Harpers Heroes

by Rosie Clarke

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ Beth acknowledged. ‘It will keep Minnie busy and bring some trade in to help us maintain standards – but it must be wearing for you, constantly trying to find something new to replace whatever you can’t find at your normal wholesalers.’

  ‘That’s my job – and after the war I’ll remember all those small manufacturers who helped me out.’ Sally nodded, changing the subject. ‘Jenny has got most of her teeth now. Just in time to greet her namesake – Jenni is coming over with her husband in late June.’

  ‘That is very brave of them,’ Beth said. ‘Are they not afraid of being torpedoed?’

  ‘Jenni says she’s been undecided whether to risk it, but her husband needs to come over on Government business and she and the child decided to come too. She says if we’re having to put up with Zeppelin attacks and all kinds of shortages, she can risk a sea voyage.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps.’ Beth nodded doubtfully. ‘Well, it’s lovely they are coming,’ Beth responded with a smile. ‘I know you were very worried about her last month.’

  ‘Ben thought something was wrong because she hadn’t written or been in touch for weeks.’ Sally looked thoughtful. ‘I’m wondering if she has been unwell, Beth. It just isn’t like her not to write or even send a telegram…’

  ‘Well, you’ll see her when she gets here,’ Beth said and smiled. ‘Oh, I believe this customer is coming back to buy a bracelet she looked at earlier.’ Her gaze moved to a woman in a smart dress and coat approaching her counter.

  ‘Then I shan’t take up any more of your time,’ Sally murmured. ‘Come to supper on Saturday if you can – I think Ben will be home, unless he has another urgent meeting.’

  Beth replied in the affirmative and Sally moved away as the customer approached the counter. She looked at her in a way that told Beth she’d made up her mind.

  ‘Do you still have that bracelet with the turquoise beads?’

  ‘Yes, we do, madam. Would you like to see it again?’

  ‘Yes, please. It is a little more than I intended to pay, but it is such nice quality and one I looked at elsewhere was almost as expensive and nowhere near as nice.’

  ‘Harpers always try to be competitively priced,’ Beth assured her. ‘But we never sacrifice quality. Even though there is a war on, we try to give our customers the best available.’

  ‘Yes, Harpers has a good reputation. I know a bracelet from here will not fall apart as soon as my sister wears it.’

  ‘If such a terrible thing happened, Mrs Harper would have it instantly refunded and complain to the manufacturer,’ Beth assured her and the customer smiled.

  ‘Yes, I shall take it. I’m sure Lizzie will love it.’

  Beth wrapped the gift and took the money, giving her customer change. She glanced at the little silver watch pinned to her dress. The morning had flown and it was time for Becky and Marion to go for their lunch. She looked up as Rachel entered the department; they could have a nice little chat with the young girls at lunch and Rachel would help out if they had a rush of customers. Rachel was making it a habit to call in more often of late and Beth wondered if she felt lonely with her husband so often away. It did get lonely and she would ask Rachel to come and have lunch on Sunday…

  Beth bought a bar of brazil nut toffee, a tin of humbugs and two bars of lavender soap for Maggie and wrapped them in tissue, before slipping in a note to say they were all thinking of her and hoped to see her one day soon. She didn’t feel capable of saying more yet, even though Fred’s sensible suggestions had eased some of the bad feeling inside her. She wrapped Maggie’s gift in strong brown paper and took it to the Post Office before catching the bus home that evening.

  Fred had arrived home before her, having caught the earlier bus. He had the kettle on and she could smell fish and chips warming in the oven.

  ‘I thought we’d have an easy supper tonight,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, Beth, I’m off down the pub this evening – meeting a couple of friends.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she told him with a smile. ‘I’ve got some ironing to finish this evening and then I’ll write to Jack.’

  Beth still wrote her husband a letter every day and kept them until he came home on leave. He took a bundle of them in his kitbag each voyage and read them at sea.

  ‘It brings home back to me like nothing else,’ he’d told her on several occasions. ‘I catch up on all the news, even if you’ve already told me.’

