The Gathering Clouds (Innocent No More Series, Book 1)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Nobody! It stumbles on despite the idiots who are supposed to be in power. Some few of us try to guide it in a sensible direction. Most of the time, we fail.”

  Tommy shook his head and glanced around the room; he saw Cissie watching him and wandered in her direction. She seemed glad to talk to him again. He found their conversation enjoyable.

  “I have an empty weekend to fill in London, Cissie. What does one do in London?”

  “Go out for dinner and the theatre, generally. There are several shows worth seeing. I am at a loose end myself…”

  “Then will you accompany me to dinner tomorrow, ma’am?”

  “I think I shall – just to fill an empty evening, of course.”

  “But, of course.”

  He was rather pleased at the prospect, unaware that she had ruthlessly sacrificed an end of the academic year dinner-party she had been due to attend with colleagues.

  “I am obligated to wear this uniform to all occasions…”

  “Rather pleasing, considering how it is decorated. The LSE is regarded as a left-wing institution, but a war is coming and we must all make sacrifices. Being seen in the company of a uniform is one such.”

  He laughed and asked of a time and place to meet. He would leave the choice of restaurant and show to her, knowing nothing of either.

  “’The Dancing Years’, at Drury Lane. Ivor Novello. I can pick up good tickets. There’s a restaurant I know quite close to the theatre. A drink in a local pub first and we shall eat afterwards, if that suits you.”

  “I am in your hands, Cissie. I do not know London. Where do we meet?”

  “At the Dorchester for six o’clock – easier than letting you get lost in the wicked city.”

  He laughed again and agreed, developing a slight suspicion he might be forming a habit. He had heard of worse ideas.

  Cissie was staying with her brother overnight rather than take a taxi back to her apartment after midnight.

  “I need a pair of tickets for The Dancing Years, for tomorrow night, brother dear, and a reservation at Pierre’s after the show.”

  He shook his head reprovingly and walked off to the telephone, returning after five minutes.

  “Neither is possible. Both are booked full. I will have them in your hands by mid-morning. Are you going back to your place tomorrow?”

  “I must – all of my war paint is there and I must look my best for the evening.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Very much so, my brother. Tommy is still a widower, is he not?”

  “He is, has remained single since Monkey died. She was a bright, capable, attractive woman and loved him dearly. You have a weight of memory to fight there, Cissie.”

  “I have one great advantage over her, Robin – I am alive.”

  “Harsh, sister.”

  “So it is – but he will not escape me easily. Worth waiting these years, I think, but I don’t intend to remain a spinster now.”

  “The hunt is up! Good luck to you both. Be careful – Tommy is a stubborn man on occasion.”

  She laughed and retired to her room.

  Nancy smiled kindly at the pair of staff cleaning up after the party. They were both permanent employees of his department and perfectly safe, a married couple who lived in a small apartment in the same block. He wandered through to his bedroom, joining his wife.

  “Successful, Robin?”

  “More than I expected. Cissie is much taken with Tommy and he was happy to talk with her. Not the outcome I expected – I had thought the Merry Widow would have taken him on, but he had eyes for nobody else. I rather hope both may find a degree of happiness. Remind me, what are the children doing this weekend?”

  “Bob is rowing, down at Henley. Mary is staying with her friend Jennifer Cecil at Richmond. No doubt both will get up to all sorts of mischief which I much prefer to know nothing of.”

  “Very wise. Is Bob still determined to take a commission?”

  “I think he has applied already.”

  “So be it. He could hardly stay at home with war coming. I had rather he had gone to Medical School as he had planned – I don’t know that he will do so at the end of a long war. His choice, I will not override him. Mary, luckily, has not got the option of going to war.”

  “She has applied to the Wrens.”

  “The naval women’s service?”

  “Just so.”

  “A pity. She will no doubt do well. She is too young to go off on her own, but what has that to do with anything these days?”

