The Secret Life of Kitty Granger Read online

  Mrs. Singh removed a calling card from her purse. She set it down on the counter and Kitty snatched it up immediately.

  “Here’s my card,” Mrs. Singh continued, still speaking to Kitty’s father. “Talk it over with your daughter. If you decide to take me up on my offer, simply call the number and make an appointment. We could give it a two-week trial to make certain Miss Granger is suitable for the position.”

  Kitty’s father grunted and gave a curt nod. “Aye, we’ll think it over.”

  “Splendid.” Smiling, Mrs. Singh took a small shopping list out of her bag and offered it to Kitty. “In the meantime, I’m on my way to a picnic and was wondering if you could put together a basket for me. It’s all in there. Sandwiches, sausages, jellied eels . . .”

  Kitty took the list and looked up at her father.

  “Aye, get to it, Kitty,” he said.

  “Yes, Da.”

  Kitty hurried around the shop, filling a basket with the items from the list. Some of it was very odd—not just food and drink, but various utensils: a bottle opener, a pocket knife. For a few minutes, Kitty entertained the idea that Mrs. Singh was secretly on a mission, and that she was going to foil a Russian spy ring with the contents of a picnic basket. It was fun to imagine, but Kitty knew it couldn’t possibly be true. Who ever heard of jellied eels being used in espionage?

  All the while, Mrs. Singh leaned against the counter and chatted with Kitty’s father. The lady’s tone was light and friendly, and Mr. Granger’s standoffishness slowly mellowed into something a little more neutral. By the time Kitty returned to them, her father was bragging about how they were carrying on the tradition of the family shop, started in the days of his great-grandfather.

  Mrs. Singh gasped in astonishment. “It can’t be that old!” she protested, in a tone that Kitty almost believed was sincere. “Why, Mr. Granger, it’s so well maintained!”

  Kitty’s father seemed unsure whether this was a joke at his expense. “Well, a little rough ’round the edges, I’ll grant you.”

  “Nonsense, nonsense. It’s very orderly. I’ll admit, Mr. Granger, I had terrible preconceptions of what an East End shop would be like, and I’m pleased to say they have all been dispelled.”

  “Oh, aye!”

  As Kitty joined them, Mrs. Singh paid for the goods and rewarded Kitty’s father with a sweet smile. “Thank you very much, Mr. Granger. You’ve been a great help. Do have a lovely day.”

  “You as well, missis,” Kitty’s father said with sincerity.

  Mrs. Singh turned to Kitty. “If you would be so good as to carry that out to my car, I’d be much obliged.”

  Kitty bobbed her head and followed Mrs. Singh out into the street. A blue Jaguar sports car was waiting at the corner, and to Kitty’s surprise, she saw Mr. Pryce in the passenger seat, reading a newspaper. As Kitty and Mrs. Singh approached, Mr. Pryce looked up at them and raised his hat.

  “Miss Granger,” he said. “Very nice to see you again.”

  “Mr. Pryce? Why are you ’ere?”

  Mr. Pryce seemed surprised at the question. “Didn’t Mrs. Singh explain? She and I are going for a picnic.”

  “Don’t be coy, Pryce,” Mrs. Singh said, taking the basket from Kitty. “I already told her about the job.”

  “And I’m very excited about the opportunity, sir.” Kitty lowered her voice and asked, “It’s not really secretarial work, though, is it?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Mrs. Singh replied. She handed the picnic basket to Mr. Pryce and got into the driver’s seat.

  “Secretarial work cracked Enigma during the war, you know,” Mr. Pryce added. “It’s very important stuff.”

  “Call the number on my card, make an appointment, and we’ll run some tests to see where your aptitude lies,” Mrs. Singh said.

  Mr. Pryce tapped his chin, evidently deep in thought. “Have you ever fired a gun before, Miss Granger?”

  “No, never,” Kitty replied, shaking her head.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” Mr. Pryce mused. He tipped his hat to Kitty again. “Have a nice day, Miss Granger. We hope to hear from you soon.”

  Kitty watched them drive off down the street, astonished at what had just happened.

  Her mouth slowly opened in a grin. This morning, she had just been boring old Kitty Granger. Now, she was going to be a spy.

