The House of Flowers

by Charlotte Bingham

  After he too had gone, and despite the fact that the aftermath of the slap was hurting her more than she could believe, Lily managed to smile. She had, after all, convinced them. At that moment, like many an actress, she felt the pain was nothing compared to the triumph of her performance.

  Chapter Six

  The first part of their work done, with reports of troop movements and recent fortifications successfully transmitted to HQ via Lily’s washing line aerial, Scott and Lily now had to effect their escape from France and back to England as ordered. Getting in was one thing, Scott kept remarking to Lily during time spent in the waiting room, but getting out was quite another.

  Lily remained blissfully unperturbed by the thought that there was a very real possibility that they might be stuck in France should no escape route be organised for them, intent it seemed on practising her deceptions on whoever crossed her path. She even went bathing with the two soldiers whom she had let down the night they were setting up the transmitters, spending one long sun-kissed Saturday first on the main part of the sandy beach that lay west of the tiny harbour, and then in the tiny cove she had discovered that lay out of reach and out of sight to all but those in the know, accessible only by boat or by strong swimmers.

  Lily was an exceptionally good swimmer and loved to show off in the water, deciding to swim round the Point with a strong easy crawl while her two tame Germans wallowed behind her, doing their best to cope with the current with their basic breaststroke and finally being forced to give up and return to the safety of the home strand where they waited in frustration, unable to reach the young, nubile woman on whom both their minds were firmly set.

  After which Lily took great delight in stripping off, quite alone and unseen by anyone, and soaking up sun and sea air. Finally, as the sun began to sink, she swam back with as much ease as she had swum round, finding her two forlorn soldiers still waiting for her, stripped down to the waist and reddened like lobsters from sunburn, their shoulders already painful to look at. She put an arm round them both, making them wince instantly, and exhorted them to improve on their swimming, so that they could all three of them enjoy the joys of their own private beach.

  ‘Having a nice holiday?’ Scott wondered when he met up with her later at the Rochard farmhouse where he was still awaiting news of any escape plans.

  ‘What do you think of my tan?’ Lily dropped both straps of her dress.

  ‘Looks to me as if that is going to cause you a bit of pain, Miss Ormerod,’ Scott remarked, turning away to stare out to the sunset over the Channel, visible through the open windows of the farmhouse kitchen.

  ‘I don’t burn. I have that sort of skin.’

  Scott tried to put the thought of her golden body out of his mind as he stared stupidly out to sea, but found finally he was unable to do so. Lily had a perfect figure, firm and round in all the right places, and now, enhanced by several days spent in the late spring sunshine, she looked as if she’d stepped right off the silver screen. Scott closed his eyes and prayed that he would soon be delivered from temptation by way of an escape route, because although Lily had made no more direct advances to him, he knew – just as she did – that it wasn’t necessary. The message had been transmitted and had been received loud and clear, and Scott knew perfectly well that if he had to spend many more days in such proximity to Lily he might well succumb to her all but irresistible charms.

  In the event he was saved at the eleventh hour. That very evening, to celebrate the successful establishment of the radio stations, Monsieur Rochard opened yet another bottle of fine homemade marc, Madame Rochard baked a game pie, Rolande conjured wine from nowhere as always and Yves produced his harmonica, an instrument which he played expertly. Pretty soon after they had eaten everyone was dancing and singing, including the children, who were allowed to join the party, the boy who had shared the hayrick with Lily proving himself a fine singer of local songs. Lily finally persuaded Scott to dance, much to the delight of the assembled company, all except Yves whose eyebrows grew lower and lower the more they danced and the more he had to play.

  The party was finally broken up by the arrival of one of the radio operators who had been working down in the labyrinth all evening with another trusted volunteer from the village. He brought the news Scott and Lily had been hoping for – there was a ship a couple of miles out to sea waiting to transport them back to England.

  They had to leave at once, the two of them hurrying down the long, narrow, winding path that ran down to the tiny cove where a rowing boat with muffled oars riding the high but fast turning tide was ready and waiting to take them out to sea. An hour later they were aboard the unlit vessel that had arrived out of the darkness, the rowing boat moving off almost before Scott’s and Lily’s feet had hit the deck.

