‘Good afternoon, Mr Casey,’ I said, politely, but without any enthusiasm.
‘I’d like to talk to you, little lady.’ His tone was curt, almost rude.
Given the tone, I felt no compunction in refusing.
‘I’d rather not,’ I said. ‘I’m frightfully busy right now.’
As I stepped around him he took hold of my wrist. I twisted my hand towards his thumb and pulled my hand free.
‘Where’d you learn that trick?’ he said, looking impressed.
‘You’d be surprised what we learn in the chorus.’
‘You learned how to lie, for one thing.’
I stared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You lied to Dan Lowell and me. You knew all along it was Harker who looted Egan’s body in that nightclub.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ I began to walk away from him.
‘You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble,’ he said. ‘You lied to your police. I’m looking at making a formal complaint about you to that Detective Wayland.’
I stopped walking, but did not turn around. He was right. Casey could prove that I had lied to the police.
‘You give it over,’ said Casey. ‘Give it to me and I won’t speak to Wayland. There’ll be no questions asked if you just give it to me.’
I decided to bluff and turned around to face him. ‘I have no idea what you mean. Give what to you?’
‘What Harry Egan was carrying that night.’
I looked into his muddy blue eyes. ‘Mr Harker took the locket. You told me it had been given to his widow.’
He gave a derisive smile. ‘Yeah. Like I said, you learned how to lie real well in that chorus line. You’re a regular lying champion, Miss Halliday.’
‘And you’re a obnoxious boor. I don’t care who you talk to.’
‘Another lie,’ he said with an obvious sneer. ‘You care, all right. Look, I don’t want to make trouble for you. Just hand it over.’
‘Go away, Mr Casey.’
He gave me the approximation of a smile. ‘So I have to get it back myself, do I? Let me tell you this, li—’
‘Don’t call me that! I’m not little, and it’s obvious you don’t think I’m a lady.’
His jaw clenched, and he said, ‘You’d better watch it, Miss Halliday. The US government is a bad enemy, but I’m a worse one.’
He turned on his heel and walked quickly away. I stared after him until he disappeared down Greek Street. So Casey thought I had the microfilm. I hoped he wasn’t going to be a nuisance. I wasn’t frightened of him, but he might be able to make my life difficult, especially if he reported me to Inspector Wayland.
I blew out a breath. Jim Vassilikov would be at the cinema that night. I decided I’d try to speak to him alone and ask him for advice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Friday 6 June 1941
Lily, Jim and I stood outside the Odeon on Friday night, for the first screening of Ambulance Girls At War. We were expecting a small crowd from Bloomsbury Ambulance Station, and sure enough, we were soon joined by Celia and Simon, and then Squire and his wife, Joan. Armstrong brought a young girl with curly red hair and freckles who he described as ‘my girl, Rose’. Even Purvis brought a date, a slim artist he introduced as ‘Nancy Mair, a watercolourist’. Then, to my surprise, Sadler and his wife Mavis arrived. Harris and Powell had promised to watch the film at their local cinemas and tell us what they thought at the next shift on Sunday.
I felt sad that Michael wasn’t there. He’d hand-delivered a note, a cheque and a book to the club the day after the big raid. The note told me that he loved me, he’d be back as soon as he could, and I should spend the money on pretty things. The cheque was for £20, which was a very generous amount indeed. And he had added a cryptic postscript: ‘Watch for me by moonlight.’ I knew that was from the poem The Highwayman, but couldn’t work out what he meant by it. The book was David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, which had made me smile. Michael seemed determined to make me appreciate his idol.
Since then I’d heard nothing. Almost four weeks. It seemed like a lifetime.
As the others chatted, Purvis whispered to me that he wouldn’t have brought Nancy if he’d known I’d be alone. I murmured a non-committal reply and he wandered back to Nancy.
