by Mary Nichols
‘Maggie, his first wife.’
‘What about her?
‘Nothing. Did he tell you what happened?
‘Only that she was playing fast and loose and so he threw her out. He said he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since the day she left. He had her declared dead. Seems you can do that if someone’s been gone a long time.’
‘Do you think she is? Dead, I mean.’
‘Dunno, do I? But if she were alive and we could prove it, then he’d be a bigamist and I’d be free of him.’
‘Why bother with all that? Why not just leave him?’
‘To do what?’
‘Move in with me.’
‘And your ma.’ She laughed. ‘No, thank you. But if you should hear one day that I’ve taken the carving knife to him, don’t be surprised.’
‘For God’s sake, Molly, don’t do that. You’ll probably come off worse. He’s got a vicious temper.’
‘Don’t I know it.’
Bernard could hear movement and realised they were standing up ready to leave. He scuttled round the back of the cottage and hid in some bushes until they had gone, then he rushed back home to write it all down in his notebook before he forgot it. He’d show it to Edmund who was home for the Christmas holidays and had gone out riding with his mother. Bernard could have gone too, but he had never been comfortable on a horse, not even Amy’s Patch which was getting old now and as docile as anything.
‘I wonder if Bert Storey knows what’s going on?’ Edmund said when they were alone in Edmund’s room later that evening.
‘Don’t know, do I? But I’m not going to tell him; he’s a nasty piece of work and you never know what he might do.’
‘Bernie, you’ve got your head full of murder and spies and goodness knows what, making a mountain out of a molehill.’
‘She did threaten to kill her husband.’
‘Oh, that’s just talk. I should keep mum about it if I were you.’
Bernard was disappointed. He thought Edmund would be all for reporting the conversation, but perhaps his friend was right; he didn’t have enough to go on yet. He’d keep watching.
Jack arrived home on New Year’s Eve, no nearer a solution to his dilemma. When he was with Belinda, she was the one he wanted; when he was with Lucy, he knew he could never give her up. Amy had asked him why he was so keen on Belinda and all he could think of to say was, ‘She’s fun to be with, she’s a looker and always well dressed, in spite of the war, and she’s one of our kind.’ He had been walking Amy back to the nurse’s home after their little Christmas Day party, which he had to admit he had enjoyed. Where Lucy managed to get so much to eat, he had no idea, but they had stuffed themselves on a chicken, a little bit of sausage meat and vegetables, followed by a tiny fruit cake and half a dozen home-made mince pies. They weren’t the rich-filled crumbly pastry he remembered having at home before the war but he did not doubt even Mrs Baxter had had to make do.
‘What is our kind, Jack?’
‘Oh, you know, upper crust, moneyed, well educated. She knows how to behave in Society.’
Amy gave a snort of derision. ‘She certainly knows how to throw her orders about and complain if things are not to her liking. As for being well educated, just because she went to Roedean and a finishing school doesn’t mean she’s educated. I bet if Lucy had had her opportunities, she’d be educated and well dressed too and she’d know how to behave in Society. Those things can all be acquired, Jack, patience and a loving nature cannot. Look at Mama, you’d never know she wasn’t upper crust, would you?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Did Lucy ever tell you about her mother?’
‘No, she always shied away from it.’
‘Do you remember her?’
‘Only vaguely. She often opened the crossing gates for us. I remember she had a nice smile, a bit like Lucy …’
‘Lucy’s been hurt, Jack, more than we can ever know. Please, please, don’t hurt her any further.’
‘My, she has got under your skin, hasn’t she?’
She had laughed. ‘And she’s under yours too, isn’t she? Admit it.’
He had refused to answer, but in his heart he knew she was right. Lucy was part of him, part of the man he had become since the start of this terrible war. The trouble was that he was reluctant to give up his youthful dream of finding his place in society. And what would his parents think if they ever learnt about him and Lucy and little Peter, who according to both Lucy and Amy, was his spitting image? Amy thought they ought to know, but he could never find the right words to tell them.