  “Nothing at all, Robin. Literally nothing – our world is turning upside down. It will seem better in the morning.”

  He was not sure, suspecting that the world would not seem better for many mornings to come, if ever.

  The show was a show – better than most, amusing, entertaining, forgettable apart from one or two good tunes. Tommy enjoyed it but certainly would not return for a second viewing. The meal afterwards was a better use of an evening – a good chef working with the finest of meats and fish and even a few vegetables, rare in England. The wines were good, or so he believed, having no taste for them himself.

  “I presume French and German wines don’t travel well to Australia, Tommy?”

  “No need to, Cissie. Our own wines match anything the Europeans can produce – better in some ways because phylloxera, the grapevine bug, never reached us. The southern vineyards are some of the best grapes in the world.”

  Almost no Australian vintages had reached London; she was in fact unaware that Australia produced wine.

  She nodded to various acquaintances through the meal, pointing out a few to Tommy.

  “Keynes, the great economist, in company with a danseuse from the ballet, no doubt. He does have a penchant for them! There are several theories why. Perhaps the most intellectually able man in London just now. I don’t know him personally. I cannot claim to fully understand all of the ramifications of his ‘General Theory’ – but, who can other than himself? A remarkable man.”

  Tommy was not especially interested in an economist, particularly one who was so intelligent that he probably would not understand his conversation.

  “I had hoped to meet up with Maurice Baring – is he to be seen in Town? I was told he had become a playwright and author.”

  “He was but has retired to seclusion. He is seriously ill, I am told, with Parkinson’s, poor man. Did you know him?”

  “To an extent – I was very much his junior in the last war, but he showed me a deal of kindness. He was also useful as the public face and voice of Boom.”

  “Trenchard? There’s a strange man for you. Still very active privately, I am told. The government keeps offering him jobs to bring him under discipline and keep him quiet. He has refused them all since he resigned as Metropolitan Police Commissioner. Very keen on bombers.”

  “Nothing changes. Useful man in his way but so overbearing that he makes enemies more easily than friends. I can’t imagine he supports the butchery of the civilian populations, which seems to be the main thrust of bombing strategy these days.”

  She listened with interest to Tommy’s argument that air power did not actually exist as a separate entity, the function of aircraft being to work with the Army to achieve the single goal of winning battles, or with the Navy to assist in the control of the seas.

  “We won’t win the war by dropping bombs on Germany and hoping they might hit something. Bombing should be targeted to assist the forces that can occupy territory or sea. You can’t occupy the air.”

  She agreed with him, to his pleasure – she was obviously a sensible woman as well as most attractive.

  A couple of her acquaintances, one an ex-student, the other a fellow lecturer, stopped by their table, their curiosity obvious. Lecturers at the LSE were rarely to be seen in the company of the military. They presumed he must be a relative, were amazed when he was named as a friend. Neither recognised the medal ribbons, merely noticing he carried several, presumably from the G
reat War, though he looked barely old enough to have fought then.

  “Tommy Stark, who has returned from Australia to join the RAF again. He has dropped in rank, of course, is a squadron leader now. He is flying with Coastal Command.”

  The fact that a young man had dropped in rank did not register. They took the rare opportunity to speak to a military man, such not being found in their circles.

  “Is there really going to be a war?”

  “Unavoidable, I am afraid. Hopefully not this year, but it may well come as soon as the harvest is in. The threats against Poland make it seem very likely now, bearing in mind Chamberlain’s pledge of support made in March.”

  “Will the bombers come to London?”

  “Not until Germany has airfields within reach. If they take Belgium or Northern France, then the bombers will be within range.”

  “Can the RAF stop them?”

  “No. Fighter Command will be able to destroy several from each raid and hopefully wear them down over a few months. If we can kill them faster than they can replace the pilots, then they will eventually be stopped. For the first months, perhaps a year, they will be able to bomb much of England.”

  “What will happen?”

