‘I have no idea. He is in some kind of business I think. As I said, I don’t communicate with them.’
‘But your brother James, he is in regular touch with them, and with your stepfather’s niece, a young woman called…’ he checked his notes, ‘Ingrid Hugenberg. James is in close contact with a lot of people who are under observation by the Irish police and of whom we are highly suspicious. How does your twin brother feel about you being on our side, given his obvious pro-German leanings?’
Juliet felt a surge of temper, and she struggled to contain it. How dare he speak about James like that? Pro-German, for God’s sake, what rubbish! Taking a deep breath, she replied with what she hoped was a dignified tone.
‘My brother is not now, nor has he ever been “pro-German”. He is in touch with our mother, he met Ingrid through Otto, and that’s all there is to it. It’s frankly ridiculous to suggest he is in some kind of Nazi circle. I can’t speak for Edith or Otto, but I do know James would never be involved in anything pro-Nazi. He met and fell in love with Ingrid before any of this happened, and she and our mother are the only reasons he is associated with any Germans at all.’ Juliet’s outrage was palpable in the room.
Gubbins remained impassive.
‘You must understand that it is vital from our perspective to ensure that our agents are one hundred percent committed to the Allied cause. You must surely understand that your background, being Irish, combined with the company your brother chooses to keep, gives us some cause for concern. Your father was decorated in the last war, and his loyalty was never in question for the duration of his time in uniform, but it seems he was rather less than helpful subsequently, defending criminals and terrorists of the IRA, during what you call the troubles, and refusing to give important information to the authorities, even when pressed. Perhaps, he was frightened of the consequences. The IRA were pretty ruthless.’ He rubbed his moustache with his index finger, lost in thought.
Juliet held her tongue, while she seethed with rage. Who the hell did this man think he was? This typically supercilious attitude of the British military towards the Irish infuriated her. If this man knew anything about her father, he’d know that Richard Buckley had decided that he would help those who needed him whatever the colour of their politics as a doctor. The ability to keep a cool head no matter what the circumstances was part of her training; there was no place for hysterics in the field as they were constantly being reminded. With that in mind, she spoke quietly, smothering her inner fury.
‘My father treated everyone equally, sir. Which side they were on, didn’t matter to him. That is why he wouldn’t tell the British authorities about those he had treated. You might be interested to note he told the IRA exactly the same thing when they asked him questions about any of the British soldiers who were patients of his.’
Major General Gubbins didn’t react and began rubbing his moustache again – a sign he was thinking, she recognised.
‘So, Miss Buckley, you feel your sudden arrival in Dublin would raise suspicions. I suspect you’re right. Your loyalty has yet to be tested, but on balance, I think I am willing to send you on the next phase of training, which will deal with the more specific skills needed for clandestine work. I am speaking to you now to simply clarify our position. If you feel that you are compromised in any way, or if you even suspect that you are now or at any time in the future could feel conflicted with regards to loyalty, then I urge you, in the strongest possible way, to discontinue your association with this organisation instantly. It would spare all of us considerable inconvenience, to say the very least.’
Juliet’s mind was in turmoil. Indignation welled up within her. After all they had put her through, all that she’d endured over the past months; they had the nerve to question her loyalty. She had done everything asked of her without a word of complaint and still she was being doubted. Pride tempted her to walk out then and there and have nothing further to do with these people. Yet living in England, in this environment, had made her realise how vitally important it was to defeat Hitler and the Nazis. The way they were treating the citizens of the countries they’d already invaded was disgusting, and the image of those Jewish children she and Ewan had seen in the station in Belfast was indelibly printed on her mind. If the Nazis came here or to Ireland, they would behave in exactly the same way. She thought of Dunderrig with jack-booted Germans in the post office or in the Dunderrig Inn, or of the Nazi swastika flying over the town hall in Skibbereen. She visualised them ordering everyone around, and she stiffened her resolve and swallowed her anger.