His mother, looking a little greyer and thinner, was overjoyed to see him and he was fussed over and fed. It was only after she was satisfied he was no longer hungry that she asked him for all his news. He could have mentioned Lucy then, but just as he was forming the words, she went on, ‘Papa said he saw you in London with Belinda Davenport. Are you going to make a match of it?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s not a good time to think of marriage, is it? You never know …’
‘Don’t talk like that, Jack. The worst danger is over now, don’t you think? The raids are not so bad as they were, and with the Americans in the war now, it will soon be over.’ The Japanese had attacked American shipping in Pearl Harbour in the early part of December with the result that America had abandoned its neutrality and was now part of a global war. What difference it was going to make had yet to be seen, but no one doubted it would be significant.
‘I hope so, Mama,’ he said, not wishing to disillusion her, though he could not see an early end to the conflict, what with the fighting in North Africa and Russia and the shipping losses as bad as ever.
‘Serena Davenport seems to think you are seriously courting Belinda.’
‘I take her out now and again when I’ve got a few hours off, that’s all.’
‘You are being very cagey.’
‘No, I’m not, I’m telling it as it is. Now what news have you got? What’s Pa doing in London? I never thought they’d let him back into uniform; he’s too old.’
‘Apparently not. He’s working in Intelligence. I don’t know any details, it’s all very hush-hush. Anyway, he’s coming home this evening for a few days’ leave, you can talk to him yourself.’
Jack spent the afternoon wandering about the estate. The nearby airfield had been enlarged, taking in some acres of the estate, and there was a gun emplacement on the edge of it. It looked as though the war had come to Nayton. He wandered through the wood, picking up a pocketful of sweet chestnuts as he went, until he came to the gamekeeper’s cottage. For a few minutes he was a small child again, trying to come to terms with a new environment and the need to learn a different language, and the misery he had felt then came rushing back to him. He had resented his mother’s husband and had not been prepared to like him, but soon realised Maman was obviously very happy and the aura of contentment about the place had eventually overcome his resistance, especially as his new Papa took the trouble to get to know him and include him in everything that was going on. He had gradually come to realise that Lord de Lacey was a very important man, that he was rich and respected and he decided he wanted to be like him.
That ambition had coloured his growing up until he met Lucy. How she had come to entwine herself about his heart he could not explain. He sat on the tree trunk outside the dilapidated cottage and mused on his encounters with her. He could almost see her sitting there while he painted her, her honey-coloured hair strewn about her white shoulders, barely covering her breasts. There had been no thought of loving her then, only of sexual gratification. It had taken Frank Lambert’s attack to make him realise that he couldn’t do it, not then, not until … He smiled to himself, remembering that first time, so sweet, so right. Did he love her now? Of course he did, in a way, but was it enough?
He heard someone walking on the fallen leaves and Bernard came strolling along the path. He stopped suddenly when he saw Jack.
; ‘Hallo, young man,’ Jack said. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Nothing. I’m not doing anything wrong.’
‘I didn’t say you were.’ He indicated a place on the log beside him. ‘Come and sit down. Tell me about school. Getting on all right there, are you?’
‘It’s all right.’
‘What do you want to be when you leave?’
‘A detective.’
‘The police force, very commendable. But why?’
‘I like solving mysteries.’
‘And have you found any mysteries to solve?’
‘No, not really except…’ He hesitated. ‘It’s about Mr Storey. I reckon he’s hiding something.’
‘What makes you say that?’
For answer Bernard took a scruffy notebook from his jacket pocket and thumbed through the pages, then he handed it to Jack. ‘I wrote it down.’
Jack read it through. ‘Is this exactly what was said?’
‘Yes. Eddie said it didn’t mean anything.’
‘I’m inclined to agree with him. Where were they when they were talking? How did you manage to overhear it so clearly?’
