Treason if You Lose

by Peter Rimmer

  Smiling to herself, Betty went out of William’s office to get her notebook. Ruthy was still sitting up in the pram, gurgling.

  “You’re wrong,” said William through the open door. “Joe’s important. Of course he is. He’s my cousin. He has children. What would happen to Ruthy if I couldn’t look after her? If you couldn’t look after her? Children need both their parents.”

  Getting up on an impulse, William walked into the smaller room where his wife did the typing. Bending down, he kissed Ruthy on the forehead.

  “It’s going to be one of those days,” he said, patting his wife’s bottom on his way back to his desk.

  When Betty went back to take shorthand notes, William was staring at the ceiling.

  “When the war’s over you are going to become a housewife,” he said.

  “Whatever for? I’d be bored stiff. I could think of nothing worse than staying at home looking after the children.”

  “Who said anything about children in the plural?”

  “I did.”

  “You can’t have two kids in the office once they are running around. You’d better have a boy.”

  “At your service, sir.”

  “Come here and give me a kiss. Do you really want another child?”

  “We can’t have just one, can we? Ruthy will be lonely. In the new house we haven’t yet bought, we’ll need lots of children. I always wanted to be part of a big family.”

  “Be careful what you wish for. My mother called me Cocky Alljaw.”

  “Why ever for?”

  “I suppose I was cocky even then.”

  “She had you pegged. ‘Alljaw’ for a journalist!”

  “It’ll pay for that new house and furniture.”

  The Duck and Drake was full of newsmen all talking at the same time. Betty had taken Ruthy home in the pram to give her the nightly bath. William had arranged to meet Horatio in the pub. Arthur Bumley of the Daily Mirror and Billy Glass of the Daily Mail were to join them. Horatio had told a friend before William walked in the door. The whole pub knew Bruno Kannberg was alive in a Singapore jail.

  When William joined them at the bar, his fellow newsmen put up a cheer.

  “You’d think I’d saved the bugger single-handed.”

  “Where’s Betty?”

  “Bathing Ruthy. She wants to go on working when the war ends.”

  “The holes we dig for ourselves. After three phone calls I caught up with the dutiful wife. She was in Los Angeles. A man answered the phone. When I told her Bruno was alive in a Japanese jail she didn’t say a word for ten seconds. Caught her on the hop. All those time zones in America make phoning from England a problem. If I had to guess, the once-upon-a-time widow was in bed when I rang. With the young man who answered the phone. She liked to keep Bruno short to keep him on his toes. Poor boy was besotted. At the Mirror we were very generous when Bruno was taken from us. The widow’s pension was the equivalent of forty-five years’ loyal service. Looked good in the paper when we told our readers. Everyone’s patriotic in time of war. Showed the paper cared. Now the pension stops. Bruno gets his weekly pay. I’ll have to look into a refund.”

  “You mean she was getting more from a dead man?” said Horatio Wakefield.

  “More than double. The merry widow. In America they love money, especially when the men don’t have to do any work for it. Instead of holding them by the balls with her sexuality, our Mrs Kannberg had them over the barrel with her money. Probably more than a barrel. Looks fade. Money lasts. Poor old Bruno. All that time in a nasty foreign jail and nothing to show for it. Chances are, after a couple of years he won’t fancy her when he gets out of Changi. Can’t be long now.”

  “So she wasn't pleased?” said William.

  “Not really, if you ask me.”

  “He can always find another wife.”

  “And who’s going to pay for the first one?”

  “Hopefully Bruno will write a bestselling book about his time in a Japanese jail. People read that kind of stuff. Some poor sod worse off than they are. You think her young man will walk out on her?”

  “Wouldn’t you? The husband won’t be his problem. My stopping the pension will stop the attraction. She’s thirty next year, according to our pension department. Poor girl. What a disaster. She was better off with him dead.”

  “You don’t think she loves him?” said Horatio.

