Difficult? I was surprised. What could he be thinking of? I knew Xanthe and was pretty sure she would be asking for money. Von Klausen, furious that Xanthe’s trust fund had been successfully stopped, would have made her beg for me to reinstate it. But when I looked into Charlie’s worried face I began to worry too.
‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘I’d love you to come with me, if you’ve got the time.’
‘I haven’t got the time, but I’m coming anyway. Grab your hat, Blake.’
John Phillips, who was the son of Daddy’s solicitor and had started to take over from his father, ushered us into his wood-panelled office. ‘I’m glad to meet you, Miss Blake, and my father wants to apologise for not being here himself today. He’s not very well, so I hope you don’t mind my dealing with you.’
‘Of course I don’t.’ I smiled, as Charlie and I sat down on the chairs in front of the desk. ‘So, what has Xanthe done now?’
‘The fact is, Miss Blake, I don’t know. She’s gone missing.’
I shot a look at Charlie, who raised his eyebrows. ‘Missing?’ he said. ‘What d’you mean, missing?’
John Phillips lifted up a piece of paper and waved it in front of us before sliding it across the desk towards me. ‘We’ve had this communication from a Major von Klausen, with whom I believe your sister had been residing. Apparently she disappeared from a hotel in Bavaria last week. The major wants to know if she is here in London, particularly as she is . . .’ The lawyer paused, a slight flush colouring his cheeks. ‘Well, apparently she’s expecting his baby. He is insisting that she return to have the child in Germany.’
‘We’re at war now,’ Charlie said stoutly. ‘Von Klausen can go to hell.’
I read the letter that Wolf had written. His English was perfect, if formal, but what came through most of all was his insistence that everything should be done according to his instructions. He was convinced that Xanthe would have a son and that it was his. I tried to remember if Xanthe had told me when the baby was due, but I couldn’t. Was it some time in the New Year? The war might be over by then.
‘So, Miss Blake,’ John Phillips looked a little embarrassed. ‘What should my formal reply be? Have you any idea where your sister is?’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I saw her in Berlin in July and then the next day I was told that she had gone on holiday to Bavaria. I’ve no idea where she is.’ I thought of von Klausen smirking when he told me that she was with his friends and that made me even more concerned. If he didn’t know, who did? She wouldn’t have gone anywhere on her own. Not when she was so devoted to that bastard.
‘Perhaps she’s trying to get back to England, now that war has been declared,’ said Charlie.
‘A reasonable point, Mr Bradford,’ conceded the solicitor, ‘but brought down by the fact that this letter was written last week before the announcement. Of course she could have known what was in the air and decided to get out.’
‘Write and tell him that we don’t know where she is.’ I dropped von Klausen’s letter back on the desk. ‘Inform him that she isn’t in England and should she come here, there is no question of her returning to Germany. Certainly not in the present circumstances.’
‘Good. I’ll do that and try to get my letter out through diplomatic sources. Now, while you’re here, Miss Blake, there is something else.’
‘Yes?’
‘Your father’s house in Eaton Square. Or rather, now, your house. What shall we do with it? Are you going to move in, or sell it? Put it up for letting, maybe?’
How could I have forgotten about Daddy’s house? The housekeeper must still be there. Lord, was she still being paid? She must be wondering when I’d come by. ‘Don’t sell it,’ I said quickly. I looked at Charlie, hoping he would help me decide. Should I move in?
‘Why don’t you leave it for the time being,’ he said, ‘if the housekeeper is happy to stay on and look after it. It’ll be somewhere for Xanthe to live, if she comes home.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, relieved. ‘We’ll do that.’
On our way back to the office we dropped in at Eaton Square. The housekeeper was relieved to see me and to know what was going to happen. I told her that Xanthe might come home from Germany and that she must telephone me as soon as she saw her. ‘Will you do that, Mrs Cotton?’
‘Of course I will, Miss Seffy. Gawd knows what your sister is doing in that place, now that war’s declared.’
