before asking you. He says, as long as you’re baptised by a recognised rite, which includes all mainstream Christian churches, he has no problem with it.”

“Hm.” I inserted. “That seems ... doesn’t really make sense to me. But I suppose...”

“No,” Eugenie corrected, “if we’re to take the responsibility, we need to be sure about what we’re doing. I’m not at all sure that I’m competent to guide a child into Christian faith, when I’m not at all sure what I believe – if anything.”

Irina sighed. “Ginger, I trust you and Geoff.” She hesitated, then went on, “Do you prefer to be Ginger, or Eugenie? It seems you get both. And Geoff? What about you?”

Eugenie sighed, smiling and shaking her head. “That’s a difficult question. I suppose ‘Ginger’ goes with operations, as does ‘Chalky’. Both are acceptable among colleagues and friends, but unacceptable as jibes from anyone who’s being unpleasant.”

“On the whole,” I inserted, “I prefer Geoff. In a military unit, some nicknames are traditional, and just a part of being a part of a unit. There, being ‘Chalky’ is part of being accepted.”

“And when Geoff calls me ‘Eugenie’, it’s because he thinks it’s a pretty name. Like him, though, I’m usually ‘Ginger’ in a military unit.”

“Then, I will call you Eugenie, because I think it’s a pretty name, too, and suits you. Look, I can give you my priest’s phone number and you can talk to him yourself.”

“Father O’Neal, Saint Marie’s.”

“Good evening, Father. My name’s Geoff White. My wife is here and you’re on speaker. We’ve been asked to stand as godparents for the daughter of Irina Broadhead.”

“Ah, yes. She did mention your names.”

“We suggested that as we’re not churchgoers, we feel ... unqualified for the responsibility.”

“You have been baptised yourselves?”

“Yes, but Church of England.”

“I expect we can forgive you that. Your baptisms count. Miss Broadhead is a full member of the Church, and your responsibility towards her daughter would only be relevant in the case of her demise. In that case, we would hope you would bring your God-daughter to church and to classes to instruct her in the Faith. Miss Broadhead has expressed a high opinion of your characters, your honesty and sincerity. Does that simplify your position? I am happy to meet with you to discuss further, if you wish.”

“Thank you, Father. We may take you up on that, but I think we’re happier now.”

“That is good. Get in touch if you wish. God bless you both.”

************************

The Christening was duly arranged, and Eugenie and I – following some instruction from the priest – presented ourselves at St. Marie’s in the smartest civilian clothes we had. As it was during a normal Sunday service, our little group was lost in the crowd except during the actual baptism. Happily, the many members of the church who welcomed Irina and Nadia – the name is derived from a word meaning ‘Hope’ – didn’t grill Irina or us about our backgrounds; I had worried that she would be asked about the baby’s father, but that didn’t happen. Irina was installed in a small modern flat in the city, with a stipend so that she’d not have to struggle. The Colonel had authorised us to keep in contact, and, indeed, to be available to Irina should she need help or support. She did understand that we might not be immediately available. We tracked down an antique silver Christening mug and had it inscribed, Christian names only.

The actual ceremony occupied a few minutes of an otherwise normal Roman mass, during which we declined to participate in the actual Communion, but the priest had left that up to us. The congregation had put together a celebration buffet after the service and we were made very welcome, only leaving as preparations were made for an afternoon service. We walked with Irina back to her flat which was only a few minutes from the church. Eugenie carried Nadia. I pushed the empty buggy.

Whatever next? It seemed that it was necessary for Eugenie and me to gain licences for almost every vehicle type on the road, from two wheels up to eighteen. We both had ordinary car licences, of course. Trucks and buses, well okay, just big, okay? But motorcycles? Cold, wet, dirty and inherently unstable. (I know that a moving motorcycle has stability thanks to the gyroscopic effect of the wheels, but that’s only in a straight line and as long as you don’t have to stop). We passed the training course, maintained a schedule of practice, and in time obtained our civil licences in each category.

While all this was going on, we’d seen Irina – and Nadia – at intervals. However, we were called to the office one day to see the Major.

“Come in. Relax. Take a seat.” He waved at chairs at an angle to his desk and wheeled his office chair round to face them. We sat. “Your friend, our Irina...” we nodded. “We took a call from her yesterday. It seems that a man made an attempt to access the apartment building, but was prevented by the security system. However, we have analysed the footage and are sure that she is now at risk from the Russian secret service. As a result, we have decided that she should be placed in elsewhere, and we want you to accompany her there. She will be housed with an extended family who possess the necessary skills to keep her safe. They are more usually involved with the victims of trafficking, Wisst Ihr was ich meine?”

Eugenie got in before me with, “Wir verstehen.”

“Excellent.” He smiled.

