String of Pearls

by Madge Swindells

  ‘It was a problem for my dad when I volunteered, but I knew he was proud of me. He took on a couple of hands and he’s coping well enough.’

  Daisy was gulping the wine down like lemonade. She became talkative.

  ‘London was awful,’ she confided. ‘The sight of all those poor kids playing in ruined homes, and the stray cats crying, and the dust . . . I just couldn’t stand it.’ When her eyes clouded with tears he reached across the table and held her hand.

  Mike was a good listener and intuitively he sensed her world: people are good or bad. Life is heavenly or disastrous and everything she sees is either beautiful or ugly, but mainly the former. Lately life had gone horribly wrong for her and she listed all the horrors in date order. Eventually she recounted their move back home to her grandfather’s house, on the cliff, overlooking the bay and how they were forced to paddock the horses in their beautiful garden. That was when Mike realized that they were neighbours.

  ‘Well, how about that.’ He leaned across the table and took both of her hands in his. ‘I don’t want you to hate me, Daisy. Promise me you won’t. How can I make amends? I’m good with horses. I can even shoe them for you. That and ranching are about all I can do. I get time off. How about if I give you a hand?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ She frowned.

  ‘I’m with the Reconnaissance Unit of the 29th Division and we’re parked right on your fields.’

  She shrieked with astonishment and too much wine. A few heads turned, but the place was almost empty.

  ‘I don’t blame you. Good heavens. You’re here to fight a war. That’s vital for all of us.’ She giggled and squeezed his hands tightly.

  ‘Well, I would be sore if someone put their troops on our grazing, but of course it would take an army to fill it up.’

  Daisy’s joy at their new status as neighbours stayed with her through supper as she plied him with questions. By the time they left the pub Mike felt that he knew all there was to know about Daisy and for some reason he wanted Daisy to know everything about him. He helped her into the jeep and climbed in beside her.

  ‘Can I kiss you?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, all right,’ she whispered after a pause.

  Their teeth clashed and he felt her lips hard and taut under his. That should have warned him. She’d never been kissed, so he gave her a few lessons. ‘Listen, keep your lips very soft and relaxed and slightly open. Let’s try again.’

  ‘What’s my score?’ she asked, pulling back giggling.

  ‘Four stars. Let’s go for five-star status.’

  After a few more lessons he felt tormented with desire. He imagined driving somewhere lonely and lying naked in the back of the jeep with her beside him. His hand strayed to her breast and he felt her taut nipples grow harder beneath his probing fingers.

  ‘Oh . . . oh . . .’ she gasped. Her arms pressed tighter on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. One knee came sliding over his thighs and somehow she slithered over him and sat astride his lap. Mike managed to start the jeep and move slowly forward, peering over her shoulder. He’d noticed a turn off into the woods on a previous trip, so he drove slowly towards it, with Daisy chattering away on his lap. This was a cinch. He was going to get lucky, but why was she talking about her teddy bear and why did her school friends figure so strongly in her conversation?

  He pulled his mouth away, but he was still as horny as a spring hare as he hung on to hope. ‘So, how old are you, Daisy?’

  ‘I’m sixteen,’ she murmured, trying to fit every part of herself into every small cavity between them.

  A hot wave of embarrassment surged through Mike. Jesus! He’d fallen for a kid. She was the same age as his friend’s young sister in plaits and bobby socks.

  ‘Were you supposed to be drinking in a pub?’ he asked.

  ‘No . . . Shh . . .’ She put her finger to her lips. ‘That’s our secret. Mustn’t tell.’

  Captain Johnson was yawning. Mike realized that he was taking too long and being too descriptive.

  ‘I told her to shift off. She didn’t want to, so I told her that it’s dangerous driving this way and it was time we got home.

  ‘She felt miserably rejected . . . I sensed that it wasn’t just me, but somehow I was coupled with her father leaving, making one massive rebuff. She sat stiff and upright, gazing ahead, but I could see the tears running down her cheeks.

  ‘“What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “Why have you changed? Why hasn’t my father come to see me? Why am I being rejected all the time? I wish I were dead.” Honest to God I tried to calm her down, sir. I remember I said, “You must take better care of yourself, Daisy. Don’t drink with strange men. Don’t kiss like that. It’s too provocative. You were asking for trouble.”’

  ‘She lost her temper and said she wanted to walk home. Next minute she’d pushed open the door to jump out. I caught her wrist and hung on hard, but she fought me off. I said, “Jesus! You’re mad. You’re going home to mother in double quick time . . .” and that’s how we got back. I was relieved when we stopped at her gate, but that was when I saw that I’d bruised her wrist quite badly. She looked furious as she got out of the jeep. She wouldn’t let me carry her suitcase, or meet her family. I was feeling pretty miserable myself as I drove into the camp. So you see, sir, it wasn’t a case of attempted rape, quite honestly it was the other way round, but hell . . . what a looker. I can’t stop thinking about her.’

  ‘Raped by a sixteen-year-old virgin. I doubt anyone would believe you. Listen, Mike. Safeguard yourself in case this goes further. Write it down and hand your statement to the commander. I’ll vouch for you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Simon sat up late writing a report to their commanding officer pointing out that Mike had been very truthful and he was not connected in any way to the rumour of alleged rape. He had done no wrong and in fact he was about to choose him as his PA, with the CO’s approval.

