by Jenny Holmes
Una hesitated and bit her bottom lip. ‘Hasn’t Joyce told you?’
‘Told me what?’
‘Angelo’s poorly.’
Brenda frowned as they went out into the yard, where her motor bike was parked. ‘Yes, I know. He has a bad cough and cold.’
‘TB.’ As Una said the word, her pent-up worries escaped like a thousand fluttering moths into the hot, still air.
Brenda stopped short. ‘Never!’
‘It’s true.’ She drew a jagged breath.
‘I see.’
‘Squadron Leader Aldridge said that these days there’s a medicine they can give him.’
‘A cure?’ Though Brenda hadn’t heard of this, she certainly didn’t want to dash Una’s fragile hopes.
‘Yes. Rest and fresh air, and what do they call it – an antibiotic?’
Brenda quickly absorbed this piece of information. ‘Then we’d better find him,’ she decided then and there. ‘Come along, Una, hop on the back and let’s get started.’
Following Una’s rationale that a man as sick as Angelo couldn’t get very far on foot, Brenda first rode the bike along familiar lanes and tracks, with eyes peeled, stopping at each farm to enquire if anything had been seen of the missing POWs. Peggy Russell gave them a definite no. Maurice, whom they stopped in his van on the edge of the village, scratched his head and thought a while.
‘Wait, let me have a think. I was expecting you to ask after Bill; you’ve heard he’s been stabbed?’
‘Yes, the news has spread like wildfire.’ Everyone in the dale was talking about it and taking a gloomy view of the eventual outcome. ‘There’s not a person within a thirty-mile radius that isn’t after Alfie’s blood.’
‘Quite right too. That’s what I’ve been up to this morning. I’ve been out with Roland and Joe trying to track him down. Did you know that he stole five quid from the Kelletts? Joe swears he’ll shoot on sight if he spots him.’
‘Better watch out, Alfie!’ Brenda had no doubt that Joe would carry out his threat and moved quickly on. ‘I suppose this means you’ll have to step into Bill’s shoes sooner than expected. I hope you’re up to scratch with the inner workings of Fordsons and Field Marshalls.’
‘Bill mainly works on Fergusons.’ Maurice assured her he was ready for the challenge.
‘So, any sign of our Italians while you were out?’
At last! Una had kept silent, itching for them to continue their search.
‘Not a whisper. Wait a second, though. Henry Rowson did say something about food going missing from his larder a couple of days back, while he was up on the fell. A loaf of bread, a tin of bully beef. It could have been a tramp – there are plenty of those around during these summer months. Or Alfie. Or your Italians. That’s the only clue we came across.’
There was no question that this was where they should head next. So, having said goodbye to Maurice, Brenda and Una set off for Henry’s isolated farm under Kelsey Crag. It took them half an hour to get there.
‘No one at home.’ Brenda knocked at the door three times before admitting defeat.
Una stared up at the two small first-floor windows in the squat, square house then scouted around in the lean-to outhouse attached to the side, where she found the farmer’s old bicycle. ‘He can’t have gone far,’ she reported back to Brenda. ‘His bike’s here.’
‘So let’s take a look on the fell. There’s a good chance he’s busy with his lambs.’
Within seconds they were back on Sloper, following the green lane that ran up the side of the crag on to the hilltop. Here, the land levelled out and the tarn stretched out in front of them.
‘We’re on foot from here.’ Brenda parked again and surveyed the wild, deserted landscape.
Una, meanwhile, turned away from the lake and looked back the way they’d come. She thought she’d heard the sound of an engine on the road close to the crag so wasn’t surprised to see a black car emerge from under its shadow, only paying attention when it slowed down then drew into a gateway as a green sports car approached from the other direction.
‘Brenda, look!’ she called excitedly. ‘That’s Les’s MG!’
Brenda’s heart sank as she ran to join her. ‘Yes, with Donald at the wheel.’
Together they watched the sports car stop alongside the black saloon. The two drivers talked without getting out.