  ‘You could come with me if you wanted,’ Fred offered. ‘Quite a few young women come in for a drink in the evening – and Mrs Jarvis is usually there.’

  ‘Mrs Jarvis?’ Beth questioned, because she hadn’t heard him mention the name before.

  ‘Mabel Jarvis is a widow,’ Fred said with a little nod of what looked like satisfaction to Beth. She would guess that he rather liked the lady. ‘She drinks a port and lemon of an evening but no more – just comes for the company.’

  ‘You should ask her here to tea on a Sunday,’ Beth suggested. ‘If you’d like to…’

  Fred looked at her in silence for a moment and then shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so, not yet anyway. We’re friends, but if I ask her here, it looks as if I want it to be more, I’m not ready for that yet, but thank you for asking, Beth.’

  She smiled at him. It was Fred’s choice. She often worried about him these days. When the war was over, it was Jack’s plan to move into a home of their own. His hotel was ticking over, making a small profit despite the war and that was due to his manager, but one day Jack and Ben Harper were thinking of opening a restaurant and then Jack might sell the hotel. He said it took up too much of his time when he’d managed it and his manager was interested in buying it.

  ‘We could have a nice house with a garden somewhere,’ he’d suggested to Beth, ‘and invest the extra money in Ben’s new restaurant he’s planning for after the war. The hours would be better for me there, I think – but I might keep the hotel as well. It just depends how things work out.’ They still had most of Beth’s nest egg put by for the future and it would come in useful when things were back to normal again.

  Beth had thought Maggie and Tim might live with Fred for a while when they were first married, but if Jack bought a house it would leave her father-in-law on his own. She didn’t like the idea of that and would have been happy to settle for what she had; they could always spend a little money on doing Fred’s house up a bit. It would make Beth feel guilty to leave him alone. He’d been so good to her all this time and she was used to having him around, enjoyed his company.

  ‘It’s your house, Fred,’ she reminded him now. ‘I’ve been given a free rein to do as I like, but I don’t forget that you gave Jack and me a home.’

  ‘My home is always yours,’ Fred said and smiled at her. ‘You’re like a daughter to me, Beth love. I’d have gone to pieces here alone after my Tim went like that if you hadn’t been here…’

  Beth moved forward and pressed his hand, her heart aching for him. She was so lucky. She still had Jack but Fred had lost his son and there was a hole in his heart that might never heal – and Maggie too. She’d lost the man she loved and her hope of a future as his wife. The last remnants of Beth’s disappointment vanished as she realised just how much Maggie and Fred had lost. Whatever happened in the future, she must do what she could to help.

  26

  Marco was dressing for his evening performance when the door was thrown open and Kurt entered in a hurry, shutting and locking it after him. He looked terrified and he was breathing hard, his hand trembling a little as he put it out to ward Marco off.

  ‘I told you I would give you something special,’ he said and took some papers from his breast pocket. ‘These are secret documents I stole from a briefcase – they detail plans for the coming offensive and the Kaiser’s thoughts on Italy and various other information.’

  ‘Good grief.’ Marco took the papers from him, glancing at them briefly. He recognised certain words which backed up Kurt�
��s claim, though his knowledge of written German wasn’t good enough to read every paragraph properly. ‘You took a huge risk, Kurt – if they’d caught you with these, you could have been shot as a traitor…’

  ‘I know.’ Kurt reached for the whisky bottle on Marco’s dressing table and took a swig to calm his nerves. ‘I was certain I would be stopped and searched…’ He breathed deeply and then smiled. ‘Will these be enough to get me to England after the war?’

  ‘I am sure they will, with my recommendation to back it up,’ Marco said, smiling in reassurance and wanting to make Kurt feel his gratitude and affection. Then, as he thought of something, he hesitated, looking at Kurt uncertainly. ‘Can these be traced to you – how did you get them?’

  ‘The fat pig was entrusted with a special mission,’ Kurt said, speaking of the Oberst he hated so much. ‘He was told to take a locked briefcase to headquarters and give them to General Lundendorff.’ He smiled oddly. ‘Instead of obeying his orders immediately, he drank a bottle of brandy and fell asleep. I stole these from his briefcase while he slept.’