  “Many tens of thousands of civilians will die. That is a certainty, I am afraid. You must hope that the hospitals and ambulances and fire brigades can cope. I am told the experience of Spain suggests your casualties will be high, particularly if they concentrate on London.”

  The questioner left, unhappy.

  “You were very severe with Elizabeth, Tommy.”

  “No gain to letting her down lightly, Cissie. The reality is unpleasant and I will not lie about it – I’ll leave that to the newspapers.”

  “Where are you this week, Tommy?”

  “Air Ministry for a few days. I expect to go off to my posting on Thursday or Friday. Have you any spare evenings this week?”

  She had several.

  “Nothing to be done on a Sunday evening. Do you know London?”

  “Hardly. I never lived in Town, visited it on leave and passing through.”

  “It’s an ugly place but there are a few sights worth seeing. I shall take lunch with you at the Dorchester tomorrow and show you round in the afternoon.”

  He was pleased to agree to her plan, found he wanted to spend time in her company.

  The engagement ring arrived in Holt on the Saturday morning, as promised, and Thomas placed it on Grace’s finger, rather gravely.

  “Thus I pledge thee my troth, little lady. Old-fashioned words – can’t remember where I read them, but they seem right, somehow. Will you be joining the WAAF now they have officially formed it?”

  “No. I want to be a ferry pilot and the WAAF won’t be involved in flying. I shall work towards the twin licence for the next month while Father discovers what is planned. There is an amount of theory as well as the practical and I need to get on top of it.”

  “Highly sensible! What are we doing today?”

  “Mother wants a little in the way of shopping in Holt. You may escort me into town – wearing the ring, for the neighbourhood to see. Did you ever read Jane Austen? There is a scene in Pride and Prejudice where the errant daughter, Lydia, who has had her name restored by a hurried marriage, displays her wedding ring to her neighbours, most proud of her achievement of being wed before her elder sisters.”

  “Not exactly the same, little lady!”

  “Nor will it be, of course. When do you want us to marry, Thomas? Still for next year or will earlier make sense?”

  “Soon, if possible, but it probably won’t be. I don’t know what will be for the best. I suspect we shall go to war in the autumn – it seems increasingly inevitable. Then, if it’s like the last one, I shall be sent off to France. Better not to be separated in the early days of marriage, especially if you are to fly.”

  They saw a number of Grace’s schoolmates in the little town, Saturday being shopping day for most families. She had positioned herself so that Thomas held her right hand as they walked down the main street, the left, with the engagement ring, swinging free. She made it very clear from a distance that she was to marry her fighter pilot. She exchanged distant smiles with almost all, the bulk of her classmates finding it necessary to cross the road before meeting her. The two who actually spoke were rather tight-lipped.

  “Not coming back to the Sixth Form, Grace?”

  “No, Julia. I never intended to, but you know the fuss the teachers would have made if I had said so. I am going for my twin-engine licence before flying as a career. You haven’t met Thomas Stark, my fiancé. He is on Hurricanes.”

  Thomas and Julia exchanged happy smiles and said the correct words and then Julia found she had to hurry off to meet her mother.

  “Julia was something of a friend at school, Thomas.”

  “I doubt she likes still being a schoolgirl while you have grown up, little lady.”

  Mary, distinguished by being in the same class and little else, who literally bumped into them turning a corner, evidently felt the same, remaining to speak for a very few seconds.

  “I doubt you should send out invites for an engagement party, Grace.”

  “I hadn’t intended to, Thomas. I was top of the class from the first week I went to school. I don’t think being consistently best made me a lot of friends. Add to that, I flew and my father gained a knighthood and yet we weren’t farmers, like most of the others. Very agricultural, Norfolk! Mother coming from the Earl’s family made us rather superior – many of them couldn’t understand why I wasn’t sent to Cheltenham Ladies’ College with the other daughters of the aristocracy. I don’t think I fitted in, and I know I made no attempt to! Funny – the only thing the other girls wanted was to find a good husband and at an early age, while I just wanted to fly. Now I’ve ended up with the best possible husband, without even trying. They’ll hate that!”