‘They were in there.’ The boy jerked his head in the direction of the cottage behind them. ‘Go in there regular, they do.’
Jack was intrigued. ‘Oh, I see. Have you discovered anything else?’
‘No, but I’m still on the case.’
Jack laughed. ‘You keep on it. You never know what you might uncover. And if you do find something interesting, you let me know, OK?’
‘OK.’
Jack stood up. ‘I think we had better be going back to the house. It’s nearly dinner time.’
His father had arrived by the time the gong went for dinner and because there were so few people in the house, and it made it easier for Mrs Baxter, the children all ate with them. It was not until Jack and Charles went to the billiard room afterwards that the conversation turned to what Charles was doing in London.
‘You managed to find a niche for yourself after all,’ Jack said, placing the coloured balls on the table. ‘Mama said you were in Intelligence.’
‘Sort of.’
‘Can’t you tell me?’
‘I shouldn’t, but I know it won’t go any further. I’m working in the communications room of MI6, taking messages from our agents in France and relaying them to the appropriate people for action. Sometimes I’m asked to devise questions to decide whether someone is genuine or not.’
‘Fascinating. What’s happening out there? Anything about Dransville? Is Lizzie still helping people over the border?’
‘It seems so. And Justine is very involved with the Resistance. Max is with her.’
‘Max?’ Jack queried in surprise. ‘My God! What does Lizzie think about that?’
‘Lizzie doesn’t know. He’s not working anywhere near her and it’s safer for her not to know.’
‘I thought Max was a bit cagey when I bumped into him in London. Well, well, well.’
‘Not a word to anyone, Jack, or you’ll have me shot.’
‘Of course not. I wouldn’t mind having a go at that myself.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Jack. You’ve got a job to do and it’s an important one.’
‘I need a change.’
‘But not that. The chances of survival are pretty slim and if anything happened to you it would devastate your mother, what with Lizzie and Justine being out there. Besides, I doubt they’d let you go. Good pilots are pretty thin on the ground.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. Do you get news of Lizzie?’
‘No, she’s not part of the set-up and radio communication has to be kept to a minimum. I can’t ask personal questions. Dransville is in the unoccupied zone, so I am assuming she has sense enough to keep her head down. I think if anything did happen to her, then Justine or Max would find a way of letting us know. At least, working where I do, I get to know the news.’
‘Does Mama know about this?’
‘No, and don’t you tell her. I should not have told you.’
‘I’m glad you did.’
They turned as Annelise came into the room; if either of them looked guilty she didn’t seem to notice it. ‘Come into the drawing room. Big Ben will be striking the new year soon. Let’s raise a glass to that.’
Obediently they followed her, listened to the wireless as the clock struck midnight and then toasted the new year. ‘To 1942, may it see the end of this terrible bloodshed. And may Lizzie come home safe and sound.’
Neither man attempted to disillusion her.
Chapter Eleven
Roger, still dressed as a German captain, took the two airmen from Justine’s apartment, for all the world as if he had just arrested them. From her drawing room window, Justine and Max watched them marching down the slushy street towards the Metro. ‘He’s got nerve, I’ll give him that,’ Max said.
‘You’re still not sure of him are you?’
‘I can’t make up my mind. He’s either a very brave man or a stupid one, unless of course, he knows he has nothing to fear from the Boche.’
‘London said he was OK. He answered all their questions correctly.’
‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean they trust him wholeheartedly; he has to prove himself.’ Major Buckmaster had instructed him to give Captain Wainbridge some of the money they had provided him with and they would send more with the next drop, and to tell him to go ahead with organising resistance in Haute Savoie. This was all supposedly done through Justine and her mysterious contact, not Max who still maintained his alias. ‘No doubt they’ll keep a close watch on what he’s up to.’
‘Giles has told Jeanne Clements to follow him as far as the Gare de Lyon,’ she said. ‘If he communicates with anyone on the way or they get on a different train, she will know.’ Jeanne taught mathematics at the same school as Justine and was one of the early recruits, helping to duplicate and distribute France Vivra.