‘I want to go, sir. I know you have to ask me these things, and I know why. I’m not English, nor do I have any desire to be. I’m Irish and proud of it, but I do want to help defeat Hitler, and I want that as much as you do. So if you send me, I promise I’ll do my very best, whatever the cost to myself.’
He looked at her for a long minute and nodded. ‘Very well, Miss Buckley. Let’s see how Beaulieu suits you.’
Juliet hobbled slowly back towards her room, thinking about the conversation. In the hallway, the housekeeper intercepted her.
‘There is some post for you, it seems. It’s taken a while to get to you, but it got here in the end.’ She handed Juliet a bundle of letters.
Tears filled her eyes as she recognised first the distinctive French handwriting of Solange, Daddy’s scrawly scribble, two from James, and finally several from Ewan. They had been redirected from the RAF base in Brighton. It was like all her Christmases had come at once.
She rushed back to her room as fast as her aching hip would allow and sat on her bed devouring their words; she could almost hear their voices, all telling her of their news. James about Ingrid – even telling her they’d finally ‘done it’. She smiled at the thought of James’s blushes putting that down on paper, but she was glad he could confide in her. She’d written to him from Belfast telling him to go for it. Auntie Kitty’s letter was all about her ankle and how she could get about now but that life wasn’t the same without her darling great-niece. Daddy’s letter was full of entreaties to take care of herself and not to do anything stupid; he loved her so much, she knew, but sometimes with him, concern came over a bit too much like ‘giving out’. Solange’s letter was full of stories of Dunderrig and the family.
Juliet kept Ewan’s three letters till last. She’d not heard from him for a long time and was starting to think perhaps it was just a wartime romance – passionate, yet forgotten instantly once a new prospect appears.
Settling herself on the bed, she opened the first letter, dated in November, which had been forwarded from her aunt’s address to Brighton.
My darling Juliet,
I’d heard nothing for weeks and then I got three letters from you together and was so relieved you hadn’t forgotten me. Are you all right? I’m fine, getting on with things as you can imagine. I have that photo you gave me over my bed, and all the lads are mad about you, but I’ve told them you’re all mine and they have no chance – although I was a bit worried when you seemed to have stopped writing! I see a fair bit of Dougie, which is great; he knows all about you and how I’m moving to Ireland after the war. I miss you and think about you every single day (and night). We will be in Dunderrig together. I promise.
All my love,
Ewan.
She folded it carefully and opened the next one.
My darling Juliet,
What on earth are you thinking? I’ve only just got your letter that you’ve joined up. Are you mad? I don’t know how I feel. On the one hand, I could wring your beautiful, slender, kissable neck, and on the other, my heart is bursting with pride. I love you more every day, and I hate being apart from you, honest to God I do, but at least when I thought you were in relative safety, I didn’t worry – but now? I’m out of my mind.
You asked me about leave, well I’m definitely due some but whether I will get it, is hard to say. I’m sorry for being vague, it’s not how I feel, but I don�
��t want to get our hopes up only to have them dashed. I would give my right arm for a night with you, my darling wee girl. You are the reason I know I’m going to come through this. We will be in Dunderrig together, I promise.
All my love always,
Ewan.
The last one was very short.
Darling Juliet,
I love you. I always will. Think of me tonight. Sorry it’s not longer, but I’ve got to go. I just wanted to write to you first.
We will be in Dunderrig together, I promise.
Ewan.
This last one filled her with trepidation. Where was he going that he felt he had to write such a quick note? Fighting for the safety of the two remaining unoccupied islands of Ireland and England. She recalled Winston Churchill’s speech to the House of Commons commending the bravery of the RAF: ‘Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.’ Ewan was one of the few, and she was proud and worried in equal measure.
Juliet read and reread all the letters and finally fell asleep with them underneath her pillow.
