In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

by Rhys Bowen

  At that moment, Ben remembered Mavis. He pushed through the stream of guests to her. “Look, something has come up and I have to take somebody home now,” he said. “I’m frightfully sorry. Can I drop you at the station, or would you rather stay on?”

  She looked confused. “I don’t know. Is the party over? There’s no train at this time of night.”

  “You could come back to my place, but . . .”

  Her gaze went to Pamela standing rock still behind him. “I get the picture. I expect I’ll be all right. I’m a big girl.”

  “No, it’s not like that,” he said. “I promise you. And I’m really sorry, it’s just that . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Guy appeared at his side. “A spot of bother?” he asked.

  “Actually, yes. Could you look after Mavis and make sure she gets to the station safely?”

  “Of course,” Guy said. “But what are you doing?”

  “Pamela and Diana Sutton need to leave now. Diana’s not feeling well. I’ll tell you later.”

  “All right, old chap. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be a perfect Boy Scout.” Guy gave him a grin.

  Dido emerged from the bedroom fully clothed. Her lipstick was smudged, and her hair still looked unkempt.

  “Into the lift, now!” Pamela commanded.

  Dido looked at her sister defiantly. “You wouldn’t give him what he wanted, so I did,” she said, then stalked past Pamela with her head held high.

  Ben heard Jeremy shouting from inside the room, “Nobody needs to leave. A couple of broken windows are not going to spoil our party. Besides, we don’t want to get in the way of fire engines and ARP workers. So let’s keep going and have eggs and bacon at dawn as I promised. I have real bacon, people. Think of that!”

  The lift doors closed, and they went down in silence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  London

  Ben found a taxi outside the Dorchester, and they sped to Victoria Station. Beyond the darkness of the parks, fires were burning.

  “They got Buckingham Palace again, the buggers,” the cabby said. “Blimey, I hope we pay them back. Make them suffer for this. I wouldn’t spare a single man, woman, or child if I were Mr. Churchill.”

  “Is the damage bad?” Ben asked.

  “I ain’t seen it myself,” the cabby replied. “They’ve got the road blocked off, ain’t they? But you could certainly see the flames.”

  They passed Hyde Park Corner and headed down Grosvenor Place. Dido stared out the window, not saying a word.

  “Will you both go back to Kent now?” Ben asked.

  “I have to be at work in the morning,” Pamela said. “I think there are trains on the main line all night. Besides I couldn’t trust myself not to hurl her out of the train.”

  “So how will someone know to come and meet her at the station?” Ben asked.

  “I’ll telephone from Victoria. I’ll tell them there was a bomb, and we had to leave in a hurry. Nothing more needs to be said.”

  “You don’t need to talk about me in the third person,” Dido said. “I’m a person. I have feelings too, you know.”

  “You don’t deserve feelings,” Pamela said. “You have no idea what feelings are. You always wanted what was mine, all the while we were growing up. And you took it, too.”

  They reached the station and ran toward the platforms.

  “Eleven fifty-five. We should have time to get it,” Ben said.

  “There won’t be a local at this time of night,” Pamela said, gasping a little as they ran. “I’ll tell Pah to come and pick you up in Sevenoaks.”

  “All right.” Dido suddenly sounded very young and insecure.

  “Do you want me to take her home?” Ben asked. “I’m on fairly flexible hours at the moment, so it would be all right.”

  Pamela gave him a grateful look. “Would you really? That would be so kind. I don’t like the thought of her alone on a train in the blackout.”

  “You could both come back to my place if it would be easier.”

  “It really wouldn’t,” Pamela said. “I’m afraid I need to be alone, and I can’t be civilised much longer. And I want Dido far away.”

  “Stop talking about me as if I was a piece of meat,” Dido said. “Look, I’m sorry. It didn’t mean anything. We were drinking, and we were excited by the bombs, and . . . and it just happened. And do you know what? It was jolly nice, and you’re stupid to keep pushing him away.”

  “That’s enough, Dido,” Pamela snapped. She almost pushed her sister into the train.