‘What the heck is Donald doing so far off the beaten track?’ Brenda craned this way and that for a better view of the man at the wheel of the bigger car. ‘You can be sure he’s not driven all the way up here for the sake of his health. Did you recognize the other driver?’
‘No. I only caught a glimpse. He was wearing a hat.’
‘What kind of a hat?’
‘A trilby. He had a passenger with him.’
This was enough to make Brenda return to Sloper. She kicked the bike into action then yelled for Una to hop on behind. They set off at full tilt down the grassy slope.
Una held on tight as Brenda’s unzipped jacket and red scarf flapped in her face. They rounded a bend then approached the gate that closed the lane off from the road, only to find that the black car had gone on its way.
Brenda gave Una a moment to slip off the pillion seat before hurriedly ditching the bike and launching into a conversation with Donald. ‘Who was that?’ she demanded, gesturing down the road.
Wearing a broad smile, Donald vaulted out of the car without bothering to open the door. He walked jauntily towards the gate. ‘Brenda, I didn’t think you were talking to me!’
She didn’t respond. ‘I asked you who that was.’
‘Just a bloke wanting to know the way back to the main road. I told him he was way off track and gave him a few directions.’
‘And what are you doing up here anyway?’ Brenda felt her confidence seep away. It happened every time she came into contact with Donald, despite all her efforts to prevent it. ‘I didn’t have you down as a fell-walker or a fisherman.’
‘You’re right there.’ The infuriating grin didn’t shift. ‘What are my brother’s fiancée and her little pal doing out in the wilds, for that matter?’
‘We’re looking for the missing POWs—’ Una blurted out. Then, at a sharp elbow jab in the arm from Brenda, she stopped.
‘Is that right?’ Donald kept his gaze locked on Brenda. ‘Why bother? They can stay missing, as far as I’m concerned.’
With the closed gate acting as a barrier between them, Brenda stood her ground. ‘So you haven’t come across them?’
‘Nope. I say the same about Alfie Craven; why waste time and energy? Let him fall down a cliff or drown in the lake. No one will be any worse off. You heard what he did to Bill Mostyn, I take it?’
Brenda nodded.
He leaned on the gate, close enough to Brenda for their shoulders to touch. ‘So then, let’s talk about something more interesting instead.’
His familiar tone took Una aback. With a distinct sense that two was company and three was a crowd, she glanced quickly at Brenda’s flushed cheeks and took a few steps back.
‘How’s Brenda since we last met?’ he asked softly. ‘Not wearing your ring today, I see?’
‘Brenda is fine, thank you.’ She would not, not, not be intimidated or worn down by him! She would keep Les’s image to the forefront of her mind and gather strength from that. ‘How’s Hettie?’
‘Tickety-boo, ta.’
‘And your father?’
‘Likewise. Come on – where’s my mother’s ring?’
‘None of your business.’ In fact, it was hanging from the ribbon around her neck, out of sight.
‘Aah, why so touchy?’ He could see her weakening. She had that flickering look of uncertainty that women displayed when about to give way. They couldn’t help themselves. ‘I’ve written and told Les what a lucky man he is. I said not to worry, I’ll keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t get up to mischief.’
‘You said what?’ She was within a split second of slapp
ing his chiselled cheek but instead she unbolted the gate and swung it hard against his abdomen. ‘Sorry about that,’ she muttered through gritted teeth, all doubt gone, eyes blazing.
Whoops, wrong move. ‘I only meant that I’d look after you while he’s away. I mean to be a good brother-in-law if you let me.’
‘Champion!’ Brenda snapped, wheeling her bike through the gate. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, Una and I have to get on.’
He followed close on her heels, leaving not enough room for her to swing her leg over the saddle. ‘And do what?’
Give nothing away. Don’t trust him an inch. She kick-started the engine – once, twice, three times. ‘Ignore what Una said; we’re looking for Henry Rowson but we haven’t had any luck.’
‘I’ll tell him if I see him.’ So tantalizingly near to getting what I’m after and yet so far. Still, there’s always a next time. Donald took a step back and bumped into Una, who was about to take her place on the pillion seat.
‘Aren’t we going back up to the tarn?’ Una whispered as Brenda revved the engine.
