The doctor had left his bedside with a grin. ‘I will convey the message,’ he said. ‘But perhaps not in quite those words. Anyway, I’ll see that he knows you’re becoming restless. Now try and get some sleep.’
Half an hour later a nurse had come in, wheeling a trolley with a telephone on it. Rather attractive, Adam thought, and realized he must be getting better. The nurse brought the trolley to Adam’s bedside and announced, ‘A phone call for you.’ She spoke in tones that betrayed some interest. All the staff were intrigued by their mysterious patient, and his apparent importance to officialdom.
Someone had thought he looked like the man whose picture had been featured after the Tilfleet murder. But a senior consultant had ruled that out. Someone else had heard that he’d escaped from Germany after a failed attempt to assassinate Hitler. Staff had been told not to ask him questions. But there was nothing to stop them speculating.
Adam had lifted the receiver and heard the now-familiar voice of James Hoskins, apparently in genial mood. ‘How are you, dear boy?’ he asked. ‘Able to take a little nourishment?’
‘I’m surviving, thanks, but I’m confused.’
‘Confused?’
‘No one’s telling me anything. Why can’t I have visitors? And there’s a guard outside my door.’
‘Ah yes. Arthur French, one of our best men. Very experienced. You’ll be all right with him.’
‘But why is he there? Am I under arrest?’
‘You could put it like that if you wanted to.’ Hoskins sounded amused. ‘Or you could call it protective custody.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘None. They both mean you’re not going anywhere. But then I don’t suppose you feel like going anywhere. The thing is, at present I can’t have you talking to anyone except hospital staff. And they have orders not to discuss anything except medical matters. It’s just until I can give you a proper briefing.’
‘Can’t you do that now?’
‘No, sorry, old chap. Unfinished business. But don’t worry, Jane’s all right, she knows you’re all right, and everything’s under control. With a bit of luck, I’ll be in tomorrow. Till then, no chattering about recent goings-on. Understand?’
‘I suppose so,’ Adam had reluctantly conceded. By now he was tired. He wasn’t sorry when Hoskins rang off and he was free to go back to sleep again.
That had been yesterday. Today Adam felt stronger. His recollections completed, he decided that he would definitely wake up and drink that cup of tea. It was now only lukewarm, but seemed to contain at least two sugars. He was further cheered by the presence of a couple of biscuits. Intravenous feeding was all very well, but he’d be glad to start using his teeth again.
There were headphones hanging over the bed-head. With these, Adam could listen to the BBC Home Service or the Forces’ Programme. During these last few days he’d caught some news bulletins, but he’d always fallen asleep before the end. More alert today, he tuned in to an Agatha Christie whodunnit on Afternoon Theatre.
After fifty minutes, the detective had gathered all the suspects together in the drawing room, and was just about to denounce the culprit when the door of Adam’s room opened and in came James Hoskins, wearing a neat dark suit and a cheery smile. There was a red carnation in his button-hole.
‘Good afternoon, dear boy,’ he said.
The nurse had followed him in, and she put a chair for him at Adam’s bedside. Hoskins thanked her, and then politely indicated that he’d like to be left alone with her patient. The nurse left, a little disappointed, and Hoskins sat down, resting his furled umbrella on the floor.
‘How are you feeling today?’ he enquired.
‘D’you mind hanging on a moment?’ asked Adam. ‘I’m listening to the end of an Agatha Christie.’
‘Which Agatha Christie is it?’ Hoskins demanded.
‘It’s about a chap called Ackroyd.’
‘The Murder of Roger Ackroyd,’ said Hoskins. ‘The narrator did it. Now switch it off, there’s a good chap. I’ve a lot to do today.’
Adam sighed and complied. This was no time to fall out with the man in charge. He removed the headphones.
‘Well, dear boy,’ said Hoskins, ‘the quacks say you’ll be out of here in four or five days, and fully fit in six weeks. Good news, eh?’
‘Yes,’ Adam agreed. ‘I’ve been very lucky. But what happens then? And what’s been going on while I’ve been lying here?’