‘Then he doesn’t trust him either.’
‘He’s just being extra cautious.’
‘And if the man’s an infiltrator?’
She shrugged. ‘We’d have to deal with him.’
‘Kill him, you mean?’
‘We wouldn’t have any choice, would we?’
He laughed. ‘God, you’re getting hard, Justine.’
‘We have to protect the circuit. At least he’ll be out of the way when London sends the stuff you asked for.’
All they were waiting for was the BBC message to say the drop was on as arranged. They locked the door and drew the curtains and then settled down beside the wireless set and tuned it in, waiting for the personal messages.
After listening to several bizarre messages which could have no meaning except to the recipients, they heard the one meant for them. ‘The dog is out of the kennel and running after the bone.’ It was repeated and they looked at each other and grasped hands. ‘We’re on,’ he said. ‘Better get a move on.’ They had to be off the city streets before curfew or they would be picked up.
Justine retuned the wireless to Radio Paris and switched it off. Then they donned coats and hats and left the building, arm in arm, to all intents and purposes a couple out for a stroll, so absorbed in each other’s company they took no notice of others in the street: men and women hurrying home from work, playing children and scavenging dogs, and German soldiers, some on patrol, others out for a good time. Walking unhurriedly, they left the centre of the city and made for a house in the suburbs where Giles was waiting for them with a borrowed van. They climbed in and were driven along country roads to Count Mollet’s estate. So far the count had escaped the attentions of the German occupiers and the Vichy police, but for how much longer, they could only guess. Here they were joined by a dozen others. No one spoke.
They had barely lit the flares to mark the drop before they heard the drone of an aircraft. This was the most dangerous time, when anything could go wrong, and they waited, with hearts in mouths, while the noise grew louder
and they thought the whole German army couldn’t fail to hear it. The aircraft flew low and then they saw the parachutes leave it and the sky was filled with billowing silk, floating dark against the lighter sky. The Lysander climbed, banked and disappeared. It was only seconds but it seemed an age before the canisters hit the ground.
The watchers ran forward to extinguish the flares, then began gathering everything up and loading it into the van. Everyone except Giles, Max and Justine disappeared into the darkness as silently as they had arrived. Max and Justine squeezed in the front of the vehicle beside Giles. Then they were off again, bumping over the rough ground towards the chateau where there was an underground wine cellar. Part of it had been sealed off from the house and could only be approached through a secret entrance in the grounds. It held some of the count’s best wine, hidden from the occupiers, but was also ideal for storing the arms, ammunition and explosives until such time as it was needed. Here the supplies were unloaded and checked to make sure it was all there, then they left, making sure the entrance was secure and well hidden.
‘So far, so good,’ Max said, as they drove back to Paris, arriving just before dawn. Here they parted, Max to rendezvous with Etienne to report the successful drop and Justine to go home to snatch a quick breakfast before going to school, leaving Giles to take the van back to its owner before going to school himself. Here they learnt from Jeanne that Roger had done nothing out of the ordinary on his way to the railway station with the escapees and they had all boarded the train without incident.
The snow lay thick on the mountain and was piled up either side of the road through the village, which was busy with skiers, almost all of them German soldiers on leave. They filled the hotels and crowded on the ski lift to hurtle down the piste, calling out to each other and laughing when they came a cropper. The villagers tolerated them because they brought much needed revenue. Some made friends of them, accepting the extra food or cigarettes they were offered.
Elizabeth did not go out of her way to avoid them, nor did she encourage them, but she was always wary when they came to the farmhouse door for milk or eggs. Hans Shermann often came, enquiring if she had heard from Roger, but she could truthfully say she had not. He was a worried man, she could see that. He had helped Roger with a uniform and identity papers and was beginning to regret it. ‘I hope he hasn’t been picked up,’ he had said, only the day before. ‘If he talks, I’m done for.’