‘Come in all of you. Dinner’s ready, but let’s have a drink first.’ Simon gave Helen a formal kiss on the cheek, but something about the way he looked at her caught Daisy’s attention.
‘Smells great,’ he said.
‘Dad dug up the vegetables and washed them and peeled the potatoes. We don’t give him enough credit.’
‘Do we have any sparkling wine, John?’
‘Do we have an occasion?’
‘Mike and Daisy are engaged.’
John bit his lip and went off to the cellar, but no one noticed his disappointment. They were too busy congratulating Daisy and Mike.
‘Great to see you again, Mike.’ Simon clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Did you finish the job?’
‘Yes. Fortunately I found a stack of engineers who are also good swimmers down at the Brixham camp. They enjoyed the training. We should write a manual on your method.’
‘Would you all please go into the lounge,’ Helen called. ‘You’re in my way.’
Daisy had turned her attention to Miro. He was different. His eyes glowed, his habitual stoop, that had kept the family nagging him for the past three years, had miraculously gone. He stood tall and he looked happy. Could a month spent playing the clarinet really do that for him? She had never thought that Miro was a musician at heart, despite his talent. He wasn’t that committed. It was his intellect, not his talent, that drove him.
She jumped to the sound of a cork popping. Gramps had opened a bottle of champagne, Mum was carrying in a tray of glasses, suddenly the family were toasting their engagement. Daisy felt quite emotional – it was kindness, not weakness that had brought about this sudden change of heart.
Dinner passed too quickly. They all had stories to tell of their experiences during the past month or so. Only Miro was strangely silent. The penny dropped after dinner when they were sitting in the lounge.
‘So what about a recital, Miro?’ Daisy suggested. ‘You were great before, so now you must be marvellous. Please play for us.’
The family echoed her plea.
‘No. Not now,’ Miro said.
‘Oh, please.’ Daisy persisted.
‘You know how I hate performing, Daisy. I feel like a circus animal, it’s totally not me. My father used to make me do it and I hated it.’
‘But that’s what musicians do, isn’t it?’ She frowned at him, longing to understand. ‘You perform. What’s the point of trying for a place at a college of music if you don’t want to perform? Or are you aiming to be a composer? Even composers conduct their own music.’
It was then that Miro looked to Simon for help. It was an instantaneous gesture, and as quickly withdrawn, but Simon saw and came to his assistance.
‘I guess there’s a difference to being a member of a large orchestra and standing up alone after a couple of glasses of wine.’
‘More than a couple, I fear,’ Miro agreed.
Everyone laughed and Simon came up with a funny story about a skiing escapade when he was under the influence to try and take the attention off Miro.
Daisy sat silently wondering about Miro’s amazing transformation. He’d only been away for a few weeks. She sensed that she had hit on something deep and hidden, something that no one must know. Was Miro working for Simon? The more she thought about it the more likely it seemed. Since when could playing the clarinet make you stronger, taller, suntanned and fit? Perhaps it was only she who could see that Miro had left as a loser and returned a month later as a winner.
The family was irrevocably changed. Mum laughed more than she used to. She had been quite browbeaten by her father. Now she was more assertive and less inclined to do what she felt was expected of her. Simon was good for her, Daisy decided. Simon himself seemed part of the family. When the American occupation was over, life in England would never be the same again. She felt so sure of this. But Gramps would still be Gramps. Nothing would ever change him, she reckoned. It was a comforting thought and after Mike had gone back to the camp, she spent a while with her grandfather, talking about his youth and the pottery and the way things once were.
Thirty-One
It was mid-December. The talking and the learning were over and now was the time for action – a time of danger. Miro approached the bus station, padlocked his bike to the post and crept towards the steps. There stood the pillbox: gross, ugly and twice as large as life, silhouetted against the moonlit sea.
Miro swallowed hard and tried to pluck up the courage to walk towards it. Paddy was lurking somewhere there. Paddy believed that he had been sent to study music for a month, but he had returned suntanned, muscled and fit. But after all, it was midnight and very dark, Miro assured himself. Paddy might also wonder why he had not been interned, since he had turned seventeen.
