And then she rose and motioned the party through the double doors to the drawing room where good coffee and little cubes of Turkish delight (thanks to the intervention of HM Government) were served as the diners sank into the sofas and easy chairs ranged around the room, the log fire replenished with timber thanks to Ned’s good offices.
Some twenty minutes after they had retired to the drawing room, Venetia saw her opportunity. Lady Flynn had risen from her seat next to the fire, where she had been engaged in conversation with Lord Belgate, and left to powder her nose. Spotting her opening, Venetia lowered herself into the space on the two-seater sofa. ‘Ah, there you are!’ exclaimed her quarry. ‘I thought you were ignoring me.’
Venetia took the remark as a compliment. Clearly she had not been oppressively attentive.
‘Oh, you have more important people than me to speak to,’ she offered.
‘Not true,’ came the reply. ‘How have you been? We haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘No,’ replied Venetia. ‘I’ve been battling on.’ She tried not to sound too sorry for herself. ‘Rather rattling around in this house, if you must know.’
‘Yes. I suppose it is rather large. But useful. For entertaining and suchlike, eh?’
‘So it would seem.’ She paused. ‘But I think my entertaining days are numbered.’
Charles Belgate looked concerned. ‘Nonsense. Nobody does it like you …’
‘Except Emerald Cunard and Laura Corrigan and Edith Londonderry and a whole host of ladies who do it rather better and on a much grander scale …’
Her companion sensed a change in mood and his face showed signs of concern. ‘I thought you liked hosting these parties. Especially the ones that are really … useful?’
‘I did, Charles; but I think my heart has rather gone out of it since Rosamund left.’
‘I see. Yes, well, I can understand that. But the thing is … while the Cunards and Londonderrys of this world might host grander gatherings … er … present company excepted,’ he said, winking and trying to make light of the subject, ‘yours are really rather more pleasurable and every bit as useful.’
‘You think so?’
‘I know so.’
Venetia turned and gazed at the burning logs in the grate. ‘Maybe my heart has just gone out of it.’
Lord Belgate reached out and took her hand in his. ‘These are bloody times, Venetia,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t let them get you down. We need you – I need you – to keep our spirits up but also to keep the wheels oiled. You may not think that what you do is important, but I can assure you that it makes a real difference to the war effort.’
‘Oh, I’m not so sure,’ said Venetia weakly.
‘I’m telling you it does,’ said Lord Belgate earnestly. ‘If you hadn’t had de Gaulle around that evening and made him feel comfortable, things could have been far more tricky than they turned out – and that’s tricky enough. You underestimate your ability as a facilitator.’
Venetia saw her opportunity. ‘Oh, that wasn’t me; it was Rosamund. It was she who charmed him.’
Lord Belgate looked reflective and, thought Venetia, more than a little apprehensive. ‘Yes, she did rather, didn’t she?’
‘I wish I knew where she was. This house is very quiet without her.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘That’s why I’m thinking of moving away.’
A look of alarm crossed Charles Belgate’s face. ‘Where will you go?’
Venetia shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere away from the bombs. Somewhere smaller, where there are fewer outgoings. I’m sure you can find another hostess to take my place.’
‘Don’t even think of it. Come on. What can I do to help? There must be something that will make it easier?’
Venetia saw her opening. ‘Well, if I had Rosamund back, that would help.’
She looked her dinner guest in the eye. ‘I don’t suppose you know where she is?’
Charles Belgate sighed. ‘You know better than to ask me that, Venetia.’
‘But you do know, don’t you?’
The noble lord rubbed his chin, then took a sip of the brandy at his elbow. He set it down on the table and turned to face his inquisitor. ‘She’s been doing vital work, Venetia, that much I can tell you. She’s been astonishingly brave and remarkably effective.’
Venetia nodded. ‘I knew you’d know.’
Charles Belgate looked uncomfortable. ‘Look, I can’t possibly give you any details …’
‘No. I understand that, but you can tell me that she is still alive. You can tell me that she’s safe. Surely that isn’t a state secret.’