We were in line for our tickets when Moray arrived, alone. He always kept his cards close to his chest, and although he’d mentioned a wife and children who had evacuated to the country, he had given us no other details. Moray was a dark horse, one I had never really been able to make out. I suspected that his political views were very far to the right, almost fascist. Also that he was anti-Semitic because he had sometimes treated David Levy, Simon’s brother, with contempt. I tried not to judge him because, since we had gone over to twenty-four-hour shifts, he had been an excellent station leader, very cool and practical, but sympathetic also.
‘I’m the lucky one,’ he said. ‘What an honour to partner Halliday.’
When we were seated in the dark cinema he whispered, ‘Where’s your dashing American?’
‘Away,’ I replied, and we sat back to watch the screen.
The newsreel gave us no rousing victories to celebrate. When the cartoon came on I began to feel nervous. My heart started to thump during the short film telling us to eat more potatoes. When Ambulance Girls At War began my stomach roiled with nausea. I thought then that it was a good thing that Michael wasn’t there to see me make a fool of myself.
It seemed to take forever to get to the actual film. I sat through the certification that the movie had been passed by the British Board of Film Censors, some stirring music, and the title, in big letters. Next came: ‘Produced by Crown Film Unit, with the full cooperation of the London Auxiliary Ambulance Service.’ Our names came up, for all the world to see, followed by: ‘on loan from London Auxiliary Ambulance Stations 11 and 39’.
Words scrolled down the screen: ‘This is a story of the London Blitz – and of those who drive their ambulances into the teeth of the storm to ferry the injured to hospital. Many parts are played by the ambulance girls themselves. This film is dedicated to them and to their sisters – to the Ambulance Girls of the London Auxiliary Ambulance Service.’
And it began.
Magic had taken place since we had filmed it. The ambulance common room looked authentic. There I was, shirt buttons straining, silk-clad legs a mile long, reading a newspaper. I looked quite fetching, I thought. Lily looked adorable, reading her book. Celia rolled her wool, the picture of a serene English beauty.
‘Cor,’ said a male voice behind me. ‘I like the little one.’
‘How about the legs on that one at the front,’ whispered his neighbour, then said something quite vulgar about my straining shirt buttons.
‘Want me to take him out the back?’ whispered Moray.
I laughed and shook my head.
‘I’ll have the one that’s winding the wool,’ said a third man. ‘What a beauty. I’ve been waiting all my life for you, me darling.’
Celia was sitting next to me and I felt her stiffen. Simon put his arm around her and when he whispered something, she laughed.
On the screen, Rose, Henry and Bert spoke of Careless Talk and Victory Gardens. The noise of the planes increased and I said, in a sweet and crystal-clear voice: ‘My word, Jerry is coming over thick and fast tonight.’
It really didn’t sound like my voice and I wondered how they had done it. As the scene went on it dawned on my befuddled mind that it hadn’t sounded like me because it wasn’t my voice. It was a nice voice, but it wasn’t mine.
Lily/Sheila spoke in her own voice, and Diana/Lady Harriet spoke in hers. Why hadn’t they kept my voice?
In the background, Celia industriously wound her wool. They cut to the group, then back to Celia, who dropped the ball of wool. As she did so she laughed in surprise, and her face suddenly came alive. ‘Oh gosh,’ she said, ‘I’ve dropped the blinking wool.’ It sounded like Celia’s voice, but
they’d changed two words. The telephone rang and the mood darkened. We departed to face who knew what dangers.
The movie continued. We dashed in and out of the smoke during a raid. I was clearly visible in a couple of shots, looking grimly efficient. The shot of Lily’s face, filthy and marked by the tracks of her tears, was deeply moving. There was humour and then real tension when Rose and shop girl Avis were inside the burning building. The audience cheered when they emerged out of the smoke carrying their patient. The film ended in a voiceover saying that we owed much to the selfless bravery of London’s ambulance girls. The audience clapped and whistled and cheered.
It wasn’t a bad film, not wonderful, but not bad.
We all had a whispered conversation during the short interval. Lily, Jim, Celia, Simon, Moray and I decided to leave before the feature film. The rest stayed on to watch it.
Lily was in a good mood as we stood together in the foyer. ‘I think that went very well indeed,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to a Corner House for supper. I was too anxious to eat anything before we came.’
