by Vicki Beeby
Jiří nodded and led the way. They didn’t speak at all throughout the ten-minute walk through narrow, winding streets. Jiří’s face was strained; Milan could only guess what he must be going through. If his thoughts were anything like Milan’s, he would be dwelling on the wreckage that had once been his home and praying his family had escaped.
Jiří broke the silence when they turned onto a cobbled lane that sloped steeply down towards the river. It was not far from the road they had climbed from the tram. ‘Teta Lenka’s house is down there,’ he said.
He blew out a shaky breath and descended the hill. The houses here were old, not the tenement blocks that lined the main streets but low houses only one or two storeys high, all painted white and roofed with terracotta tiles. The similarity to Milan’s home made his throat tighten.
They rounded a bend and Milan saw a tiny woman sweeping the front step of a small two-storeyed house. She paused a moment, putting a hand to her back and glanced up at the approaching men. Milan wouldn’t have thought anything of it if Jiří hadn’t stopped dead. ‘Maminko?’
His voice came as little more than a whisper, but the woman reacted as though she had been shot. She pressed a hand to her chest. ‘Jiříku.’ Her lips were trembling. ‘It can’t be.’
Then she flung the broom aside and ran up the street towards them. Jiří dashed to meet her. Jiří’s mother pulled Jiří into her arms and wept. Although her head didn’t reach any higher than her son’s chest, she still managed to give the impression of a mother hen fussing over one of her chicks. Milan stayed where he was, not wanting to intrude on this private moment. He stepped back a little so as not to overhear.
Finally Jiří murmured something and pointed at Milan. Taking that as his signal, he approached.
‘Maminko, this is my friend, Milan.’
‘Come in, come in,’ Mrs Stepanek cried. ‘Any friend of my son’s is welcome here. We are cooking lunch.’
Milan hesitated, aware that time was short. ‘I must find my own family.’
After a quick discussion, they decided that Milan would take the train to Roztoky, and Jiří would get a lift from a neighbour and meet him there.
As Milan was about to leave, Jiří pulled him into a hug. His eyes glistened with tears, and his haunted expression had eased for the first time since hearing of the Prague bombing. ‘I can’t thank you enough for bringing me to Prague.’ Then he grinned, displaying the humour that had been sadly missing these past few months. ‘But if the CO works out where we’ve been, I’m telling him you flew me here against my will.’
Milan clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Careful, or I might fly back without you. I’ll tell the CO you annoyed me so much, I threw you out of the plane. He’d definitely understand.’
Laughing, he set out for the tram and train journey to Roztoky. However, all laughter died when he reached Masarykovo train station and he saw the stonework pocked with what could only be bullet holes. Milan turned away from the sight, overcome with fresh fears for Eliška and Franta. He was finally going home, but would they be there?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Slogging up the hill from Roztoky railway station, Milan felt disoriented. This was the journey he repeated night after night in his dreams yet now he was wide awake. He could only pray the end of this walk would have the same outcome. The knot in his stomach tightened as he turned up yet another steep cobbled street. Everything looked just as it had the last time he had seen it.
The May sunshine warmed his face as he walked, and the scent of sun-warmed pine floated on the air. His sense of unreality increased as the road led into the woods and he gazed up at the fresh green of new leaves waving against the clear blue sky. Every now and then Milan would catch a glimpse of russet as a squirrel darted along a branch, and birdsong trilled, punctuated every now and again by the resonant tapping of a woodpecker.
Then, around the bend of the track, Milan saw the wooden gate. This was it. Home.
He put his hand to the gate’s catch then stopped. In his dream he would always see his sister and Franta, but this was where the likeness to the dream ended. Eliška wasn’t there, and instead of Franta, a boy of about nine or ten years of age was crouched in the vegetable patch pulling out weeds.
Milan’s heart gave a lurch. Eliška must have moved away, but who was this living in the home his family had lived in for generations? A wave of despair swept over him. He must have made a sound, for the boy looked up. He sprang to his feet with a wary look on his face when he saw a stranger. He looked towards the house. ‘Maminko!’ he called and ran inside, slamming the door behind him.
