Part One

It was late June of 1920 and it all began one morning in Lotte’s Dolphin Square flat when the telephone rang. It was Gracie from the club.

“Your Captain Buchann has booked you this afternoon so get your fanny down here on time.”

Claud often met her at the club, he said it was good cover that he could just walk in the front door as an ordinary client – the fact that she also gave him a good lay was totally irrelevant. Actually, they had first met at the club when he had recruited her as a source which raised the questions of how Claud had known about Lotte in the first place and just what was Gracie’s involvement with Claud.

Lotte and her fanny were at the club in plenty of time and she went into the smoke filled office to collect her little pink card for the job. Then she made her way upstairs to one of the opulent bedrooms and stripped off her short flapper dress. Today she wore a camisole top and French knickers underneath in pale blue satin and she lay back on the bed to await her client (or her case officer, depending on how one looked at it).

Claud turned out to be really eager and, after just one look at her, he stripped and joined her on the bed. They had really urgent, passionate sex and Lotte ensured that the taxpayers received their full money’s worth. There was a lot of rolling around; he began on top of her and then, when he began to flag, Lotte pushed him off and positioned herself impaled on his flagpole which she was soon able to raise to its full height. Claud was making a lot of noise as Lotte bounced up and down and brought herself to a loud orgasm before falling forward onto him and entwining her tongue with his.

Later, they lay peacefully in each other’s arms and, in a lovely endorphin fueled voice, Claud got down to what was supposed to be the point of their meeting.

“Did you happen to know Daphne Feltenup when you were at St Katarina’s?”

It would be a cliché to say that Lotte was stunned but it would also be true. She had not thought about Daffers for years and, despite the innocence of Claud’s question, it was pretty obvious that he knew she and Daffers had been at school at the same time. Lotte imagined the armies of Civil Servants who had been examining every shred of her life, probably from birth. Claud went on.

“The thing is that Daphne seems very busy in the wrong sort of circles. I don’t understand these Champagne Socialists; surely they must know they would all be shot if Lenin got his way. There is nothing concrete but your school chum’s name keeps popping in in connection with the Fabian Society, the Fenians and perhaps even the Comintern and she knows some very highly placed people.”

Lotte made it very clear that she and Daffers had never ever at any time been “chums” although they had been in the same year.

It seemed that Daffers was planning an exclusive party with the guestlist and venue known only to the *********** few and Claud thought it would be really useful to have someone at the party to make a note of those present. And if this, hypothetical person could also get herself invited to join the little group for future activities. this would also be absolutely super. But it would have to be someone whom Daffers knew and trusted.

At this point, gentle reader, I need to give you some background on the Roaring Twenties. The Great War had only ended in 1918 and the flower of British manhood had been lost in the mud and wire of the Western Front. Not a single family had escaped loss in that hell and, when the war ended, all those who could afford to do so went absolutely wild – especially the young who were known as the Bright Young Things. Champagne and cocaine were consumed in vast quantities and sex was varied and plentiful. The absolute highlight of this hedonistic life was the themed party. Members of the privileged elite would flood into a venue, usually announced at very short notice, and they would dance, drink and procreate for perhaps days at a time secure in the knowledge that no policeman would dare to interfere in the pleasures of his betters. Frankly, all those “cool” people who rave about the Swinging 1960s know nothing at all about excess.

Claud was good at his job and he knew his agent. Now that Lotte knew about what was going on, she would never be able to resist and if she could also be involved in writing secret notes and taking on sinister hoods from the Russian Steppes, that would just be the cherry on the cocktail.

Before they parted, Claud supplied Daffer’s address but that was hardly necessary. The London Aristocracy is a very small club where everyone keeps a little black book and someone as well connected as Lotte would certainly know someone who knew someone and where to find Daphne as well as the target’s favorite watering holes.

So Lotte just happened to be having a drink at The Ritz Hotel one evening and who should she bump into but her old school pal? Lotte explained that she was here to meet a chap but the absolute louse seemed to have stood her up so she was all alone for the evening. Of course Daffers was not alone and she immediately introduced Lotte to the Honorable Chinless Wonder and the three of them shared a table. Lotte knew that she must secure her invitation to the secret party quickly before Chinless dragged his prize off to bed.

So out came all the school reminiscences and the two girls were soon in fits of giggles at the outrages of the egregious Gym Mistress and also at amazing Saturday afternoons in the Sports Pavilion. You see, the Pav was on the opposite side of the sports field from the school so, if a group of girls went out there to, say, drink lemonade, they would have a clear view of anyone walking across the field from the school and they would be free to….but that’s another story and not for tender ears.

Daphne asked how Lotte was doing and poor Lotte explained that she was a bit down in the dumps due to man trouble. What she really needed was a way of meeting a better class of fly buttons and having some fun.

“Oh, you poor thing. You absolutely must come to my little party. All a bit hush hush but give me your number and I’ll let you have all the details.”

The phone call came on a Thursday evening and gave twenty four hours’ notice.

“You need to get yourself to No 24 Brunel Lane, Whitechapel. It all kicks off tomorrow night when it gets dark. It could end in the small hours of Monday morning.”

Lotte phoned Claud with the information and then sat at her desk with a map of London. These parties normally took place in large houses, sometimes on estates outside the city. Lotte had never been anywhere near Whitechapel in her life; the map showed lots of really tiny lanes and alleys.