  Despite the good impression made by Mrs. Singh, Kitty’s father dithered for the rest of the day, unable to decide whether he should let Kitty take the offer. He would talk loudly to himself whenever she was in earshot, listing the reasons why she shouldn’t be allowed to work away from home, and then in the next breath grumbling about needing the money. It was all so transparent, Kitty wanted to scream.

  Instead she held her tongue and smiled sweetly like everything was fine.

  “What d’you think, Da?” she finally asked as they closed the shop for the night. “About the job?”

  Her father was counting out the money in the till. He stopped and took a deep breath, like he was thinking very hard about it even though his mind was mostly made up. “Well, I . . .”

  Kitty forced herself to talk over him, despite how uncomfortable it made her. “Good money, innit?” she said as she began tidying up the goods on the nearest shelf.

  “Aye, maybe . . .”

  “Competitive salary she said,” Kitty added. “I mean, posh lady like that, eh? Must be quite a lot for the likes of ’er to think it’s competitive.”

  “Aye,” her father grunted. He hesitated and looked down at the money in his hands. Kitty stole a look, but she already knew it wasn’t much.

  “Probably more ’n anyone in the whole neighborhood makes,” Kitty said.

  She saw her father turn a bit pink at the observation. A frown creased his mouth and Kitty felt his mood turn sour.

  “Not that we need it, ’a course,” she quickly added. “You always took such good care of me, provided for everythin’ an’ such, especially since Mum passed. I only wish I could do more to help, is all. I mean, I’m no good with the customers, am I? You’re practically doin’ all the work yourself.”

  It wasn’t true, but she knew her father believed it.

  “And then ’ere comes this Mrs. Singh offerin’ work I really could do—typin’ an’ such. Pro’ly pays well enough you could bring on a couple local lads to take me place in the shop. Better for everyone, innit?”

  Her father was still looking at the money. He shuffled the bills between his hands again and again, as if trying to conjure more. Kitty felt a twinge in her heart. He was upset, and she couldn’t understand why. They needed the money. This was a solution. Why did he have to be so thick about it? Why did he have to be the one providing for them if Kitty could do it? All that mattered was that they were both fed and happy and safe.

  Kitty crossed the shop and put her hand on her father’s arm. He looked at her, his mouth twisting with words he clearly didn’t want to say.

  Kitty smiled at him. “Seems to me, it’s a good opportunity for us, Da,” she said softly.

  Very slowly, her father nodded in agreement. “Aye, I s’pose it is. But are you sure you can do it? You’ll be out there,” he said, looking toward the door, and beyond it the outside world. “I can’t protect you if you’re on your own out there.”

  Kitty bit her tongue to stop her instinctive retort. That was her business, not his. Yes, she had trouble sometimes, but he didn’t have to talk to her like she was still a child!

  “I’ll just be typin’ letters in an office, Da. It won’t be that bad.”

  Father went quiet all of a sudden and looked down at his hands. “I know,” he said. “I just want to do what’s best for you, Kitty.” He looked at her, his eyes two big saucers of uncertainty and guilt. “It’s only, since your mother died, I dunno what to do ’alf the time.”

  So that was it. He was certain he was raising her wrong, so he’d rather have her do nothing at all than risk a mistake.
<
br />   “Oh, Da,” Kitty said softly. “There’s no call for that, honest. You’ve raised me right, I promise. Mum would be so proud of how good a father you’ve been.”

  It wasn’t entirely untrue. Kitty knew that he meant well, and that the incidents of unkindness were mistakes rather than malice. There was no point in fighting about it now.

  She put her arms around her father and hugged him, hoping to comfort him and reason with him at the same time. “You’ve worked so ’ard all these years, an’ now I’ve got a chance to ’elp. So please say that I can.”

  Her father took a deep breath and looked down at her. It took him a few tries to form the words, but finally he managed it.

  “I s’pose so, aye. We’ll ring this Mrs. Singh tomorrow an’ make an appointment.” He chuckled to himself, probably to hide his apprehension about letting Kitty take the job. “Hehe. Ring Singh.”