‘You were fabulous,’ said Jim, giving her a kiss. ‘Knew you would be.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, Celia stole the show,’ said Simon. ‘Especially when she dropped the blinking wool.’
Celia rolled her eyes. ‘They moved things around. I actually dropped it at the end of the scene. And they changed my bloody to a blinking.’
‘Quite right, too,’ said Moray. ‘It’s a family show.’ He turned at me. ‘How did you manage to make your voice sound so different? It didn’t sound like you at all.’
I gave him a look. ‘That’s because it wasn’t my voice. It was someone else’s voice. A professional actress probably.’
Lily nodded. ‘I thought they must have done that.’ She smiled and said, sympathetically, ‘You’ve a much nicer voice than the one they dubbed over yours.’
‘Obviously Mr Denbeigh didn’t agree,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry about it, Maisie,’ said Simon. ‘You looked gorgeous.’
I smiled and made some reply, but inside I was fuming. What was the matter with my voice? By the last few takes I thought I’d done very well indeed. They should have told me what they were going to do, not let me find out in a cinema surrounded by my friends.
Someone called out my name and I turned. Dan Lowell was striding towards us. I felt physically ill to see him. The rotter had tricked me and he was the reason that Michael had been forced to leave Britain. I had no desire to speak to him.
‘Maisie,’ he said, with a brilliant smile, as if we were good friends. ‘You were spectacular.’ He looked at Celia. ‘You, too. What a show! You must both be over the moon. I saw you creeping away and had to come out to offer my congratulations.’
Celia made the introductions, but I saw her frown at Lowell’s slight hesitation before shaking hands with Simon Levy. Jim was his usual reserved self, and you’d never dream from his demeanour that he’d ever heard the name Dan Lowell.
By the time the introductions were complete I had control of my emotions and could greet Lowell reasonably cordially, if without any enthusiasm. He didn’t seem to notice my reticence, and asked me about making the movie.
‘Oh, it was an experience,’ I said. ‘I’m not intending to do it again.’
‘I hope you do. You’re quite the actress. Every word was crystal clear. I liked your stage voice.’
I gave him a weak smile.
‘Well, I’d better be going,’ he said.
Jim spoke up. ‘We’re off to the Corner House for a bite to eat. Care to join us?’ I gave him a startled look, which he ignored.
‘That would be swell,’ said Lowell, smiling.
As we stumbled through the dark streets towards Piccadilly and the Corner House I thought about why Jim had invited Lowell to join us. Michael had told me that Jim’s people were looking into the man. I decided that Jim saw this as a good opportunity to get to know Lowell better.
It was a pleasant dinner. Lowell was entertaining, if a bit too self-possessed and self-regarding. He sat next to me and kept up a flow of animated conversation, mainly about himself, and the people he knew.
‘What do you fly?’ he asked Jim, who was in his RAF uniform.
‘Used to fly Hurricanes, but I was shot down last year and at the moment I’m a ground wallah.’
‘Say what?’
‘RAF officer who doesn’t fly.’
‘Your boys sure have been doing well against the Luftwaffe lately.’ He grinned. ‘You can’t tell me it’s all down to carrots. I eat a lot of carrots, but I can’t see in the dark.’
Jim shrugged.
‘Say, Jim, your last name sounds Russian’ he said.
‘I was born in Russia,’ said Jim. ‘Before the Revolution.’
‘Not a commie?’
‘Quite the opposite.’
‘So you’re one of those White Russians.’
‘Yes.’
‘Hate the commies?’
‘Yes. Of course. With a passion. What about you?’
‘So do I. You know, I think Communist Russia is as much a threat to this country, and to America, as the Nazis are. Maybe more.’
‘You may be right,’ said Moray, to my surprise.
Simon said, in his quiet voice, ‘It’s not the Russians who are bombing London. I think we’ll all agree that Nazi Germany is the greater threat right now.’
‘Well, of course,’ said Moray. ‘But Mr Lowell has a point. In many ways it’s a shame that we ever got pulled into war with Germany. Together, Germany and Britain could have defeated Stalin.’
