‘Go to her,’ he said and I dumped the baby on his knee and jumped out of my seat. But by the time I climbed into the rear seat, Xanthe had stopped coughing and was lying back with her eyes closed.
‘Can we get going?’ Charlie sounded more agitated than his normal cool self.
‘Yes, I think so,’ I said and got out, ready to move back into the front passenger seat. I looked along the track and to my horror, through the driving rain, I glimpsed the green shadow of the Mercedes cruising slowly along the main road. ‘Look,’ I breathed. ‘The Merc. They’re searching for us.’
‘Right. Get Xanthe and the baby inside the house,’ Charlie said and there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice. ‘I’ll take the car around to the back. See if I can find cover.’
God, it was difficult dragging Xanthe out of the car. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Leave me alone. I don’t feel well.’ She opened her eyes and looked at the old farmhouse. ‘I’m not going into that disgusting place. Look. The door’s hanging off and . . . Oh! There’s a bird flying out of the window. It’s just too revolting for words.’
‘You have to,’ I shouted. ‘The kidnappers are back. They’ll take Max and probably kill us.’
‘What?’ she wailed, and using what little strength she had left, scrambled out of the back seat and allowed me to push her towards the building. As soon as we were out of the car, Charlie revved the engine and drove the Rover around to the back of the house and out of sight.
It was dark inside, the only light coming from the front door and the one window where the shutters had been broken. We were in a large room, with a seeping dirt floor showing through the few remaining tiles and brown, plastered walls, which seemed alive with insects.
‘Oh my God,’ squealed Xanthe, looking at the cockroaches which quivered their antennae menacingly before jumping from one spot to another. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
‘Go ahead,’ I said, too distracted to care. ‘Just don’t make a noise.’
‘I hate you,’ she moaned, but I went to the window and, standing to one side, peered out. I could see nothing except for the dirt track and the trees. Perhaps, I thought, with a sigh of relief, that car wasn’t following us at all and Charlie is being unnecessarily jumpy.
Max, who had been blissfully asleep in my arms, now gave a little hiccup and woke. He put his hands in his mouth and starting sucking them, and I realised that his bottle was in my bag, which I’d left in the car. If we were to be in here for any length of time, he’d need it. I’d have to leave him while I dashed out the back and looked for the car, but I was reluctant to put him on the filthy floor. I looked around the gloomy room. To one side I spotted a wooden chair. It had lost one of its arms but otherwise appeared to be quite stable and I nodded towards it. ‘Go and sit there,’ I said to Xanthe. ‘And hold on to Max while I get his bottle.’
‘I can’t,’ she cried. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘I don’t care. You have to.’ It was brutal of me, but I had no choice. Grabbing her arm, I led her to the chair and sat her down, then I put Max on her wasted lap. ‘Hold him,’ I ordered. ‘And don’t let him fall. Wolf will be furious if you damage him.’
‘Oh,’ she moaned and clasped the baby in her arms as though he was the most precious piece of china.
I saw a door in the dark wall opposite the front entrance and went to it. I tried the latch, hoping it would open easily, and to my delight it did and I walked through. I wasn’t outside, exactly, but in another building, a byre or animal shelter, with empty stalls and troughs and old, dirty straw littering the floor. A few farming implements lay about, broken spades and pitchforks and bins that must have once held animal feed. The far side of the building opened on to pasture, and rows of grapevines flourished in the fields beyond.
‘Charlie!’ I called softly, as I ran towards the opening, but there was no reply and when I got outside and looked around the corner there was no sign of the car. In the pouring rain I ran into the trees which surrounded the back of the farmhouse. There was a track through them, just wide enough for a car, but the Rover wasn’t visible. I could barely believe it. Had Charlie gone on by himself?
Despairing, I ran back through the byre to the farmhouse. I was soaking, my thin silk blouse clinging to my body and my hair plastered to my head. Xanthe was still in the chair, clutching the baby, and cried with relief when I took him out of her arms. ‘He’s been crying,’ she moaned. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Babies cry,’ I said impatiently. ‘You have to get used to it.’
‘I can’t.’ She sounded so pathetic that I couldn’t find any more words to shout at her. It was pointless.
