There would have to be more questions, but they could come later. I was in the arms of my lover and what else could possibly matter?
I asked him, the next day, when we walked down to the beach to watch Kitty practising her swimming strokes. She was joyful, shouting with the excitement of achievement when she’d swum a few yards with both feet off the bottom.
‘Can you manage the steps?’ I’d asked Amyas earlier, when he appeared in the kitchen, dressed and wanting to go to the shore. I was drinking coffee with Alice and Mrs Penney and I pulled out a chair for him.
‘I can,’ he said. ‘I feel so much better today. Stronger.’ He turned to Mrs Penney and smiled. ‘It’s because of your good cooking,’ he said, and I was amused to see her blush. He was starting a charm offensive and I knew he’d win. Alice glanced at me and gave a sly grin. She knew as well as I that it was far more than the cooking that had put a spring in his step.
‘I’m doing mackerel for lunch.’ Mrs Penney got up and took her cup to the sink. ‘So be back for one o’clock sharp. And you be careful, Mr Amyas, sir. Don’t be straining yourself. It was a job getting the blood out of that shirt and you don’t seem to have anything else to wear. I don’t want to be washing it every day.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ Amyas grinned. ‘And thank you, Mrs Penney. I wasn’t intending to stay, so didn’t bring a change of clothes. I like to travel light.’
I suppressed a giggle. He knew that wherever he landed up someone would buy him clothes, just as I was planning to do. But, in the meantime, I had another idea. Just as Kitty had raided Xanthe’s wardrobe I could let Amyas loose on my father’s. They were about the same height, although Amyas was broader, but surely one of Dad’s shirts would fit.
I mentioned it to him as we slowly walked down the steps. ‘Well, I’ll look,’ he said, ‘but I’ve a feeling that your father’s clothes would be far too sober for me. I prefer something . . . more relaxed.’ He looked down at his white cotton shirt and white trousers. ‘Like these.’
‘In Germany you wore well-cut suits,’ I argued. ‘Nothing in the least bit . . . poetical.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I was playing a part.’
‘Did Mrs Cartwright buy them for you?’
He laughed. ‘Of course. The old bat dragged me up and down Savile Row. Not that I minded, particularly.’
That brought up another thought but it had to be put aside, for Kitty was calling to me.
‘Did you see me, Seffy?’ she yelled excitedly. ‘Did you see what I can do?’
‘I did,’ I called back. ‘Very good. Try it again.’
I watched her for a few minutes and then turned my head to look at Amyas. He was sitting on a rock beside me, his eyes following the boat with the red sail as it tacked across the bay. ‘Amyas,’ I asked. ‘Where do you live? Where are all your clothes and your things?’
‘Things?’ He questioned. ‘I don’t have things. But, at the moment, my clothes are in a small hotel in Bayswater. It’s my current base.’
‘You could stay here,’ I said, ‘or,’ I was thinking hard, ‘I could get a bigger flat in London and you could live there with me.’
He shook his head. ‘Not possible, darling Persephone. I’m always on the move and . . . who knows, there might be another Mrs Cartwright on the horizon.’
‘What?’
‘It’s my job, sweetheart. I have to go where I’m sent.’
‘They can’t make you.’ I was horrified.
‘Yes,’ Amyas said. ‘They can. Let me tell you something. When I was twenty and at university, I had a flourishing second career as a burglar.’
I looked out over the ocean. Somehow, what he was saying didn’t surprise me at all.
‘I had a benefactor who, it turned out, was an associate of my father. Of course at the time I didn’t know that, but this man paid for me to go to university and kept me in funds for my first year. Then he died, leaving no provision for me and, Christ, I hated being poor,’ Amyas thumped his fist into his other palm, ‘especially when the people I was naturally drawn to were the very rich.’ He laughed. ‘D’you think it sounds ridiculous? I expect it does to you because you’ve never had to struggle. But for me, having a ready supply of money became a necessity. I broke into large houses in Cambridge and London and took money, jewellery and anything that I could exchange for cash. And I enjoyed it. There is a sort of intellectual exercise in getting past locked doors and guard dogs and breaking into safes; in many ways it was more compelling than my studies.’