Something was moving. The great lake of shadow that surrounded the pillbox had stretched and flowed into another shape and it was silently coming his way. Miro’s fear was becoming physical. It felt as if his hair was standing up on end all over his back and shoulders and down his arms, prickling and tingling, a sensation he had never before experienced. Paddy was walking towards him with a heavy tread. His huge shoulders were hunched, his head jutted forward and Miro could sense the menace in the man.
‘Hi,’ Miro said shakily.
‘Well, if it isn’t Miro himself, back in the land of the living, after a month spent playing the clarinet.’ His voice brought twinges to Miro’s stomach.
‘Not all the time.’ Miro gave a casual laugh that sounded too high-pitched, even to him. ‘Uncle Fred is a bit past it. Four hours tuition a day was his maximum. I spent the rest of the time enjoying myself.’
‘Doing what exactly?’ he growled.
‘A lot of roaming around to see what’s going on.’
‘Glad you tried to make yourself useful. What else?’
‘I joined a gym, a Christmas present from Uncle Fred. He has a dam and I swam a lot. Got a bit suntanned despite the season.’
‘Why are you making excuses for yourself . . . are you guilty of something?’
Miro swore inwardly. ‘I got a bit of flack from Helen. She thought I hadn’t been studying enough, but she got over it.’
‘So what have you got for me?’ Paddy leaned closer and Miro almost gagged on the stench of tobacco and stale sweat.
‘Well, nothing really. Nothing much, that is. I saw a huge build-up of forces and equipment all around the south east. It’s chaotic. The coast has become one massive armed camp. All coastal areas are banned to visitors . . . but I’m sure you know that . . . and US troops are camped on every pavement and corner of spare land.’
‘And what are the Yanks doing with themselves?’
‘Training, I suppose. Military exercises are taking place in almost every village. Troops are being moved in every day. You should see Dover harbour. It’s jam-packed. Troop carriers are lying off-shore all around the south east, waiting their turn to unload.’
‘How did you see all this?’ Paddy asked.
‘It wasn’t a problem. If you have relatives, or you’re staying in the restricted area, as I was, there are no problems. From the cliff tops you can see everything. It used to be all cows, now it’s planes, tanks, lorries and troops . . . all under canvas.’
His words poured out impulsively. It was not exactly what Simon had told him to say. But Simon was wrong. He felt this instinctively. To come back from holiday and have everything off pat would be a mistake.
‘I only got back the night before last,’ he said. ‘But listen. Things have changed while I was away. Daisy got engaged to a Yank.’
‘To that fellow she met last year?’
‘You’ve got a good memory,’ Miro said.
‘They came in useful, didn’t they?’ He laughed and once again Miro shivered.
‘I guess so. My foster mum seems to be having it off with the lodger.’
‘The scuba diving instructor?’
‘Yes. They think no one knows, but he goes creeping into her room when
we’re supposed to be asleep. I can hear their voices vaguely. They talk a lot. I’m in the next room, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.’
‘So what do you think they talk about?’ Paddy sounded tense. Miro could sense his excitement. Good, a bullseye!
‘Dunno . . . can’t hear . . . sometimes I catch the odd word.’
‘Been listening in, have you? Dirty little bugger. Listening to the sexy bits.’
‘I would never have expected Helen . . .’ Miro’s voice tailed off.
‘Ah, but you should always suspect women because they’re devious. Try putting a glass against the wall and your ear against the glass. It sometimes amplifies the sound.’
‘The problem is there’s a ruddy great wardrobe on their side.’
‘Built in, is it?’
‘No, a big, old-fashioned oak thing. Helen doesn’t like it, but she has no idea what to do with it. I had another idea. How about I make a hole through the wall, behind the wardrobe and hang a picture or a poster on my side to cover up? Or I could move my wardrobe to cover the hole and sit inside it.’
‘Good idea. Tell you what? I’ll lend you an electric drill. I’ve got one in the van. Come up to the bus station and wait there a minute.’ The two went side by side to the bus station where Miro sat on a seat to wait. He heard Paddy’s footsteps fading, and then the sound of the van being unlocked, and the footsteps approaching again.
