Chapter 3

As David descended the steep stairwell, he attempted to prepare himself for the coming interview. His thoughts kept wondering though — especially when he felt the violent shudder of an explosion somewhere close by. He wondered if the Ambassador was OK. Hell! He wondered how anyone could have survived the nightly bombing raids of the Russians and Germans.- and yet the people of London "soldiered on". He wondered how the bomber pilots aimed for their targets now that St. Paul's was a pile of rubble. Follow the river up to London and look for the white dome of the cathedral — that's what the Germans had done. "What do the bloody Reds do?" He wondered.

Suddenly he was at the bottom of the stairs. He waited — uncertain what to do next. Through a door he could see another long hallway. Coming toward him were two men dressed in the uniform of the civil service — discrete tailored suits — all that was missing were trilbys and umbrellas. Their heads were down intent on some papers they were discussing. Just as David opened his mouth to speak they turned sharp right and he could hear a door close.

After waiting some minutes he finally stepped out into the corridor. Unlike the floor above — here there was no-one to be seen. The clatter of the diesel run air conditioner, the only sound to be heard. He looked toward where the two bureaucrats had disappeared. The sign on the door read "BBC radio B1". There was a large red light shining above the door with another sign which read. "When light is on please do not enter" He stepped closer and could just make out the sounds of someone speaking with a very Etonian /Oxford accent.

" ... minister is calling for public calm. The news of the most recent losses in the Atlantic will certainly mean a tightening of the rationing system. But, he says, "the losses of vessels, Commonwealth and Neutrals alike, will never make Britain bend the knee to the Bolsheviks". He went on to say that his sympathies go out to all the families who have suffered the loss of a loved one in the most recent convoy losses."

Ogilvy stepped back — he felt as though he had just listened into an intimate family conversation. Britain and the Commonwealth were doing it hard he thought. He started to walk down the hallway. Doors to right and left opened onto rooms large and small — some recognizable as offices and overnight accommodation, others less easy to categorize. There was a mouldy smell about the place. And no matter how hard the air conditioner worked it seemed a little damp. Finally as he reached the end of the passage the door facing him opened.

"Mr Ogilvy?" a lady enquired. "Mrs Churchill?" he responded. She laughed "Oh no! Call me Clemmie — everyone does!" Seeing his uncertain look she smiled warmly, "Come in! Come in! Winston has been waiting ages to meet you." As he stepped through the doorway — it was if he was moving from some efficient wartime bunker into another place — another world. He was gazing on the furnishings of a comfortable home. "Do you like it?" Clemmie asked. "I designed it all myself! Nothing like having the comforts of home. Winnie does fret so! Bunkers and Winston do NOT mix well!" "Oh no err ... Clemmie — it is lovely — it's just such a surprise. It's not what I expected!" He replied.

"Now you mustn't let Winnie put you off! He's not feeling the best at the moment. His 'Black Dog' has made itself comfortable." David knew about Sir Winston's 'Black Dog" the name he gave his moments of depression. He certainly had a lot to be depressed about!

"So! Here we are" Clemmie said. They had moved through a lunge area and a bedroom, all tastefully done, and arrived at a door. Clemmie tapped tentatively. "Winnie — are you decent? I have Colonel Ogilvy with me, he's come to say hello."

"Send him in" The voice was unmistakable — David gripped his package tight and stepped through the doorway.