Milan stood, unmoving, a leaden weight crushing his chest. If Eliška wasn’t here, he had no idea where to look. He had lost Jess, and now it looked like he had lost his family.
Finally deciding that the people living here now might know what had happened, he drew a deep breath, pushed open the gate and stepped into the yard.
Then the door flew open, and a young woman appeared. Her hair was dark, almost black. The same colour as Milan’s. Her face had the same high cheekbones as his mother. Although he could not see the colour of her eyes, he knew they would be a piercing blue.
His throat seemed to seize up. He tried to call her name but no words would come out. He walked up the path.
‘Milan, is that really you?’ Her voice was unchanged, the familiar tones finally shaking Milan from his despair.
‘Eliška. I thought…’
The boy he had seen before came outside again. Now he held a hockey stick, his expression so fierce Milan had to bite back a laugh.
Milan glanced between him and Eliška. ‘This is Franta?’ He shook his head. ‘I am an idiot. All these years I’ve thought of you as a baby. I forgot you would have grown up. And old enough to look after your mother now.’
The boy frowned. ‘How do you know me?’ He raised the stick. ‘Stay back. I am not afraid to use this.’
‘Franta, put that down. This is your uncle. I told you he would come back one day.’
Franta lowered the stick although he did not put it down.
Milan took a step closer. ‘You won’t remember me, but I remember you.’ He cleared his throat, struggling to repress a sob. The tiny child he had cuddled and vowed to protect was gone, replaced by this fierce wildcat. A wave of desolation swept over him as it hit him just what he had lost.
Eliška ran the rest of the way down the path and flung herself into Milan’s arms. Then they were both crying.
‘I knew you were safe,’ Eliška said when she could speak again. She dabbed away her tears with the sleeve of her blouse. ‘Everyone told me you were probably dead, but I knew I would feel it if you had died. Come in. We have so much to talk about.’
They had so little time, not nearly enough to share all that had happened in their six years apart. Soon he would need to meet Jiří and return to RAF Benson. For now, though, it was enough to know that his family was safe. Milan could see out his remaining time in England secure in the knowledge that Eliška and Franta would be waiting when he returned. Hopefully now the disorienting dreams would stop.
* * *
While the war in Europe had been raging, Jess had been able to take satisfaction in her work and know she was making a valuable contribution. Now, although the skies were still busy with flights going back and forth, Jess found it harder to keep her mind on her work. Again and again her thoughts would stray to Milan. She had the feeling she was standing on the brink of a precipice, and when she fully accepted she would never see him again, she would plunge over the edge and never stop falling.
Nevertheless, she had been right to end things when she had. Despite his protestations, she knew he could never feel the same way about her now he knew about Hannah. If he had truly loved her, he would have given some sign he saw a future with her. It was far better to make a clean break now and leave him free to return to Czechoslovakia. Far better than wait for weeks or months in hope before he wrote explaining he had m
et someone else. A good Czechoslovakian girl who did not have a ruined reputation.
A pity knowing she was right did nothing to numb the pain.
At least the scaling down of work gave her more time to spend with Evie and May, although all the talk of wedding plans was like rubbing sand into a bleeding wound. Still, she bathed her eyes every morning so they would never guess how many silent tears she shed every night; she even managed to summon a display of enthusiasm over discussions about rings and dresses, not wanting to spoil her friends’ happiness. And when May spoke glumly of having no family around her for her wedding, Jess did her best to cheer her up.
‘I’ve had a wonderful idea,’ Evie said to May one evening after returning from a date with Alex. ‘I’ve talked it over with Alex and he agrees. How would you and Peter like to make it a double wedding at Amberton? There’s still time to make the necessary arrangements.’
May had been studying her engagement ring, twisting it around her finger. Now her eyes suddenly seemed to come to life, as though the sparkling diamonds in her ring reflected in their depths. ‘Truly? Are you sure? That would be marvellous. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather get married, and to celebrate with you would be the icing on the cake.’