Lord Belgate did not meet her eye. ‘She is still alive,’ he said softly.
‘And safe?’
‘At the moment, yes.’
‘And what does that mean? Is she in danger?’
The look on his face was as stern as she could recall having seen it. ‘Yes, she is in danger, but then all … operatives … are in danger. It goes with the job.’
Now it was Venetia’s turn to take the hand of her companion. ‘Get her out, Charles. Please!’
He regarded her with a look of concern. ‘Venetia, everyone who goes to war takes risks – whether it is the Tommy-on-the-shore or Johnny-head-in-air. You’re asking me to use our friendship to make a special case for one person. Much as Rosamund is a person I have come to care for – to feel close to, in a funny sort of way, thanks to her relationship with you – I cannot use my influence, such as it is, to intervene on your – or her – behalf. It would be totally unethical, don’t you see?’
Venetia thought for a moment and then said, ‘Yes. Of course. It was wrong of me to ask.’
Charles Belgate patted her hand. ‘Not wrong. Just … inappropriate. And totally understandable.’
‘She’s all I have left, you see, Charles. I’ve always thought of myself as a strong woman – I am a strong woman – but I’ve reached an age (rather older than you) where my appetite for battling on is not as durable as it once was. I’m weary of making do and mending, of conjuring up meals out of nothing (and I do appreciate your help on that front) and of doing it all in isolation, with only Mrs Heffer and her brother Ned for company. I mean, they’re very willing, but hardly intellectually stimulating.’
Charles Belgate nodded sympathetically.
‘Oh, I know I have these little dinner parties to amuse me, but they are quite thin on the ground now, and you, and lots of my other friends, are either too busy managing a war or else have moved out to the country.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’ve really rather lost my appetite for it all. I know that’s not what I should be saying when the rest of the country is knuckling down and fighting Gerry, but I’m really rather worn down by it, and the prospect of losing Rosamund when Celine has already been taken from us is more than I can bear. Do you understand?’
Her companion nodded. ‘Yes, perfectly. And I sympathise, too. Our son Billy is up there somewhere in the clouds. I keep an eye on him, but it’s a strain.’
‘But he’s a young man, Charles. Young men are meant to fight for their country.’
‘And young women are not?’
‘That’s not what I mean and you know it. But there are other ways of fighting a war rather than being on the front line, and rightly or wrongly I really would rather that Rosamund was a little closer to home.’
Charles Belgate squeezed Venetia’s hand. ‘She did choose to go, you know.’
‘Yes. I’m aware of that. And there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop her. Perhaps I’m just being selfish, Charles, but with her parents dead, I feel that I have a responsibility for her safety. My brother did entrust her to me, and although he is no longer with us, I do feel a responsibility to his memory. Maybe I should have been firmer—’
Charles Belgate cut in. ‘Do you really think Rosamund would have listened? Do you honestly think you could have deflected her from her intention to “do her bit”?’
Venet
ia sighed heavily. ‘No, I suppose not. But I just have a feeling that she might have bitten off more than she can chew. There’s an unease in me, Charles, that I cannot suppress. Not just what you might call a “normal” worry. It’s deeper than that. I have a distinct feeling that Rosamund is in mortal danger. She’s young, Charles, and inexperienced in the ways of the world …’
‘Like most of those who are fighting for this country of ours, Venetia. I often think that it is we older ones who should be out there on the front line. We’ve had a life. We are expendable. Why don’t they put guns in our hands and send us off to war and let the young ones stay behind and enjoy what we have already experienced?’
‘I’ve said the same thing to Rosamund,’ said Venetia wistfully.
Charles Belgate smiled sympathetically. ‘But it doesn’t work like that, does it? Our reflexes would be too slow, our energy and stamina levels sorely lacking and it would all end in disaster.’
