Jerome was far from lonely. As well as Ben, there was also Maggie, and ten others from different parts of the country that had, before the Nazi occupation, been known as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
And that was in addition to the eighteen or so permanent residents of the farm, most of whom were out on the hills, with a couple in the farmhouse working as cook and housekeeper. The remaining four were the weapons trainers, and it was with these people that Jerome spent the majority of his time.
Maggie, however, had quite literally forced herself upon him from day one. She had visited his bedroom, one of the many tiny rooms in the basement of the farm, the evening of their arrival, and asked him about his life. To her, he was Jed Visick, but she knew it wasn’t his real name. To him, she was Maggie Reddish, and he had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t her real name either.
After sharing a small bottle of whisky with him, Maggie had left in the early hours of the morning, and the following day, he was awoken at six-thirty by Ben. From his bedroom, he went to the bathroom, where he showered, and from there to the dining room, where he was fed a hearty breakfast, the likes of which he hadn’t had in a long time.
Weapons training began at seven-thirty, and there were three others in Jerome’s class – two men and one woman. They were all being taught the basics of weaponry. How to strip and clean a gun, how to load magazines, how to clear blockages. By the end of the day, Jerome was tired, but not exhausted, and he knew how to strip and clean and load and clear five different weapons – the Ingram and MP5 submachine-guns, the Browning High Power and SIG Sauer P225 9mm semi-automatic pistols, and the US-built Armalite AR-15 assault rifle.
That night, Maggie visited him again, and she revealed to him that Maggie Reddish was not her real name. She also told him that she knew Jed Visick was not his real name. It seemed as though Jerome was being asked what his real identity was. Jerome wasn’t about to reveal anything to the woman he had only known a day or two, and again Maggie left him in the early hours of the morning after their bottle of whisky was empty.
The following day, Jerome’s class was taken out to a place in the hills where they could perform target practice. They fired all five weapons at targets of varying distances and sizes, and Jerome was ecstatic to be told that his attempts were by far the best out of the class.
But he needed more training.
For the following week, that training was intense. They seemed to be concentrating on Jerome more than the rest of the class, and he had the feeling that Ben had put in a good word. But each night, he was visited by Maggie, who tried to get him to talk.
Finally, on the seventh night, they kissed, and it was so erotic that Jerome wanted her more than he wanted anything in the entire world. Even more than he wanted Ellen. In fact, Ellen was the furthest thing from his mind. She was a Kraut, Ben and the others had told him, and she should be forgotten as quickly as possible.
But Maggie would go no further than their passionate kissing, and still she tried to get him to talk. And still he refused. Finally, he asked her about her past, and Maggie just smiled and said that her past would not interest Jerome, or Jed, as she called him.
And she left him again that night.
After a couple more days had passed, and after more training, during which he even outshot the teacher on one occasion, he met Maggie in the corridor one night, and she led him back to her bedroom where they made love. Maggie had a beautiful body, and she certainly knew how to use it. Jerome was so excited that their first attempt was over within a couple of minutes, but Maggie was patient, and they were soon able to try again. This time, it was so mind-blowing that Jerome could think of nothing else for the next few days. He had made love to Ellen on numerous occasions, but they were usually hurried, though passionate, embraces that left him and Ellen both far from satisfied, and on occasions, even frustrated. And Maggie, being older and obviously more experienced than Ellen, seemed to know how to excite Jerome.
As they lay in the bed, breathing deeply, the sweat drying on their bodies and cooling them, Jerome tried not to think about Ellen.
But Maggie said, “Ben tells me you’ve got a German girlfriend.” Her hand ran through the hairs on Jerome’s chest. “What’s she like?”
“Oh, you know,” Jerome said, embarrassed, “German.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Very.”
“Prettier than me?” Maggie wanted to know.
Jerome looked down at her, and her lovely, sweet and angelic features illuminated by the soft lighting from the solitary light on the bedside cabinet. She certainly was beautiful, and in ways, more beautiful than Ellen. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that. He felt he would’ve been betraying Ellen – Ellen, who still wanted him, despite what he had done.
And now, he seemed to have a choice between a German with whom he could not have a steady, responsible relationship, and an English girl, who seemed besotted with him, and with whom he could lead a relatively normal life, albeit in Combat UK safehouses.
He looked back up at the ceiling.
Maggie stopped stroking his chest. “Jerome?” she asked. At that, Jerome turned and looked down at her again, a frown on his face. Maggie looked down, embarrassed.
“You know my name?”
“I … Ben told me,” she explained.
“When?”
“I wanted to know about you.”
“And Ben told you?”
“I’m sorry if–”
Jerome climbed out of the bed, stood on the floor and pulled on his underpants. Maggie sat up beside him, the sheet falling down, uncovering her glistening breasts. “Jerome, I’m sorry. Don’t go,” she said.
Jerome had his trousers in his hands, but he stopped.
He turned and faced her.
She said, “I think … I think I …” She looked away. “I think I love you, Jerome.” She looked back at him.