  Kitty looked away so that he wouldn’t see her roll her eyes at him.

  “Oh, very funny, Da. You’re always so clever.”

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, they rang Mrs. Singh’s number and made an appointment. The date was set for the middle of the next week, and Kitty spent the intervening days brimming with excitement. Her head was filled with a thousand different thoughts that ran into each other even though they had little in common. What would the appointment be like? How was Mrs. Singh to work for? Did she have a cat? It almost drove Kitty to distraction.

  When the day finally arrived, Kitty took the bus downtown. Mrs. Singh’s address was in Kensington, which was a stark change from home. Everything looked terribly expensive. Mrs. Singh’s office was a few streets away from the bus stop, in a tall brick building with a view of Hyde Park. Kitty took a deep breath and went inside before she could second-guess herself. She headed to the elevators as quickly as she could and rode to the top floor.

  The doors opened on a mod spectacle of bright colors—nothing like what Kitty had expected. She stumbled out of the elevator into a little reception area with red carpeting, turquoise walls, and sofas and chairs colored a crisp shade of off-white. The art on the walls was very modern, all geometric shapes and lines that made Kitty dizzy to look at them. A receptionist lounged behind a wooden table, reading a fashion magazine and ignoring everything else.

  Kitty looked back at the elevator in time to see the doors close. She exhaled slowly and brushed her fingertips against her skirt to calm herself. After a few moments, the receptionist lowered the corner of the magazine and flashed Kitty a grin.

  “Well, don’t just stand there!” she called. “Come here. I don’t bite.”

  Kitty approached, sizing up the receptionist. The girl was a few years older than she was, with an easy self-confidence that Kitty immediately envied. She was dressed smartly in a suit and skirt, and her jet-black hair was trimmed into a short pixie cut that made her look very daring.

  The receptionist grinned at Kitty. She leaned over the table and stuck out her hand. “Hello, I’m Verity. Verity Chase.”

  Kitty looked at the hand, uncertain of what to do. She wasn’t fond of touching strangers, so she just stood there, clutching her handbag and hoping that she wasn’t being rude.

  “Kitty Granger. I’m, um, I’m ’ere to see Mrs. Singh. About a job . . .”

  “I know why you’re here,” Verity said, laughing. She bounded out of her chair and walked around to Kitty’s side of the table. “Come along, let’s go see the boss.”

  Kitty followed Verity through a nearby door and found herself in a large, brightly-colored suite of offices. The place was bustling with activity, and she heard typing and talking coming from most of the rooms.

  “What is this place?” Kitty asked, turning her head in circles to take in everything.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you? It’s the magazine.”

  “What magazine?”

  “The magazine.”

  Verity handed Kitty the magazine she had been reading. It was a fancy fashion publication, and the cover featured three very chic-looking young women in bright pastel dresses.

  Kitty read the title aloud: “La Mode.” She gave Verity a puzzled look. “That’s French, innit?”

  “The title is, not the magazine,” Verity explained. “Haute fashion for the average lady. The everywoman’s window into Paris and Milan. Personally, I like it because it means I get to go to all sorts of fancy parties ‘for research.’”

  Kitty blinked and looked at the magazine a second time. This was not at all what she had expected. “I’m confused,” she admitted.

  Verity winked and whispered, “It’s a cover.”

  Kitty sighed with relief, and at the same time she felt a little embarrassed at her momentary confusion. Of course the magazine was a cover! Spies didn’t go around advertising that they were spies, did they? No, they had disguises, and code names, and photos of the latest French fashions, apparently.

  She followed Verity to an office at the very back of the suite. It was a big room painted red and blue, with wide windows along one wall that gave a splendid view of the park. Mrs. Singh was there, waiting for them behind a fancy metal desk that looked like it was straight out of a science fiction film. She glanced at her watch as Verity closed the door behind them.

  “You are late, Miss Granger.”

  Kitty looked down at her hands and mumbled, “I know. I’m sorry, missis.”

  “Don’t apologize, just be punctual next time,” Mrs. Singh replied. Her tone was stern, but not harsh. “You will find that being on time is very useful in this job.”