‘Let’s take the second question first, shall we? You must have heard some of the news on that thing.’ Hoskins indicated the radio.
‘I heard about the fire on the pier. And then there was some sort of attack on Broadcasting House. A group of anarchists, they said. That’s all I know.’
‘That’s all the public know. And it’s all they’ll ever know.’
‘But what about Brigden and his gang? What about the Red Brigade?’
Hoskins blew out some air through pursed lips. ‘I suppose, after all you’ve been through, you’re entitled to know the full story. But this is for your ears only. Right?’
‘All right. If that’s the way it has to be.’
‘It does,’ said Hoskins. Then he told Adam all about Brigden’s demise, the fire on the pier, the dawn arrest of all the potential insurgents, the foiled assault on Broadcasting House, the failure of the coup, and the arrest of the ringleaders.
‘Phew!’ said Adam. ‘All thanks to that logbook! Lucky the decoded version wasn’t lost in the fire!’
‘It wasn’t luck, actually. It was thanks to your boss, the formidable Dr Bird.’
‘Old Bossy Bird? What did she do?’
‘She was the heroine, took charge of everything. She organized Newman and others to get you ashore and into an ambulance. And she remembered to shove the vital documents down her Harris-tweed knickers.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Adam. ‘They’d be safe enough down there.’
‘Quite,’ said Hoskins drily. ‘Now then, I’ve had to neglect you for a few days, because there’s been a fair amount of clearing up to do. I’ve also been involved in lengthy discussions about your future.’
‘My future?’
‘Oh yes, you do have one. It looked a touch bleak at first. Possibly a long spell in chokey on account of all the offences you committed. Including the capital crime of hitting a policeman.’
‘That was a mistake,’ said Adam. ‘And I did help at the end, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did. And that’s the point I’ve been making. Fortunately, I have a few fairly influential friends. I’ve been bending their ears on your behalf.’
‘Thanks. Any luck?’
‘A lot more than you deserve, dear boy. No charges will be brought. Adam Webber died in the Blitz. You’re Adam Carr, and you’re a free man.’
‘Wow!’ Adam attempted to raise his arms in jubilation, but they didn’t get very high. He winced and sank back on his pillow, but there was a broad smile on his face.
‘There is a condition.’
‘Ah. I might have guessed. Oh well, as long as it’s nothing illegal.’
‘The one vital thing is that you have to keep your mouth shut. The government’s imposed a total security clamp-down on this whole business. People must never know there was nearly a revolution. And the Home Guard’s reputation must remain untarnished.’
‘But surely everyone’s heard about the attack on Broadcasting House!’
‘An isolated incident. A bunch of left-wing students who’d dressed up in combat gear, obtainable at any army surplus store. Not connected with the accidental fire on Southend Pier.’
Something clicked in Adam’s brain. ‘So how did I manage to get shot?’
‘You didn’t,’ said Hoskins, ‘you were hit by flying debris while working at the Marine Research place. That’s all that happened. And if you ever say anything different, you’ll be locked up in the Tower of London for a hundred years. Have you got that?’
‘Yes, I’ve got it,’ said Adam.
He was still euphoric over his escape. He relaxed and thought for a moment. ‘I still can’t get over the Oozlum Bird saving the nation. I shall look on her with new respect.’
‘Ah. Sorry. The sad fact is, henceforth you won’t be looking on her at all.’
‘My God! You don’t mean …’ Adam hesitated.
‘No, I don’t. But she’s moving into government circles, which is almost as bad. She’s been made assistant to the government’s chief scientific officer.’
‘Good for her!’ said Adam. ‘From what you say, she deserves it.’
‘Also, you won’t be doing any Marine Research for a long time. The unit on the pier was totally destroyed by the fire.’
‘There are other Marine Research units.’
‘True, but I’m afraid you won’t be working in any of them. There’s something else you need to know about your future. The fact is—’
At this moment the door was knocked on and opened and the security man put his head round.
‘Excuse me, sir. Miss Hart is here. You said to tell you when she arrived.’