Paddy suspected him. He could hear it in his voice. Miro mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was sweating with fright. Thank God it was dark. Paddy moved swiftly to Miro’s side and caught him by the upper arm, pulling him off balance. Miro let his arm go slack so he wouldn’t feel the muscle. ‘Putting on a bit of weight, aren’t you Miro?’
‘Is there a law against it?’
He switched on his torch, blinding Miro. ‘Why are you sweating, boyo? You never used to give a damn. Now you’re scared. Why is that?’
‘I don’t like standing here waiting to get caught. What if one of the Yanks passes and sees me? They could tell Simon. And why are you shining a torch on my face so anyone can recognize me? What the hell’s got into you?’
The torch went off and Paddy grunted his approval. ‘Are you looking for a job, Miro?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘I’m studying to become a clarinettist. I have a place at a London college for next year.’
‘Why not this year?’
‘I have to think about my parents. I told them I didn’t feel ready yet.’
‘OK, you’re right. See you on Wednesday. Try not to be so late next time.’
‘Now I’ve left school, I can’t pretend to be helping friends with their homework. I’ve lost my alibi.’
‘Try the cinema, or invent a girlfriend. Any damn thing.’
‘Yes, all right,’ Miro said, feeling glad to get away.
Simon quizzed him the next morning when they went for an early morning ride down to the bay. ‘How did it go?’
‘Better than I had expected.’
‘Why? What were you expecting?’
‘Trouble. I’ve changed. According to Daisy I’m taller, stronger, suntanned and more self assured. I no longer stoop. They knocked that out of me in the first couple of days of drilling, so I was scared he’d pick up on all that . . . and he did. I’m pretty sure it went all right finally. I told him what I’d seen around the south east, but I held back on the news you told me to give him.’
‘Why was that, Miro? There’s plenty more where that came from,’ Simon said.
‘It was too much too soon. He’s a shrewd bastard. I was supposed to be listening through the wall but these old houses are built substantially. It didn’t feel right.’
‘The room is partitioned and the connecting wall is made of wood.’
‘Yes, I know, but to have it all worked out pat so soon after I returned. It seemed dangerous. I’m sure he would have suspected me. As it is, I told him I’d find a way to listen in and he lent me a drill.’
‘Did he? That’s great. I like that. I think we’ll have to make that hole in John’s wall, Miro. The house is often empty. Paddy could break in to check up on you. It’s life and death for him.’
‘I’m going on Wednesday evening to give back the drill and any information I’ve overheard, so that’s when I’ll give him the info about the pipeline.’
‘Good and I may find something else for you by then. You did the right thing, Miro. Always obey your instinct, or your sixth sense. That’s a major rule in our work. I should have thought it out more carefully. Come on, let’s go.’
They had reached the beach. Miro felt light-headed as they galloped over the sand dunes. It was a sunny, winter’s morning and in no time Miro and his horse were in a lather. Things were going well for him. He’d flung off his guilt and moved on. All he had to do now was keep Paddy happy and not let him suspect that he was a double agent. He reckoned the war would be over in a year, or a little more. If only his parents could survive until then.
‘I’d love to have a swim,’ Miro said, watching the sea sparkling in the sun.
‘Go on then. I’ll take the horses to the spring.’
Miro stripped down to his underpants and ran down the beach to the sea, running and splashing until the water reached his thighs. Then he surged forward in a fast crawl to circle the old wreck before hypothermia set in, returning through the breaking surf, diving under a massive roller and fighting the backwash that caught at him. There was one nasty moment when the sea dragged him back and rolled him over the sand, but he fought and won and coasted in on a metre high roller, fired with exhilaration. His mouth and eyes stung with salt and his skin tingled and glowed.
They returned along the steep, zigzag path which the troops had dug out and resurfaced until it could take a convoy of trucks if necessary. Reaching the cliff top they paused and looked back at the sea shimmering below. ‘Jesus! It’s almost eight,’ Simon exclaimed as he glanced at his watch. ‘Come on. Race you back.’
