by Mary Wood
‘No, she wouldn’t. She was a nice lass, Ada. I wished I could tell her how sorry I am. Sorry for everything. But it’s too late now.’
Brendan didn’t ask what the ‘everything’ was. It was all too late now, as the man had said. His mother had always accused Ada of messing with her Bill, but Brendan hadn’t believed it. Aunt Ada had never even mentioned him. So whatever the man was sorry for, he felt certain it wasn’t any of Aunt Ada’s doing.
‘Brendan?’
He looked up now at the sound of his name on Aunt Edith’s lips. He wished he could take the sorrow from her lovely face.
‘They are ready to intern Annie’s body, my dear. I think your Aunt Rene and Aunt Eloise will need you.’
She took his hand. Her soft kid glove felt warm and comforting and her words were said in a hushed tone. ‘My dear, I wish I could lessen your pain. This is a terrible tragedy. Our dear Ada – I loved her very much. And you were right to say that her friendship crossed all class divides. She was a lovely person.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Edith. I will understand if you want to . . . well, leave it at that.’
‘Leave it at what? No, Brendan, no – I could not live without you in my life. I want us to carry on as normal. I want you to come and stay in Leicestershire with us next week. The boys are very busy on the farm, as is Douglas, so they were unable to be here today. But they all send their love and feel deeply for you. They want you to go down and be with them as soon as you can.’
This warmed him. He hadn’t imagined them dropping him from their lives, now that Aunt Ada was gone, but had felt he had to give them the chance to do so.
As he reached the graveside, still holding Aunt Edith’s hand, and with the silent Ginny clinging to his other arm, Lady Eloise put out a hand to Brendan and guided him between herself and Aunt Rene. Edith took charge of Ginny. It was strange, but if his real mother hadn’t suffered a breakdown after having him, he’d probably have been brought up in the North of England, where she and Ada came from. But here he was, surrounded by gentry and with all of them showing him love and kindness. That was down to his Aunt Ada. It was the measure of her. The measure of Ada Grinsdale – loved by all. Rest in Peace, Aunt Ada. Rest in Peace.
15
Brendan
London, Late February 1940 – Duty Comes Above All
‘Come in, Officer O’Flynn. At ease, man. Take a seat.’
Brendan did as Colonel Wright told him to. He was a little curious as to why the colonel had summoned him to his office, and had to admit that he felt more than a little unnerved. A summons to the colonel usually meant a change of orders. Brendan’s remit so far had been to work with a team preparing for clandestine operations, in readiness for the time when the need arose, and to recruit and train a force of specialized agents. It wasn’t an easy job, because no one knew exactly what they were preparing for or what they would need, at this stage of the war.
‘I need to talk to you about a change of plan concerning Agent PMm.’
Brendan was shocked. A change of plan concerning Jhona, known as PMm – ‘Polish Mission male’ – could mean that Jhona was going to be given a different assignment or taken off the programme altogether. Where would this leave Elka?
‘Sir, may I ask why? Are there any problems?’
‘No. It’s just that we have other plans for him.’
‘But, sir—’
The colonel raised his hand to stem any objections. ‘You are to take his place, Officer O’Flynn. You won’t complete the full journey with PMf, but for the part of the mission in which you will be involved, you will need training. You are to leave for that immediately.’
His words caused Brendan’s heart to sink. He was due to go and stay in Leicestershire for a few days and take Ginny with him. God knows, they needed a break – especially Ginny, as she felt cooped up in Jimmy’s Hope House and was finding it difficult, with no proper home to escape to. Plus there was her grief for her newly found granny, on top of what she was already suffering, with the loss of her parents. It was weighing her down, and Brendan feared she would become ill. Everything was arranged: Lady Eloise had agreed to come up to London to help with Jimmy’s Hope House and be a comfort to Aunt Edith.
An inward sigh acknowledged the gulf that had opened up between himself and Aunt Edith. He found that they were avoiding each other, more often than not. This wouldn’t help the situation at all. It was bad enough when Aunt Edith knew Elka would soon be deployed, but there had been some comfort in the knowledge that Jhona would be with her. Now Brendan was worried about how she would take this news and, even more so, how Elka and Jhona would cope with being separated.