‘Yes. Thank you, French. Just ask her to wait half a minute, would you?’
‘Very good, sir. And there’s a man with her,’ said French.
‘Right. The same goes for him. And check his identity, please.’
French withdrew, and Hoskins addressed the patient sternly. ‘Adam, that embargo extends to what you say to Miss Hart. When I spoke to her on the phone, she thought the whole shenanigans was about some black market racket. She’s to go on believing that. Otherwise she could face charges of obstructing the police. OK?’
Adam had been looking forward to explaining everything to Jane. However, there was no option but to agree, so he did. ‘OK, if you insist.’
‘I do. No doubt the man with her is that Dudley fellow you were living with. I assume he thinks the same as Miss Hart. He too must retain that illusion.’
Once more Adam nodded his assent. Then Hoskins went to the door and told French to let the visitors in.
It was indeed Vic Dudley who accompanied Jane into the room. He stood back, as she rushed to the bedside with a cry of, ‘Adam, darling, are you all right?’ Then she kissed and hugged her sweetheart, jarring his wounds. So there was a little pain mixed with his delight.
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I just got in the way of a stray bu—a stray bit of flying metal. When the oil tank blew up. Luckily it went straight through.’
‘Like the first pint of beer on an empty stomach,’ Vic Dudley observed.
The government man extended a hand towards Jane. ‘I’m James Hoskins, Civil Service. How do you do, Miss Hart?’
Jane responded warmly. ‘Hello, Mr Hoskins. I think it was you who phoned to tell me Adam was all right.’
‘Yes. I tried to let you know as soon as possible.’
‘Thanks a million. Oh, and this is my friend, Vic Dudley.’
Hoskins smiled. ‘Ah yes. Mr Dudley. I recall seeing you at the Windmill.’
‘Good man,’ said Vic. ‘Not many customers come out of the Mill thinking about the comic.’
‘Well, there was something that struck me about your act,’ said Hoskins.
The comedian prepared himself for a compliment. ‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Hoskins. ‘You’re obviously quite a young man. Why aren’t you in the army?’
It wasn’t the sort of remark Vic Dudley had expected. But he’d heard the question before, and he had his answer ready. ‘Flat feet,’ he said. ‘The doctors said I’d wear out army boots too quickly.’
‘Pity,’ said Hoskins. ‘You’d have been very useful in the front line.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yes. If you’d done your act at the enemy, most of them would have fled.’
‘Ta,’ said Vic. ‘You must let me come and watch your act some time.’ Then he turned to Adam. ‘Sorry I can’t stay, mate. I’m back on stage in twenty minutes. I brought you some bits and pieces.’ He put two items on Adam’s bedside cabinet.
One was a Lucozade bottle, containing a fluid rather browner than the usual contents. ‘Take a dose three times a day, with water,’ Vic prescribed. ‘Not too much of the water – it can bring on rheumatism. And this might give you a laugh.’ The second gift was a copy of Blighty, a pocket magazine which mixed pin-up pictures with slightly rude stories.
‘Thanks,’ said Adam.’You’re a pal.’
‘I’ll be off then,’ said Vic. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Hoskins. I hope you do well in the Diplomatic Service. See you later, Jane. Don’t get this lad too excited. Bye, Adam. Mind you don’t take a turn for the nurse.’ And with that Vic Dudley was gone.
‘I must be off too,’ said Hoskins. ‘A lot of paperwork to do.’ He rose from his chair. ‘I’m sure you young people won’t mind being left alone. Miss Hart, I’ve told Adam he’s off the hook. Everything’s been cleared up. There’ll be no prosecution.’
‘Mr Hoskins, you’re wonderful!’ Jane exclaimed. She grabbed his arm and kissed him on the cheek.
Hoskins seemed mildly pleased. ‘Thank you, my dear. But now I think you should save your kisses for this young man. He’s had a rough time.’ He began to move off. ‘Adam will give you all the details. But if you two decide to tie the knot, it’s worth remembering you’ll be Mrs Carr, not Mrs Webber.’