  Kitty nodded timidly. Then, spurred on by the gnawing curiosity she had felt since arriving, she asked, “Um—missis, what exactly is this job anyway? I mean, am I to be workin’ for your magazine? Only, I thought it would be . . .”

  “The magazine is part of your cover,” Mrs. Singh explained, “just as it is for me and for Verity. Officially you’ll be my assistant, like Verity. Part of the time you’ll have something to do in the office, to keep up appearances. But mostly you’ll be off helping me in the field or running errands.”

  Verity grinned at Kitty and mouthed the word “spying.”

  “You will find that working in fashion is a rather useful cover,” Mrs. Singh said. “Thanks to the magazine, we get to rub shoulders with some very rich and powerful people.”

  “Rich and powerful people are usually up to something,” Verity added.

  “So is everyone ’ere a spy?” Kitty asked.

  “Just us three,” Mrs. Singh replied. “The rest of my employees are actual journalists. Helps with the authenticity. We avoid discussing sensitive information here, but my office is sound-proofed for times like this. The actual magazine is managed by a team of editors, so I practically don’t have to do a thing unless it’s glamorous and exciting.”

  Verity held out her hands and pantomimed shooting a gun at the far wall.

  Mrs. Singh frowned and gently pushed Verity’s hands down. “Stop that.” She turned her attention back to Kitty. “Now Verity is going to show you around the office and introduce you to the staff as part of your cover. After that, she’ll take you to our second place of business and introduce you to your real coworkers.”

  Kitty nodded to show that she understood.

  Mrs. Singh suddenly became very serious. “Let me emphasize, Miss Granger, that once you leave here, the information you’ll be privy to is highly sensitive. You cannot divulge it to anyone, or else there will be consequences.”

  “I understand, missis. I won’t tell a soul.” Then she shrugged. “Honestly, there’s no one to tell, apart from me da. He wouldn’t even believe me. Just say I were makin’ stories.”

  “It doesn’t matter if someone believes you or not. In our line of work, if you tell people secrets they aren’t supposed to know, they will get hurt, and so will you. Do you understand?”

  “Completely, missis.”

  Mrs. Singh’s expression softened a bit and a glimmer of concern appeared in her eyes. “If you
are having second thoughts, now is the time to decide about them. You can take some time to think it over if you want.”

  Kitty shook her head firmly. “I’ve thought about it for days,” she said. “Me mind were made up when I came ’ere, an’ it’s still made up. If I really can make a difference like you an’ Mr. Pryce, I’d like to.”

  Mrs. Singh nodded. “One last question, Kitty. It might seem odd, but it’s really very important. Would you have any qualms about working alongside someone . . . unlike you?”

  “Unlike me, missis?” Kitty furrowed her brow in confusion. Everyone was unlike her. She was reminded of it nearly every day.

  “For example, would you find it difficult to work alongside a black person, or a Jewish person?” Mrs. Singh asked. “Does it trouble you at all that I’m Indian?”

  “What?” Kitty said, unable to disguise her bewilderment. “Why would that bother me?”

  Mrs. Singh gave her a stern look again. “That is either a naïve question or a disingenuous one. Pretending that prejudice doesn’t exist isn’t the same as not being prejudiced.”

  “Oh!” Kitty exclaimed, louder than she had meant to. “Yes, missis, I understand. There won’t be no trouble from me, I promise. I’m ’appy to work with whoever you need me to. It’s me job, after all. If I’ve got the job, that is.”

  “Good,” Mrs. Singh said. She handed Verity a set of car keys. “Once you’re done here, take Kitty to meet the Orchestra.”

  “May I take the Jaguar?” Verity asked excitedly.

  Mrs. Singh sighed at her. “No, you may not. You’ll take the Vauxhall, and you’ll drive it under the speed limit like a normal person. Try to set a good example for Miss Granger.”

  Verity sighed and slumped her shoulders. “Yes, Mrs. Singh.”

  “You’re not comin’ with?” Kitty asked.

  “Alas, I have a prior engagement,” Mrs. Singh replied. “I’m going to interview the president of the Hawksworth Armaments Company.”

  Verity frowned. “So you think the rumors are true? Hawksworth’s running guns?”