Standing up, she put her hand out to him, an enquiring look on her face. James so desperately wanted her, but everything he had been taught crowded into his mind. It was wrong, nice boys didn’t do that, nice girls certainly didn’t – sex was for the procreation of children within the confines of marriage.
‘Ingrid. You know how much I want to, I really do, but we mustn’t, not until we’re married, it would ruin everything. I love you, more than any girl I’ve ever met, and I want to marry you. Will you?’
Ingrid sighed in frustration. ‘James, there’s no need. You know what I want. You don’t have to propose to me. I’m so tired of waiting, always we go so far and then you say no. What is wrong with you? I thought you said I was beautiful…’ Ingrid pouted.
‘You are. Incredibly so. Don’t you want to marry me?’ James was quiet. He’d expected his proposal to be greeted with more enthusiasm.
‘Sometime, of course, maybe, but not now.’ Her voice became pleading. ‘Now we are young, and you are so handsome, and I just want to go to bed with you. Is that so awful?’
‘Do you love me?’ James asked. He regularly told her that he loved her and while she often repeated it in a joking way, and was forever telling him how attractive he was, she’d never looked him in the eye when they were alone and said, from her own heart, that she loved him. Now he felt it was time for honesty in every aspect of his life.
‘Yes, James. Of course, I love you. You are so old-fashioned; I love that about you, that you’re such a gentleman. But in this instance, I just want you to go with your instincts. I can’t believe I have to talk you into this. Lots of men would jump at the chance, but you’re supposed to be my boyfriend, and it seems it’s the furthest thing from your mind!’
She lit a cigarette and gazed out the window. Even with her standing with her back to him, he could sense her frustration. Her slim silhouette was framed in the big bay window; her hair fell down her back, sleek and silky. It was now or never, he realised. Edith was right – Ingrid was brought up differently from him. It wasn’t that he couldn’t ignore the teachings of the Church and the brothers who’d taught him for so long that sex before marriage was wrong on every level. It was more that he was afraid. What if they made love and then she decided she’d had enough? He couldn’t bear to lose her. If they went to bed together, it had to mean more than just the physical act. Yet he feared that if he tried to explain how he felt, she wouldn’t understand.
Walking up behind her, he put his arms around her and kissed her neck. ‘I want you to be my wife, Ingrid,’ he whispered. ‘I know we’re both young and there are so many things we need to sort out but let’s make a pact, you and I, that when the time is right, we’ll get married.’
‘Does this mean…?’ He could sense her body relaxing and the playful tone had reappeared in her voice.
‘Yes.’ James’s voice was husky with desire. He unbuttoned her cotton top and removed it to reveal her golden skin. Picking her up easily in his arms, James carried her to the bed, where he removed her skirt and underwear. He’d never seen a naked woman before in real life and the sight of her body took his breath away. He quickly removed his own clothes.
‘You are beautiful,’ she whispered to him.
Her choice of words made him smile.
‘I know,’ she smiled back, ‘that beautiful is for women, but it is what you are, strong and golden and…’ She giggled, running her hands over his chest. ‘Like a Greek god.’
They made love all afternoon until neither of them had an ounce of energy left.
‘You’re incredible,’ he said. ‘I never knew women could enjoy it the same way men do.’ Feeling a little foolish at his admission, he blushed. She stretched luxuriously, like a cat.
‘I never have done. It was never like this with anyone else.’ Her voice was sleepy.
He should have known that he wasn’t the first man she had slept with, yet her easy admission filled him with pain. She must know she was the first for him. How many had there been for her?
Trying to hide his dread at the answer, he asked, ‘So, is this what you usually do on a Saturday afternoon?’
She leaned over him and kissed him on the nose playfully. ‘My darling James, I won’t lie to you. You are not the first man I’ve been with, but Germany is not like Ireland. For Irish girls, to sleep with someone before they get married is a terrible shame, I know that, though I don’t understand it. You are very special to me, and I want to be with you, only you. So you must trust me now. I am your girl and that is all there is to it. Now, let’s get up, maybe we’re not too late for dinner. I’m starving.’
He knew he would have to be happy with that explanation. Ingrid had a definite way of closing down conversations and that was as much as he was going to get.
‘Let’s go down and see what we can find in the kitchen. Edith and Otto are still out.’
‘No, they are here. I heard them come in about an hour ago. I think you were busy at the time, so you must not have heard the door close.’ She chuckled.
Panic gripped James. If they were back, they must know that he and Ingrid were upstairs, together. Remembering his mother’s advice however, he wondered if they did know and chose to ignore it. The thought of sitting down to dinner with them, everyone knowing how he and Ingrid had spent the afternoon, was less than appealing.
‘Let’s go out instead,’ he suggested. ‘Let’s just go and get fish and chips and sit in Stephen’s Green. It’s still warm enough.’
Ingrid smiled, knowing why James wanted to leave the house. ‘Very well, lover boy, let’s go.’