The two girls hugged. ‘I mean,’ May hastened to add, ‘I’ll have to discuss it with Peter, of course, but I’m sure he’ll be as thrilled as I am. Amberton’s not far from Portsmouth so it will be easy for his parents to get there.’
From there the conversation turned to flowers (wild flowers picked from the hedgerows), reception (sandwiches at the local pub) and bridesmaids (Jess for Evie and Peggy for May). Peggy, the evacuee girl May and Jess had befriended in Amberton, was still living at the vicarage there. The moment May thought of her, she ripped a page from one of Evie’s exercise books and insisted upon writing to ask straight away.
Jess joined in with the discussions with enthusiasm but couldn’t help a sigh of relief when another officer, who had gone to answer the ringing phone, held the receiver towards Jess. ‘Phone for you, Jess.’
‘Jess, so glad I caught you.’ The smooth tones of Leo came through loud and clear. ‘I’m doing an interview with a reporter who’s doing a piece on the film. He’s anxious to meet you. Keen on the romance angle, you know.’
Jess glanced across at Evie and May, still wrapped up in their wedding plans. ‘I’ll be free in the afternoon,’ she said.
* * *
‘So, Miss Halloway… or may I call you Jess?’ The reporter, a portly man with a sweaty red face leaned across the table towards her, breathing whisky fumes in her face. Whether by accident or design, his leg brushed against hers under the table.
Jess leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs, catching him a sharp blow on the ankle. ‘Oops. So sorry.’ She tapped the bands on her sleeve. ‘And it’s Section Officer Halloway, actually.’
Only five minutes into the interview and she bitterly regretted agreeing to it. She should have known what it would be like when the reporter had insisted upon meeting her in a pub. Jess, who was on duty that night, had asked the reporter to meet her in Stanmore. That meant that she was being interviewed alone, without the support of any other cast members. She wished she’d asked Evie and May to come along to keep an eye on her from another table. Now more than ever she was remembering the sleazy side of show business. During the grim years of the war her memories of the glitz and glamour had provided a welcome antidote to wartime austerity. How could she have forgotten being pawed by directors who insisted they could help her hit the big time if only she co-operated?
Of course, that was what Leo had done, too, only his debonair persona made it harder to see his true motives. When she had been a young, naive actress struggling to make a name for herself, she had been flattered by his attention and allowed him to fool her into thinking he was doing her a favour. In fact he had just used her and now was trying to use her again. She had known it all along, really.
What was it Evie had said? Something about punishing herself. She hadn’t really understood at the time but now it all fell into place. Ever since Leo had reappeared in her life, she had been unable to understand why he had such a hold on her, why she seemed to be drawn to his company. Every time she’d agreed to go out with Leo, she’d made excuses for his behaviour, telling herself it was necessary for her career. Whereas the truth was that deep down, she believed she didn’t deserve better. She hadn’t felt worthy of Milan’s love.
Milan! What had she done? The bravest, most steadfast, not to mention good looking man in the world had made it clear he loved her, and she had pushed him away. No wonder Evie and May had become so exasperated with her.
‘Tell me, Jess,’ the reporter said, cutting through her thoughts, ‘How did you feel when you were asked to take a role in the film?’
Jess, too dazed from her revelation, missed her chance to take him to task for calling her Jess again. By the time she drew breath to object, the reporter had ploughed on. ‘You must have been so excited when you heard you were to play opposite Leonard Steele. Yes, I can see the headlines now. Humble WAAF rescued from office job by heroic RAF film star. Have you set a date for the wedding yet?’
Jess could have borne just about any insult, but to hear six years of vital work dismissed as an office job, in the same breath as having Leo branded a hero simply because he wore RAF uniform, was too much. The worst of it was, she couldn’t correct the patronising git because she had signed the Official Secrets Act.
That was it. She had had enough. ‘No. We won’t be setting a date,’ she said. ‘The wedding is off. I made a terrible mistake and I’m undoing it before it’s too late.’