  “Tell Mummy I’ll see her on Friday as arranged,” she said.

  “What’s happening on Friday?”

  “Mummy’s having a little garden party this weekend, and she is in a panic because there’s no proper food and not enough servants, so I said I’d come down and help.” Pamela looked at Ben appealingly. “If you’re not working, you wouldn’t like to come down, too, would you? I was planning on asking Jeremy to come and help serve drinks and things, but now . . .”

  “Of course, I’ll come,” Ben said.

  “Trixie said she’d come as well. She said she’d dress as a maid and serve things.” Pamela smiled, the lines of worry vanishing from her face for a moment. “We both managed to wangle Friday afternoon and Saturday off. So we’ll hope to catch a train about four if you want to join us.”

  “I’ll be there.” He smiled at her as he climbed on board after Dido.

  A whistle sounded. Pamela reached up to him and covered his hand with hers. “I’m so glad you’re here, Ben. I can always count on you.”

  The train pulled out of the station. Ben looked back and saw her small, slim figure standing there, watching them.

  The explanation of a bomb being dropped on the next-door building was readily accepted. Ben stopped at his father’s house, where he spent the night, then he caught an early train back to London.

  Guy opened his door as Ben came up the stairs. “So where did you get to?” he asked with a suggestive smile. “Was it two for the price of one? I can see why you chose them over Miss Mavis. A lovely girl but a bit too gushing for my taste. I deposited her at the station at six, as requested.”

  “Thank you so much. She must be furious with me.”

  “Not too furious, I think. I gave her a bit of a kiss and a cuddle in the taxi, so I think she had a good time and certainly plenty of tales to tell her workmates. How the toffs live and all that.” He stared at Ben. “You look washed up. You’d better come in, and I’ll make you coffee.” Ben needed no second invitation.

  “Thank God that coffee isn’t rationed,” Guy said. “My one vice these days.”

  “If you can find it,” Ben added. He sank onto Guy’s bed. “What a night,” he said.

  “So what was going on, really?” Guy asked as he filled a kettle.

  “Pamela Sutton found her little sister in bed with Jeremy Prescott,” Ben said. “The kid is only eighteen or nineteen.”

  “Eighteen isn’t what it was before the war,” Guy replied. “People grow up quickly these days. They have to. And many people’s philosophy is let’s grab it while we can because we might not be here tomorrow. And it’s true, isn’t it? If that bomb had fallen a few yards to the right, we’d all be toast by now.”

  Ben shivered. “You’re right.”

  “So Diana was sent home in disgrace?”

  “I took her home, actually. Pamela had to get back to work, and she was too upset.”

  “So she was dating Prescott, was she?”

  “Oh yes. Ever since they were children.”

  “That’s how the RAF behave: I live with danger, so I take what I want.”

  “I rather think he’s always behaved that way,” Ben said.

  The kettle boiled, and Guy poured coffee. Then he said slowly, “There’s something you should probably know. Lady Margot Sutton . . .”

  “Yes, I heard. She was taken by the Gestapo in Paris. A rescue was being planned.”

  “An
d was carried out successfully,” Guy said.

  Ben’s eyebrows went up. “Really? She’s home? That’s wonderful.”

  “Her family doesn’t know she’s home yet. I’m not sure when they’ll be told. There is some debriefing to be carried out. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. I gather that Captain King has mentioned the secret society called the Ring to you.”

  “He has.”

  “So you know who they are and what they plan?”

  Ben nodded. “Aristocrats who want to aid Germany.”

  “It seems that Margot Sutton showed up at a meeting the other evening.”

  “A meeting of the Ring?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did Captain King, as you refer to him, know she was going to be there?”

  “You know him, keeps his cards really close to his chest, but I think this took him by surprise.”

  “So Margot Sutton will be watched?”

  “Oh yes, definitely. And when she is allowed home, I rather think that the task will fall to you.”

  “Crikey,” Ben said.