  “I don’t think so. Had her bum in the butter… Here comes the man from the Mail. Come over here, Billy Glass, and buy us a round. It’s a celebration we don’t get much of these days. Good old Bruno. He’ll be all right. Not quite so sure about his wife.”

  “She’ll get herself pregnant when he comes back,” said William from experience.

  “Good thinking. A journalist’s salary is better than nothing. All this might make Mrs Kannberg behave herself. She was having an affair with Gregory L’Amour they say. Oh well. All good things have to come to an end. Like my mistress. She met my wife by accident and liked her. Buggered the whole thing up. At least my wife isn’t talking to me. Would you have given the grieving, or in this case, the not so grieving widow such a generous pension, Billy? Would Wakefield’s wife with two kids have got what our man got for getting himself killed as we thought? You were lucky, Wakefield, to get back alive from Normandy. For the sake of your children. The Mail would never have been so generous as the Mirror.”

  “After all these years, won’t you call me Horatio?”

  “You know what she calls me behind my back? Art the Bumley. The longer version, I should think, of Bum Fart. People are so unkind.”

  “Have you told her the pension stops?”

  “I’m sure she’s worked it out on her own. She’ll find out next month when the cheque doesn’t arrive.”

  “You’re damn cruel, Arthur,” said Billy Glass after ordering the round. “Of course we would have looked after Janet. Bruno’s alive. That’s what’s important. I give you a toast. To our fellow newsman. Very much alive. Bruno Kannberg.”

  When each of them had bought a round of drinks they all went home. William was not smiling. The truth of being a freelance journalist had struck home. What he now needed was lots of insurance for Ruthy and Betty if anything should happen to him.

  “What are you grinning at?” Betty asked him when he opened the door to her flat.

  “You and Ruthy. Some men have all the luck.”

  5

  In the end Tina Brigandshaw had taken the boat. The extra two weeks was better than flying up Africa to the Mediterranean where the air war was still raging. The ship had sailed from Cape Town to Bristol on the west coast of England. With the battle of the Atlantic mostly over there was no need for an escort. For Tina and the three children the journey was dull, stopping only at the British islands of St Helena and Ascension.

  Mr and Mrs Coetzee had moved back into the Bishopscourt house at Harry’s suggestion. Both of them had smirks on their faces when they arrived in a taxi with their suitcases to take up their caretaker post for the second time. Tina had not bothered to ask them what they were doing in the time after she had fired them in October 1940; some things were better unsaid. In Tina’s mind there was no way she was coming back to Africa so what they did with the house did not matter. She was going to tell Harry to sell the place now the war was coming to an end.

  Harry had come on board at Bristol to see them off the boat. His family having once owned the shipping line that brought them back to England had made going on board a simple request. They hugged for a long time, both glad to see each other. Living on their own had been lonely for both of them. Then he hugged the children in turn.

  “Where’s Frank?” said Harry looking around.

  “In the Zambezi Valley I should think by now. All your talk of the African bush had sunk into his mind. Went with one of his bully friends from school. They took the train to Victoria Falls from where they were going to camp in the valley.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “He�
�s nineteen in December. Didn’t want his head blown off. Says he may or may not come back to England when the war’s over.”

  “What’s he doing for money?”

  “I gave him some. Brian Tobin’s father has a cattle ranch outside Bulawayo. They took guns. Going to live off the land like you did with Barend on the Skeleton Coast. Had it all worked out. I think he wanted to escape being called up when he turned eighteen by disappearing into the bush.”

  “You’re probably right. He’s a strange one, Frank. Where did you find all this luggage?”

  “We’re coming home, Harry. Didn’t want to leave anything behind. Are you pleased to see us?”

  “You have just no idea how much. So Frank’s gone his own way?”

  “Looks like it. How is Hastings Court?”

  “The lawns are overgrown. The clock tower and stables came down in the bombing. We don’t have any servants. Otherwise, the old house is still perfect.”

  “Have we lost our money during the war?”

  “Matter of fact, we haven’t. The Tender Meat Company declared record profits right through the war. I went down to see your parents in Dorset. Anthony visited them his every third leave.”

