The Londoners

by Margaret Pemberton

  The excitement that had spiralled within her on the train journey from London was now roaring through every vein and nerve in her body. ‘And because I want us to be lovers,’ she said simply.

  She saw relief swamp his eyes and then they darkened with passion and he closed the distance between them in swift strides. As he took her in his arms she upturned her face radiantly to his, adding softly with a wantonness she had never known she possessed, ‘And I want to go to bed with you.’

  Later, with the curtains drawn and the room bathed in muted, golden light, they lay naked on the rumpled sheets, their arms wrapped closely around each other.

  Kate’s nightdress, pristine and unworn, lay draped over the back of the chintz upholstered chair and Toby said in loving amusement, ‘I hope you didn’t waste precious clothing coupons on that piece of decorative nonsense.’

  She moved slightly, pushing herself up on one elbow, the hair he had unbraided cascading heavily and silkily down her back, way past her waist. ‘I used up every clothing coupon I possess to buy it, but none of them were wasted.’ Her fingers moved slowly across his chest and down towards his stomach. ‘It’s symbolic,’ she said, her voice thickening, ‘and I shall treasure it life-long.’

  As her fingers moved lower desire flared in him again. ‘God, but I love you,’ he whispered, pulling her once more down beside him, covering her body with his.

  Her legs parted willingly, her arms encircling him. ‘Always?’ she asked, her lips close against the muscular smoothness of his flesh, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it yet again.

  The breath caught in his throat as he re-entered the soft pillar of her flesh. ‘Always,’ he panted hoarsely, penetrating her deeper and deeper until she cried out beneath him, almost senseless with pleasure. ‘Always and for ever!’

  The telephone call came at dawn the next morning. He leapt from the bed to answer it almost before she was aware of what it was that had woken them. Praying it would prove to be a wrong number she pushed herself up against the pillows.

  The telephone conversation was brief, but not brief enough to be a wrong number. ‘Yes,’ she heard Toby say abruptly. ‘Right away, sir. Ten minutes at the most.’

  As she heard him replace the receiver and then begin to take the stairs towards the bedroom two at a time, she swung her legs from the bed, reaching for her underslip.

  ‘It was Ops, wasn’t it?’ she asked unnecessarily.

  He nodded, already scrambling into his uniform. ‘I haven’t time to drop you off in Hornchurch. Phone for a taxi. The number is on the desk.’

  ‘And Hector?’ she asked, as Hector bounded into the room, certain he was about to be taken for an early morning walk. ‘What about Hector?’

  ‘I’ll take him with me back to base.’

  He grabbed his jacket and his cap. ‘Sorry about this, sweetheart. What a bloody way to have to part! I’ll drop you a postcard the minute this show is over.’

  She didn’t have time to ask him what the ‘show’ was. One minute he was in the room with her, kissing her a fierce goodbye, the next he was gone.

  She ran to the window, yanking back the curtains. By the time she had pushed the window open he had vaulted into the MG and was revving the engine into life.

  ‘I love you!’ she called out as Hector leapt into the passenger-seat.

  With a squeal of tyres the MG swerved away from the front of the cottage and rocked into the lane.

  ‘Goodbye!’ she shouted, a sob in her throat. ‘Goodbye and good luck!’

  The sports car sped down the lane, an incongruous slash of scarlet in the still, green landscape. She stayed at the window not knowing whether he had heard her or not, and she was still at the window when the first of the Hurricanes and Spitfires careered down the airfield and then took flight, winging their way towards France.

  The news-stands she passed on her journey back to London left her in little doubt of the seriousness of the situation. ‘BELGIUM AND HOLLAND SURRENDER TO NAZIS!’ was the first headline to greet her as she entered Hornchurch station. At Liverpool Street the news headlines were, if possible, even more dire. ‘BOULOGNE CAPTURED’ ‘CALAIS SURROUNDED’ ‘BRITISH TROOPS ENCIRCLED ON FRENCH COAST’.

  She bought every newspaper possible, reading as she travelled on the underground from Liverpool Street Station to Charing Cross Station, reading all the way home on the train from Charing Cross to Blackheath.