Simon turned to him, frowning. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and stood up. ‘I’ve an early shift at the hospital tomorrow,’ he said, ‘so I’ll leave you all now. It was great to see you up on screen, ambulance girls.’
Celia stood, too. ‘I’ll join you. Goodbye everyone.’
They left.
I saw Moray and Lowell exchange amused looks. Seething, I stood and murmured something about powdering my nose. Lily joined me in the ladies’ room.
‘He’s a pig, I said. ‘An utter pig. And Moray’s no better.’
Lily stopped putting on her lipstick and stared at me in the mirror. ‘Jim’s been goading him, letting him talk. There’s a reason.’
‘But what about Moray?’
‘He probably has his reasons, too.’
As we were about to leave at the end of the evening, Lowell smiled at me. ‘I was going to phone you, Maisie,’ he said. ‘Ask you for a repeat of our lunch. I really enjoyed seeing you that day. I hope my company wasn’t tiresome. Please say you’ll meet me again.’
I was about to make a polite excuse when I caught Jim’s eye. He gave me a slight nod, as if he wanted me to accept the invitation. I hesitated, then smiled and murmured that I’d be delighted. Lowell beamed at me.
‘Are you free tomorrow?’ Lowell asked. ‘We could go back to the pub in Surrey.’
A slight shake of the head from Jim.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I’m busy tomorrow.’
‘Next Saturday?’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘That’s swell. I’ll pick you up at noon.’ He strolled off with a jaunty air.
As we walked along Piccadilly looking for a taxi (they were hailed by shining your torch at your feet), Jim deftly managed to arrange it so that he and I fell a little behind Lily and Moray.
‘Well done,’ he said.
‘What was that all about?’
‘Look, I’d like to talk about it with you before your date with Lowell. Would you meet me tomorrow?
‘How can I refuse when it’s all so mysterious?’ I paused. ‘Um, John Casey confronted me this afternoon. He thinks I’ve got … what I gave to Michael Harker. He threatened me.’
Jim frowned. ‘We’ll discuss it tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at one o’clock. Outside the Theatre Girls’ Club.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The following afternoon Jim arrived in large black saloon driven by a pretty ATS girl.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked him, once we were seated together in the back.
‘Pimlico.’
I don’t know what answer I was expecting, but Pimlico wasn’t it. He said nothing further, so I sat back and watched the wounded face of London go by as the driver wound through the usual diversions. Eventually we arrived at a quiet stretch of road by the side of the Thames and pulled up outside the entrance to a modern and expensive-looking block of red-brick flats. ‘Dolphin Square’ was in letters over the centre of three archways leading into the complex.
I’d heard of it, of course. Dolphin Square was a massive group of flats that had been built at great cost in 1936. It was quite the address. Oswald and Diana Mosley had lived there before Oswald Mosley’s arrest last year. I’d heard the place was full of aristocrats, and also politicians, who enjoyed its proximity to the Houses of Parliament. I suspected that most of the residents had scurried back to their country houses and electorates when the bombs began to fall.
As we entered through a massive portico, the development seemed to me to rather resemble a posh prison. The sixteen (I counted them) blocks of flats were connected to each other and arranged around a central quadrangle. This was planted with grass and trees and criss-crossed by paths, like an exclusive exercise yard.
Despite its important residents, the Blitz had not missed Dolphin Square. Two blocks of flats were in ruins and a massive bomb crater destroyed the symmetry of the gardens. I felt a twinge of satisfaction to think that, in this war, luxury and wealth were no guarantee of safety. Then I felt terribly guilty and hoped that no one had been killed or injured in the raid.
Jim led me to the third block on the eastern side. The lobby was clean and modern with a very shiny floor and wave decorations in the plaster of the walls. Behind a porter’s desk to the side sat an elderly gentleman in a uniform who sported a natty moustache. I gave him a smile and he smiled back. Jim gave our names and said we were there to see Mr Temple. The porter assumed a solemn expression, picked up the telephone receiver on his desk and dialled a number.
Ambulance Girls At War Page 26