There was no answer. Brenda eased the bike out on to the road without looking back while Donald stood on the grass verge, arms folded, wearing the same smile and watching them go.
Did she feel better after hours of fruitless searching? Una wasn’t sure. She and Brenda had covered many miles, even riding into the neighbouring dale to Attercliffe then back over the tops to resume the search for Henry Rowson. They’d spotted him on the crag and waited on the road until he came down the shepherd’s lane with two dogs at his heels: Border collies obedient to every command. The dogs had sat by the gate at Henry’s instruction while he’d answered Una’s questions. Yes, some food had gone missing but the thief had been long gone before Henry had realized. But no, the POWs weren’t responsible so far as he knew. Why would they trek all the way up here? The road didn’t lead in the right direction and it didn’t make sense to head north if they were intending to go east to one of the half-dozen airfields located close to the coast.
So it had been a frustrating afternoon and Brenda hadn’t been on good form. The conversation with Donald had left her cross and taciturn and Una could hardly blame her; he was the type to leave a nasty taste in most girls’ mouths. Not Doreen, though. Una realized that she was the exception that proved the rule.
Anyway, they were back at the hostel now and Una strolled alone in the walled garden after dinner, trying to compose her thoughts. What if Angelo’s illness wasn’t as serious as the camp doctor had indicated? Perhaps the TB was still in its early stages, in which case Angelo could in fact have made it to one of the aerodromes with his group of escapees. He could be out of the country already. How would she feel about that? The question was left unanswered as her thoughts raced on. On the other hand, he’d been too poorly to work in the days leading up to the escape. And something told Una that Angelo knew deep down how sick he was. She recalled the way he’d said goodbye to her behind the Blacksmith’s Arms, as if he knew it might be the last time he would see her. No, she refused to believe that! She was reading things into the situation that hadn’t been there. Oh, she was confused and sad, filled with dread yet still clinging on to a thread of hope.
She left the garden and walked on into the wood. The dazzling green of the leaves overhead and the softness of the ground underfoot gave her surroundings a floating, dreamlike feel – a state where unexpected things could happen without her questioning them. So when Lorenzo approached her through the trees, she didn’t show any surprise.
‘Ciao, Una,’ he began. ‘I have been waiting.’
She walked quickly up to him. ‘Where’s Angelo?’
‘Listen. I wait each night, hoping you will walk in here. I dare not come to the house. I have to be sure you are alone.’
‘I am. Where’s Angelo?’
‘Close to here. We could not walk far. He has a fever, he is too sick.’
‘You stayed with him?’
Lorenzo nodded. ‘Mio amico. He is my friend.’
‘Take me to him.’ Una felt swamped by a sudden wave of fear.
Lorenzo took her by the hand and walked her deeper into the wood, towards the stream and the steep hill beyond. ‘I try to bring him food. He does not eat. He does not sleep. He does not wish to leave. We walk here, slowly, slowly. We do not escape with others.’
‘Quickly!’ she urged.
They broke into a run and jumped across the stream, emerging from the shady wood into full sunlight. Nothing seemed real to Una; it was too much to take in.
But Lorenzo didn’t slacken his pace. He strode up the hill with her, through green bracken towards the wreckage of the German plane. ‘Be quiet, be gentle,’ he advised as they drew near the twisted, rusting metal. ‘He is my friend. I do all I can.’
Una’s heart stuttered almost to a halt. There was the wing with its mangled propeller, lying separate from the fuselage. The cockpit windows were crazed, making it impossible to see inside.
Lorenzo climbed up, stood on the remaining wing and held out his hand. ‘Come.’
She let him pull her up to join him but at first she couldn’t bear to look inside the belly of the plane.
‘Eccola qui,’ he called softly to his friend as he made room for her to enter. ‘Arrivederci, amico mio. Dio ti benedica!’
Una didn’t notice him slither down the rounded fuselage on to the heather then run swiftly down the fell.
‘Angelo?’ she whispered after she’d lowered herself but before her eyes had adjusted to the darkness inside the plane.