  Once on board they looked around them in surprise, both of them having half expected to be collected by an ordinary fishing boat. However, this was no ordinary fishing boat, but a craft that not even Scott had seen before, a Motor Torpedo Boat, developed specifically to target the U-boats that were wreaking such terrible damage on convoys crossing the North Sea or trying to make their way up or down the Channel with vital supplies. On this fast and superbly crafted boat, the crew, in their white knitted headguards and dark blue uniforms, went about their business briskly and efficiently, two sailors ushering Scott and Lily below decks before returning to their duties topside. Lily at once complained that she didn’t want to be stuck below, and asked to be allowed back on deck in case they engaged the enemy on the run home to Portsmouth. She was immediately refused, and this despite using all her charms on the officer on watch.

  ‘Oh well,’ Lily sighed, sitting down on the bench in the little cabin. ‘We’ll have to find some other way of amusing ourselves on the home run.’

  ‘Why don’t you just try and get some sleep like any other normal human being?’ Scott grumbled, attempting to make himself comfortable.

  ‘Because I’m not normal, that’s why,’ Lily retorted, kicking her shoes off and plonking her feet in Scott’s lap. ‘And because I’m still too damn’ excited.’

  Scott glanced round at her, before trying to lift her feet out of his lap.

  ‘Come on, Scott,’ Lily sighed. ‘Admit it – this really has been quite an adventure.’

  ‘It’s been a job well done, that’s what it’s been.’

  Scott tried again to remove her bare and shapely feet, but Lily was digging them well in to him.

  ‘Stop being so stuffy.’ She half smiled at him, catching his eye. ‘You’re not at all stuffy, I know – so stop behaving like a school prefect. And admit you found it exciting.’

  ‘OK.’ Scott shrugged, unable to break the look between them. ‘Of course it was exciting. We did damned well and I’m really quite proud of us both—’

  ‘Good,’ Lily said, losing her smile. ‘So let’s celebrate.’

  Next thing Scott knew he was being firmly and expertly kissed. He also knew that for far too long he made no effort at all to resist, aware of Lily’s warmth and softness and welcoming it after the hard reality of the dangers they had both been through.

  ‘Lily,’ he said, gently easing her away from him.

  ‘It’s OK, Scott.’ She smiled mischievously at him.

  ‘All’s fair, remember? In love and war. Or as an uncle of mine always used to say – it don’t count on tour or in war.’

  ‘On tour?’

  ‘As in the theatre. He was an actor. And stop looking so worried – once we land, that’s that. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I’m not worried. Concerned, maybe.’

  ‘You don’t have any reason to be. I’m not that sort of person.’

  ‘I know. You’re pretty terrific. And if I may say so – you’re also brilliant.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m pretty good at kissing, but I’m even better in—’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ Scott interrupted. ‘I meant you were brilliant at what you did – back there.’ He nodded backwar
ds at the country that was fast disappearing behind them in the night. ‘You’re a bit unorthodox, but I really like that. I admire your sense of invention and your ability to think on your feet.’

  ‘Thank you, boss. That means a lot. Specially coming from you, Captain Stuffy.’

  Scott smiled before falling silent. He was concerned, there was no geting away from it. He realised he had grown to trust her in an odd sort of way. She was after all brave and inventive. What Scott was worried about was a quite different anxiety. His concern was in case Lily might actually be having some effect on him.

  ‘No problems then?’ Anthony Folkestone asked Scott as soon as Miss Budge shepherded him into H Section. ‘You didn’t encounter any unforeseen circumstances? Other than those that we have to take for granted on this type of sortie?’

  ‘Went like clockwork, sir,’ Scott replied. ‘Amazingly so – for this type of sortie. In fact we actually accomplished more than I expected. I’ll write it all up for you, and Marjorie can . . .’ He stopped suddenly, seeing Anthony Folkestone’s uneasy expression. ‘Sorry, sir. Have you heard something different? Or . . . I mean, you look as though you think we should have encountered something else.’