  Then he sat back and considered the facts. How did he know that Mike’s escapade was not connected to the rape rumour? It was easy enough to turn the bruised wrist and the tears into an attempted rape. But who else besides Mike and Daisy could possibly know about it? He must look into it, but how? He puzzled about this for a while before falling asleep.

  Nine

  On a windswept October morning, Captain Simon Johnson left his draughty tent on the Dorset coast and ordered a jeep and a driver to take him to London. Although he was wearing his fur-lined parka over his uniform, he still felt cold. Winter officially began in mid-December, so there were six weeks to go. If this was Autumn, what would winter would be like? The prospect of four cold, damp, winter months spent under canvas was appalling. His driver was exceeding the speed limit, but Simon said nothing. The sooner they passed these gloomy vistas of soggy fields and swirling leaves, made damper by the mist, the better.

  They stopped near Canterbury for a late breakfast in a roadhouse where powdered eggs scrambled to a mush with soya sausages was the only dish available. They ate quickly. Swilling down the ersatz coffee, they moved on. Simon gave up trying to start a conversation with his driver and leaned back to consider the war.

  The news of the massacre of Warsaw’s Jews, plus the failure of the Allied raid on Tobruk, had depressed the hell out of him. The city of Stalingrad had just been hit by a new German offensive of 60,000 troops and two tank divisions and it seemed that the city would fall. Some of the bravest fighters of the battle for Stalingrad, he had read, were the female pilots of the flimsy Russian P-2 biplanes, which were flying through the shells to bomb the German lines. In America, too, women were doing their bit by taking on dramatically different tasks to replace the men at war. Training had just begun to teach women welding and armature winding. Over a thousand woman had been hired to work in the steel plants and were making and assembling aircraft parts and accessories.

  There was some good news, too. In North Africa, Lieutenant-General Montgomery had launched the El Alamein offensive a
nd US-made M4 Sherman tanks were being delivered to British brigades fighting in the desert.

  London was more battered than on Simon’s previous visit. There had been a daylight raid an hour back, they were told. Firemen played their hoses on blitzed houses, ambulances raced through the streets and bug-eyed kids hung around watching the Heavy Rescue personnel, all past their prime, searching for signs of life in the rubble.

  Simon was not looking forward to another session with Lieutenant General Walters. At their last meeting, the general had been openly antagonistic towards intelligence agents whom, he considered, were highfalutin weirdoes. This time he could add incompetent to his view. Simon’s arrival in Dorset had coincided with the very worst confrontation yet seen between US forces and the locals. It had happened right under his nose and he would take the blame for letting it get out of hand. He felt as if he was up on the high wire without a net.

  At last an American army sergeant, young, female and very pretty, came to fetch him from the corridor outside Walters’ office. He felt he had scored and he decided to ask her out if he saw her again. He was shown into Walters’ office, a room as functional and dour as the man was.

  ‘At ease, captain. Sit down,’ Walters barked. ‘Have you heard the news? Earlier today the Germans succeeded with their rocket launch at Peenemunde. The A4 free-flight rocket has made its first successful flight. Wernher von Braun will no doubt convince Germany’s Armaments Minister that it should go into full-scale production. And guess where they’ll land? Right here in London.’

  ‘I expect so, sir. There was a bad raid last night.’

  ‘Now this is highly classified, captain,’ Walters went on smoothly. ‘Despite talk that a Continental invasion might come as early as 1942, Allied leaders have finally decided not to make the assault for quite a while, to give the US time for its build up of equipment. During 1942 and ‘43, Allied forces will concentrate on wearing down Germany’s resistance through air attacks. Off the record, this delay is a matter of some friction. Eisenhower wants to push right in, but the Brits have more experience in fighting the Huns. Bearing in mind the German victory at Dieppe, it seems that an invasion of the Continent will require far more meticulous preparation, more men and much more equipment.’

  This was bad news, but Simon’s job was to listen, not to interrupt.

  ‘So you can take it that we are here for up to eighteen months. By the time we invade we will have one and a half million trained men in Britain. The southern counties will be bulging at the seams and the locals will have to endure a good many sacrifices.’

  ‘They already have,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes, of course. That’s where you come in, captain. I’ve been going through your report on the Mowbray incidents and I think congratulations are in order.’

  Simon found himself fraught by feelings he had never experienced since his school days: elation, pride, but mainly relief. He struggled to conceal his surprise.

  ‘So what are your plans for combating these rumours in future? I must be honest. This kind of warfare is completely abhorrent to me.’

  Simon caught the undertone, but decided to ignore it. After all, they were sharing a mutual problem.

  ‘Better liaisons, better contacts. Communication is the key. Misunderstandings are the Axis tools. Of course there are going to be incidents in the future. Every regiment has its bad eggs, but that’s life. The English will understand this. The good impressions set by others will more than offset any future problems. It’s those “good impressions” we have to work for. I should add that most of my ground work would have been far less effective without the excellent cooperation of the British police. In particular, DI Rob McGuire has bent over backwards to help.’