Jane was radiant. ‘Thank you again, Mr Hoskins.’
Hoskins was halfway to the door. ‘I’ll call in again in the next few days,’ he said. ‘Tie up a few loose ends.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Adam. ‘You’ve forgotten your umbrella. And you were going to tell me something more about my future.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Hoskins, returning. He picked up his umbrella. ‘You’ll recall that Adam Webber was exempt from military service because he passed his exams and qualified as a research scientist.’
‘That’s right, he was a bright chap.’
‘Alas, Adam Carr didn’t do either of those things. You’ll be getting your army call-up in about six weeks.’
POSTSCRIPT
THE WAR IN Europe ended in May 1945 and the prime minister, Winston Churchill, immediately dissolved his wartime government and called a general election, as he had promised. The result was a landslide victory for the Socialist Party, and the formation of a Labour government, under Clement Attlee.
Attlee’s regime peacefully implemented most of the things left-wing thinkers had long wanted: a National Health Service, wider Trade Union rights, and the nationalization of the commanding heights of the economy – mines, railways, public utilities and so on. Compensation was paid to dispossessed shareholders. The King and Queen remained in place. Democracy and the rule of law were maintained.
Now that they were no longer needed to guard Britain’s shores, the Home Guard were honourably disbanded, and their weapons were transferred to the regular army.
The government succeeded in suppressing news of the attempted coup and the brief existence of the Red Brigade. Westley and his fellow conspirators were tried and convicted in a secret court, under wartime emergency legislation. Their sentences were limited to two or three years, in return for their co-operation in maintaining the veil of secrecy imposed on their activities.
They were also required to leave the country on their release from jail. Most made their new homes in Eastern Europe but Bill Ford went to the USA, having been recruited by the American Secret Service to help with countering Soviet espionage. Neville Straker died of a heart attack before he could be brought to trial.
Those among the Home Guard renegades who’d committed assault and other offences in the attack on Broadcasting House were charged individually, as civilians, and received appropriate sentences, again reduced on a promise of silence about the planned coup.
The potential insurgents who’d been arrested before they could go into action were not charged but they were watched by British Intelligence for the rest of their lives. Almost all abandoned thoughts of revolutionary action, many of their
socialist goals having been peacefully and democratically achieved. The extreme malcontents found new causes to espouse, and new ways to promote them, less violent than the Red Brigade’s plans. They favoured civil disobedience, sit-ins, demonstrations and marches, which did nothing worse than disrupt the traffic.
Adam and Jane were married shortly after his release from hospital, and just before his conscription. Adam served for two years in the British Army of Occupation in Germany and then, after demobilization, re-took his course at London University. This time he passed his exams, and began his career as a marine biologist. During those early years, Jane continued at the Windmill, to support them both. In 1951 she retired and they started their family.
Vic Dudley’s career blossomed, as long as variety theatres flourished throughout Britain. In the late forties he starred in his own radio series, Dudley’s Doings, and appeared in a Royal Command Variety Performance. When the variety theatres began to close, he started a new career as a character actor on stage and TV, and in films. In 1980, he became a contract actor at the National Theatre.
Maggie Rayner remained a chorus girl for another five years, graduating from the Windmill to the London Coliseum and the Palladium, where she had a brief spell of glory as feed to the comedian Tommy Trinder. In 1950 she married a local lad in the building trade. He put all his energy and savings into renovating and developing property, and became a millionaire. They had five children.
Inspector Jessett stayed in his post at Tilfleet Police Station until his retirement, after which he devoted his time to gardening and writing his memoirs which, alas, were never published.
Sergeant Monk managed to get a transfer to the Metropolitan Police, where he reached the rank of detective inspector, and was involved in the dismantling of the Krays’ criminal empire.
Sergeant Ernest Fairweather was convicted of the murder of Reginald Paynter, having confessed after barbiturates were traced to him, and his fingerprints were found on Paynter’s shirt-buttons. His death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment after he supplied information on criminal activity in south Essex and east London. Several arrests were made at The Bull public house, and a quantity of black market merchandise was seized.
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