‘Did you find Mr Bradford?’ she whispered, in her little-girl voice.
‘No.’
‘Has he left us?’ She started to cry and that brought on another bout of coughing; not as bad as before, but still enough to make her breathless.
‘Charlie wouldn’t leave us,’ I said and tried to make my words convincing. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.’
I stuck my little finger in Max’s mouth and let him suck on it, while I carried him to the window. The track was clear, but suddenly, in the distance, I thought I could hear the sound of twigs snapping, or . . . my God, was that gunfire? I waited for a minute and then, unmistakably, the noise of a car engine came closer.
‘Come on, Xanthe,’ I hissed. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’ I grabbed her arm, jerked her up from the chair and forced her to the back door.
‘I can’t go outside,’ she wailed.
‘You must,’ I said and I pushed her through and along the separated stalls until I found one which had its three sides intact and a good covering of straw. ‘Sit there,’ I instructed, ‘and take your son again. If you see anyone, get inside the straw.’
‘Oh, God, no,’ she cried, ‘the smell!’ but I pushed her down and put Max into her arms. Then I looked about for something to use as a weapon. Picking up a pitchfork with an absurdly long handle, I stationed myself beside the door. I thought I could do quite a bit of damage with it if someone came bursting through.
The sound of a car coming closer made my heart beat wildly and I gripped the pitchfork tighter. What if both men come at once? my head was screaming at me. What’ll I do then? The car stopped and I heard the door slam. Xanthe was whimpering behind me, but Max was quiet except for the occasional sucking sound.
Footsteps sounded from the room and suddenly the door in front of me opened and I swung the pitchfork with all my might, so that it smashed against the open door splintering the ancient wood and knocking me off my feet. I heard a tumbling sound, as though somebody had thumped to the floor. Scrambling to my feet, I held my breath. Was there another person creeping towards me? The pitchfork was in two pieces, the handle broken off completely, so I grabbed the metal prongs and waited.
I heard shuffling on the floor and then a grunt, but after that, nothing.
‘Have they gone?’ squeaked Xanthe. ‘I have to get out of this straw. Please let me. It’s horrible.’
‘Shut up,’ I hissed, then, ‘I think I’ve got one of them.’
‘You bloody did, Blake. You nearly laid me out.’ The voice from behind the ruined door was the best sound I’d ever heard.
It was Charlie, pushing past the splintered wood. Dropping the metal prongs, I rushed over to him and wrapped my arms around his neck.
‘Careful,’ he groaned. ‘You fetched me one hell of a crack on the head.’ I looked up and saw a reddened mark which would soon become a bruise above his right eyebrow. ‘Thank God you missed my glasses,’ he said and grinned.
‘Where did you go?’ I asked, moving over to Xanthe and helping her up. Charlie picked up little Max and started walking around the byre back to the track.
‘Get in the car,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you as we drive.’
It was still raining and a mist was hovering over the trees, but when we got to the road I saw the green Mercedes and beside it, on the verge
, the bodies of two men. One had a gun in his hand.
‘My God,’ I gasped as we drove past them. ‘Did you do that?’
‘’Fraid so. Bad, but necessary. They would have killed you and Xanthe.’
‘Who were they?’ I twisted in my seat to get a look at the bodies, which we were rapidly leaving behind.
He flashed a look in the driving mirror at Xanthe, who was sitting on the back seat. I turned and looked at her too. Her eyes were closed, but I didn’t think she was asleep. Pink circles flushed her cheeks and I knew she was running a temperature. God, she needed help.
‘Let’s just say they were friends of you know who.’
‘All right,’ I nodded. ‘That’ll do. But what happened?’
‘I knew they would find the turning, so I went down that other track through the trees and came up behind them. The rain muffled the sound of my approach and they saw me too late. Horrible job, anyway, look: the airfield.’
‘I love you, Charlie Bradford,’ I said as he parked by a small wooden building, next to a grass runway. A plane, its engine running, was drawn up a few yards away.
‘That’s good,’ he smiled. ‘Because, despite the fact that you’ve nearly brained me, you’re the person I want to grow old with. Now, get on board.’