  Anthony Folkestone regarded him from his side of the desk, tapping his pencil steadily on the top of it, as was his habit, while he considered the wisdom of informing his agent of the present danger surrounding all combined sorties from Eden Park and SOE in Baker Street.

  ‘We appear to have a double agent. Here.’ He sighed. ‘Someone inside is working against us. It’s the only explanation, do you see? The only possible explanation for all the agents we have lost. Out of Brussels – forty down. In the south of France, reprisals. A whole village wiped out. In revenge.’

  Anthony stood up and unlocked his wall map, indicating the black pins.

  ‘Fifty-six all told, in fact,’ he said. ‘And in far too short a space of time. That’s why I was enquiring if anything – er, untoward had occurred.’

  Scott thought again and shook his head.

  ‘Not that you would know,’ Anthony went on. ‘That at least is good. Unfortunately, it’s not so good for some other people, although we have to allow of course for coincidence. Your first contact – the man in the café who never came back to you – we think either he was a double agent or else they have picked him up. They certainly picked up Madame Daumier.’

  Scott looked at Anthony sharply. One of the last people he would wish to fall into the hands of the Gestapo was their kindly landlady.

  ‘Don’t tell me that,’ he said, turning away and reaching for a cigarette from Folkestone’s box. ‘For God’s sake not her.’

  ‘I haven’t anything further on that, alas. Just that the Gestapo paid her a call and she hasn’t returned as yet to her house. Soon as I hear anything, of course—’

  ‘We have to get a mesage to the Seagull – and the Cockerel,’ Scott interrupted urgently, his heart stopping as he thought of the farming family on the top of their cliff, of Rolande and Yves. ‘They mustn’t go back home. Not in any circumstances.’

  ‘It might be too late, Scott.’

  ‘Try, please, Major. Just try and get through to the stations. I know they’re not meant to be transmitting tonight, but they’re so damn’ keen over there, and I should imagine the little Sparrow will be wedded to his post as always.’

  Anthony nodded.

  ‘Any complaints about your wife-on-the mission?’ he asked, lowering his voice, since he took care never to refer to agents by name.

  ‘No, sir – none whatsoever. She’s very resolute, certainly doesn’t lack courage, and has tons of initiative.’

  ‘Thought she might have. Miss Lavington was worried – probably still is for all I know – that she might prove a little too headstrong. But you didn’t find her so.’

  ‘She’s extremely headstrong, sir. Utterly impulsive. But then on the other hand she thinks on her feet so fast . . .’ Scott stopped and nodded. ‘I can do nothing but give her a full recommendation, sir.’

  ‘You’d be perfectly happy for her to work alongside you again?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Scott replied after a momentary hesitation. ‘Of course.’

  Anthony looked up, taking heed of the fractional indecision.

  ‘Not if you’re not happy.’

  ‘I’m perfectly happy, sir. Anyway – it’s not really up to me, is it?’

  Anthony shook his head. ‘The Colonel thought you might make a good team,’ he said. ‘Seems he’s been proved right. And you know Mr Ward. Once he’s proved right.’ Anthony smiled and nodded for Scott to leave. ‘Well done anyway, Scott. Good work.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Enjoy your leave.’

  ‘I will, sir. Make no mistake.’ He walked off back through the section.

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Meynell,’ Miss Budge called after him.

  Scott smiled and waved, preparing to run, not walk, through the woods to the House of Flowers and Poppy, for whom he found he was now quite literally aching.

  ‘Good night, Budgie,’ he called back. ‘And hurry up and finish my scarf, will you?’

  Miss Budge smiled and called after him. ‘Nearly finished.’ She watched him hurry away down the corridor, then break into a run, knowing that he was running back to the arms of his new wife – and then she cleared her throat, pulled her knitting bag shut, and wound a fresh sheet of crisp white paper into her typewriter.