  ‘Liaise and communicate . . . well, yes, you seem to have the right ideas.’

  ‘That’s something I wanted to bring up with you, sir. The local commander is doing his best to prevent his troops from forming any contact with the locals. I consider that a mistake. We need to bring the locals into our camps, have parties, hold dances, help out with all manner of problems. Local GIs should be encouraged to attend social functions.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with him. I heard your broadcast on the BBC two nights ago. It was repeated this morning. That’s exactly what we need. Putting it into the words of their own police chief was an excellent idea. Now listen, captain. The speed at which the Brits took umbrage is alarming. It could happen anywhere, at any time and it probably will.’

  ‘It’s similar to what took place in Brazil. Enemy sympathizers work to a pattern.’

  ‘Yes. You seem to have quite a record, captain. You scored in South America. Tell me something. Is there any truth in any of these Mowbray media reports?’

  ‘None that we’ve been able to find so far—’

  ‘And the attempted rape? I presume you’ve caught the Axis agent who spread the rumours?’ Walters interrupted him.

  The force with which Walters asked the question in his cold, impersonal voice, jolted Simon back into a state of unease.

  ‘Negative, sir.’

  ‘Catch whoever is responsible and hand him over to the police. They hang spies in wartime. Make it your top priority, Johnson.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ve decided that you deserve the flexibility of procuring your own counter intelligence personnel. You’re in charge of keeping Anglo-American relations in tip-top condition until the invasion. I want you to recruit and train your own agents to operate around the coast. Three or more in every camp. Thinking ahead, it might be sensible to choose from those with some language abilities. German and French will be needed when we get over there. Set up a counter subversive programme, give it guidelines, pass on all that you’ve learned on the subject. At present, you’re the only one around who knows the first thing about this new kind of warfare. Reckon you can cope? I read that you ran a pretty big law firm in Manhattan.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I have some men in mind.’

  ‘Good. I’m opening up the files for your perusal. I’ve been told that lawyers have particular aptitude for this kind of work. My sergeant has a file of enlisted lawyers and linguists ready for you. Transfer these men to wherever you need them. Perhaps you should shift your base to London.’

  ‘I would prefer to remain in Dorset, sir. The southern coast is where our troops are and where the action will be. But in the meantime, if I could have a desk somewhere here. It would be easier to have the men come to London for interviews and lectures, since they’ll be gathered from around the coast.’

  ‘My PA will organize whatever you need, a temporary secretary, and of course our files.’ Walters stood up. ‘Well, that just about covers everything, but captain, don’t neglect the underwater teams. They could be needed at any time.’

  They shook hands. ‘These incidents have taught me the value of the work you do, Johnson. I don’t mind telling you that some of the placards I’ve been shown hurt: Yanks Go Home, for instance. What the hell do they think we’re here for? Two years in tents in the Brits’ foul weather is no picnic for our guys. So I’m sending my views to the various commanders, hoping that this will ensure you better treatment than you had with me.’

  Walters pressed his buzzer and the pretty female sergeant came in. ‘This is Sergeant Lucas. I’ll hand you over to her. Good luck, captain. Keep in touch please.’

  Six hours later, Simon left headquarters feeling unusually elated. His hard work had paid off, he had a list of good men to contact, three of whom he knew, a date for dinner and dancing with June, the pretty sergeant, and she had booked him into a top London hotel for the forseeable future.

  Despite a great evening of dinner and dancing at the Savoy, Simon could not sleep that night. His mind was too active. He was remembering the details of the attempted rape story. There were too many coincidences, and Simon distrusted coincidences. The victim of the attempted rape was said to be at a private school and only sixteen, she had a badly bruised wrist, she was tall and bl
onde and lovely.

  Was there a link between the rumour and Daisy’s scuffle in the jeep with Sergeant Lawson? Had someone heard about it and embroidered the story? Perhaps it was like the game of Whispers, where the original message bore little resemblance to the final one. Who could have started the rumour in the family? How about John Cooper? Perhaps he’d had one too many at the pub. He’d have to keep an eye on him. Or could it be Daisy? She might have exaggerated the story at school, yet it seemed to him she was a lot like her mother and she’d be unlikely to tell anyone. Nor would Helen gossip at the canteen or the factory where she worked. Then there was Miro. The boy was a whole new ball game. Was he really Jewish? Or was he the Nazi replacement of a boy who had died in a concentration camp? It was too early to point a finger at anyone, but all this would be checked out as soon as he could find the time.

  His first priority was to set up and train cells of counter intelligence men in every camp. Two weeks would only get him started. He’d have to spend the next six weeks in London. At least he’d be out of that damned tent on the soggy ground.

  Simon returned to Mowbray to pick up his gear and his lecture notes. He decided to rope in Sergeant Lawson as his Mowbray assistant. He needed someone reliable to carry on his work while he was moving around the various camps. It took two weeks to pick and interview a team of thirty men and another month to train them in London. They were linguists and lawyers and they had no difficulties with the course. None of them were regular army guys. Simon didn’t need discipline, he was looking for original thinkers. On the last night they had a party at the Savoy.