Xanthe was quietly compliant, too ill and tired, I think, to make a fuss, and got on the plane without a murmur. It was basic inside, benches and canvas webbing to hold us in for the four-hour flight and we were the only passengers.
Charlie kissed me goodbye. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ I asked.
‘Got clearing-up things to do,’ he said. ‘But I’ll see you soon.’ He looked at Xanthe. ‘Get her to a hospital and take him,’ he nodded to the baby, ‘down to Cornwall. He should be safe there with Nanny Alice.’
‘I will.’ I gazed at him, not wanting to turn away and get on the plane, but he took my arm and urged me to climb the few steps. ‘Bye, Charlie,’ I said.
‘Bye, dearest Blake.’
Xanthe was admitted to St Thomas’ Hospital and, after a few days, I was invited to a meeting with the consultant. I went late in the afternoon, leaving Max with Kitty and Jacob. I’d been at the newspaper, handing in my article and explaining to Geoff that I was leaving.
‘What?’ he’d shouted. ‘No. You can’t.’
‘I can, I must,’ I said. ‘I have too many obligations now and they’ll prevent me from being the foreign correspondent that you want. That I wanted to be. I’ve loved this job and I’ll always be grateful to you for giving me the opportunity, but now I have to be at home.’
He’d puffed furiously at his pipe for a minute, before standing up and thrusting out his hand. ‘I’ll accept your resignation, Miss Blake . . . reluctantly. But I will expect the odd article from time to time. You’re too good a writer to lose, so don’t let domestic considerations stop you from handing in a few pieces. Doesn’t have to be on foreign affairs.’
‘Thank you,’ I said and left the office before I burst into tears. We’d had a massive bombing raid the night before and the air was heavy with the smell of smoke and the streets were full of rubble. Ambulances were still racing backwards and forwards across the bridges and past the damaged buildings.
The hospital was heaving with casualties; they lay on trolleys, or sat on chairs, or even leant against the wall. The sister in charge sat on her high chair in the middle of the room, directing the triage with firm efficiency. ‘The gentleman by the door, nurse,’ she called to one of her minions. ‘I can see from here that he’s losing blood and needs to be lying down – and get that little boy into the next cubicle. The medical student can stitch him up.’
I walked down the long corridor and into the ward where Xanthe lay. The ward sister stopped me as I went in. ‘Dr McKay is in my office, Miss Blake. He’d like to see you now, before you go in to your sister.’
The consultant was past retirement age, as were many these days. The younger men were all at the front, or working at the military hospitals. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Blake,’ he said in a soft Highland accent. ‘I did want to see you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Your wee sister, Xanthe, is it?’
I nodded.
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but she is very seriously ill.’
‘I guessed,’ I sighed. ‘She was coughing up blood and quite breathless a lot of the time.’
‘Aye. Just so. Well, she has the tuberculosis. Quite advanced, I’m afraid.’
‘But you can treat her?’ I asked, my heart sinking as I saw the look that passed between him and the sister.
He shook his white head. ‘Sadly, there isn’t much we can do now, except keep her comfortable. If she’d been diagnosed earlier we would have recommended a sanatorium, where she could have lots of fresh air and good healthy food, but her lungs are dreadfully damaged. If she took a place at a sanatorium she would be going there to die and . . .’ He fixed me with startlingly blue eyes that had seen too much and were too weary with overwork to be bothered with the niceties. ‘And, I must tell you, lassie, she’d be taking up a bed that could be used for someone we might be able to save.’
I looked from one to the other. I didn’t know what they wanted me to do. ‘Can she stay here?’ I asked.
Sister, her double chins wobbling under the strings of her cap, shook her head. ‘We’re overwhelmed,’ she said. ‘You must have seen Casualty when you came in just now. At the moment there’s scarcely a spare bed in the hospital. I think that you’re going to have to take her home, or, if you can afford it, find a private clinic.’
I thought of the children. Was it safe to have Xanthe with us? ‘Is she infectious?’
Dr McKay shrugged. ‘It is a slight risk, but no more than you would meet on the bus or the train every day.’