He was quiet for a moment, and I thought of my contrastingly dull years at college, when all I strived for was examination success. How boring I was, I thought. How tame. I looked at him. He had no shame about his criminal past, but then, I’d always known that shame was something he simply didn’t understand.
‘Weren’t you scared of getting caught?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not at all. I planned meticulously and I was a successful thief, able to live well on the proceeds. Then something very strange happened. I broke into a house in London which the man to whom I sold my stolen goods said was owned by foreign diplomats. He said he was sure they would have items worth stealing in the safe, and he was right. As well as money, they had documents which gave the lie to what they’d been saying to our government. It was fascinating, a new opportunity for me, and I wondered what would be the best thing to do with what potentially could be extremely important.’ He gave a brief laugh. ‘I didn’t have to wonder long. Two men came to my rooms in Cambridge and arrested me. It seems I’d been set up. The police had been watching me for a while and now the security services had become involved.
‘They gave me an option. If I worked for them they would keep me out of prison for ever. Of course, if I refused, I’d go straight there. I took the job. They let me finish my degree, even supported me, but then I was theirs. That was twelve years ago. And, as they like to remind me, they could still lock me up.’
‘But why did they pick you?’ I asked.
He sighed. ‘The languages, the ability to mix with European society, I suppose, and being able to pick locks and break safes must have been helpful. Then there are the Mrs Cartwright jobs. Apparently I’m what older women are looking for.’ His mouth turned down. ‘Not nice but necessary.’
‘It’s horrible,’ I cried. ‘I can’t bear thinking about it.’
‘Don’t think about it,’ said Amyas. ‘Other than as my job.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll try.’
We were quiet then, staring at the sea and at Kitty, who was now sitting at the edge of the water, letting the tide rush in over her legs and trickle out through her toes. I remembered doing the same thing on many occasions and I was happy for her. It would be something for her to think about during the gloomy London winter.
‘You know you can’t tell anyone about what I’ve told you,’ Amyas murmured.
‘I know. And I won’t. I’d never put your life in danger.’
‘Well, that’s all right then.’ He stood up. ‘Shall we go and see what Mrs Penney’s mackerel tastes like?’
‘Yes.’
I scrambled to my feet and walked down to the shoreline, leaving Amyas to stroll towards the steps. My mind was in turmoil. His revelations and confessions piled up, one on top of another, and I couldn’t sort out what I really felt about them. I yearned to go over it again with him and to ask more questions, but I was pretty sure that he’d told me as much as he was ever going to. It would be up to me to accept him for what he was, or not. But really, there was no question.
What would Charlie think about it? I wondered. He’d be absolutely fascinated; ask the right questions and work out a way to find out more details. Should I drop a little hint? Then I was surprised and ashamed at myself for so quickly resenting the promise not to tell. I could feel my cheeks glowing in embarrassment at my disloyalty and took a deep breath. That’s enough, I told myself, sternly. Just be grateful Amyas is here now and to hell with what he is.
>
‘Kitty!’ I called. ‘Come on. It’s time for lunch.’
We had two more days at the house. Amyas was stronger again and I could tell he was ready to leave. ‘Come with us in the car,’ I said, on the night before he left. He shook his head.
We were sitting on the veranda, looking up at the canopy of stars and listening to the wind. It was getting wilder and streaks of cloud were beginning to flit across the moon. Summer is coming to an end, I thought, twirling my brandy glass between my fingers. We’ll have rain by morning, maybe even a storm. And soon it will be autumn and the nights will be drawing in. Where will I be going then? Somewhere with Charlie, no doubt. France first, maybe, and then Poland? He’d been talking about going there again.
‘I’m not going to London,’ Amyas murmured. ‘Just take me to the station.’
‘Why, where are you going?’
He laughed. ‘It must be to do with you being a journalist, Persephone. Questions, questions, all the time. Anyway, I can’t tell you.’
‘All right,’ I said, and had to be content.
‘How’s that silly sister of yours?’ he asked.
‘Xanthe? She’s as stupid as ever.’ But in saying that I remembered how worried I’d been about her. I turned to Amyas, his face strangely pale in the last of the moonlight. ‘She’s in trouble, I think. I saw a horrible bruise on her chest and I know von Klausen has been hitting her. He’s taken her money, and on top of all that, she’s pregnant.’