Chapter 28
After the strange meeting with the man in the mismatched clothes who’d eventually introduced himself as Mr Bell, Juliet lay in bed wide awake, wracked with indecision. The prospect of joining up had crossed her mind in recent months, especially since she began her relationship with Ewan and made friends with Maureen and the others, but she knew how her father would feel about it, so she’d always dismissed it. If she had decided to get involved, she had envisaged herself as a driver or a secretary with the Wrens, or in her more passionate moments as some kind of assistant on an RAF base, preferably, in her fantasies, the one where Ewan was stationed.
But a spy…spying was the stuff of novels and films, not something real people did – especially not real young girls from West Cork. It was preposterous for lots of reasons. Yet the prospect of doing something to help, refused to be dispelled. She had twenty-four hours to make up her mind.
Mr Bell had stipulated that no matter how difficult the decision, she could discuss it with no one. There was no one in Belfast she wished to discuss it with, anyway. Auntie Kitty would be horrified, and her girlfriends were too busy with their work and boyfriends to worry too much about ‘Paddy’ as they called her. Though they were friends socially, she, as a civilian, was in many ways outside of their circle. They did find her non-involvement in the war effort a bit mysterious and once or twice she’d overheard some anti-Southern sentiment from others in the group, but she’d chosen to ignore it. They just didn’t seem to understand that Ireland, the Free State, was a separate country in the same way France or China was, and not involved in their war. She sometimes tried to explain, but her arguments fell on deaf ears.
If she were honest, she thought Ireland should pitch in – not for reasons of loyalty to Britain, God no, in spite of Britain, if anything. It was about seeing the World War in a broader perspective, putting aside individual arguments in the face of the greater good. She just thought that Hitler and the Nazis were a new and all-pervasive kind of evil, and that they would have to be stopped. She wondered if the Irish really believed that if England was invaded, Germany would stop there and leave Ireland alone. Anyone who thought that, was, in her opinion, very naïve indeed. After all, what was Ireland if not an easy back door into Britain? One that Hitler would not hesitate to use should the need arise. The notion that he would respect Ireland’s neutrality wa
s preposterous. Just look at how he’d behaved so far. The defeat of Hitler was as important for Ireland as for England if the Irish wanted to retain the hard-won peace they now enjoyed.
It would have been much harder for her to keep her own counsel if she’d been in Dunderrig – she would have been so tempted to ask Solange what to do. Or James, her usual sounding board, although he was so caught up in his romance these days, he was probably in Dublin. She knew exactly what her father would say, of course. If he knew she was even considering joining the war effort, she would be on the next train back home.
If she said yes, however, she would have to tell her family something because, if she agreed, she was to be sent to England for preliminary training. The details of what she would be trained in were frustratingly sketchy, nor was she advised how she might explain her move from Belfast. She was simply to decide if she was in or out. Mr Bell had given her the impression that, while she might have fluent French, they were by no means desperate to have her. Even if she agreed to embark on a training course for subversive agents, acceptance was by no means guaranteed. In fact, he told her, far more potential agents were rejected than progressed through the system. She left the meeting feeling like they, and she was by no means sure who ‘they’ even were, were ambivalent at best about her decision.
In the end, she came to her decision at the last possible moment. The wind was biting as she worked her way down James Street towards the nondescript building once more. It was a week to Christmas and the shops were doing their best to provide some warmth and good cheer despite the rationing. Presents were being discouraged and those with any spare money were being urged to invest in war bonds, to raise funds for the war effort. The BBC had announced there was to be an address from the ruins of Coventry Cathedral, which had been all but destroyed when that city was flattened a few weeks previously. The images of burnt homes and businesses, shattered lives, haunted her. Each day, she read about the damage done to English cities and the countless thousands dead or injured. Coventry had affected her more deeply than any other bombing. At the time, Juliet had felt so worried and afraid for Ewan’s safety, knowing he was stationed near there. She remembered now the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. He’d written to her after the Battle of Britain in October, so she knew he’d survived, but still every day brought new waves of worry. Letters were usually so censored it was difficult to make sense of what he was telling her, but she could understand the most important bits. That he loved her and was counting the days until they’d be together again.
The headline outside the newsagents read: ‘We are not victims. We will fight back.’
She decided there and then that she too would be part of that fight. She wanted to stop those people in English cities being killed in their beds, she wanted those bewildered little children she saw on the railway platform returned to their parents, she wanted to make sure no Nazi flags ever flew in Dunderrig. But above all, she wanted Ewan home safely.
Mr Bell was in the room waiting when she arrived.
‘Ah, Miss Buckley, thank you for coming.’ The same detached tone and peculiar outfit. He stopped writing and looked enquiringly at her.
‘I’ll do it,’ Juliet said, feeling quite calm.
‘Good. Yes, good.’ His voice betrayed no emotion. ‘Here are your tickets, a passport, and directions to where you will begin your training. You leave on January thirtieth at…’ he leafed through the sheaf of papers, ‘…ah yes. Here we are, leaving Belfast Central on the earliest train. All the details are there. You will be met at Wanborough and driven to your final destination. Please do not discuss your plans with anyone or ask anyone’s advice while travelling. Good luck, Miss Buckley. We shan’t meet again.’
He stood up, handed her the bulky envelope and with a gesture of his arm indicated she should leave.