Chapter 31
James lay awake in his darkened bedroom. The moonlight streamed through the open curtains and the hooting of an owl was the only sound to break the stillness. He looked at his watch: 3:00 a.m. Ingrid was asleep across the hall. He’d heard his father go out about an hour ago, probably up to Paddy O’Sullivan – the poor man was in the final stages of cancer. Whenever he could, Richard was with his patients in their final moments. Earlier, in the kitchen, Richard had confided to James that sometimes, when nothing more could be done and the pain was too much for his patient to bear in their final hours, he would administer enough morphine to end the pain entirely, which in turn accelerated the shutting down of the body. While it was ethically questionable, it was the kindest thing to do.
He wondered why his father told him details like that. Was it to get his son to reconsider studying medicine or was he just unburdening himself about the difficulties of his job? It was hard to know sometimes, but there was a different feel to their relationship of late. It was as if they were more equals than father and son.
Richard was out of his mind with worry about Juliet of course, but having James and Ingrid around seemed to cheer him up. Whenever he got too upset about Juliet, usually after listening to the news, Ingrid managed to say the right thing – how the war would soon be over, and how quickly Juliet would be home safe. Richard was very fond of Ingrid, though James wondered how Solange felt about her. She was never anything but kind and friendly to his girlfriend, yet he suspected she found it hard to warm to a German woman. It was understandable given how much she’d lost at that nation’s hands.
James longed for Ingrid as he lay in bed. He couldn’t get the image of her beautiful body out of his mind. They loved Dunderrig, but the opportunities for privacy were much less frequent here than in Dublin. Edith and Otto were out a lot and, anyway, they knew he and Ingrid were lovers and didn’t seem to mind a bit. Dunderrig was a lot more traditional. James wondered whether he should risk sneaking into Ingrid’s room. Solange at least wouldn’t mind, even if she did hear him – she was much more liberal in her views on that subject than his father or Mrs Canty.
He remembered an excruciatingly embarrassing conversation a few months ago when Solange realised things were getting serious with Ingrid. He had been painting in the garden when she approached him. Since they were alone, she spoke in French and got right to the point.
‘James, mon chéri. I know you won’t want to have this conversation with me, but I doubt your father has had it with you, so please hear me out, all right?’ She was smiling in the afternoon sun. ‘You and Ingrid are young, and you care a lot for each other, I can see. I don’t know if you have made love yet, but I imagine you have or at least are wanting to, so that is what I want to talk to you about…’
‘Solange, please. There’s no need,’ interrupted a mortified James. ‘I understand all about it, so really…’
Solange smiled. ‘Yes, of course you know all about it, that’s not what I want to say.’ Handing him a bulging envelope, Solange ruffled his hair.
‘Now, I want you to take these and use them. People always say that women can only conceive at certain times in their cycle, but that belief is why Irish families have fifteen children, so unless you want to be a father before you are ready, you should use these.’
James looked incredulously inside the envelope, registering the contents.
‘I know you hate this, it is embarrassing for you, but you are a normal healthy young man with normal healthy appetites. I am not trying to make you uncomfortable. It is because I love you and I want to protect you, both of you, from being forced into something before you are ready.’
Despite his embarrassment, James was relieved. It was something that was on his mind. In Dublin, Ingrid had access to condoms through a friend, who had brought them from Germany. Since they had come to West Cork, where condoms were considered illegal and immoral and, anyway, were impossible to get, they had been taking chances. When Ingrid had got her period, he’d breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t imagine asking anyone in Dunderrig – his father would be sure to hear of it and be horrified. And now here was Solange telling him that she provided his father with these, to hand out to his patients. The world was so different from how he imagined it. What other secrets were his loved ones hiding from him? Muttering his thanks, he had stuffed the envelope into his pocket. Solange had promised not to mention their conversation to his father, but even her knowing what he and Ingrid were up to had made him blush.
The barn owl hooted once more. He could restrain himself no longer; he just had to make love to Ingrid. He knew she’d greet him enthusiastically. She really was the most incredible girl. She was happy for them to get up to all sorts anytime, anywhere. He often wondered what Juliet would think about it. Fiery and wild as his sister was, he doubted she was as adventurous as Ingrid – at least, he hoped she wasn’t. He realised how hypocritical he was being, but he hoped this Ewan was treating her with respect.