‘Are you close to a shelter here?’ We’d already had a couple of air-raid warnings, but the all clear had sounded almost as soon as the siren had stopped and nobody was really taking notice of it. Still, I felt guilty for not having been a proper employer. After all, Mrs Cotton had been with the family for over ten years.
‘It’s on the corner,’ she smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we know what to do and if we haven’t time to go there, we’ll go down into the cellar. Mr Cotton has joined the ARP. He’s a warden, got an armband and everything.’
I nodded and was about to leave when she said, ‘Have you heard anything from your mother?’
I shook my head. ‘She’s in America. I don’t think she’s coming back.’
The housekeeper gave a sniff at that. ‘Fancy her not coming to your father’s funeral,’ she said disapprovingly, and then added, ‘Beg your pardon, Miss Seffy.’
‘It’s all right,’ I smiled. ‘My mother has a new life now. I don’t suppose she wants anything to do with the old one.’
In the taxi on the way back to the office, I wondered whether my mother would come home now we were at war. I doubted it; she and her new husband had been almost as devoted to Hitler as Xanthe, and their opinions would now hold them up to ridicule. That brought a new thought. Had Xanthe gone to America to be with her? I mentioned it to Charlie.
‘She could have,’ he said. ‘But surely she or your mother would have telegrammed to let you know.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘We aren’t a family like that. Only my father and I were close and even that became a bit rocky in the last few years.’ I turned to look at him. ‘Are there such things as loving families? Or is it only in storybooks?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course there are. My mother and father were very close, very loving, and my childhood was as happy as anyone could imagine. I loved them and they loved me.’
‘It shows,’ I said, and I smiled.
The autumn weeks that followed the declaration of war were strangely quiet. Gas masks were issued and we got used to carrying them about, brown cardboard boxes with a string shoulder strap. Children were evacuated to the country from the cities but after six or eight weeks of nothing happening, many of them came home. I considered sending Marisol with Alice to Cornwall but, selfishly, I couldn’t bear to be parted from her, so hung on hoping for a diplomatic end to hostilities.
With Poland overrun by both German and Russian troops, Charlie and I went to Paris twice for news conferences and to gather background information. It was difficult to know where the French stood. They were scared by the German militaristic adventures but had great faith in the Maginot Line, a series of concrete fortifications along the border between France and Germany. The British Expeditionary Force was in France too, acting as a buffer against the possible advance of the German army and I supposed that added to the rather casual air we experienced when we walked about the streets in Paris or sat in one of its many restaurants.
‘Are they actually worried?’ I asked Charlie, as we ate mussels in a café off the Place de l’Étoile. ‘I mean, are they scared or aren’t they?’
‘You tell me, Blake,’ he answered, tearing a bread roll into chunks so that he could mop up the last of the garlic sauce. ‘Your French is loads better than mine and I’ve watched you chatting away with everyone. You must have gained far more insight than I have.’
I shrugged. Conversation was one thing, but understanding what people really thought about being at war was another. This was our second trip to France and I wondered how many more times we would g
o before peace was agreed. I said as much to Charlie.
‘I don’t believe that there’ll be peace this year, or even in the one coming.’ Charlie leant back in his chair and wiped his mouth. It was that strange week between Christmas and New Year, when people were at work, but still in a holiday mood. ‘Anyway, there’s something I have to tell you.’
I knew what it was immediately. ‘You’ve joined up,’ I sighed. ‘You said you would.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. I was in the OTC at school, so I’m going straight into officer training. Next week.’ He reached over and took my hand. ‘Will you miss me?’
‘You know I will,’ I said. ‘What regiment will you join?’
‘Irish Guards, if they’ll have me.’ He took off his glasses and polished them with his napkin. ‘My dad was a colonel in the Guards, that might help.’
‘You could be a war correspondent. Travel with them, you know. Be in the thick of it.’ I looked at him, pleadingly. ‘You don’t have to be a real soldier.’
‘I do, dearest Blake,’ he said. ‘It’s the honourable thing to do. For me, anyway.’