‘I suppose so.’ Venetia turned away from him and got up from the sofa. ‘So I must just learn to live with it?’
Charles Belgate rose at the same time. ‘Don’t lose heart, Venetia. I’m sure Rosamund will come through. She’s a resourceful girl and she has her wits about her. That counts for a lot, you know.’
‘But will it be enough, Charles? That’s what worries me. Her French is very good, I’ll grant you. But when it comes to pretending to be someone she is not? Well, she’s always been far too honest for that.’
Chapter 23
BAKER STREET, LONDON
NOVEMBER 1941
‘Little thieves are hanged, but great ones escape.’
Seventeenth century proverb
‘What do you mean the moment has come? What moment?’
Charles Belgate was sitting at his desk. In front of him, experiencing more than a hint of déjà vu, stood Doris Kilgarth.
‘To get them out. Your “Scarlet Nightingale” and her colleagues.’
Her superior flinched in a moment of irritation born of fear and impatience. ‘She is not my Scarlet Nightingale, as you put it. She is our Scarlet Nightingale.’
‘Yes. Sorry. Well, it’s confirmed. We know now they’ve been rumbled and that the powers that be have identified them.’
‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured. Then, almost to himself, ‘Always listen to a woman’s intuition.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Something that someone said to me recently.’ He shook his head to clear it of extraneous thoughts, then asked, ‘Do we know who gave them away?’
Doris Kilgarth frowned and shook her head. ‘It’s confusing. There are conflicting messages coming out from a couple of cells not too far away. They all operate independently but sometimes their paths cross – if not physically then in terms of information received.’
Lord Belgate motioned her to sit at the chair in front of the desk. ‘Go on.’
‘What is common to them both – or all three of them, it would seem – is that there is a leak. There have been a couple of occasions recently where we’ve had to relocate our groups pretty swiftly. We’ve been successful, but more by good luck than judgement.’
‘And now?’
‘Thierry Foustier’s team – your … our … Nightingale and Ridley the wireless operator – managed successfully to put a vital piece of equipment at the Peugeot factory in Sochaux out of action. It’s something we’ve been trying to do for ages but it was proving impossible. Anyway, the trio succeeded and even managed to get photographs to us showing the extent of the damage. It was quite something, I can tell you. There will be no German tanks produced at that factory for a while, thanks to their efforts.’
‘I knew their mission was sabotage but I was unaware of the intimate details. It was a successful mission then?’
‘Totally.’
‘Is that why we have to get them out?’
‘Partly. The Gestapo will be keen as mustard in that area now – sniffing out the likely perpetrators. Your Scarlet Nightingale and her bunch are an effective little team and we’d like to move them on to other operations – especially those involving sabotage. Young Rosamund has quite a flair for explosives by all accounts.’
‘That would come as a surprise to her aunt Venetia,’ murmured Lord Belgate.
‘Sorry?’
‘Nothing. Just a private thought. Her aunt has been on at me to get her back. I explained that I had very little influence and that if I intervened to extract every operative whose elderly relative worried for their safety, then I’d have no one left out there.’
‘You didn’t tell her that you’d already asked me?’
‘No. Venetia doesn’t really know how involved I am, anyway. She has her suspicions that I still have connections here, but that’s all. I’m afraid I offered her little solace.’
‘You didn’t tell her that her niece is in danger then?’
‘I told her that every operative is in danger.’ He stood up and walked to the window, gazing out over the dreary winter landscape of grey roofs and chimneys, soot-laden walls and piles of rubble, brightened only by the occasional red of a London bus snaking through the traffic. He turned around to face Miss Kilgarth: ‘So what has happened to change things?’
‘Operations like this one, that make a big difference, tend to give rise to extreme feelings, as you’d expect. Those who are annoyed by such success work harder to try and ferret out the perpetrators. There’s a strong military presence around the factory – not to mention the Gestapo – but there is also a complex Resistance movement. The stronger the movement, the more sense it makes for the Germans to try and infiltrate it.’