The reporter’s pen hovered over his notebook. ‘Tell me more.’ Jess had the impression he would have liked to rub his hands.
Jess didn’t care. She was through with pretence. ‘There isn’t much more to tell. I’m in love with another man.’ There, she had said it. It felt good to have the truth out in the open. She only wished she could be saying it to Milan instead of this vulture of a reporter.
‘This other man. Who is he?’
She sat up straight, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders. ‘That’s my business. Nothing will come of it. I know ’e doesn’t love me. That’s no reason to marry the wrong man, though.’ She couldn’t feel bad about Leo finding out this way. He had not only used her, he had announced their so-called engagement publicly in a way that had made it impossible for her to deny it. And in front of Milan, too. Well, he was reaping his reward now.
The reporter was scribbling notes so fast Jess thought the paper might catch fire. ‘What did Leonard Steele say when you told him?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say Leo knew nothing of it. However, she bit it back. Let Leo choose to make of this what he would. He had forced Jess’s hand, and perhaps if she had thought things through, she wouldn’t have blurted all this to a reporter of all people. It was done now, however. She couldn’t regret it. She also wouldn’t reveal what Leo was really like because she couldn’t find it in her heart to wish him ill. He had been selfish and thoughtless but not malicious. She could forgive him. ‘That’s between me and him,’ she said.
The man frowned as he read his notes through. ‘Rumour has it there’s a Hollywood studio interested in the pair of you. Chances are, they’ll drop you like a ton of bricks when they see this.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Jess drained her lemonade and rose. Her brain must be working properly for the first time in months, because now it was obvious who she was and what she wanted to do with her life. ‘I’m a WAAF, and I’ll stay with ’em for as long as they’ll ’ave me.’
She strode out of the pub feeling as light as air. She knew what she was going to do.
As luck would have it, the first person she saw when she walked into the anteroom at Bentley Manor was her CO.
‘I was planning on talking to everyone about the future,’ Laura Morgan said when Jess approached her. ‘Now seems as good a t
ime as any. When the demob process begins, it’s going to be chaos. However, as you volunteered fairly early in the war, you shouldn’t have too long a wait. The WAAF are adopting a first in, first out policy.’
‘Oh. But I was hoping I could stay.’
‘Stay? I thought you were going to be an actress.’
‘I thought I was but I realised my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t fully realise how important the WAAF was to me until recently. I do now, though, and want to stay as long as possible. Make a career of it, I mean.’
Laura gave Jess a broad smile. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear it. Of course, work in the Filter Room will be winding down. However, there is a role I think you’re ideally suited to.’
Jess sat up. Her CO had actually considered her for a future role? She had always thought they wouldn’t make any effort to retain her after the war. ‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve long thought you would make an excellent teacher. I’ve watched you with your friends and your juniors, and I’ve admired the way you encourage them. Bring out their best. We want to make the WAAF into a good career for women, and we’re going to need the best instructors. You’ve taken on varied roles during the war, so you would be ideally suited.’
‘Thank you. That sounds wonderful.’
‘How did the interview go?’ Evie asked a little later when Jess met up with her and May as they prepared to head to the Filter Room for their next watch.
‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ Jess said. ‘I have to phone Leo first.’ She had no doubt the reporter would be contacting Leo for his reaction to her interview, and, much as she thought he deserved finding out with no warning, she decided to be the better person and warn him.
* * *
‘Imagine me, an instructor officer,’ Jess said to Evie and May as they strolled out of the Filter Room the next morning. As Laura Morgan had said, work in the Filter Room was winding down. All the old urgency was gone now there was no danger of enemy aircraft or V2s attacking Britain. The focus of the RAF had shifted to the war in the east, which still raged, and relief work in Europe, neither of which offered much work for the WAAFs of Bentley Priory. Jess knew that some WAAFs were now working in Europe. She had heard of some who could speak other languages being used to guide visiting officials around places the Nazis had used as prisons. One WAAF had returned from a brief tour looking distinctly shaken and had refused to say what she had seen.