He came to my flat the evening before he went away. It was the second week in January and outside it was trying to snow. When I opened the door to him I could smell the cold air on his clothes and his face looked white and pinched. ‘I’ve been to Dorset and said my goodbyes,’ he said, flopping down on the sofa and accepting the whisky I pushed into his hand.
‘How were they?’ I asked.
‘Well . . .’ He looked into the glass and swirled the liquid around. ‘Diana didn’t know me at all and I think she’s quite a lot worse. Apparently she’s not eating properly, although Clarissa prepares all the things she likes. It’s peculiar, you know, and probably a manifestation of her illness, but she seems to have forgotten about food and why you need it. Clarissa was quite angry about me joining up . . . couldn’t see the necessity of it at all. The boys were home, though, and they were impressed.’ He gazed at the fire. ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘I hope it’s over before they’re old enough to be called up.’
‘It will be,’ I said confidently. ‘Stay tonight,’ I said, already missing him. ‘I want you to.’
He looked up at me, his eyes searching mine. ‘I don’t need a pity fuck.’
I gasped, surprised at the brutality of his remark. Charlie rarely swore and for him to say that to me was shocking. ‘It wouldn’t be,’ I said slowly. ‘It’s two people who adore each other making love.’
‘D’you mean that?’ He sounded tired and uncertain, quite unlike his usual self.
‘Yes, I do.’ And I did mean it. I loved Charlie, he was perhaps the best man I’d ever met. And later, in bed, as we clung to each other, even the memory of Amyas flew away. Amyas was a creature of fantasy. Not of the real world.
Chapter Twenty-Six
1940
JACOB WAS INTERNED in the late spring of 1940. Kitty came banging on my door one Saturday morning, her face wild with tears. There were soldiers standing in the corridor, outside Jacob’s flat. His door was open wide and I could hear Willi giving hysterical little yaps.
I’d been giving Marisol her breakfast and now, with her in my arms, I came out to confront the soldiers. ‘You’re making a mistake,’ I shouted at one of them. The other had gone inside. ‘Mr Weiss has lived in London for many years. He is of no danger to anyone. For goodness’ sake, he’s a Jew. Do you know what Hitler is doing to Jews in Germany?’
The soldier shook his head. He obviously didn’t know what I was talking about, but he did seem uncomfortable about having to take this respectable old man into custody. ‘Sorry, miss,’ he said. He was young, with smooth round cheeks which flushed pink when I spoke to him. ‘I’m just doing what I’m told. It probably won’t be for long, just until the authorities can sort them all out.’
I pushed past him and went into Jacob’s flat. He was standing in the middle of the living room with Willi in his arms. A suitcase was on the floor beside him. He looked at me with a face that was both resigned and calm.
‘Oh, Jacob,’ I said, going over to him and putting my hand on his arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It was expected,’ he answered. ‘And I am not frightened. Do not shout at these young soldiers, dear Seffy. They, like me, have no choice. So,’ he picked up the suitcase. ‘I am ready. You have promised to look after Kitty and I know you will.’ He gave me a kiss on the cheek before turning to Kitty and solemnly putting the little dog into her arms. He spoke to her briefly in German and gave her a kiss on her forehead, before nodding to the soldier and walking out of the door. We, Marisol, Kitty, Willi and I, watched him go, Kitty in tears and Willi struggling in her arms to follow his master.
‘All right,’ I said to the weeping Kitty, when we were alone in the flat with the door shut. ‘We must make a plan. First, you can come and sleep in my flat. I don’t want you alone here. I’ll put a bed in Marisol’s room, it’ll be a bit of a tight squeeze but we can keep an eye on each other that way. What d’you think?’
She nodded, too upset to speak. ‘Go and get your night things, and bring them over. I’ll organise a bed to be delivered.’
But when we went back into my flat, Alice had arrived, and immediately changed all my plans. ‘Look, Miss Seffy. Why don’t I go and sleep across the corridor. I know Mr Weiss has a spare bedroom, so I can be there and look after Miss Kitty. Baby can come with me because I know you’re busy at the newspaper. That way, we can all be comfortable until dear Mr Weiss returns.’