‘Sir, may I speak?’ Brendan asked.
‘Of course, as long as you aren’t going to refuse. By the way, are you Irish, O’Flynn?’
‘No, sir, I was fathered by an Irish man, but I never knew him. I’m British, sir.’
‘Hmm, I meant to ask you before. I knew an O’Flynn in the last lot – a young boy. Sad business. Still, never mind that now. What did you want to say?’
Brendan was thrown for a moment, on hearing the colonel refer out of the blue to someone he was sure was Jimmy. He judged the colonel to be around fifty-five, so he would have been in his early thirties during the last war and a young officer. Was he there when Jimmy was convicted?
Shaking this thought from him and knowing he couldn’t pursue it, he told the colonel of his misgivings about separating Elka and Jhona, remembering to refer to them by their code-names.
‘Sorry, old chap. You know as well as I do that duty comes first. They will show their mettle – or lack of it – by the way they accept this, because it has to happen. Tell me: you have been involved in the planning of the Polish mission – what are your views on it succeeding? Oh, I know the official upbeat angle that is being taken, but what do you really think?’
‘It is dangerous. Even more so for me, as I’m not much of a skier, and that’s the only way in. The temperatures are going to be the killer.’
‘I don’t think that is a problem; at least the skiing isn’t, as you are only to escort Elka to the border. Your main job is to give her cover and lend credence to her story. Once she reaches Poland, she will go alone.’
‘And what about PMf’s trade-off plan?’
‘Getting her sister out, you mean? Well, that’s not going to happen. I’m sorry, but it is impossible. You’re not to tell her that, otherwise she may lose her motivation. It is going to be difficult enough anyway, when she is told her husband isn’t going. So we have to keep up the myth that the plan involving her sister’s rescue is still in place.’
Brendan’s stomach churned violently, making him swallow hard as bile rose in his throat. Good Lord! What an impossible thing to ask of me. How can I keep this secret from Elka? But he knew he must, and he could see the sense in the action; he just wished they would give Elka a chance. He felt sure she would go anyway. To keep this secret from her would be an agony and would feel like a betrayal of her.
‘When will you tell them that I am replacing agent PMm, sir?’
‘They are probably being told this very minute. It isn’t my job to do so; it is the job of the officer in charge of their training. I have no need to come into contact with them. You are different: you are a member of my team and a serving officer under me. I have a duty towards you.’
Brendan’s thanks were not heartfelt. To him, it all seemed so callous, but then he had made the mistake of thinking that being emotionally involved with two of his agents wouldn’t matter. Now he found that it did, as decisions like this one had to be seen through. He had to hang on to the fact that the aim of the mission was a good one, and that there was no one better equipped for the job than Elka.
The moment he was off-duty Brendan headed to Jimmy’s Hope House. He hoped above all that his Aunt Edith was there. He needed to talk to her. He couldn’t tell her anything about the mission, but he must inform her and Ginny that he wouldn’t be able to go to Lei
cestershire after all. Maybe he could suggest dinner. He somehow needed to lessen the strain between himself and Edith, which had been created initially by his recruitment of Elka and Jhona and had been compounded by their shared loss, which had cut them both so deeply that it had almost severed their relationship with its intensity. They had been unable to reach out to each other. He supposed that was because neither of them could deal with the other’s pain.
Oh, how he missed his Aunt Ada. Of all of those he’d lost on that awful day, he missed her most. He could have gone and talked to her and cried with her, and she would have understood and made him feel better.
As he walked through the gates of Jimmy’s Hope House, he caught sight of a young girl standing with her back to the wall. She had a coat pulled up around her neck and it swamped her, leaving only her face peering towards him. Everything about her expressed fear. He was reminded of the rabbits on the estate of Hastleford Hall; they stood in much the same way, if you came upon them – as if they were suddenly turned to stone.
‘Hello, there. Are you all right?’
‘Oui, je suis . . . I – I mean, yes, thank you.’