Creeping across the carpeted landing, he was just about to place his hand on the door handle of Ingrid’s bedroom when he heard a loud snore from his father’s room. Yet he was sure his father had left the house – he had distinctly heard the front door close over an hour ago. Who else had a reason to steal out in the middle of the night? Maybe he just hadn’t heard his father return.
Mystified and frustrated with desire, he returned to his own room. There was no way he’d risk spending the night with Ingrid with his father in the house.
The following morning was wet and cloudy. Over breakfast, as he buttered toast, James asked his father, ‘Was there a call out last night?’
‘No, thank God. I was delivering the latest O’Driscoll above in Gleannrí the night before, so I was glad of an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Why do you ask?’
Solange looked up from her coffee. ‘I also thought you were on a call, Richard. I was woken at maybe two in the morning by the front door banging. Very strange. I’ll ask Eddie to look at the lock, to see if the door could blow open and close again in the wind.’
Ingrid appeared in the kitchen, hair wet from her bath and glowing with radiant health. Kissing James on top of his head, she swiped a sausage from his plate.
‘Mmm…Frau Canty, you make the best sausages in the world. When I go back to Germany, I will have to take some for my father. He loves sausage, but we have none as good as this. Though perhaps it is the way they are prepared. I fear they would not taste so well if I cooked them.’
The housekeeper coloured with pride. Mrs Canty was charmed by Ingrid and loved when she and James were in the house. She considered it a personal challenge to keep the standard of fare in Dunderrig as high as ever despite the rationing.
‘Well, you have no look of a one that enjoys her food, Miss, there’s not a pick on you, you’re like our Juliet. She’d eat you out of house and home and never
puts on an ounce. Though they’re only half-feeding her over in England, the poor child says she’s dreaming of home-cooked food.’
Solange and Richard exchanged a glance and smile. Mrs Canty had the whole village told of how Juliet was dreaming of her cooking.
‘She is right. I don’t know how she left this place. It is so beautiful, but James, perhaps it is time I returned to work. We have been here three months now, and I think Helmut will need me back for the new term.’
Ingrid was careful never to mention Edith or Otto, though James knew she thought he was making a big thing out of something trivial. Ingrid’s attitude was nonchalant. His mother had remarried and now lived in Dublin with Ingrid’s uncle. She didn’t think Richard would even look up from the paper at such news, but she didn’t know Richard as well as she thought she did. Richard never mentioned Edith, ever.
James’s heart sank at Ingrid’s suggestion. The thoughts of returning to Dublin and his mother and all that entailed filled him with dread. Perhaps he’ll just let Ingrid go up alone this time. He had quite a few commissions now, so he could say with honesty that he needed to stay here and finish the pieces on order.
‘Well, how about you go up and I stay down here this time? I’d go with you normally, but I have to get that landscape finished for the bank. They’re having the centenary dinner on Saturday week, and I promised them the painting would be hung in time.’
Mrs Canty put in, ‘Sure, Ingrid pet, your Hell-mutt is doing without you this long, won’t you stay here altogether? I hate to think of either of ye going back up there. I know it was back last May, but them bloody Germans were not joking when they dropped bombs on Dublin, you know. Belfast is getting a right hammering. Poor Juliet is better off out of that, anyway, though God alone knows where the girl is now. I was only reading yesterday about how they don’t let them say a blessed bit on the radio now over in England, or here either, or anything about the weather or anything like that for fear the Germans would hear about it. I don’t know where it’s all going to end. And, of course, herself down below in the post office is loving all of this, you’d swear she was in the Secret Service herself the way she goes on, with her notions! She thinks the Emergency gives her a right to stick her warty auld nose even further into people’s business. Imagine, I went in there last week for stamps and there she was, large as life and twice as ugly, holding court about young people making exhibitions of themselves in public. I haven’t a clue what she was rawmaishing on about, but you may be sure ’twas some slight on someone from this house, anyway.’
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 27