Miro grimaced. None of the mares could beat Daunty, but he loved to try. He set off at a gallop and Simon followed.
‘Can a Czech national join the US army, Simon?’ Miro asked. He was rubbing down his horse and trying to look unconcerned. ‘I’d sure like to be in your team. I’m good with languages. I could be useful. You know how I long to get into the war.’
‘I’ve been thinking much the same thing, so I’ll try my best,’ Simon promised. ‘But I can’t promise to succeed. PWE want you for the radio station they are setting up on the German border, as and when we get there. Let’s see what transpires.’
Despite his optimism, Miro was almost rigid with fear when Wednesday night came and he had to cycle to his controller’s rendezvous. Paddy had caught a bad flu, which was gratifying. His voice was hoarse, he coughed and sneezed repeatedly and complained about a sore throat and earache.
Handing back the drill, Miro told him about the hole he had made at the back of Helen’s wardrobe and how he had covered it on his side with his peg board.
Paddy examined his drill. ‘This is new and it hasn’t been used,’ he said, looking grim.
Simon had decided that it was useless for the job because the wall was made of wood, a recent partition, they found, so Miro borrowed a brace and bit from Gramps’ toolbox.
‘It wasn’t. Evidently the room was partitioned with wooden panels years ago. I took a brace and bit out of Gramps’ tool box and did it when they were at church on Sunday morning.’
Paddy scowled at him. ‘OK,’ he said thoughtfully, as if turning the whole matter over in his mind. ‘Good boy. Now, what have you got for me?’
It’s so easy to slip up, Miro was thinking. And if he lost out, it would probably be over something as insignificant as Paddy’s drill.
‘Listen to this . . .’ He tried to hide his fear and sound enthusiastic. ‘Simon came creeping up at one a.m. Helen was asleep, but she woke. There was a bit of love stuff, but basically He
len seemed peeved. She complained that Simon spends too much time in Dover. He tried so soft soap her with kissing her and that sort of thing. He told her how lovely she was looking at dinner, but she wasn’t satisfied. She wanted to know what was going on. I think she thought he might have another girl there. This went on for a long time, but she wouldn’t give in and finally Simon said, “It’s classified.” She replied, “Then I’m going to sleep.”’
‘That’s how women operate,’ Paddy growled.
‘So Simon said, “We and the Brits are combining our skills to lay a pipeline for petrol right across the Channel, from Dover to Calais, so that Allied vehicles will be able to refill on the other side as soon as they have secured the beaches.” Then he explained that they needed scuba divers because things snarl up all the time: the joints have to be inspected regularly, reefs have to be blown up, and the pipe must be finished within twelve months in time for the invasion.’ Miro paused.
‘That’s it?’ Paddy questioned.
‘Sure. But wait a minute. There’s something else. That was Sunday night.’ Was he overdoing the info, Miro wondered? Paddy should be thrilled at the news . . . unless he was still suspicious.
‘On Monday night, Simon told Helen that the invasion would not be before August. There’s a delay because they have to wait for landing craft. There aren’t enough. Simon and Helen are going on a short holiday at the beginning of July. I didn’t write that down because I knew I would remember.’
He offered Paddy the notebook. ‘Look here, shall I tear the pages out? I can’t afford another notebook.’
‘Let’s have a look at it.’ Paddy flipped through the remainder of the empty pages, tore out Miro’s notes and handed the rest back. ‘There you are, Miro. You’ve done well. Our masters will be very pleased and this will affect your parents, you can be sure of that.’
‘I haven’t had a picture for some time,’ Miro said. ‘I’d like one soon.’
‘Don’t you trust me, boyo?’
‘I trust you, but I don’t trust the camp guards.’
‘I’d feel the same in your shoes. Fair enough. I’ll send on your request. By the way, I’m going away for a month. I’ll see you on the last Wednesday of January. Make sure you don’t get lax while I’m away. I’ll expect something riveting.’ Inexplicably, he squeezed Miro’s shoulder. ‘You’ve done well, boyo. I’ll leave first today. Wait five minutes before you go.’
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