  Having procured some extra petrol rations from the best of his local black market sources, Scott dusted off his Sunbeam sports car and prepared to take Poppy away for the weekend, in an effort to make up for their truncated honeymoon.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here, Scott?’ Poppy stopped in the middle of packing one of their suitcases. ‘It’s such lovely weather, I’ve got the house all ready for us – and – well. We’ve been so looking forward to this, George and I, having you home, all to ourselves.’

  As if in complete agreement the dachshund obliged Poppy by climbing carefully into one of the open suitcases.

  ‘I thought you might like to go away,’ Scott said, bending over from the bed on which he was sitting to tickle the dachshund.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to go away, Scott. It’s just – it’s just that everything’s so perfect here, really. We could just shut up shop and stay here all by ourselves – in the woods.’

  Scott stared at Poppy, knowing exactly how she was feeling, and suddenly realising that his plan for a second honeymoon was perhaps not what was wanted. As soon as he had set foot over the threshold once again all he himself had wanted to do was shut the door, lock it, carry Poppy upstairs to the bedroom and make love to her.

  Of course, this is precisely what he had done, and then, after they had slept for a couple of hours in the afternoon, he had woken Poppy to make love to her all over again. After that he had discussed his plans with her, his idea for a weekend away, hurried off to ensure he had enough petrol to make the round trip and then returned to find Poppy still in two minds.

  But Scott had persisted with his idea of going on a belated honeymoon, although the truth of the matter was that he had quite another reason for wishing to get away from Eden Park that weekend, a reason that unbeknownst to him was at that moment walking up the narrow woodland path to the House of Flowers.

  ‘Don’t you think we’re cosy here, Scott?’ Poppy wondered, looking half pleading, half humorous.

  ‘Of course, sweetie. No, I only wanted to make it up to you, because we didn’t have a proper honeymoon. We could just go away for a couple of nights, then come back here. Anthony Folkestone more or less indicated I could put my feet up for a few days; you know a little rest between sorties can be good, stops you going back in and making what he calls bishes.’

  Poppy looked at her handsome husband and much as she wanted to stay in their enchanting new home she immediately relented.

  ‘Very well then,’ she agreed, kissing him. ‘Where are you taking me
?’

  ‘Mystery trip, my darling. I think I might blindfold you with one of your scarves. In fact I may even make you keep it on after we’ve arrived so you can’t see quite how badly I will be behaving.’

  Poppy laughed and kissed him again, just as there was a knock on the front door downstairs.

  ‘Hello?’ called out an instantly recognisable voice. ‘Anyone at home? Can I come up? Or are you coming down? Or should I go away again?’

  Poppy immediately looked mock-grumpy at Scott, hands on her hips and mouth pursed.

  ‘This your idea? To ask Lily up here?’ she whispered. ‘If so, it’s not one of your best, Scott Meynell.’

  ‘Of course it wasn’t my idea!’ Scott protested, dropping his voice. ‘Why should it be my idea?’

  ‘Come on down, you two. You’ve surely had enough of each other by now? I’m only calling with a belated wedding present, not a bomb!’

  Scott sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and went downstairs, leaving Poppy to finish their packing.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Meynell,’ Lily said cheerfully, holding up a gift-wrapped oblong box. ‘It’s a little late, I’m afraid. But I didn’t get a chance to shop before you two dashed off and got spliced. It’s a wedding present. Belated, but a present all the same. Hope I haven’t called at a bad time.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Scott said, rather stiffly taking the box as if it might indeed contain a bomb.

  ‘Not that there’s ever been a good time to call on newly-weds,’ Lily said, rolling her eyes and laughing mischievously. ‘Ah, here’s the blushing bride – with a suitcase, I see. Good morning, Mrs Meynell. Gosh, but you have lost weight – and it really suits you. And I love that dress. That new?’

  ‘Hardly new, Lily.’ Poppy smiled. ‘I made it from a couple of old ones.’

  ‘It’s terrific. ‘Très chic. Don’t you think so, Captain Stuffy?’ She didn’t look at Scott, even though she used a familiarity. ‘Très, très chic. Going somewhere nice?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Poppy replied. ‘I’m being taken on a mystery tour, apparently.’