She didn’t look or sound it. ‘You’re French? You must be Leah – Ginny talks about you.’ At this moment, more than ever before, he felt grateful for the private education that Edith and Laurent had paid for. His knowledge of languages, and especially of French, had helped build his relationship with Ginny as she sought to communicate with Leah; and now, he hoped, it would cement his own and Leah’s friendship. In French he asked, ‘Aren’t you cold, standing out here?’ She gave a shrug in response. Still sensing her fear, he told her who he was, which seemed to give her confidence. ‘It’s nice to meet you. Do you know if Dr Edith is here?’
‘No, she has left, but Ginny is, although she may be busy. I can enquire. If you come in, I can make you a hot drink.’
There was something about her that compelled him to accept. Once in the light of the building and when she had taken off her coat, he could see that she was of slight, almost boyish build, with a beautiful elfin-like face. Her dark eyes were huge with a gentle slant to them, and her glossy-black hair hung to her waist. There was a vulnerability about her that made his heart lurch. And a feeling took him that made him want be with her, and her alone; he didn’t want her to fetch Ginny.
Shame made him tingle at such thoughts. This poor girl didn’t need the complications of his attentions. She had enough grief of her own to contend with. He turned away, deliberately sitting at the centre table with his back to her. What on earth is the matter with me? ‘Look, if Ginny’s busy, I won’t stay. Thank you for the offer.’
‘No. No, don’t go. I make tea. I . . .’
Her protest hung in the air. In his haste to remove himself from her presence, he knocked over the chair from which he’d risen. The clatter trembled through him, giving his memory a painful jerk.
Outside, the cold air stung Brendan’s face. He had to get a move-on, before blackout; it was already getting dusky. He looked at his watch: three o’clock. A small panic gripped him. Hurrying to his car, he steered it in the direction of the churchyard. He knew he should go back to HQ, but the thought of being alone in his room, in the house where many other officers were billeted, left him feeling very alone. He wished he could go to his Aunt Edith’s house.
After the fire Edith had offered him a home, but he’d declined, not wanting to intrude on them. He had hoped he could sort a place out for himself and Ginny.
He’d found out that Annie had left her house to him in her will – or what remained of it, after the fire. It appeared that she’d always been advised by Aunt Rene in her financial matters, leaving all her legal papers and bank books with her. Among the papers had been insurance-policy documents that she’d kept up to date, and apart from the house, she had also left a good sum of money to Brendan in her will.
His heart had been gladdened by her thoughtfulness, and humbled by the love he knew she’d felt for him. The payout on the insurance was enough to repair and rebuild the house, a project that he hoped would begin soon. Not that he would ever live there again, but selling it would set up his future in the way Annie had intended. He would put the proceeds of the sale towards buying a flat for Ginny. The rest he would save, with the money Annie had left him; and then, after the war, he could sort out what he wanted to do. An involuntary thought popped into his head, and it involved Leah and his future. It shocked him: he had no right to think of Leah like that. He’d only just met her! He mustn’t dwell on the impact she had had on him. He had to accept that he wasn’t thinking straight. He’d been thrown into a quandary with the new orders, and all the change they had brought about; not to mention all that he’d been through. It had left him uncertain and grasping at straws.
He’d reached the gates of the churchyard. Hesitating, he wondered if this was really the place he should be. A voice stopped him from turning round and getting back into his car.
‘Brendan! Hello. Fancy us coming here at the same time. How are you?’
Entering his Aunt Edith’s hug, he felt for a moment that he would cry as she held him to her.
‘What is it, darling? Is there something wrong?’
He couldn’t answer. Suddenly he felt like the little boy he’d once been, dependent on Edith and his Aunt Ada, and Annie and Rene, for all his needs. Tears pricked his eyes. He blinked them away.
‘Look, go and show your respects and do whatever you need to do. I’ll sit in the car and wait for you. You can follow me home, and we’ll talk.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Edith, I’d like that. I – I wonder if I might stay over? You see, I won’t get back to my room before the blackout.’ Suddenly he wanted this more than anything and hoped it would help them re-establish the easy rapport they had been used to. An impromptu overnight stay posed no problems; he had his own room at Edith’s house and a supply of toiletries, as well as a few changes of clothing that he’d always kept there.