‘What should I tell my family, my aunt here in Belfast?’ she asked, utterly panicked. How had they known she would agree? He couldn’t just give her a passport and tickets and send her off without any further explanation or discussion. She had so many questions.
He seemed nonplussed.
‘I’m sure you’ll know best. I suggest you stick close to the truth. Say you’ve joined up and you are being sent to England for training, but please remember what I said. It is of vital importance that no one is told of your specific plans. Perhaps discontinuing your relationship with your RAF man would be a good idea. Fewer explanations needed, perhaps?’ he added, as if speaking to a small child. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.’
Christmas passed uneventfully. She wrote to a disappointed Solange and her father to say she wouldn’t be home for Christmas as with the fuel shortages it was impossible to get train tickets. The truth of the matter was that if she went back to Dunderrig, she wouldn’t be able to keep her future plans secret.
At least James was going home, and bringing Ingrid once more. These days the pair seemed to spend their time equally between Dublin and Dunderrig. She knew James was now selling enough paintings to support himself, and that her father had become not only resigned to his son’s career but was actually rather proud of the fact that James was already making a name for himself. He’d even hung the painting James had given him of Galley Head in his surgery.
Juliet had not seen Solange or her father since the summer of 1939, and as 1941 loomed without any indication the war was coming to a close she wondered when, or if, she’d ever see them again. She was lonely for them, but the fear that she wouldn’t be able to leave them again had stopped her from going home up to now. And now it was too risky. Solange would guess her plans, she knew she would, and the prospect of being kept safe in Dunderrig filled her with dread. So she wrote and explained that, as well as the fuel crisis, Auntie Kitty really did need full-time care now.
It was true that the old lady had fallen on some ice in November and had twisted her ankle badly. Her mobility was, as a result, very restricted. Juliet filled her days taking care of her aunt, shopping, queuing up for miniscule rations, and keeping the house in order. Kitty was very glad of the company; if Juliet hadn’t been there, she often said, she would have to go into an old folks’ home. Hopefully, she would be mobile again by the end of January. Juliet felt terrible for planning to leave her aunt, especially as Kitty had been so kind to her, but she had to go. The destruction the Germans were wreaking nightly in England made her blood boil. How dare they just destroy people like that? The reports brought by refugees from the Nazi terror were blood-curdling. She thought every day of Ewan. Anything she could do to end this horrible bloody war sooner and to get Ewan home safely, she would do it.
Her letter to him was difficult. Mr Bell had suggested she break off the romance to avoid awkward questions but that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, she made a vague reference to having taken a secretarial post with the Home Office and made sure the rest of her letter was full of life and love. It had been weeks since his last communication but often his letters got delayed and arrived in batches. She tried not to fear the worst. She knew he had left her address with his mother, with instructions to let Juliet know if the unthinkable happened. So, no news was surely good news.
She wished she could have gone down to Dublin to see James. Her last letter to him contained the same story she had given Daddy and Solange, but she hated lying to her brother more than to anyone else. Throughout their lives, they told each other the truth, no matter what. This was the first lie she’d ever told him, and she hated it. They had patched things up as much as they could by letter, but the Edith situation was always there, unmentioned but looming. He seemed really happy with his life and mad about this Ingrid. She wondered what the girl was like. Solange seemed a little unsure of her, reading between the lines. Perhaps that’s just because she feared for James’s heart. James admitted to her that Ingrid was Otto’s niece; no one in Dunderrig knew anything about Edith or Otto, so there, she was just a friend of a friend. Poor Daddy and Solange did not
deserve all these lies. She worried about what would happen when James did confess that Edith was back in his life. She knew that the longer he left it, the worse it would be, but she also knew why he didn’t want to say anything.
The thought of leaving Ireland without saying a proper goodbye to James was horrible. What if she was killed, and they never saw each other again? She longed to confide in him, but she was certain he would try to talk her out of it; he might even break their golden rule and tell Daddy, so she couldn’t risk it.
She had never discussed her brother’s relationship with their birth mother and her new husband when she was being questioned about her family by Mr Jones or Mr Bell. She felt it had nothing to do with her. They never asked her either. If they had done their homework as thoroughly as they seemed to have done, then they already knew that James spent time with Edith and Otto and had a relationship with Otto’s niece. If they knew that, they must also know that she had nothing to do with any of them, which was just as well for her. If she had been in any sort of regular contact with a German citizen – even one as benign as Otto appeared to be – she was sure they would never have recruited her. She knew that the fact she was from Eire – as the British called it – was already enough of a question mark over her loyalty as far as the powers-that-be were concerned.
Not knowing how long she was going to be away, she told her aunt – now back on her feet – that she was going down to Dublin to see James, and then to Dunderrig to see her father and Solange. By the time her subterfuge was discovered, she would be in England, out of their anxious reach.
‘BIENVENUE, MADEMOISELLE GALLIARD – VENEZ avec moi.’
Juliet made her way up the large curved staircase of Wanborough Manor. The trip over from Belfast had been choppy, and the endless train journey from Liverpool to Surrey had left her feeling a hundred years old. She longed for a long soak and a good night’s sleep.
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 23