‘Wow!’ He took a swig from his glass. ‘Is she still in Berlin?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘She was in a small house in the suburbs, in Zehlendorf, but when I went back to see her, they’d said she’d gone. Von Klausen said she was on a visit to the mountains with his friends. He made it plain he didn’t want me anywhere near her.’ I shook my head. ‘My God, she’s so devoted to him and to the Fatherland, she’ll do exactly what he says. I got my father to close down her trust fund so von Klausen couldn’t have access to it, but the trouble is, neither can she.’ I sighed. ‘D’you know, Amyas, you’d hardly recognise her. She’s all done up in peasant blouses and dirndl skirts and looks like a waitress in a bierkeller.’
‘Meow,’ he laughed. ‘That sounds like Xanthe speaking, not you.’
‘Oh dear, so it does,’ I giggled. ‘But I am worried.’
He was quiet for a while and then he asked, ‘What’s Charlie Bradford up to these days?’
‘The usual,’ I said. ‘Chasing up stories. There is one thing, though,’ and I told him about Gleiwitz and about Xanthe saying that she heard von Klausen on the phone talking about it.
‘There’s a radio station at Gleiwitz,’ Amyas mused. ‘I wonder what von Klausen’s interest is in that?’
‘Apparently it has something to do with Heydrich; according to Xanthe, anyway. Mind you,’ I shrugged, ‘she could have misheard it. You know how scatty she is.’
‘Mm.’ Amyas frowned. ‘Did von Klausen say where Xanthe was spending her holiday other than “the mountains”?’
‘He said Bavaria.’ I shivered in the strengthening breeze. ‘I suppose I should go and look for her but . . . where? I’m not sure, but I think that Bavaria could be as big as the whole of Scotland.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t have a chance.’
I sat and worried, hunched against the wind, reluctant to go in because I loved being out in a Cornish night, smelling the sea and feeling the clear air bathing my face. But soon a fat raindrop landed on my cheek, followed by another and another.
‘Come on, Persephone.’ Amyas stood up and took my hand. ‘Let’s see if we can find a way to stop you worrying.’
He did, of course. Amyas was the perfect lover, always exciting and generous. With him, I was taken to that far border of ecstasy, beyond which I think madness lies. A madness I would joyfully embrace until it consumed my reason and entered my heart. Afterwards, when I lay in his arms, half asleep, reliving what had just passed, he said, ‘I don’t know what it is about you, Persephone.’
‘What?’ I murmured, listening to the rain pattering on the veranda chairs.
‘I think you bring out the best in me,’ he whispered into my cheek. ‘Being with you is all that anyone could desire.’
I said nothing. Why spoil it? It was the closest Amyas ever got to saying that he loved me.
It was raining hard the next day when I dropped him off at Truro railway station. Before getting out of the car, he’d solemnly shaken hands with Alice and Kitty and touched Marisol’s cheek. ‘Wait for a moment,’ I said to Kitty and Alice, and followed Amyas into the station. Like all stations, it was windy and this morning the wind whistled along the platforms and lifted the covers of the magazines on the newspaper rack. A train stood at the platform, steam chugging from its bowels while disconsolate holidaymakers boarded for their passage home at the end of their break.
‘Will I see you again?’ I asked, looking up at his face. Rain drummed on the roof and the steam from the waiting engine, combined with the mist of the day, clouded my eyes. I could smell the burning coal and oil and hear small children crying because they didn’t want to go back to the city. I felt like crying too.
Amyas’s old casual air was returning as the strain of the injury faded. ‘Of course you will, my love,’ he said. ‘You know that as well as I do.’ He enclosed me in his arms. ‘Somewhere, some time, you’ll look up and I’ll be there. It will never be the end for us.’ And with a final kiss he turned and walked towards the train and I went outside and got into the car.
Kitty had taken the front passenger seat and when I started the engine she put her hand on my arm. ‘Do not be sad, Seffy. You have us.’
‘Yes, I know,’ I said, swallowing the huge lump in my throat. ‘And who could have better friends?’