  ‘The bloody army’s collapsed,’ a woman she had never set eyes on before said to her as she got out of the train at Blackheath. ‘The God-damned Germans are driving us into the sea!’

  As she walked across the Heath she met up with a very morose-looking Charlie. ‘I suppose you’ve heard the news,’ he said without preamble. ‘The British Expeditionary Force is being evacuated from France. ’Ettie and Daniel are in a terrible state worryin’ about young Danny. They’re down at the Jennings’ now, waitin’ for news on the wireless. If you’re goin’ down there, tell ’em to keep cheerful.’

  ‘I will,’ Kate lied, unable to face the task of explaining to Charlie that as she was unwelcome at the Jennings’ home she wouldn’t be able to pass his message on for him.

  Once home she switched on her own wireless, fiercely anxious to know what part the RAF were playing in the evacuation. The news was all about shipping. Hundreds upon hundreds of privately owned vessels, anything of thirty feet and upwards, were congregating at Ramsgate in order to form part of an evacuation fleet.

  When she returned to work on Monday morning Mr Muff’s conversation was about nothing else. ‘Dunkirk!’ he said to her before she had even taken her jacket off. ‘It’s the greatest evacuation the world has ever seen! Hitler thought he’d got us cornered but he’s misjudged us yet again! The RAF will be giving the Luftwaffe a terrible pasting. If I had a Union Jack in the office I’d hang it from the window! This evacuation isn’t a defeat. It’s a triumph!’

  Miss Pierce, too, thought the ongoing evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force a victory. ‘The latest news is that troops are already being landed at south coast ports and being put aboard trains for barracks or home,’ she said as they sat together at lunchtime. ‘It’s all a terrible setback, of course, but however terrible the death toll, it isn’t total annihilation. The small ships have seen to that. Did you know that even the Thames pleasure cruisers have gone to the aid of the troops?’

  The first detailed newspaper account of the evacuation was published on 4 June under the heading ‘Operation Dynamo, the great evacuation of Dunkirk, is complete.’

  Kate read the report as she ate her breakfast, her relief that RAF planes would in all probability no longer be engaging the Luftwaffe in battle above the French beaches vast. It was a relief that was compounded when Carrie burst into the house, her face radiant.

  ‘Danny’s telephoned Mr Giles!’ she said as Kate put down her mug of tea and rose from the table to greet her. ‘He was lifted off Dunkirk yesterday by a fishing trawler and he’s now back at his barracks! Isn’t it wonderful news? Isn’t it absolutely bloody fantastic?’

  ‘There’s some bad news afoot,’ Mr Muff said to her unhappily when she elatedly entered the office half an hour later. ‘We’ve all been asked to assemble in the canteen where an announcement is to be made. I rather suspect it means Mr Harvey has passed away. I always did suspect his heart attack was far more serious than we were led to believe.’

  Kate stared at him aghast. If his assumption was correct it meant that by suggesting to Toby that they spend his last leave together at Hornchurch, she had unwittingly denied him his last opportunity to see his grandfather.

  ‘It doesn’t look very good,’ Miss Pierce said to her gravely as they walked down the corridor together towards the canteen. ‘It certainly can’t be any news to do with the war. If Hitler had invaded we’d hardly be asked to assemble in the canteen in order to be appraised of the fact! I rather think Mr Harvey must have suffered another, and this time fatal, heart attack.’

  As t
hey entered the canteen the buzz of speculative conversation from members of staff already assembled concurred with her assessment of the situation.

  ‘It certainly isn’t news of a pay rise,’ Kate heard someone say dryly.

  ‘Perhaps we’re to be turned into a munitions factory,’ someone else said doubtfully.

  There were calls for silence and Mr Tutley of Planning and Design took up an authoritative stance facing his co-employees and cleared his throat. ‘I have a very unwelcome task to perform,’ he said, and Kate saw that he was wearing a black armband.

  Cold ice slithered down her spine. Toby had been wrong in thinking his grandfather on the way to full recovery from his heart attack. Mr Harvey was dead and she was responsible for the fact that Toby had not visited him on his last, all too short, leave.

  ‘Though he was only among us for a short time at Harvey Construction Ltd, everyone who came into contact with him will remember him . . .’