‘No problem, darling – we’d love to have you. We have so much to catch up on. I haven’t seen anything of you for two weeks. I’m hungry for news, as Elka’s letters don’t really tell me anything.’
‘You’re a lifesaver, Aunt Edith. I was dreading being on my own tonight, or being cajoled into joining in the gung-ho bravado of the other officers. But I warn you: I won’t be able to tell you much about Elka and Jhona, I’m afraid. Only that they are fine and should be home in a few days from now.’
‘Hmm. That can only mean they are near deployment. Oh dear, my heart sinks at the prospect, but my head tells me they are doing something important and I have to be patient and supportive. Will it be for long?’
‘Aunt Edith, you know I can’t tell you. Now, let me go and talk to Aunt Ada. And, as you say, we’ll have a chat when we get to your house. I so need one. You get off – I’ll come along when I’m ready. I promise.’
She stood for a moment, gazing at him.
The easy manner she’d had with him had made Brendan feel happier, but now he wondered if he could see some form of accusation in her expression? He felt so guilty at being instrumental in getting Elka and Jhona into the work they were doing. Edith had every right to be hurt and cross about it. No, he was wrong. She smiled her lovely smile and tapped him on the shoulder, in a gesture that said everything would be all right, then left him with a wave.
Would everything be all right? Something had changed – he could admit that now. Something had happened to him when he’d looked at Leah. Something that had left her imprinted on his soul. He daren’t think what his Aunt Edith would make of that. Leah was in her charge, and she was in a very delicate and vulnerable state. She had been through terrible experiences. He must never admit his feelings. He’d have to avoid going to Jimmy’s Hope House.
His resolve weighed heavily on him. He knelt by his Aunt Ada and Uncle Joe’s grave. ‘Oh, Aunt Ada. What am I to do?’
He knew what she would have said: ‘Take the path of truth, as long as it wo
n’t cause suffering. If it will, then bite on your courage, lad, and take the path you laid out for yourself and give your best to it.’
A feeling of loneliness came over him. So much had happened today to knock him off-balance, and yet he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Aunt Ada wouldn’t have understood; she’d have demanded that he told her what was troubling him. His mind gave him her words as if she’d spoken them aloud: ‘The world won’t collapse, if I have an ear to what’s going on. I’m not a spy, nor does anyone want to know owt as I know.’ This last bit wasn’t true. Ada just hadn’t known how important she was, to all those who knew her and loved her. He still wouldn’t have told her any official secrets, but he could have talked to her about the turmoil into which he’d been thrown.
Blowing a kiss to the mound of earth that was getting less pronounced as it settled, he turned away. In a few months they’d be able to have a stone erected, and on it he would put: ‘Here lie a loving couple, who gave to others and took little for themselves.’
As soon as Brendan arrived at her home, Edith steered him towards the elaborately carved high-backed sofa with barley-twist legs and deeply padded yellow upholstery that stood in a little inglenook of the hall.
‘Can’t you talk about anything that is troubling you, Brendan dear? Your Aunt Ada used to say, “A trouble shared is a trouble halved.” She was right, too. It is surprising how another point of view can lessen the weight of your troubles.’
‘I know. I do have worries, and pain. For one, I – I did the wrong thing in recruiting Elka and Jhona. I should have realized the emotional pull on you, and what I would be putting myself through. And now . . . well, you will find out anyway. They are to do separate work. I think they will hate me. And I know you will come to feel that, too.’
‘I can never think less of you. I was angry with you when you recruited Elka and Jhona, but I didn’t stop loving you. My anger was selfish. Having just been reunited with my daughter, whom I thought was lost to me forever, I found you taking her away from me. But Laurent made me see that wasn’t so. This bloody war was always going to separate us. Elka and Jhona had already told me they intended to do their bit. I would expect no less of them. It just hurts to see them go so soon. But if they are not to be together – oh dear, how will they cope?’