It worked out very well. Some days I was at the office from early morning until after midnight, and had to walk home through the dark streets. We had air-raid warnings and I got to know where all the shelters were along my route, but I worried constantly that if bombs were to fall Alice wouldn’t get the children to the shelter close to our flat in time and when the all clear sounded I would rush across London, my heart in my mouth.
The news from across the Channel was bad. We had already suffered a disaster in Norway and now the Germans were sweeping across the Low Countries and into northern France. Our troops were still confident that they could halt the advance and the French army were racing along the coastline towards Antwerp, ready to support the Dutch. But they had reckoned without the overwhelming power of the Panzer divisions and soon the French had to fall back, exposing Holland and Belgium to the might of Germany.
‘I can’t let you go to Paris again,’ said Geoff, when I went into his office and proposed an assignment there. ‘You have commitments at home.’
I was furious. Yes, I did have obligations to my small family and there wasn’t anyone to lean on now that my father was dead and Charlie overseas with his regiment. But, all the same, I knew that if I’d been a man he wouldn’t have dreamed of saying what he did.
‘That’s entirely beside the point,’ I growled. ‘I can manage perfectly.’
Geoff shook his head. ‘The thing is, Miss Blake, we’ve managed to poach Wilf Cutler from his previous rag and I’m sending him.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t look like that. He’s a good journo; not in the same class as Charlie Bradford and he doesn’t have the feel for a place that you seem to be able to muster, but he’ll do the job. And,’ he put up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue, ‘it’s still your desk. You liaise with him. Tell him what we’re interested in. Give him the names of your contacts, if you have any.’
I was outfoxed and I knew it. ‘All right,’ I grumbled and left his office, still smarting from the injustice of it. When I got back to my station, Wilf was perched on my desk, waiting for me.
‘Dear lady,’ Wilf boomed, his moustache bristling. ‘So delighted to see you and, my word, you’re as gorgeous as ever.’
‘Shush, Wilf,’ I begged, looking around the office nervously. I spotted Monica leaning over Peter Spears’s desk, no doubt whispering some gossip in his ear. She looked over at me and gave me one of her horrid smiles. Lately, she’d attempted to be my friend,
but I’d been cool with her. I guessed she was trying to get something useful about me to could use later on, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.
‘Sorry, my dear.’ Wilf dragged over a chair. ‘Now, what’s the plan?’
In the end I was quite glad that I had someone else to discuss foreign assignments with. Beneath his bluster, Wilf was clever and totally professional. He had the situation at his fingertips and was keen to get to Paris as soon as possible. ‘It’ll fall, you know,’ he said grimly. ‘I give them a couple of weeks at the most.’
I thought of that beautiful city and how the German air force could bring it to rubble and my heart lurched. ‘What then?’
He blew his nose loudly on a grey spotted handkerchief. ‘Who knows? I think some will collaborate. And some will resist. It’ll be the same everywhere on the Continent.’
‘It wouldn’t be here,’ I muttered. ‘I’m sure of that.’
He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Are you sure of that?’
I thought about Binkie Durham and all the weekend fascists in his set. Then my thoughts turned closer and I swivelled in my seat and looked over at Monica.
‘Yes,’ Wilf murmured, for once blessedly soft-spoken, ‘there are many here who would love a taste of that power.’
From Paris, Wilf sent back increasingly depressing reports. I collated them and, naming him as our correspondent in Paris, wrote pieces for the paper that went on the front page, such was their importance.
One evening, when I got home, Kitty was waiting for me, waving a letter. ‘It is from Uncle Jacob,’ she said happily. ‘He is well and sends you his love.’
‘Where is he?’ I asked, taking the letter and trying to read it, but it was in German.
‘He says he is in a place called the Isle of Man.’ She looked at me with a puzzled expression. ‘Has he got that right? I have not heard of such a town before.’
‘It isn’t a town,’ I smiled. ‘It’s an island, in the sea between England and Ireland. A British island. I’ve never been there but I believe it’s very nice, people go there on holiday, but it is cold and windy.’
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