  ‘Will he know you were in his room?’

  ‘No… Someone told me he’d been given an important mission – he was bragging about it to the poor young devil who has taken my place in his bed. I knew he was drunk so I sneaked in and took the papers – he’ll never know who it was.’

  ‘Did you break the lock?’

  ‘I had the spare key. I’ve had it for months, waiting my chance. It’s not the first time I’ve looked in his briefcase without his knowing – but I never knew what to do until now.’

  Marco looked at him with understanding. ‘You really hate Oberst Hoffmeister, don’t you, Kurt?’

  ‘He deserves all he gets,’ Kurt said. ‘Willy was crying and bleeding when he left that pig’s room. I cleaned him up and gave him something for the pain – that’s why he told me.’

  ‘I hope for your sake and that young lad’s that Hoffmeister doesn’t realise what has gone.’ Marco looked him in the eyes. ‘Are you sure you want me to use these?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kurt looked at him unflinchingly. ‘I want that bastard to suffer as he’s made others suffer. Give those papers to whoever can do the most good with them – I’ll take the risk.’

  Marco hesitated and then nodded. He reached out and squeezed Kurt’s shoulder. ‘This is important. It could make a big difference, perhaps even shorten the war if our people know what is being planned – and what the Kaiser is thinking. Especially where Italy is concerned – it seems the triple alliance isn’t as stable as your leaders hoped.’

  ‘Take it and remember what you promised,’ Kurt said. ‘I have to get back, I’m on duty in half an hour and I can’t be missed.’

  ‘Yes, go,’ Marco said. ‘Use the back stairs – and don’t come for a few days. Make sure you’re not followed.’ He placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Be careful. I don’t want you to get caught…’

  ‘I won’t lead them to you,’ Kurt promised. He moved forward and kissed Marco. ‘Thank you for making me feel decent again – and now I’ve paid you back, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you have, more than. We’re good friends, Kurt, perhaps we shall become much more to each other when all this is over – and I shan’t forget my promise,’ Marco said and smiled. ‘Take care, my friend. I don’t want to lose you.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Kurt said. And for a moment there was finality in his eyes, as if he felt that they might not meet again. Marco knew a pang of regret. Yes, he had what he needed and he’d always meant to use the young soldier – but now he cared enough to feel anxious for his safety.

  Marco frowned as he went swiftly from the room. Kurt had done something incredibly brave, but was it also foolish? He hoped it would not lead to trouble for the young man he liked and was beginning to feel real affection for.

  Breathing deeply to calm himself, Marco looked around the room. He was due to perform in ten minutes. If he missed his cue, he would be looked for. Nothing must seem out of the ordinary. He couldn’t risk carrying the papers with him in the club; they must be well hidden in his room. He went into the bathroom and removed the panel from the end of the bath, putting the papers inside and screwing the panel back into place. A clever mind would look behind the panel, but he had to hope his room wouldn’t be searched before he could pass the papers on.

  Back in his bedroom, he poured whisky into a glass and drank it. His hands were steady as he locked his room after he left it – not that it would keep out a German officer determined to search. He could only hope that Kurt was in the clear and make certain he passed that valuable information on first thing in the morning.

  It took every bit of Marco’s courage to go on and perform. He prayed he wasn’t sweating or showing his nerves, because the club was packed with German officers, but thankfully Hoffmeister wasn’t in the audience. Marco thought he might not have been able to carry on if he’d been staring at him with his close-set eyes. Kurt was right, the man was a pig in every way and he couldn’t blame him for wanting his revenge, but he’d taken a huge risk. Marco just hoped it was worth it.

  Marco would always remember that night as one of the worst he’d ever known. He was performing until three in the morning and then, when he finally got to retire, he couldn’t sleep a wink. Every time he heard a car outside or a footstep in the street, he thought it was the Germans come to arrest him.