‘I have a house in Cornwall,’ I said. ‘She’d get lots of fresh air there and good food. Maybe she would get better if I took her there?’
‘Did I not make myself clear, Miss Blake? Your sister will not get better. She has great black holes in her lungs which will never heal. The poor wee lassie is dying.’ He shook my hand. ‘I’ll leave it to you to make the arrangements. Good afternoon to you.’
Sister and I watched him go and she took my hand. ‘Dr McKay can be a little . . . blunt, I fear. Please don’t be upset.’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t worry, sister. I’m used to people giving me the plain facts.’ But I was upset. I’d already forgiven Xanthe for being such an idiot and often so malicious. Now I only saw her as the little sister with whom I’d grown up, played on the beach and sat next to every Christmas at the pantomime, screaming with laughter at the antics of the Ugly Sisters and Baron Hardup. We’d had such fun together in those far-off days.
Tears came to my eyes and I searched my bag for a handkerchief.
‘Let me get you a cup of tea,’ said the sister, but she was looking through the glass wall of her office, patently anxious to get back to the ward.
I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath. ‘No, thank you,’ I said. ‘I’ll take her to Cornwall, but I’ll need a couple of days to make the arrangements. Then you shall have your bed.’
The sirens went soon after I left the hospital. It was getting towards evening of a lovely summer day and the Luftwaffe had come earlier than usual. I, with other Londoners, hurried to the nearest shelter. In the Underground station I sat on a bench and wept for my sister, while bombs thudded and crunched down around us and white plaster sprinkled like snowflakes on to my hat.
‘Cheer up, ducks,’ said a middle-aged woman, who was sitting next to me. ‘The buggers will be gone in a minute. The RAF will get them. Mark my words.’
I nodded and felt better even though I hadn’t been crying about the bombs, and joined in the singing when somebody started up ‘We’ll Meet Again’.
When I got home, Jacob and Kitty, who was carrying Max, were trailing back from the shelter they’d been in. I took the little boy into my arms and he smiled. He already knew me. Kitt
y’s face was streaked with tears and I knew she had been frightened. I wondered if my face showed evidence of my weeping and later, when Jacob knocked at my door, it seemed that it had.
‘How was your sister in the hospital?’ he asked, quite carefully.
I cried again and told him everything the doctor had said. ‘I’m taking her to Cornwall. He said the fresh air might do her good.’
Jacob said nothing.
‘I can’t nurse her here,’ I sobbed. ‘I miss Marisol so much and I need to take Xanthe’s child away from the bombing. It will be better there, even if . . .’ I left the rest of the sentence unsaid and he took my hand and gave it a squeeze.
‘You are doing the right thing,’ he said. ‘For everyone. However, I have come with a request, but perhaps now it is not possible?’
‘What?’ I asked. ‘What request?’
‘That Kitty might go to Cornwall for a little while. She is so unhappy here, she misses her mother and she is so frightened all the time. When she went before it did her so much good.’
‘Of course she must come, I wanted her to. Marisol loves her and you’ve seen how good Alice is with her. And Jacob’ – I put my other hand on top of his – ‘please come too. If only for a couple of weeks. It’ll give you a break, and God knows, we all need that.’
At first he refused, but after much persuasion from both Kitty and me he agreed. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Xanthe will be going down the day after tomorrow. I’ve organised a private ambulance, with a nurse to accompany her. So we’ll go in the morning. It’ll have to be the train, I’m afraid, as I can’t get any petrol but I’m sure that doesn’t matter.’
‘Ah. I can help there. I have petrol in my warehouse. I was not hoarding, you understand, but it was what my boy Emanuel had for driving our van around to deliver the furs. Now that he is called up and I am retired, there is no need for the van but the petrol is there. Many cans. You must fill your car and take extra for the drive back.’
‘Oh, Jacob. Thank you.’
I went to see Xanthe that evening to tell her of my plans. She was sitting up in bed in a side ward and looking a little better. She had eaten some blancmange and there was a large glass of milk on the table in front of her. She had a cigarette in her mouth, drawing the smoke deeply into her wasted lungs.
What Tomorrow Brings Page 39