‘And you think they have infiltrated this group?’
‘Somehow, yes. But we can’t work out who the double agent is. Henri Dubois, who has arranged their accommodation, is one of our most reliable contacts.’
‘Family?’
‘Yes. A wife, a son and a daughter, all ostensibly onside.’
‘Someone else then?’
‘Possibly. We’ve done our best to keep our trio isolated from all other cells. We had hoped that only Henri and his family would know of their presence but …’
‘Leaks?’
‘Invariably. However hard we try. Someone sees a new face and asks questions of someone else who knows someone who … you know the sort of thing.’
‘And you think we need to get them out?’
‘Yes. And quickly. I’m making the necessary arrangements with the RAF. I want them airlifted by Lysander tomorrow night – provided we’re not too late, and provided we can find an aircraft.’
‘Do they know yet?’
‘They know there’s a danger they’ve been rumbled. I don’t want to radio them again until everything is set up, not least in case our messages are being intercepted. We’re in regular contact but at random, pre-arranged times and different frequencies and they know to keep changing their locations for transmission to minimise the risk of being intercepted. For now they’ve been told to lie low and keep out of trouble.’
‘So they are aware of the imminent danger.’
‘Yes.’ Doris Kilgarth shrugged. ‘It’s a bit of a bugger, sir. They’ve only been out there a short time and they were doing so well.’
‘Yes.’
‘Still, if we can get them back safely from this sortie, we can set them to work somewhere else.’
‘Yes.’ Charles Belgate looked troubled. ‘Will you tell her aunt that or shall I?’
A rueful smile flickered across Doris Kilgarth’s face. ‘We haven’t got them out yet.’
Chapter 24
FESCHES-LE-CHTEL
NOVEMBER 1941
‘If the Normans are disciplined under a just and firm rule they are men of great valour, who … fight resolutely to overcome all enemies. But without such rule they tear each other to pieces and destroy themselves, for they hanker after rebellion, cherish sedition, and are ready for any treachery.’
William the Conqueror, attributed deathbed spe
ech, 1087
A cold wind had sprung up, whipping across the fields and tearing the turnip tops to shreds. The farmer had tethered a couple of goats to the other side of the hedge that bordered the barn where Rosamund, Thierry and Eric were billeted.
Rosamund looked out of her bedroom window. The sun was only just beginning to rise, and it did so in the privacy cloak of dense cloud. Perhaps that was the best kind of weather in which to slip away, rather than in the blinding light of unseasonal sunshine.
Those two days immediately after the operation passed in a kind of haze. Thierry said nothing about our encounter. I think that was what I expected. I had enough sense to hope that nothing further would occur – partly because I felt it would get in the way of our working relationship, might even put us in danger – but also because I had to cling on to the hope that Harry was alive and that my loyalty should be to him. But I do admit that I occasionally dreamt about Thierry – a flight of fancy, I suppose, for I felt that there was no harm in that. I worked hard at putting it out of my mind, though occasionally I caught Eric looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He never said anything, but he must have known what happened that night.
I consoled myself with the fact that Harry had made a declaration of love. But did that declaration still hold good? It had been made over a year ago and since then we had had no communication with one another. It all seemed so distant; such a long time ago. So much had happened in the interim. I wanted to believe that nothing had altered between us. In a way it was true, but then so much else had changed, and I could not assume that he would still feel the same.
Throughout my life I have always prized loyalty above all else, and I could not help but feel that on that one night in the heat of the moment I had let Harry down. Thierry was with me every day; Harry was … I knew not where. I was not even certain that he was alive. All these thoughts would whirl in my head until I reached a stage where I had to banish them and live for today. I found myself in a foreign country, in danger of my life and reliant on a handful of people I had known only a few months. It was an unnatural state of affairs, and I reasoned that I could not be expected to function rationally under such circumstances. It was, I suppose, an easy way of excusing my behaviour, but that behaviour would very soon be tested.
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