  “Which brings us back to when we will marry. Wait till next year and we know what might be about to happen?”

  That seemed best.

  Lucy, who was following the couple, agreed.

  “No sense in a hurried marriage this year. If it’s another stalemate on the Western Front, we can organise something next summer. If not, then we can work round it somehow. Simple wartime ceremony in any case – a minimum of guests and fuss. Have you located a house yet?”

  There were four possibilities, they thought, and they could not make up their minds which. They intended to look at the four during the afternoon, just from the outside, to consider their location more than anything. Lucy volunteered to accompany them and to meet with the estate agents, hoping to push them to a decision.

  “Better done sooner rather than later. Easier in peacetime than at war. You never know what new taxes may be placed in wartime.”

  Wartime practicalities were outside of their experience – she made good sense, they thought.

  The third possibility was a sprawling old place a distance back from the cliffs at East Runton, near Cromer and only a few miles distant from Holt. The upstairs windows gave a view out over the North Sea and along the cliffs for miles. The gardens were huge, three or four or more acres behind tall hedges, and there was a paddock besides. The outbuildings included a small stableyard. A pair of almost wild peacocks screeched at them as they looked around the outside.

  “Utterly impractical! You would need staff – it’s simply too big for a single housewife to manage and the gardens need someone full-time.”

  They listened to Lucy’s words and gravely agreed. They looked at each other and nodded – it was a wonderful place. The land between the house and the sea was worthless for agriculture, thin soil over some sort of rock, they thought. Nothing grew other than bracken and gorse. It was flat.

  “Buy that as well and we have a landing strip, with a little work.”

  They turned to the estate agent who had accompanied them to the viewing.

  “Who owns the waste land to the front?”
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br />   “The farmland surrounding the house, some eight hundred acres, was for sale separately, sir. It is split into three parcels – one arable, down in the river valley to the rear; some three hundred acres of good sheepwalk; fifty acres of waste. The useful land attracted an amount of attention, sir, and has sold.”

  “What price for the waste?”

  “A bid of one hundred pounds will secure it, sir. It is truly valueless and the cliff edges crumble occasionally so it will be nibbled away over the years.”

  “Right. The house itself is going for two thousand, I understand?”

  “It is, sir. House, outbuildings and some six acres of garden and paddock.”

  “Very good. Do you think so, little lady?”

  “I like it, Thomas.”

  “Ten per cent deposit to secure the property?”

  “If you please, sir.”

  The estate agent fought to restrain his glee. The house had been on his books for nine months since the death of its owner and he had despaired of moving it; he had been prepared to drop two hundred to see it sell.

  Thomas wrote out his cheque. His father had offered to pay for a house as a wedding present and he would deal with the balance.

  “Is there a firm of builders and decorators locally that you would recommend?”

  “In Cromer, certainly, sir.”

  “Good. My fiancée will probably deal with them, or her father more likely. Best be on Monday, if possible. Air Commodore Sir Noah Arkwright, VC, will be in contact with them if you will just give me their name.”

  The estate agent had seemed the most appalling snob – Thomas thought that rolling out all of Noah’s dignities would be useful to gain the horrible little man’s enthusiastic cooperation.

  Lucy was unimpressed.

  “You cannot leave the house empty for years until you get married and can move in. It will fall to pieces on you!”

  Grace had not considered how to keep the house up in their absence – she was not the material that housewives were made of.

  Thomas was a little more practical.

  “An advert in the local paper, for two couples. One to live in the quarters and to keep the house up; the other pair to have the gardens. Elderly, obviously, the men beyond military age. No children at home, either. Guarantee of a house, rent-free, after they finally retire. There are two tiny cottages in the outbuildings, so it is practical.”