Ginger (Eugenie) White:

I hated my hair all through school. I hated being ‘Ginger’ to individuals I’d prefer not to have anything to do with. I suppose I hated being a ‘two percenter’. But then I met Geoff. He saw me, not my hair, though he loved my hair and even my freckles. There wasn’t much choice in where to sit in the tram, but there was a seat next to him. We had an actual conversation. Then, I saw him in the coffee shop and approached him. Since then my life has been almost like an avalanche. The choices I made split me from my parents, ideological pacifists, but set me free to be myself. I joined the Army, initially as a cadet in College, but then I enlisted. I saw something of the world; not the best side of the world. Ran up against my parents again, doing the tourist thing and getting themselves in trouble. And Geoff ... Sergeant ‘Chalky’ White. I was a corporal in Signals. We got a bunch of tourists including my parents out of a small country which was tearing itself apart for the ‘nth’ time, and had to yomp fifty miles across country to get ourselves out.

I suppose it was that experience which opened my eyes to Geoff, and I gave up my (jealously guarded) virginity without a qualm. As my enlistment drew towards the end I had intended to leave, transfer to the Reserves, and get a job in civvy street, but Geoff asked me to marry him. I hadn’t given that a thought. It was Geoff who encouraged me to reconcile to my parents who had, in fact, learned something in the intervening years and come to accept my choices. At the wedding, a distant relative suggested he might have a job for me – and Geoff. Thus we found ourselves at an old place outside the city ‘enjoying’ even more training. But it had the distinct advantage that we were able to live together as we trained, and to plan on working together in the ‘black’ organisation commanded by my Uncle. We hadn’t formally graduated when we were sent to the Baltic to extract a young woman – a young, pregnant woman – who had suffered under the Russian secret police. She’d made the mistake of not keeping her opinion of the regime’s policies to herself. She had been taken (arrested has the connotation of legality) beaten, and comprehensively raped and abused.

She had, in fact, been released as ‘rehabilitated’ – read broken – but then smuggled out of the country to Latvia by members of the underground opposition. Geoff and I were part of the scheme to get her to Britain. When her baby, a little girl, was born, we were asked to stand as godparents. Being non-Catholic and in fact non church-goers, we were uncertain, but agreed after consulting her priest and our own organisation. Irina and Nadia were living in an apartment which was gated. An attempt was made to get to her by men subsequently identified as Russian, which was thwarted by the security arrangements. This was disturbing. We had hoped that she was insignificant enough to be safe, but apparently not, and it was decided that she be moved elsewhere. Guess who got the job of taking her to her new home? No, not Geoff and me ... just me. Though Geoff came with us initially.

It was not a straightforward business. We bought tickets for Sheffield to London, but Irina and I were provided tickets for Derby to Stoke-on-Trent, Stoke to Lancaster, and Lancaster to Windermere. We hoped that any pursuit was expecting us to ride to London, as Geoff was doing, but we hopped off – at the last minute – in Derby for a ride to Stoke. It was a bit messy, but it was hoped that we’d mislead any pursuit. Intercity to Lancaster, and a local train to Windermere where we were met, by a nondescript Ford Galaxy.

“Missus White? Ginger? Your companion...? I’m Jerry.”

“How d’you do, Jerry. Ginger is fine ... from friends. This is Irene* and Nadia.”

*It having been decided to anglicise her name, though not her daughter’s

“Welcome to Cumbria, Irene and Nadia. Will you be coming with us, Ginger? Or going straight back?”

I’d intended – that was the plan – to turn Irene and Nadia over to Jerry and ride back to Lancaster on the local train. I’d brought only a very basic SHTF bag, but Irene turned to me and grabbed my hand. “Please, Eugenie! Come with me, for tonight, at least.”

I could hardly resist such an emotional plea, and nodded. “Okay. For tonight, anyway.”

Jerry drove the Galaxy smoothly, and was careful on the narrow road to his home – or perhaps I should say, estate – which I was grateful for. On arrival, a substantial gate swung open without any obvious cause, and Jerry steered through and up a drive to stop in front of a rambling Cumbrian house, Woodside Lodge. Jerry held the doors for us and ushered us towards the front door, which opened just as we got there ... to reveal a very attractive slim woman, almost completely naked. Almost? Well, she was wearing a collar.

“Darling,” Jerry greeted her, “this is Irene, with Nadia, and Ginger. Irene, Ginger, this is my wife, Sally.”

The woman, Sally, smiling, held out her arms to Irene. The embrace might have been awkward, since Irene was holding Nadia in one arm, but somehow Sally seemed to envelop her guest warmly. When she released Irene, it was my turn to experience a truly warm, loving hug. The fact I was being embraced by a naked woman seemed irrelevant. I was welcome, loved, accepted.

“Come in! Come in! Welcome to Woodside Lodge.” She ushered us in, closed the door and turned to Jerry. “Master!” and laid a kiss on him that should, by rights, have raised the temperature in the hall by several degrees. That made me miss Geoff even more. “Yelka! Lena!” She called out, and two pretty, blonde teenaged girls appeared from the back of the house. “Girls, this is Irene, with her baby Nadia, and Ginger who brought them here. Irene, Ginger, Yelka and Lena are our wards. We have three others, but they’re studying just now. You’ll see them later. Lena, would you show our guests to their rooms?” She turned to me, “I didn’t think to ask. Would you like to share a room? We have a single room for you, Ginger, if you like.”