“Do you?”
“I think I do,” she said, watching his face for some kind of reaction. He blinked. She said, “I do love you, Jerome. You’re … you’re like me. I’ve finally found somebody who knows what it’s like.”
“What what’s like?” he asked, sitting down on the bed beside her.
“To be wanted by the Germans.”
Jerome looked at her anxious face. “Why are you wanted by the Germans?” he asked.
“My father,” Maggie began. “He was a member of Combat UK. They found out about him three years ago, came round to our house, arrested him. They took us all away – my father, my mother, my sister and me. They took my father somewhere else – we ended up in a concentration camp. Extermination camp, if you like. They … well, I think they killed my father. We were never told, but I never saw him again. But my mum, my sister and me were in the concentration camp for six months. During that time, the guards raped us – raped us all. My sister as well – and she was only fourteen. They used to stick us in a room, all three of us, naked, and then come in groups of nine or ten, and hold us down while they gang-raped us. It was … it was disgusting. Anyway, one time they got rough with my sister. My mother tried to pull them off, but they took her away. They beat her as they dragged her outside and down to the Krematoriumblock. I never saw her again. My sister was … seriously injured. She died from internal bleeding that night. I was lucky – I survived. The camp commandant was somewhat understanding. He persuaded the Gestapo to let me go. I don’t know why – there must’ve been a tiny shred of decency in his heart.” Maggie stared at Jerome with her dark eyes. They looked lifeless – all the sparkle had gone. She just stared at him. “They made a mistake. I joined Combat UK that same day. Since then, I’ve lured German SS officers out of pubs, and we’ve killed them.”
“Jesus,” was all Jerome could manage to say.
“I’m a killer, Jerome,” Maggie said, lying back on the bed. “What do you think of me now?”
“I’m a killer too,” Jerome said, and he lay down beside her. “And �
�� maybe I love you too.”
“What about Ellen?”
“What about her?” Jerome asked, and then they made love again.
Now, a fortnight after coming to Scotland, Jerome was midway through his training, and doing really well. Ben was being praised for his choice of back-up man, and he was lavishing that praise upon Jerome.
But Maggie was due to leave. The Land Rover that would take her away, on the first leg of her journey back to London where she would be doing more work for the organization, was due any moment.
He was watching for it.
Maggie came into the room, which was on the second floor of the farmhouse, and rested a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, touched it, saw the tears in her eyes.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he told her.
“I don’t want to lose you either,” she said to him, “but you’re going to be returning to London yourself soon. I can’t follow you around. Not if you’re working with Ben.”
“But … we won’t ever see each other again.”
“We will,” she assured him.
“Where? When?”
But she didn’t answer.
They kissed and embraced for the next five minutes, Jerome hugging her so hard that she to pull away, a smile on her face.
Finally, the Land rover pulled up, its diesel engine clattering noisily, and it was time for Maggie to leave.
Jerome watched her from the window.
As the Land Rover pulled off, she turned and waved to him.
And Jerome had the feeling he would never see her again.
57
Ben came into Jerome’s room that night, but he could see immediately that he would be no substitute for Maggie. He hadn’t realized that the boy had been affected so much by her. He had a bottle of Scotch with him, and two large tumblers, and he poured them each a drink.
The basement of the farm was fairly noisy, considering they were supposed to be hiding there, but the farm staff had men and women watching the hills twenty-four hours a day. Nonetheless, it was still rather disconcerting to hear heavy US rock music blasting through the walls, to hear video recordings of banned US and Australian TV shows.
Ben said, “So, how do you feel tonight?”
“Shitty.”
“That’s women for you,” Ben said, raising his glass in a toast. He took a large swig, winced, and then wiped his watering eyes. “Jesus.”
“Where’s she gone?”
“Who?” Ben asked, but he knew the answer.
“Maggie.”
“I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both,” Ben said. “Look, you didn’t tell her what you were doing, did you?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing, so I could hardly tell her. Besides, she seemed to know more about me and this job than I did.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t expect Maggie to tell you what she’s doing, where she’s going. Everything in this organization is suspicious of strangers.”
“I didn’t think I was a stranger to her,” muttered Jerome miserably.
“Yeah,” Ben said, taking a swig, “well, you probably weren’t strangers in that sense of the word, but … well, you’ve only know her a couple of weeks. And believe me, Jerome, the Gestapo have used deep cover agents before. For all you know, I could be one.”
“Yeah, well I’m not.”
“No, I don’t reckon you are.”
“I really miss her, Ben,” Jerome said, sipping his Scotch.
“Who? Maggie?” Jerome nodded his head. “What about Ellen?”
“Ellen’s a Kraut.”
“But I thought … I thought you and her–”
“That relationship was going nowhere,” Jerome said. “Even if I wasn’t wanted by the Gestapo, it wouldn’t have lasted. Her old man, well, he was an okay bloke, I supposed, but he wanted the best for his daughter.”