I went back to work the day after we returned from Cornwall. Charlie was at his desk and I went to sit on a chair beside him. ‘You didn’t come down to Cornwall,’ I said.
‘Did you want me to?’ he asked and smiled, not looking up but shuffling through the papers on his desk. ‘When you-know-who was there. I presume he was.’
‘Yes, he came down.’ I wondered whether to say anything about Amyas’s injury, but decided not to. It would only lead to further questions and I had promised, hadn’t I?
‘Anyway,’ Charlie said, ‘let’s get back to work.’
For the last two weeks in August, we gathered information and planned a visit to France and later to Poland. Daily we went to government offices, hoping to get interviews with ministers, but nothing was forthcoming. Charlie’s contacts gave him information off the record and it was all gloomy. ‘I’ve had a word with one of Churchill’s people,’ Charlie said one evening, when we were in the Old Bell Tavern. ‘Winston’s in despair with Chamberlain and his lack of preparation. He thinks that we’re sleepwalking into war.’
‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘Nobody’s sleepwalking. We all know it, both here and in Germany.’
‘Yes, but are we ready? Have we got enough military hardware, enough planes – enough soldiers, for God’s sake? Germany has. They’ve been rearming for six years.’
I looked around the pub. It was full of journalists exchanging information, many of them writing their copy on the beer-stained tables. ‘What sort of life will it be for us reporters during a war?’ I wondered out loud. ‘How easy will it be to follow the action?’
‘Not easy.’ Charlie took off his glasses and polished them on his tie. ‘But that’s not going to be my problem,’ he said. ‘I’ll join up as soon as war is declared.’
I was astonished. News-gathering had been his life and he had an excellent reputation. Surely he would be able to stay on in his profession. ‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because it’s the right thing to do. For me, anyway. Anyone who’s been to Germany in these last few years knows what those bastards are, what they’ll do. They have to be stopped.’
‘Oh, Charlie,’ I said and leant forward to kiss him on his cheek. ‘You
are the noblest man I’ve ever met.’
‘But not the one you want to go to bed with.’ He was smiling but the bleak tone in his voice gave away how he really felt. I didn’t know how I felt. I couldn’t imagine not having him around, there was so much we wanted to talk about, so much we had in common. We even, legally, had a child together. Thinking that, I changed the subject. ‘Marisol’s growing,’ I said. ‘You must come round and see her. She’s walking all over the place and gets into everything. Alice thinks she’s going to be even more of a handful when she gets a bit older.’
‘Good,’ said Charlie. ‘We like handfuls, don’t we? Much more interesting.’
‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘It’s Alice’s night off tomorrow. Come for Marisol’s bathtime and then I’ll give you a bit of supper. Can you make it?’
Charlie nodded. ‘I’d like that.’
The next day I had a phone call at work from my father’s doctor. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, Miss Blake,’ he said. ‘Your father has been taken quite ill. He’s been admitted to the clinic but I would advise that you see him urgently. He’s entered your name as next of kin.’
I told Charlie straight away. ‘You go to your father,’ he said. ‘I’ll take over from Alice and stay with Marisol through the night.’
My father was in a room with blinds pulled halfway down the window so that he was shaded from the late summer sun. He looked shrunken, compared to the tall, rather gangly man he had been, and his face was as white as the bed sheets that covered him.
‘Hello, Daddy,’ I said, kissing his forehead. ‘Whatever have you been up to?’
‘Old ticker,’ he mumbled. ‘Not behaving.’ Speaking was obviously an effort and he kept losing his breath. He slowly withdrew a hand from beneath the sheet and I took it in mine. I couldn’t help but notice that the tips of his fingers were blue, as were his lips. An oxygen cylinder complete with rubber mask stood beside the bed and he nodded at it. Clumsily I took it and placed the mask over his face and turned the knob to send the air down the tube.
After a few minutes he pulled the mask away and beckoned me forward. ‘Listen, Persephone. I’ve made a new will. You will inherit the family business and money. I’ve made provision for your sister, if she can be found, and for your little girl. Your mother is with a very rich man, so she’ll be all right.’
What Tomorrow Brings Page 31