  The blood began to drum in Kate’s ears. What was Mr Tutley saying? Mr Harvey was Harvey Construction Ltd.

  ‘A young man . . . cut down in his prime . . . fighting valorously against the powers of darkness above the beaches of Dunkirk . . .’

  Kate felt herself sway. It wasn’t Toby’s grandfather who had died. It was Toby. He was never going to come back to her. She was never going to see him again.

  ‘Risking his life selflessly in order that others might live . . .’

  Kate didn’t hear any more. Her legs buckled and she slid senselessly to the floor at Mr Tutley’s feet.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘She’s going to have to have a bit more stamina than this if she’s going to survive a war,’ Kate heard Mr Tutley say dryly to someone. ‘It’s not as if Toby Harvey was a relative of hers, or a friend.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Mr Muff responded with unusual acerbity, ‘but the latest war news is enough to affect anyone’s nerves and I’d appreciate a little more sympathy on your part, Mr Tutley. And a little help, too. If you could dismiss everyone and help me assist Miss Voigt to the sick-room . . .’

  ‘She’s coming round,’ Kate heard Miss Pierce say, vast relief in her voice. ‘Stand back gentlemen, please. What she needs is a little air.’

  ‘What she needs is a good cup of tea,’ a cleaning-lady said practically. ‘The urn’s on. How many sugars have I to put in her cup? Two or three?’

  ‘Three,’ Miss Pierce said decisively.

  Dizzily Kate struggled to raise herself up from the floor and in doing so realized that Miss Pierce was kneeling beside her.

  ‘Take your time, Kate,’ her brisk, no-nonsense voice advised. ‘Lean on me and breathe deeply for a few minutes before you try to stand.’

  ‘As a mark of respect there will be no more work conducted on these premises until the beginning of next week!’ Mr Tutley announced to everyone from a few feet away from her. ‘When work is recommenced may I advise male members of staff that armbands will be deemed appropriate.’

  In a world of nightmare Kate ignored Miss Pierce’s sensible advice and struggled to her feet. She had to get out of the canteen; out of the building.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she heard herself say in a voice that seemed to be coming from a million miles away. ‘I don’t need the restroom or a cup of tea.’

  ‘Kate, dear, I think it would be wisest if . . .’

  Kate didn’t wait to hear what it was Miss Pierce thought would be wisest. Aware that she was being stared at curiously by those members of the workforce who hadn’t, as yet, acted on Mr Tutley’s instruction and made a speedy exit from the canteen, she said in clipped, curt tones. ‘I’m all right. I need to go home.’

  ‘I’ll come with you . . .’

  ‘No.’

  A spasm of incomprehension passed across Miss Pierce’s concerned face. Kate was oblivious of it. She had to have privacy. She had to be able to give vent to the cataclysmic emotions inwardly rending her apart. Above all, she had to assimilate the reality of what had happened. Toby was dead. She was never going to see him again. It was a truth so monstrous she could barely grasp it.

  ‘Do you think young Harvey will get a VC?’ a young man from Planning and Design was asking an elderly colleague interestedly. ‘Knowing his reputation he’s bound to have died performing some kind of heroics. I thought I was lucky being deaf and exempt from active service but now I’m not too sure. It would be nice to be seen to be doing one’s bit. Do you think the Home Guard would take me? Or the Fire Auxiliary Service?’

  Somehow, someway, Kate walked out of the canteen and out of the building. Was it really only a few days since she had been safe and secure in Toby’s arms? And now he was dead. The words battered at her ears like storm waves roaring up a beach. Toby was dead and she was alive and would have to live the rest of her life without him.

  There came the sound of a small animal whimpering in pain. A woman pushing a pram turned to stare after her and Kate realized that she herself had made the sound. Tears scalded her cheeks. Where had Mr Tutley said that Toby had died? Above the beaches of Dunkirk? Was that where his body was now? Dunkirk? And if it was, would it be buried there? Would she be unable to see him buried and bid him a last, loving goodbye?