  Only then did they both clutch each other as the pain surged back in both of them. When Harry looked over Tina’s shoulder through his tears, Beth was crying. Dorian and Kim had gone up on deck.

  “I miss him, Daddy,” said Beth.

  “We all do, darling. Give your father another hug.”

  When William Smythe phoned Harry to tell him Bruno Kannberg was still alive, Hastings Court was returning to normal. With feminine zeal, Tina had gone into the village looking for staff to work in the house and the garden. The back lawn had been cut, the dandelions rooted out of the grass. Windows, that had not been cleaned for years, were clean, the rubble round where the clock tower had stood was now being cleared. Everything for Tina was a frenzy. A frenzy, Harry knew, to stop her thinking of Anthony. Instead of staying in town during the week, Harry caught the train to and from Leatherhead, using his motorcycle to get to the station.

  When Tinus Oosthuizen came on leave from France at the end of September Harry was able to talk of Anthony without the choke in his throat. Life, he told himself, always went on. The regime of an ordered house had returned, with meals served exactly on time. Dorian and Kim had been put into private schools. Beth had stayed at home whilst considering what to do with her future. Looking at Tinus in the deck chair on the newly cut lawn, Harry hoped the horror of war, the pain of loss, was almost over.

  “You want to talk about the future, Tinus?” Harry asked his nephew.

  “Why not? It’s nice to see there is one.”

  “How’s Genevieve?”

  “Lonely.”

  “Would you like to live in America? Fact is, I have a pile of accumulated money. The deals we did with Clint Granger and Cousin George were better than either of us imagined. I need someone to run my affairs in America. Someone like you with a degree in economics, if you haven’t forgotten what they taught you at Oxford. We need to reinvest our profits. Diversify. Or do you still have too much of Africa in your bones? Now Tina is home I don’t want to leave her and the children.”

  “Where’s Frank, Uncle Harry?”

  “In the Zambezi Valley. Didn’t want the army calling him up. Will you go to America for me? Genevieve can continue her career. Europe’s going to find the peace as difficult as the war. We’re knocking it down now but afterwards we’ll have to clear away the rubble and start over again. It will be years before Europe is back on its feet.”

  “We have to bomb the Germans into submission.”

  “I know. I’ve been under the bombs in the Blitz. Poor Klaus and his family. It’s far worse for the Germans. We’re setting fire to their cities.”

  “When do you think we’ll be in Berlin?” asked Tinus.

  “After the Russians. And they want revenge. America’s going to be the place after this is all over.”

  “Not Africa?”

  “Do you really think we will have the strength to hold on to our colonies? I don’t think so. We’ve promised Gandhi independence. The rest will fall like dominoes. We must get out without leaving a mess. Without leaving a vacuum of power. The world’s very different to what it was before the war.”

  “America. I never thought of living in America. Do I need a permit to live over there?”

  “Not when you marry Genevieve. She’s the right to American citizenship. In that last film she was talking with an American accent that sounded to me quite natural.”

  “Why don’t you come and live in America?”

  “Tina loves England. She can have whatever she wants after Anthony.”

  “I’ve lost so many friends,” said Tinus getting up and walking away. “What was the point of it all, Uncle Harry?” he said without turning round.

  “I want to ask Klaus von Lieberman that same question next time we meet.”

  “Any news of him?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Wasn’t his son a pilot?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “They’ve taken a terrible beating among their pilots.”

  “So have we. Just be careful.”

  “We’re taking over the German airfields. As they retreat, we move in. Once we ate their dinner in the officers’ mess. The food was still hot. The chaps had left before the cook could put the food on the table. Even the cook had left. Like eating a dead man’s banquet.”

  “You know that chap Bruno Kannberg that disappeared in the Pacific? Wrote the book on Genevieve. He’s alive. They’ve found him in Singapore. William Smythe found out and gave me a ring.”