  As soon as Ben went to his own room, he wrote a note to Mavis, explaining that one of the sisters had drunk too much and become ill, necessitating that she be rushed to Victoria Station to catch the last train. He hoped she would forgive him and that Guy looked after her well. And he hoped their next date would be less dramatic. Then he took it to the postbox on the corner. With any luck it would arrive by the last post that evening or, at the latest, by tomorrow morning. He didn’t want her to think that he had ditched her in favour of a more sophisticated girl.

  Meanwhile, Pamela woke alone in the room she shared with Trixie. She felt hollow and drained, as if she were recovering from a bout of stomach flu. She wondered now if Dido and Jeremy had been having sex during those afternoon visits at his house. Hardly probable with his mother and the servants in the house, but one could never tell with Jeremy. He loved to live dangerously. She’d always known that.

  Pamela stood up, stretched, then went over to the window to pull back the blackout curtain. It was a grey, gloomy day, matching her mood. It was over, she thought. How could she ever feel safe with a man who had betrayed her with her own sister? If they had married, would she picture the worst every time he was late getting home? Dido was a stupid and frustrated little girl, she saw that now. Dying for the things that had been denied her—the balls and flirtations of a season and now an active means of employment. No wonder she let Jeremy seduce her. Had they actually completed their lovemaking before the bomb hit? she wondered. Had Dido been a virgin before? If so, had it hurt? Her own insecurities came flooding over her while an express train rushed past her window with a wild shriek.

  She had just finished washing and brushing her teeth when Trixie came home.

  “God, what a night.” Trixie flung herself down on her bed. “I drank far too much. We all did. My dear, I was so tired, I dozed off on the train. Luckily, it tooted a whistle or I might have woken up and found myself in Crewe.” She sat up and studied Pamela. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I think so. I’ll survive.”

  Trixie came over and sat beside her. “Was it what I think it was? Jeremy in bed with your sister?”

  Pamela nodded.

  “I’m sorry. He would never have been right for you, you know. He made a pass at me last night after you’d gone. And when I said that he was NSIT—not safe in taxis—I meant it. Back during that deb season, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, you know. And if the driver hadn’t turned around and asked ‘Are you all right, miss?’ I’m sure he would have raped me. So you’re probably better off without him.” She stopped, looked at Pamela’s face, then said, “What a stupid thing to say. You love him, don’t you?”

  “I’ve always loved him,” Pamela said. “And I think I’ve always known what he was like. It was part of the attraction that he was a daredevil and afraid of nothing. I’ll get over it, I suppose. It will take a while, but . . .”

  Trixie nodded. “There are plenty more fish in the sea. I got friendly with a rather delicious RAF chap last night. And we’ll have fun this Saturday at your mother’s garden party, won’t we?”

  Pamela sank down beside Trixie. “Gosh, Trixie, I don’t even want to go home now. How can I face Dido? How can I stand being in the same house with her?”

  “It’s a big house, and there will be lots of people. Why don’t we both dress up as maids and hand around the eats? Wouldn’t that be a lark?”

  “I don’t feel like larks at the moment. In fact, I think I’ll send a telegram to my mother saying that I can’t get time off after all.”

  “Oh, don’t do that,” Trixie said. “I can’t go down there on my own, and I’m really looking forward to it. How long since we’ve enjoyed life as it used to be—tea on the lawn, flowery dresses and hats. It all seems like a lovely dream now, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Pamela said. “Yes, it does.” She sighed. “Oh well, I suppose I must go. Livvy’s not much help at organising things, and my mother will be in a tizzy.”

  “Jolly good,” Trixie said. She stood up again. “Now, I’d better get dressed and stagger to work. It’s lucky I’m not breaking codes, or I’d say that enemy aircraft were sighted in Bombay instead of Birmingham.”