  As she neared the Heath the June sun was hot on her shoulders and her back. Beneath the brassy blue bowl of the sky the distant spire of All Saints’ Church shimmered insubstantially. She knew that once she was home the emptiness of the house would press in on her like a physical weight and her footsteps faltered. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted only to turn the clock back and for everything to be as it had been before the German armies had poured into France, forcing the British Expeditionary Force to retreat to Dunkirk.

  Apart from a distant figure walking a dog, the Heath was barren of people and with a choked cry she threw herself face down on the parched grass, weeping and weeping, her heart breaking.

  Much later, when the sun had lost its afternoon heat and the sky was shot with the apricot light of early evening, she was still there, hugging her knees with her arms, bereft beyond all bearing. One phase of her life, rich and rounded and full of love and laughter, was irrevocably over and no amount of fevered wishing could make it otherwise. No-one could help her to face the lonely future. That was a task she would have to accomplish by herself. Her interlocked fingers tightened until her knuckles were white. Beyond any shadow of doubt she knew that Toby would have expected her to face her future with courage. For a precious beat of time his presence by her side was almost palpable.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered into the golden stillness. ‘I love you now and for always.’

  A bee circled lazily over a clump of clover near her feet and as it did so a measure of comfort pierced her grief. They had, at the end, been truly lovers. She had memories that no-one could ever take away from her; memories she would treasure in her heart for ever.

  Dusk had begun to smoke the air and slowly she rose to her feet. It was time for her to return home; time for her to embark on the long, lonely future that lay ahead of her. With her tear-ravaged face ivory pale, she began to walk once again in the direction of Magnolia Square.

  Later that evening there was a knock on the front door and passionately hoping that her visitor was Carrie, Kate ran to the door, opening it wide.

  Miss Godfrey stood on the doorstep, dressed in a brown tweed suit and sensibly laced brogues. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you like this, Katherine,’ she said awkwardly, her eyes deeply troubled, ‘but Ellen called on me a little while ago and told me the news.’

  ‘Ellen?’ Kate said uncomprehendingly, ‘I’m sorry I don’t know a . . .’

  ‘Ellen Pierce,’ Miss Godfrey said, tucking a wayward strand of greying hair back into the neat coil in the nape of her neck. ‘She was worried about you but didn’t like to call on you herself, uninvited. After what she told me I thought I had better do so.’ Her hazel-green eyes were full of compassion. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. So very, very sorry.’

  Clumsily Kate ge
stured her inside. Though Miss Godfrey and Miss Pierce had been friends for a long time now, Kate knew that Miss Godfrey had never allowed Toby’s name to pass her lips and that Miss Pierce was completely ignorant of his many visits to Magnolia Square.

  Now Miss Godfrey said, deeply distressed, ‘I’m afraid I was so shocked when she told me the news, and of the dreadful way in which you heard it, that I quite forgot to be discreet. Ellen will, of course, say nothing to her colleagues at Harvey’s and she sends you her very deepest sympathy . . .’ She broke off, her voice perilously unsteady.

  Kate was having so much difficulty keeping her own emotions under control that she was unable to make a response and seeing her difficulty Miss Godfrey said thickly, ‘If there’s anything either I or Ellen can possibly do . . .’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No. There’s nothing. I just need to be on my own for a little while.’

  Miss Godfrey regarded her steadily and then, realizing that she was speaking the truth, said gently, ‘Then I will leave you in privacy Katherine, but only on the understanding that the minute you feel any differently, the minute you need someone to talk to, you will knock for me.’

  ‘I will, I promise,’ Kate said, grateful both for Miss Godfrey’s kindness and for the fact that she was about to take her leave.

  She opened the door for Miss Godfrey and as she did so Miss Godfrey said, ‘Don’t take time into consideration, Katherine. I don’t mind what time of day or night you knock.’

  Unexpectedly, and quite unprecedentedly, she gave Kate a quick, compassionate hug. ‘Take care,’ she said, her voice unsteady again, ‘God Bless.’

  For a few seconds after she had finally closed the door Kate wondered if she had made an error of judgement. Perhaps it would have been wisest to have asked Miss Godfrey to stay for a while. She stood in the long, narrow hallway, the emptiness of the large house echoing around her like a tomb.