He heard her voice and saw her outline through a mist of pain. He could scarcely breathe, let alone move towards her.
She found him propped against some oxygen tanks, the white of his eyes gleaming and then the outline of his dark head and shoulders. He wore his grey prisoner’s uniform with the jacket open and the buttons of his white shirt undone. Suddenly calm, she went down on her knees and clasped his hands. ‘My darling, my dearest!’
‘My Una.’ He smiled and his hands returned the pressure. ‘I wait many days.’
‘Hush. I’m here now.’ She pressed her lips against his cheek.
Angelo felt the gold cross of the necklace he’d given her swing lightly against his throat. ‘Do not cry. I am happy.’
‘Don’t ever leave me again without telling me where you’re going,’ she pleaded. ‘I can bear anything just so long as I know.’
‘I will not leave. I am here.’ But tired, unable to hold on to her, he let his hands drop and his head fall back against the cold grey metal of the fuselage.
Another wave of panic swelled then broke over their heads. ‘Angelo, you must eat and rest. Lorenzo, tell him!’ She called up out of the belly of the plane, expecting him to back her up.
‘He is gone,’ Angelo explained. It was harder and harder for him to draw breath. ‘He joins the other men now.’
Arrivederci, amico mio. Dio ti benedica!
‘This is good. All is good.’
‘Hush, my dear. Don’t try to talk.’ She looked around in desperation then took off her jacket and folded it to make a pillow for his head. What should she do now? She couldn’t leave him, yet she wasn’t strong enough to move him. How would she get help?
‘Every moment I see you I am happy. Do not cry.’
‘Angelo, I love you more than the whole world. Do you hear?’
‘I know this.’ He smiled at her then gathered enough energy to clasp her hand.
With the darkness surrounding them, the plane was a cold, comfortless cave. Then sounds from outside entered their small world: two women’s voices and the swish of footsteps through the heather.
‘Una, are you in there?’ Joyce called. ‘It’s me and Brenda.’
Brenda was the first to reach the plane. ‘We met Lorenzo. He told us where to find you.’
‘Yes, we’re here,’ Una replied. She pressed Angelo’s hand and smiled back. ‘See,’ she whispered. ‘My friends have come. Soon you’ll be saf
e.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘Our hands were tied. What else could we do?’ Joyce’s face conveyed a keen sadness as she stood with Brenda at the front door of the hostel and watched Angelo being carried on a stretcher into a waiting ambulance. Light was fading and a big, pale moon rose in a clear sky.
Brenda was silent. Yes, there was nothing else. Once we saw the state he was in, we didn’t have any choice. We had to telephone the camp and tell them to send a doctor asap.
Joyce had waited inside the plane with Una, who clung to Angelo’s every breath, willing him to live, while Brenda had run down the fell and made the call. ‘Come quickly. He doesn’t look as if he can last much longer without your help,’ she’d told the army doctor.
‘We’ll be thirty minutes,’ he’d promised before he put down the phone. Just enough time for Brenda to carry blankets and a flask of tea laced with brandy up to the wreckage. She and Una had kept Angelo as warm as possible and he’d taken a few sips of the liquid. Una had held his hand throughout. His valiant smile had slowly faded but he kept his eyes on Una’s face, even when they’d heard the approach of the doctor and his helpers.
The doctor had climbed up the fuselage and shone his torch down on the huddled group. ‘Move aside,’ he’d told Brenda, Joyce and Una as he’d lowered himself inside; a young man still wet behind the ears, in army uniform with a stethoscope suspended from his neck. ‘Now then, Bachetti, sit up, there’s a good chap. Let’s take a look.’
Brenda and Joyce had clambered out of the wreck and shaken hands with Atkinson and another soldier they didn’t recognize, but Una had refused to budge. She’d watched the doctor listen to Angelo’s chest then give a quick shake of his head. He’d felt the patient’s pulse and checked his temperature, asked Una about the contents of the flask. Everything had been done at speed and a quick decision made. ‘Send the stretcher in,’ he’d yelled at Atkinson. ‘You bring it and, Haynes, you stay put, ready to take the weight at one end as we hoist him out.’