“And an English factory worker–”
“–is not the best,” finished Jerome. The two men toasted, their glasses chinking together.
“So, Maggie was a better bet?”
“She’s a great girl. And I’m never gonna see her again.”
“Never is a long time, Jerome.”
“Yeah, but …”
“Look, when this job is over, we may come back here, we may have to stay here, or at another farm for a hell of a long time. And Maggie might come back.”
“Might?”
“Nobody lives forever.”
“Thanks, mate,” Jerome said, getting to his feet. “You’re making me feel a whole lot better.”
“Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s not your fault,” Jerome said, walking over to the portable TV and turning it on. The picture quality was poor, but that was to be expected. There were probably fifteen TVs on the farm, all running off one solitary aerial, and that aerial was far from a large one. At the moment, a dubbed German soap was being played. The acting was wooden, and the voiceovers complimented the acting perfectly. Jerome turned and faced Ben. “What do you know about Maggie?”
“Not a great deal. She’s a … mystery, really,” Ben said. “Of course, she had to tell the recruiting people her life history, and they checked it out, so I guess she’s okay. But I heard that she was released from a concentration camp, and that makes people suspicious.”
“Yeah, I thought it would.”
“Why, has she told you anything?”
“She told me about herself.” Jerome returned to the bed and sat down. “Everything. It’s pretty grisly.”
“Anything to do with the Krauts is pretty grisly.”
“I thought I’d been through a lot.”
“You have. You’ve lost your whole fucking family to the Krauts.”
“I know. But I’m not the only one.” Jerome drained his glass. “You know, I really do miss Maggie. More than I miss Ellen.”
“That’s good.”
“No, it isn’t. I owe Ellen an explanation.”
“You owe her fuck all. Besides, she probably doesn’t want anything to do with you now.”
“She does.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw her.”
Ben’s faced dropped, and he glared at Jerome. He got to his feet. “You saw her? When?”
“A couple of days before we came here.”
“Fucking hell. Do you realize how much of a risk you took? I mean, Jesus, they could’ve been watching her.”
“If they were, they would’ve had me and you lifted before we left for Scotland.”
“Not if they were gathering more fucking intelligence. Jerome, you’re a fucking arsehole. What were you thinking?”
“Look, it’s okay, nothing happened. I’m fine, you’re fine–”
“No thanks to you. Shit, Jerome, you really fucked up there.”
“Yeah, well, I thought it’d make me feel better.”
“And did it?”
Jerome shook his head. “Made me feel worse. Ellen wants me – still. After all I’ve done.”
“She’s a rich kid, Jerome, a spoilt brat. She’s playing at being a nurse, and she wants to try out a bit of rough. That’s all you are to her, Jerome. You can’t trust a Kraut.”
“I can trust Ellen.”
“Well, I can’t. You didn’t tell her anything, did you?”
“I’m not a complete fool.”
“So, obviously you don’t trust her.”
“I do. It’s the Gestapo I don’t trust. They could’ve been using her.”
“Exactly. Which is why you should’ve left her well alone.”
“I thought … I thought I loved her.”
“And do you?”
“I thought I did … until I met Maggie. Now I know I don’t.”
“Yeah, well, Ellen loses out. Too bad.”
“I have to see her.”
“No,” shouted Ben angrily. “No fucking way. You’re not jeopardizing this fucking operation just to let some Kraut bitch
down gently. She’ll get the message when you don’t turn up again. And she won’t think you’ve let her down anyway – she’ll think the Gestapo got to you. Jerome, it’s the best way for everybody, believe me.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jerome said – but he still didn’t really think it.
Finally, the conversation was more subdued, but there was still an atmosphere in the air. Jerome knew that Ben thought he had let him down. And Jerome himself thought he’d let Ben down. But there was nothing he could do. He would have to see Ellen when they got back to London.
He had to tell her it was all over.
58
It was more than four weeks after they had first arrived at the farm in Scotland that Ben and Jerome climbed aboard the coach that would be taking them back to London. Jerome felt better than he had felt in a long time, but there was still the awful feeling lingering at the back of his mind that he had betrayed Ellen.
More than that, there was the feeling that he had, in some way, let Ben down, and that if he saw Ellen again, as he wished, he would be betraying him.
But he had to see her again. He had to tell her that it was all over between them. But how?
The coach trip back to London was far more tedious than the journey to Scotland, partly because Jerome could sleep very little, but mainly because during his waking hours, there was nobody but Ben to talk to.
There was no Maggie.
At the bus depot, Ben called a taxi, a German, who took them back to his house in Nürnberg Platz. Once there, the two of them ate a microwave meal which in no way compared to the meals they had enjoyed back in Scotland.
After tea, they went into the lounge, and Ben turned on the television which was showing a tacky German game show. Neither of them was watching it, however. Ben had something to tell Jerome, and Jerome wanted to hear it.
“We’ve got four days,” Ben announced, “until the start of our operation. Four days until zero hour; until, as the Krauts say, die Stunde X.”
die Stunde X Page 25