  Pamela tried to smile as Trixie went to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  To Farleigh

  Ben wasn’t quite sure what he should be doing that day. He had delivered Pamela’s radio messages to Dolphin Square with the suggestion that they might be matched to known meetings of Ring members. He had been to chivvy up Mavis to find the location on the photograph. So what now? Guy had hinted that he’d be sent to shadow Margot Sutton, but those instructions would have to come from Maxwell Knight. Ben felt uneasy and superfluous, but he also didn’t feel like going to Dolphin Square and saying “Please, sir, what should I do now?” like one of the fourth formers he’d been teaching until he was called up. Initiative. That was what was required by MI5. He had wanted to be given challenges, to be noticed, and now he was at the heart of a major plot.

  He turned on the radio and was glad to find that the royal family had been unharmed in last night’s bombing. He twiddled the dial between frequencies, hoping to pick up the German channel but gave up after a while. Guy was off on a mission somewhere. Ben wondered what he did and how long he’d been working secretly for Knight. Then he paused, thinking. Guy seemed to know all about the Ring. He knew that Margot Sutton had been rescued. That meant he was part of an inner circle. Or . . . Ben paused. Guy fitted the profile of someone who would be part of the Ring. Aristocratic family. The sort, at Oxford, who took risks, liked his comforts. Had he told Ben about Margot Sutton to throw any suspicion from himself? Ben wondered how he could find out. But then Maxwell Knight trusted him, and Ben was sure that Knight was a superb judge of character. Or . . . perhaps Knight knew that he was a double agent and was using him. Ben would have liked to ask Knight but realised he had absolutely no proof that Guy wasn’t exactly what he seemed. And he remembered what Guy had said about the so-called Captain King. He answers to nobody but Churchill. A man who could be dangerous and powerful. And it crossed his mind that Maxwell Knight himself might be just the sort of person to run a secret organisation like the Ring. Again, he found himself asking if he had been put on the job with the expectation that they were keeping Whitehall happy, but that he would get it wrong.

  He wondered if he should go and see Mavis, but that seemed rather pathetic on a personal level and rather annoying on a professional one. He wondered if the photograph even mattered any longer. If the parachutist had come to deliver an important message, then surely the Germans had already sent the message by another means. He went to the British library and read up more on those battles, but found nothing that he didn’t already know. A king had been deposed by a stronger rival. Many men had been killed. But it had eventually brought peace. He could see parallels, but couldn’t work out w
hat they might mean. He returned home and cheered up when he remembered he had promised to go down to Kent with Pamela the next day.

  Margot Sutton stared out the window of the Daimler as she was driven out of London. City gave way to suburb and then to green and rolling countryside. It felt too good to be true that she was actually back in England, that she was going home to her family, and the ordeal was over. She tried to feel happy and excited, but instead all she could feel was hollow and empty inside, as if part of her had died when they had taken her to that cell at Gestapo headquarters. The past days had been like living a nightmare, and she had steeled herself to accept that it would end in her death or at the very least in being sent to a German prison camp. Her fingernail had already healed. She bore no visible scars of her ordeal. The scar in her heart would take longer to go away. Gaston had denied ever loving her. He had shown complete disdain for her and for the pain being inflicted on her.

  She watched green hedgerows flash past. I was a complete fool, she thought. I gave up everything, risked everything, for a man who didn’t even love me.

  Memories swirled back into her consciousness, Gaston strolling with her through the Bois de Boulogne, sitting opposite her at a little café, his eyes glowing with desire as he looked into hers. He had loved her, of this she was suddenly sure. Then she toyed with what Gigi Armande had said: that Gaston had shown disdain for her only to protect her. At the time she hadn’t believed it. But now she realised it might have been true. His words to the German had been his way of saving her. By giving the impression that she meant nothing to him he had spared her from further torture. If Gaston was perceived to be completely indifferent to her suffering, then there would be little point in continuing it.

  “He saved me,” she whispered to herself. “He did love me. He loved me enough to die for me.”

  And she also came to terms with the realisation that nothing she had done could have saved him. He would never have betrayed his fellow Resistance members, and the Germans would never have released him. “True to the end,” she whispered and felt a small glow of consolation inside the blackness of her grief.