  It was a relief to see the dawn. He dressed, went down and had a cup of coffee and a croissant in the bar, then returned to the bathroom and retrieved the papers. They burned a hole in his pocket as he walked downstairs again and spoke to his employer and one of the girls who worked in the club. Greta wanted to flirt and Marco did his best to indulge her, because to show any sign of nerves might alert a spy. He was in a French club and should have been safe, but there were always spies, people who would take bribes from the enemy for money or even food, especially with the German lines so close. It would be easy to slip through in the dark if one had the passwords and give information the Germans would pay for if it was useful.

  Marco was allowed to leave the club at last and he strolled casually down the road. The papers he carried were so important that he knew he must give the information to Pierre. None of the others could see it safely on its way to England as securely as Pierre.

  The café where Pierre normally hung out when it was safe was empty. Marco looked towards the ceiling and the man behind the counter nodded. No words were spoken or needed. Jean would understand that Marco would risk coming here for only one reason.

  He moved towards the back, glanced over his shoulder again to make sure he hadn’t been followed and then slipped through into the hall and up the stairs to the room above. Knocking, he said his name once and the door was opened.

  Marco took the papers from his coat pocket and held them out.

  ‘That important?’ Pierre asked in English.

  ‘If you’re caught it will mean your death…’

  ‘Merci, my friend,’ Pierre said with a wry smile.

  Marco nodded but said no more. Walls had ears and they spoke as little as possible. Pierre knew that Marco would only seek him out if it was really important.

  ‘Good luck,’ he said and went back down to the café.

  Two men were sitting at the tables.

  Jean had poured him a coffee and greeted him by asking him if he felt better. Marco made a show of adjusting his trousers as if he’d been to the toilets, said loudly that ‘it was much better’ and then went on to drink his coffee and pay for it.

  ‘You sang well last night,’ one of the men came up to him, offering him a cigarette.

  Marco took it. He recognised the German officer, even though he was not wearing uniform. He was proud that his hand did not shake. ‘Thank you – you are too kind, Captain Wenger,’ Marco said. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the performance.’

  ‘Oh, I like to watch you perform, Marco – you have such a talent for acting…’

  Marco looked him in t
he eyes unflinchingly. ‘I have a small talent, yes.’

  ‘Amusing,’ the officer said, his shrewd eyes narrowed. ‘You are popular, but no one is sure of you, though I believe Lieutenant Shultz is a friend?’

  ‘Yes, we share the same sense of humour and sometimes talk for a while.’ Marco found he was holding his breath and forced himself to relax.

  ‘Talk?’ the officer raised his brows. ‘Some say you are lovers – Hoffmeister is jealous of you. Be careful of him, Marco. He dislikes you and he is a bad enemy.’

  ‘I imagine he would be,’ Marco agreed. ‘I try to avoid him.’

  ‘Yes, that would be wise.’ Captain Wenger turned away and then said casually, ‘Poor Shultz may wish he had not angered the Oberst.’

  Marco hesitated, then, ‘Why? Or is that German business?’

  ‘Oh, very much German business,’ the officer said and smiled. ‘Hoffmeister has been careless and some important papers have gone missing from his briefcase. He blames Shultz and has him locked up – I should not want to be in his shoes. I think that man delights in torture.’

  ‘Shultz is in trouble?’ Marco raised his brows, willing himself to remain calm, though underneath his heart was racing.

  ‘Possibly – but he hasn’t been officially arrested. Hoffmeister thinks he is to blame and will try to get a confession out of him to shift the blame. The poor devil will probably confess even if he is innocent.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry for him,’ Marco said and suppressed a shiver of distaste for the man who could tell him this news as if it were amusing. He knew a deep searing pity and something more – grief that it was his fault the young soldier had got in so deep, but he had to play it cool. Otherwise Kurt’s sacrifice was for nothing. Would Kurt break? He’d been so certain Hoffmeister couldn’t lay the blame on him, but it hadn’t taken him long to work it out – how long before the trail led back to Marco? ‘I’d be sorry for anyone the Oberst took a dislike to.’