  “That is good news. His wife will be so happy. She’s in America. Gillian and Genevieve see a bit of each other. Two English in a sea of Americans.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be delighted. Both of them. Will you go to America for me?”

  “Why not? But what are you going to do about Elephant Walk?”

  “Leave it as it is. Ralph Madgwick does a good job. He’s happy to manage the farm and receive a good bonus. Do you know Sir Jacob Rosenzweig has still never set eyes on those grandchildren? I suggested he come for a visit. Must be strange to have grandchildren you have only seen in photographs. The tobacco crop is making the money. For the moment the Mazoe dam is a nice place to sail a boat. We’ve put in some of the citrus trees around the perimeter of our side of the dam. No point in bottling and extraction plants until after the war. People want basic food at the moment. And tobacco to calm their nerves. Fruit juices and perfume will have their place in a more prosperous age. We’re supplying oranges to the Salisbury produce market.

  “Later, after sorting out our assets in America, you can take another look? Dorian will need a career in the not too distant future. They become men very fast. He’s sixteen. Still can’t believe it. When I last saw him he was a small boy. My mother is the one that worries me. Your grandmother, Tinus. She and your mother live in each other’s pockets. Have done ever since your father was killed. They won’t come back to England. I have suggested they come back now Tina has made it plain she wants to stay in England. Your sisters and their children are a big draw for them to stay in Rhodesia. Mother’s getting frail. I’d like to be closer to her but you can’t please everyone. Do you know in the old days here in England people never moved ten miles from where they were born? Families stayed close together giving each other support. The modern age, with the English spread round the world, has ruined our family unity. I think we’ve lost a lot of what is good in life. The most important people to us are our extended families. It’s not only financial support we can give each other. Moral support is just as important.”

  “Won’t Frank want a job on the farm?”

  “Very much doubt it. Frank will either make a fortune on his own or end up in jail for shady dealing. He’s far too like his father.”

  “What do you mean, Uncle Harry?”

  “Frank�
�s not my son. He’s Barnaby St Clair’s. I thought you knew. Lady St Clair was too well mannered to mention it. Tina had grown up with Barnaby. Not in the same house, of course. Lovers long before I came on the scene. The snob in Barnaby wouldn’t let him marry a Pringle. The Pringles have been living five miles from the St Clairs for centuries. Always subservient. I was away in Africa. These things happen, Tinus. You just have to live with them. You’ve been through enough by the age of twenty-seven to know what I’m talking about. I treat him as a son. Who knows, one day Barnaby may accept him as a son. What else is Barnaby going to do with all that money when he dies? Our Barnaby isn’t the type to leave his money to the cat’s home. He doesn’t have any more children as far as we know. The world goes round in strange ways. Never what it appears to be. Like what we think in our heads and what we say. To be polite in society the two are often very different. No, I correct that. They are always different or we’d be fighting like cats and dogs. It’s often wiser not to tell the truth about someone to their face.”

  “Does Frank know?”

  “I haven’t told him. Neither has his mother. She’s taking the children down to Dorset tomorrow to see her parents. They’ll be surprised to see our Beth. When she left England she was a gangling, awkward fourteen-year-old. Now she’s a woman. I’d like you to meet the Pringles one day. You don’t meet many genuine people these days. They’ve been in the same railway cottage all their married lives. He works for the railways. There’s a brother in Johannesburg who made a fortune in mining. Never comes home. He has, unsuccessfully, tried to give his parents money which I appreciate. You see, there’s family all over the damn place. The price of spreading an empire round the world.”

  “I came back to England on leave with Janusz Kowalski. You remember him? Dropped him off at Fleur and Celia’s. Do you know they’ve still got the same flat in Paddington? I don’t ask too many questions. No one does when there’s a war going on. Hasn’t heard a word from the love of his life since the Germans invaded Poland. You met Ingrid here. It was the first time I met Janusz. Must have been at the end of 1938. Not a word from anybody in his family. He thinks Poland under the Russians will be no better than under the Nazis. We owe a lot to those pilots who made it to Britain after Poland collapsed.”